#ticket to ride is a lot of fun too

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

Misc PortCon Pictures, including a cute commission by BrightWorm Studios and my "mean fanfiction author" cosplay for Sunday, because it was hot enough to get heatstroke out.

The shirt says "what have you done to deserve your legs?" if you can't see :)

Bonus boys having fun

[daryltwdixon]

I Like it, I Love It

I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can't rise above it

I don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was going to hell. And if he wasn't sure before, he knew it for certain now. Especially when he picked you up and you were wearing that tiny denim skirt and your cowgirl boots. You’re half his age, and he’s old enough to know better. But with your fingers laced through his and that bright, infectious smile, he finally starts to forget the guilt and the shame. He might even let himself have fun. || smut MDNI 18+, also fluff, girthy (but legal!) age gap, rodeo / fair date, summer romance, no outbreak, Joel POV, shy!joel, soft!joel, new relationship, reader isn't a virgin but its her first time with joel, reader is afab, smallchested!reader, reader is a lil insecure of her body, slightly angsty!joel, he's feelin' guilty, joel miller is down bad, older!bf, car sex, pinv, praise kink, nipple play, nipple orgasm 👀, fingering, grinding, riding, a lot of kissing (like a lot), picture whichever joel you prefer, 'daddy' mentioned but no daddy kink, size difference || all my love to @littlcdarlin for our filthy discussions of tiny titties and joel miller loving you in a mini skirt. also of course @cavillscurls who has also helped me with ideas for this! y'all are filthy pervs just like me :)

Joel Miller had made peace with the idea of going to hell a long time ago.

The air smelled like fried dough and horses as you scampered ahead, all bounce and bright energy, the summer heat curling around your shoulders. There was a hum of excitement in the fairgrounds even from a distance, something charged and electric that settled deep in his chest, though he knew it had less to do with the lights and music and more to do with you.

You made your way in a tiny denim skirt, cowgirl boots kicking up dust, legs long and golden in the sun. All smooth, soft skin begging to be touched. And Joel figured, yeah, his seat in the fiery pit was reserved and waiting.

And touched you he had, just a little, just a polite hand on your knee during the ride over. He caught the way you glanced at him, the way your fingers twitched like you were tempted to take his hand and move it up your thigh yourself. You wanted more, and he did too. But he hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

Because Joel was a gentleman, or at least trying hard to be one. You were only a couple of months into… whatever this was. Dating? Seeing each other? Going steady? You hadn’t defined it and Joel hadn’t asked, partly because he was terrified if he put a name to it, it might fall apart, and partly because he still couldn’t quite believe you were even here with him. That a girl like you had looked his way in the first place. Most days, he felt like a man trying to catch lightning in a bottle, grateful but always expecting it to slip out of his hands.

Still, the guilt sat just behind the thrill. You were young. Young enough that he should know better. He could see it in the way people looked at you, the way they looked at him when you were together. Sometimes he felt himself spiraling a little, late at night when he was alone, wondering what the hell he was doing letting a girl like you anywhere near him.

Up ahead, you grabbed a spot in the ticket line and turned back to him with that familiar light in your eyes, the kind that made it impossible not to smile back. Joel caught up, slow and steady behind you, hands in his pockets, already fighting the urge to touch you again.

“Before I get too distracted, we need a plan,” you said as you moved up a step. You glanced at the handful of people still ahead in line, then turned to face him fully, eyes bright and serious in that teasing way of yours. “What do you wanna see?”

Joel shrugged, more interested in the way your lips curved up than in any of the rides or games. “What do you wanna see?”

You held up a hand, ticking off your demands. “Spray and Race game. I will be kicking your ass at that, by the way.”

Joel nodded, amused.

“And then we have to see the barrel racing, obviously. Can’t come to the fair and not watch a bunch of cowboys do their thing. That would be criminal. Oh, and if I don’t get either funnel cake or kettle corn by the time we leave, I will riot.”

“Can’t have that,” Joel said, letting a chuckle slip out as he rested his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently forward with the line.

You looked up at him again, smiling like you couldn’t help yourself. “Okay, but seriously, what do you wanna do?”

Joel shrugged, easy. “I’m happy doin’ whatever makes you happy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Cornball.”

He kissed your hairline gently and you stepped up as the ticket booth opened.

“Two, please,” you said, cheerful as anything, leaning your elbows on the wooden counter.

The woman behind the plexiglass had a kind face, her cheeks round and flushed, oversized glasses magnifying her eyes making them look cartoonish. She gave you a warm, buttery smile as she slid the tickets toward you.

“Here you go, dear,” she said sweetly. “Y’all enjoy the fair now.”

Joel reached into his pocket to pay and slid a couple bills across the counter. Before he could tuck his wallet away, you turned, leaned up, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth in quiet thanks. It was just a soft, grateful thing, casual and comfortable. Nothing out of the ordinary for two people dating.

But Joel saw the woman’s energy shift in real time from sweet to surprised. Her smile faltered like it had hit a pothole, and her eyes went sharp.

Joel flushed to the tips of his ears, but you were already thanking her, plucking the tickets from her hand like nothing had happened.

And just like that, you were off again, sunlight on your shoulders, tickets in hand, skirt swaying as you moved toward the fairgrounds. Joel smiled politely at the woman who was now fully glaring daggers into him, and he turned to follow you.

“This thing is rigged!” you huffed, letting go of the water gun with an exaggerated sigh. 

The plastic clown stared back at you with its chipped paint and smug little smirk, like it knew exactly how badly you’d missed the mark. You crossed your arms, glaring at it as Joel laughed behind you, the sound low and warm in his chest.

He wasn’t laughing at you, not really. There was too much affection in it. He was caught somewhere between loving the look of focused frustration scrunched between your brows and fighting off the sudden urge to win you the biggest stuffed animal at the booth, just to see your face light up again.

So he stepped forward, doubts flaring in his gut for half a second before he shoved them down and moved in close behind you. 

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward. 

His chest met your back first, solid and warm, and you stayed still as you let him fit behind you like a puzzle piece, with his legs bracketing yours, close enough that his knees brushed the backs of your thighs. When he bent over you, the hem of your skirt shifted just enough for the soft curve of you to press against the front of his jeans. He clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the clown’s face, trying like hell not to focus on how good you felt against him.

He raised his hands, letting them hover a moment before easing them down, covering your smaller ones with his own. His palms were wide and rough, fingers slipping into the empty spaces between yours until you were surrounded by him, snug in his arms, your hands now steadied on the plastic grip of the water gun.

Your next breath was sharp and audible. He felt it echo in his ribs.

He adjusted your grip on the plastic gun, his hands never leaving yours, “Let me show you how it’s done,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, and he felt the reaction ripple through you. 

Your arms tensed at first, then softened, and he could see the goosebumps rising along your skin, catching the light.

He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. Probably shouldn’t have let his lips graze the shell of your ear. But he was already in it now, already pressed against you, mind foggy as the smell of your vanilla perfume invaded his senses.

“Deep breath in,” he said, quieter this time, watching the way your lips parted as you listened, your chest rising beneath his. “Slow breath out.”

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about how natural this felt. How right. He focused on the target instead. The clown, the ridiculous game.

“Gotta squeeze the trigger like you love it.” he murmured.

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you moved back into him, and he felt the swell of your ass push into his lap even more.

But before he could react to the feeling of your warm body pushing into his, the starting bell rang, loud and shrill, snapping both of you into motion. Joel pressed his finger over yours on the trigger, guiding the plastic gun with a steady grip. Water sprayed clean and fast, hitting the target right in the center.

You gasped softly, maybe surprised it was working, maybe still recovering from how close he was. Joel kept his focus, eyes on the game, though it was damn near impossible with the way you felt against him.

“Gentle, steady now,” he said when he felt your aim start to slip, adjusting your elbow with a nudge.

The buzzer went off a second later, a shrill little chime of victory as the clown’s mouth filled and your light blinked bright red at the top of the board. You’d won–first place, of course.

Joel eased back, slower than necessary. His hands lingered a second too long on your waist before he finally stepped away, the heat of you still clinging to him even as you turned with wide eyes and a grin that could’ve leveled him.

“I won?” you said, eyes lit up, like you couldn’t quite believe it.

He nodded, watching you, unable to look away. “You won.”

You picked out a prize without hesitation, grabbing the biggest, fluffiest looking stuffed animal on the rack and hugging it tight to your chest. Joel didn’t even care what it was. All he saw was your face, still flushed from the game, eyes shining, mouth curved in that soft, teasing way you got when you were proud of yourself.

The day stretched long in that golden, syrupy way only Texas summers could manage. The kind that made the day feel like it went too fast and too slow all at once. Joel let you lead him from one booth to the next, happy to be tugged along whether you were forcing a cowboy hat onto his head or pressing cotton candy to his lips. It was far too sweet for him, but he still smiled and shared bites with you, watching the sugar dissolve on your tongue. But it wasn’t the thought of his teeth rotting that did him in that day. No, it was the taste of your lips when you leaned into him, sticky-sweet and warm as you kissed him again and again, always grateful for buying you whatever you asked for. 

Later, at the rodeo arena, you led him up into the metal bleachers with a half-finished bag of kettle corn tucked under one arm and your stuffed bear you won in the other. The crowd buzzed around you, cheering and stomping as the barrel racers burst out into the dirt, all speed and muscle. Bulls followed, snorting and kicking against the reins, the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers like thunder rolling through a canyon.

At some point, you shifted. Instead of sitting beside him with your legs stretched out straight like everyone else, you turned and draped them across his lap. Your thighs settled on him, warm and bare, boots dangling off the other side of his legs. You leaned back on your palms, smiling up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel rested his hand on your knee without thinking, like it was second nature now. But something in his chest shifted, slow and deep. Watching you watch the riders, your body relaxed and fully at ease in his, he felt it settle into place like a quiet truth.

You wanted this. Not just the fair or the games or the sugar highs. This. Him. His hand on your knee. Your legs over his lap. Your lips on his in front of a crowd that might judge the way you looked at him—an older man, years and miles ahead of you. But you didn’t care. You wanted people to see. Wanted them to know he was yours.

And Joel wasn’t sure what the hell to do with that. With the quiet, aching certainty that you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. That you wanted him, plain and simple. Because the truth, the part he couldn’t shake no matter how sweet this all felt, was that he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

He was too old. Not just in birthdays, but in body and mind. Every morning he woke up sore in places he didn’t used to notice. He needed two cups of coffee before his brain even came online. He’d lived more lives than he wanted to admit, made more mistakes than he knew how to name.

And still, here you were. Laid up across him like it was the only place you belonged. Smiling up at him like he hung the damn moon.

He swallowed hard and looked down at your knee beneath his hand. Your skin warm, your body settled into his like you’d been doing it for years.

You were real. This was real.

And maybe… just maybe, he was allowed to want it, too. Even if he was still trying to believe he had a right to.

By the time the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon, the fairgrounds glowed with soft light, strung bulbs swaying between posts and tents, flickering like lightning bugs trapped in glass. The air had cooled, but instead of slowing down, you pulled Joel into a wooden building near the edge of the fairgrounds with a painted sign outside on the windows that said:

Swing Dancing Tonight: Live Band!

Joel followed you inside, the bar buzzing with life as people line danced on the floor, women and men alike to an old honky tonk song. The band was lively and energizing as he ordered you drinks at the bar. But before he could even hand you yours, you were already in the middle of the dance floor. So he sipped his beer, watching you sway and stomp to the song. He could watch you like this for hours, thumbs in your belt loops, hips swaying to the rhythm as the drums beat through his chest. He watched how your legs moved, long and shining in the bar light, the way your skirt hugged your hips so perfectly as you turned, giving him the perfect view of you. You were all confidence and charm, laughter rising over the music as you spun yourself in a circle or stepped just slightly out of time.

Then, the song ended, and another started. One he actually recognized.

Spent 48 dollars last night at the county fair

I throwed out my shoulder, but I won her that teddy bear…

“Joel,” you said, breathless and bright, pointing at him with one hand and waving him over with the other. “You know this one, don’t you?”

She's got me sayin' "Sugar Pie", "Honey", "Darlin'", and "Dear"

I ain't seen the Braves play a game all year

He felt a grin twitch at the edge of his mouth but didn’t move. Just shook his head slightly and kept his arms folded over his chest.

Your face scrunched into the kind of pout that always worked on him. “Aw, come on,” you pleaded, stepping closer. “Come dance. Please?”

Joel glanced around. The room was full of couples—young people, mostly, folks your age with their arms around each other, moving with an easy rhythm. There were a few older couples too, clinging close, still smiling like they remembered falling in love every time the music hit them just right. Joel didn’t see anyone else who looked like you and him. The difference in age stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew how it looked. He always knew.

But then he looked back at you.

The way you were beaming at him, not caring who was watching. Not ashamed or holding back. You wanted him, wanted to dance with him, here, now, in front of all these strangers, like none of it mattered.

I'm gonna get fired if I don't get some sleep

My long lost buddies say I'm getting in too deep

He exhaled slowly, then dropped his arms and nodded. “Alright.”

You lit up, grabbing his hands and leading him to the floor, smiling wide as you pulled him into place. His hand found your waist and your hand curled into his, small and warm. You were already moving before he had a chance to think. He stumbled through the first few beats, stepping left when he should have gone right, but you didn’t mind. You were giggling, swinging your hips and mouthing the words to the song like it was written just for you.

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can’t rise above it…

Joel watched you, half focused on the dance, half lost in the way your smile grew wider each time he got it right. And he did get it right, eventually. Something about the rhythm caught him. Something about your fingers tightening just slightly in his hand each time the music swelled.

Don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

He spun you around, and when you landed back in his arms, you pressed in a little closer, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and something soft in your eyes. Joel felt the guilt unravel a little more. It didn’t disappear, but for the first time that day, he stopped listening to the nagging voice in his head that told him he was no good for you. 

Then a tap on your shoulder pulled him out of it.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Joel turned, keeping one arm around your waist. You paused too, breath catching in your chest from the last spin. A man stood just beside the two of you. Tall, dressed in boots too clean for real ranch work, and smiling a little too confidently.

“Can I help you?” you asked politely, eyebrows lifting.

The man looked between you and Joel, then nodded toward you.

“I was wonderin’ if I might steal you from your daddy for a dance.”

Joel felt your spine straighten where his hand laid across it. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He waited for your reaction. Because, after all, this young man was closer to your age and seemed like someone you should be dancing with if it wasn’t for him.

“No thanks,” you said, sweet as anything. “I’m perfectly happy to keep dancin’ with my daddy.”

And when you turned to Joel smiling, it was with a wink. Surely not very subtle, and not in the least bit shy. His stomach flipped. He might’ve choked on the word if he hadn’t been too focused on keeping his mouth shut and his hands respectful.

The man blinked, frowned, then gave a quick nod before turning back toward the crowd.

Once he was gone, you turned back into Joel, your hands finding his chest again, your grin sharp.

“So rude.” you shook your head with a little grin.

Joel chuckled low in his throat. “Poor kid’s probably off pouting after bein’ turned down by a pretty thing like you.”

You laughed, eyes bright. “Well, maybe next time he’ll think twice before trying to cut in.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

You leaned in, “You think I’m lettin’ anyone else dance with me tonight?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer before you moved in even closer, lips just shy of his.

“Why don’t we make sure everyone in this place knows exactly how much I like my daddy, huh?”

And then your mouth was on his.

Your hands slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing skin, tugging just enough to make his knees want to give. Your lips were hot, certain, hungry, certainly not the casual kind of kiss you gave him earlier in the day, out on the fairgrounds, sweet and easy in thanks.

No, this was all for him, a kiss with weight behind it. With purpose and damn near possession.

Joel’s hands slid around your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He pulled you close, pressed his mouth harder against yours like he was drowning and you were the only air he had left. The music thumped somewhere in the background, but he barely registered it. You were all he could taste. Sugar and sweat and something warm that settled heavy in his chest.

You broke the kiss eventually, barely, breath brushing over his lips as you smiled.

“Think they got the message?” you asked, smug and breathless. 

Joel gave a low laugh. “Not sure. Might need to run it by ‘em again.”

And then he was kissing you all over again.

Eventually, the music wound down and the last of the dancers trickled out. Voices quieted, boots scuffed across the old floorboards toward the exit, and the warm hum of the fair outside dimmed to a gentle hush. The tents had started closing down, lights blinking off one by one, vendors packing up what was left of the night. It was quieter now, the energy settling like dust in the air, and Joel walked beside you back toward the parking lot, your fingers looped loosely in his.

The moon was high and clear, silver light stretching over the dirt and gravel. The air had cooled just enough to feel like relief after a day of heat and sun, and the scent of fried dough and hay still hung faint on the breeze.

He opened the passenger door for you, helping you up with a hand at your waist before closing it gently behind you. Then he circled around, climbed into the driver’s seat with a low groan in his knees, and exhaled hard as the silence wrapped around the two of you.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, voice soft in the quiet, eyes turned toward him as you set your teddy bear in the back seat.

Joel looked over with a slow, tired smile curling on his mouth. “Me too, baby.”

He leaned across the console and tipped his chin up slightly, looking down at your mouth, just to invite you in. He meant for it to be a quick kiss. A thank you. Something simple.

But the moment your lips touched his, it was anything but a simple kiss goodnight.

You lingered, lips warm and sweet, your mouth soft against his, your hand rising to his jaw, nails grazing over the rough edge of his beard, and Joel shivered, a quiet sound catching in his throat.

He didn’t dare move, not when you deepened the kiss like that, the press of your lips firmer, the way you breathed into him like you were trying to get as close as you could. Your tongue slipped forward, slow and teasing, and Joel swore his heart damn near stopped.

He lifted his hand to cup your cheek, fingers spread along your smooth jaw, and tilted your face to kiss you fuller. Your lips parted for him, welcoming, and when his tongue met yours, you gave the softest little gasp, like it startled something in you.

Then you shifted closer and he barely had time to register it before your hand braced against his chest and you pushed, guiding him back into his seat. His breath caught, pulse thudding in his neck as you climbed into his lap, straddling him like you’d done it a hundred times. Your knees pressed into the leather on either side of him, the denim of your skirt hiking up just enough to make him dizzy.

“Baby, what’re—” he started, voice rough, but the question never made it past his mouth. Because then you were kissing him, really kissing him, and everything else seemed to disappear. 

Your hands slid up into his hair, fingers tugging gently, grounding yourself as your mouth moved over his with something between hunger and certainty. You were warm and pliant against him, chest brushing his, thighs squeezing around his hips. His head spun with the closeness, the heat, the soft weight of you in his lap.

You’d done this before, though it was all you’d done together, all the kissing and heavy petting to last a lifetime. Joel was content with it, never wanting to push for more. His hands found your waist, steadying you there, not to stop you, but partially to feel you, partially to anchor himself. You moved with a slow rhythm, your body pressing in, every little shift setting him further on edge. You kissed him deeper and hungrier with each passing moment.

His fingers flexed against your sides. You were already breathing hard, your mouth dragging over his, then down to his jaw, where you pressed a few kisses there too, so soft and addictive. Joel tipped his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, and let himself feel it.

The truck windows were already fogging up from the heat between you. Sweat prickled at the base of his neck and your thighs were warm around him, your hands still tangled in his hair, and when you whispered his name against his lips between kisses, he felt the restraint in him begin to fray.

But when you pulled away to press your forehead into his, he saw the furrow in your brows, the pained look across your face as you spoke for the first time.

“Please, Joel,” you breathed into his mouth, lips wet against his, soft and trembling with want. “I’m ready. I want you.”

The words cut through the haze in his skull like a hot knife. He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs resting beneath your jaw. His calloused fingers tilted your head gently, angling you toward the windshield where the streetlamp's glow filtered through the dusty glass. He needed to see your face, to find your gaze and to know you were sure. Your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted and swollen from his kiss. You looked like sin incarnate, lit up in the dim streetlamps, and it made something deep inside him curl and twist and clench.

“Baby…” he murmured in warning, his voice barely holding together. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep telling you no. 

But you didn’t look uncertain. Not even close. Your fingers dug into the front of his shirt, clinging to the fabric like it might disappear if you let go, and then your hips rolled forward, grinding into the hard, aching shape of him beneath his jeans. He swallowed hard, trying to hold on to reason, but the friction sent a jolt through him that scrambled every logical thought.

“I mean it,” you said, voice cracking open with need. “I need it so badly. Need you.”

He studied your face, silent, trying like hell to slow the blood roaring in his ears. There was a flicker of hesitation—one that made his heart stutter—but it wasn’t yours. It was his. Because deep down, Joel knew he should stop this. Knew he should say something responsible, something like let’s wait, this ain’t the place, I don’t wanna rush you. We should wait til we get you home. Something that would make him a better man than the one currently hard and straining beneath your thighs.

He couldn’t stop the wriggling worm in the back of his head that kept telling him you were younger. Too young for him. But you were looking at him like he was the answer to every ache in your body, like you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. That look alone was almost enough to make him want to stop this entirely. Almost.

But then your mouth found his again, and you moaned into the kiss, and whatever was left of his restraint dissolved under the heat of your breath. You sounded like you were made to fall apart for him. You felt like a fever in his arms, your skin hot and soft and flushed. And he wasn’t strong enough to let go.

“Christ,” he muttered, and his hands slid down from your face back to your waist, pulling you tighter into his lap. The denim of your skirt had already hiked up too far, bunched high on your hips as you straddled him. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at you all day. Your legs, the way that skirt clung to your curves, the fucking sway of your hips when you walked away from him. Now, with you on top of him, split open around his thighs, skin warm and trembling, it was like every filthy thought he’d buried was clawing to the surface.

And God, the way you moved against him, slow and teasing, your skirt nearly around your waist, the bare stretch of your skin beneath his hands, the greed built up in him even more than ever before. Not just to have, but to see. 

He pulled back, just an inch, his voice low and rough. “Can I… see more of you?”

Your breath hitched as you pulled away, and you didn’t answer, not at first. You sat there, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, and he was nervous he crossed a line, that this wasn’t what you meant when you said you wanted him. He held his breath, but then, sighing, you nodded, maybe a little too quickly. Reaching for the hem of your top with shaky fingers, you paused as you brought the fabric up halfway, like something caught in your throat.

Joel noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing your wrist with his thumb. “What is it?”

You didn’t meet his eyes when your voice got quiet, “I just… I know I’m not—I mean, I don’t have very big… you know.”

The words barely made it out, and Joel felt something in his chest pull tight. You were still holding your shirt, halfway lifted, frozen.

It was odd, seeing you lose that confidence that you held earlier. He watched you all day, playful and devilish in your flirtations with him. But now, now that it was just you two in the cab of his truck, he was seeing between the lines.

He sat up straighter, his hands steady as he helped you lift it the rest of the way, slow and careful, like peeling back something sacred. He tossed it into the footwell without looking. His focus stayed on the soft curve of your chest rising with each breath, the barest quiver in your chin as you tried not to read his expression too hard.

Joel didn’t say anything right away. He just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then another just beneath it. Gentle, slow, barely-there pecks, all warm and wet and worshipful. He moved along the slope of your neck, your shoulder, tasting skin, breathing you in.

Then he looked up at you, voice quiet but thick.

“What, these?” he said, quiet and low, barely more than a breath. His hands came up, big and warm, palms open as they slid gently to cup you. He wasn’t grabbing or groping, but feeling. Mapping you out. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as he let the pads of his fingers learn you one soft inch at a time.

“But look,” Joel cooed, eyes flitting between your eyes and where his hands swallowed you, thumbs brushing lightly along the curves of your breasts. “Look how perfectly they fit in my hands.”

And they did. God, they did. His hands were weathered, rough in a way that made him almost hesitate, but you didn’t flinch or tense under his touch. You watched him, wide-eyed and flushed, your lips parted, chest rising fast beneath his broad hands. He couldn’t stop staring. His big, work-worn hands looked even larger against you, rough knuckles against smooth skin, thumbs grazing tender flesh. The contrast made his pulse spike, his brain full of static.

His hands flexed without thinking, fingers cradling you a little firmer. The weight of you in his palms, the way your body gave under his touch lit something in him that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with awe. Like this wasn’t just about wanting you. It was about having you trust him enough to let him look at you like this. There was a moment, maybe two, where Joel seemed to freeze in it, torn between restraint and reverence, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or just stay like this, memorizing the way you felt in his hands.

You made a soft noise in the back of your throat, a breathy, barely-there whimper when his thumbs grazed your sensitive nipples again, and he felt it like a bolt down his spine.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice thick. “You feel how perfect you are?”

You hesitated at first, fingers fisting into his shirt at the shoulders, then nodded, slow and shaky, and he could tell you were trying to say yes, but the words wouldn’t come. Your hands slid down his arms instead, fingers curling around his biceps as you leaned in closer, your back arching into his touch. Joel could feel the way your hips shifted, how you melted into him inch by inch.

He kissed your neck again, slower this time, then your collarbone, trailing heat with every little peck. Then lower, just a little, until he was brushing his mouth across the swell of your chest. Not hungry or greedy, just gentle, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver against him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured into your skin, his voice gone hoarse.

You shook your head quickly, and he felt your hands tighten around his arms.

“Not stoppin’,” you whispered, barely audible.

Joel smiled against your skin, and one hand lifted to brush a thumb across your nipple, slow and light, just enough to make your breath catch.

You arched into him then, eyes fluttering shut, your whole body moving without thought, and Joel felt something in his chest crack wide open.

This wasn’t just about convincing you you were beautiful. This was about showing you with every kiss, every touch, every look until you never doubted it again.

He didn’t wait long after you gave him permission, just enough time to kiss his way back up to your jaw, watching the way your mouth stayed slack, your eyes heavy-lidded, drunk on him already. He liked you like this, pliant and sweet and soft. He wanted you out of your head and into your body, melting into his hands and mouth and all the ways he knew how to love someone without saying a word.

Joel dipped his head again, this time without restraint, and took one of your nipples into his mouth. His lips closed around you slow and warm, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in quick, flat strokes. You gasped, your hands shooting up to grip his hair, hips stuttering forward into his lap as your body twitched under the sudden wave of sensation.

He groaned against your skin, the sound rough and real, because fuck, the way you reacted to him from such a simple touch would damn near ruin him for good.

His hands gripped your waist, steadying you, keeping you anchored as he licked and sucked, teeth just barely grazing before his tongue smoothed over the bite. Your thighs trembled around his hips. You were panting now, your body moving without hesitation, instinct driving you to grind down onto him in slow, desperate rolls.

“Joel,” you breathed, high and quiet, your voice caught between pleasure and disbelief. Your back arched hard, head falling back, spine pulling tight like a bow. “Oh my God—”

He didn’t stop. He moved to your other breast, lavishing just as much attention, his hands sliding up your back to hold you steady while your whole body writhed in his lap. Your hips rolled down again, this time firmer, needier. Joel could feel how soaked you were through your panties, and the friction making his head spin.

You were panting harder now, moaning freely, completely gone, and Joel had no fucking clue how he was keeping his own composure. All he knew was he didn’t want this to stop. He didn’t want to do anything but keep you falling apart right there in his arms. He closed his lips around your nipple again, sucking harder this time, tongue dragging over the sensitive peak before he gave it a sharp, deliberate nip. The sound you made had every ounce of his blood roaring to his cock.

And then he felt you shuddering against him. A full-body, violent, uncontrollable shaking of your limbs as your thighs clamped around his hips, your back arched so hard it looked like it might snap. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as your whole body seized against him.

And then you collapsed forward, burying your face in his neck, breathing fast, chest heaving.

Joel pulled away and blinked, stunned, his hands still holding you gently in place, too afraid to move.

“…Did you just—?”

You nodded against his neck, laughing, breathless and wide-eyed as you pulled back to look at him.

“I think I did,” you whispered, grinning in awe. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I could do that.”

Joel stared at you like you were the most miraculous thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

His heart was thudding like a drum. His whole body was vibrating with adrenaline and want, but more than that—God, more than that—he was absolutely done for. Completely head-over-heels wrecked by the way you smiled at him, still shaking, still glowing, sitting there on top of him like you belonged nowhere else.

He let out a low laugh, forehead resting against yours, the both of you sweaty and flushed and grinning like idiots.

“That was the most amazin’ thing I think I might’ve ever seen.”

You giggled, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp hair, gaze dipping down to his lips, swollen and wet from everything you’d just shared. Your thumb dragged along his jaw, soft and slow.

“I was serious, you know,” you said, quieter now. The words felt heavier, more deliberate. “I’m ready. If you are.”

The smile tugging at his mouth faded gently, not with worry, but with something more careful, something reverent. He lifted his hand, fingertips tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His eyes searched yours, wanting to be absolutely sure he’d heard you right.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Here?”

You nodded, biting your lip, and he saw it in your face—you meant it. You weren’t offering it out of heat or thrill or to prove a point. You were giving it because you wanted him. Because this was where you felt safe.

Joel exhaled, slow and shaky, and let his hands drift down to your thighs. He started at your knees, broad palms dragging up the delicate skin, every inch of contact slow and unhurried. When he reached the edge of your skirt, his fingers slipped beneath it, warm and steady, thumbs sweeping along the crease where your legs met your hips.

You were soft and warm. His fingers slid further up, curling around the backs of your thighs, then higher, gripping your ass with both hands and pulling you closer into his lap, only your pair of panties and his denim between the two of you. You gasped into his mouth at the sudden pressure, your hips grinding down against him in a way that nearly made him lose his composure right then and there.

“You looked so damn good today,” he said, pecking you on the lips before breaking away just long enough to speak against your jaw. His voice was thick, hoarse, full of the ache he’d been carrying since the moment he picked you up. “All day, walkin’ around like that, in this little thing... you knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

He nipped at your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, the curve of your neck. Your breath caught again, your nails scratching lightly over his chest as you rolled your hips, and he swore under his breath. 

“Joel,” you whispered, his name cracked open on your tongue, a whine that made his stomach clench. You were so soft over him, so willing, like you belonged there, like you knew he wouldn’t say no.

“I got you,” he whispered, kissing the underside of your chin, then lower, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat. “I got you, baby. Just… tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” you begged, voice breaking into pieces, desperate and trembling. “Please. More. Just—more.”

He should’ve stopped. Even now. He knew that. This wasn’t some clean-cut moment, some perfect night. You were in the front seat of his truck, in some nowhere parking lot, and he was hard as stone beneath you, pulse hammering behind his ribs like a war drum. But the way you said please, as if asking for something as important as the air in your lungs, shattered the last of his resolve.

His hands moved even further up the back of your thighs, kneading your ass in his thick fingers, pulling you closer to him. His fingertips were nearly touching as they brushed the sides of your lace panties and found the heat of you, the fabric clinging to your pussy as your arousal stuck to the cotton. Every one of his rational thoughts disintegrated. A deep, guttural sound tore from his chest, something raw and entirely outside himself, and his mouth found your collarbone, teeth dragging over the skin, tongue smoothing it over.

You whimpered, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, and his hands tightened on your ass, holding you steady as his fingers traced over the damp cotton. He could feel everything through it—every ridge and dip, the soft, swollen lips beneath the fabric, the way you pressed into his touch like your body was trying to pull him inside.

“Jesus,” he muttered, breath stuttering, eyes fluttering closed for a second like the weight of it was too much. “Baby... this all for me?”

You whimpered, burying your face further against his neck, your arms wound around his shoulders now, trying to hold on as his fingers moved with slow pressure over the damp cotton, mapping the shape of you.

With a little more pressure, he dragged his middle finger along the center of the panties, right where he knew you needed it. Your hips jolted, a sharp breath punching out of you, and he kissed and bit gently at your shoulder, trying to stay steady while you ground down on him again.

He slid his fingers beneath the lace from behind, his knuckles grazing your ass, and slipped two fingers through your folds, the heat and slick coating them immediately. The angle was tight, but it didn’t matter. He pushed in slow, groaning deep in his chest as you clenched around him, your whole body going taut.

You gasped, your thighs shaking on either side of his, your hips rocking back to meet the thrust of his fingers. He fucked you slow, steady, letting his palm grind against you with each pass, his other hand still holding you tightly, keeping you flush to him. The sound of your breath, the soft, broken moans, the wet slick of your pussy around his fingers was all too much.

“You make the prettiest little noises, baby girl,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and rough. His tongue dragged along the damp skin there, catching the salt as you moaned under him. “Pussy’s so wet for me, huh?”

You nodded fast, breath hitching as you turned your head, finding his mouth and dragging him into another kiss. It was messy, open, all tongue and teeth. You were already shaking, and then he pushed in a third finger.

You whined, body jerking in his lap, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt like you needed something to hang onto. Your mouth fell open against his, panting into the kiss as he fucked you slow and deep, the stretch overwhelming but perfect.

“Gotta open ‘er up for me,” he murmured against your lips, curling his fingers just right. “Gotta get her ready, alright?”

Your hips rocked harder into him, back arching as you ground your clit into the thick seam of his jeans, chasing friction. The pressure made your thighs tremble. His fingers were thick and relentless, and you were soaked, dripping around him with every push.

“Feels—s-so good,” you mewled, breath broken, voice small and high.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiled, lips brushing your cheek, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you steady. “Tell me.”

“Your fingers are so—god,” you gasped, blinking up at him, tears catching at the corners of your eyes, “so thick, Joel, fuck—filling me up, f-feels so good.”

He groaned, dragging his mouth over your jaw, licking into the curve of your throat as his fingers thrust deeper, curling to stroke that perfect spongey spot. Your entire body tensed in his lap, thighs shaking, your moans getting louder, needier, your hands everywhere now—his neck, his hair, tugging, pulling, clinging.

But then your rhythm shifted. You started grinding harder, faster, hips snapping down against his palm in stuttering, frustrated motions.

Joel felt it the second it changed. The edge in your breath, the heat in your voice.

You whined again, a little sharper now. “Need more.”

His brow lifted, but his fingers didn’t stop. “You got more, baby. Right here. Let me—”

“No,” you cut him off, hips jerking back harder onto his hand. “Not your fingers. I need your cock, Joel.”

His eyes blinked widely at your filthy mouth, but all he could muster was a wrecked groan, low and rough, his jaw locking as he tried to keep himself together. His fingers didn’t stop right away, but they slowed, drawing out the tension just enough to leave you gasping. Your walls clenched around the retreat, your body chasing it even as he pulled away.

“Such a greedy little girl, ain’t ya?” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant, more strained. 

He dragged his fingers from you with a wet sound, both of you shivering at the loss. His hands moved to your hips again, gripping tight, dragging you forward until you were pressed flush to him. The thick line of his cock was unmistakable beneath the denim, rock hard and hot through the layers. You gasped as he pulled you against your bare thighs, your panties soaked and clinging.

Even through the denim, it was too much. Your heat, the damp of your panties, the softness of your thighs around him, it all short-circuited whatever thread of self control he was still hanging on to.

Joel’s head tipped back slightly, breath ragged. “Feel that? What you do to me?”

You nodded, a little amused glint back in your eye, though your mouth was still parted and heaving in breaths. You reached down, and he watched as your hands fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the truck cab. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, just below where your mini skirt bunched up and he could see the pink of your panties, with white lace trim around them. His mind felt like it was buzzing with static.

Joel felt the tug of his belt give, then the pop of the button, the slow scrape of the zipper. He hissed through his teeth as your hand slipped inside, dainty little fingers wrapping around him. So warm and firm, but your grip wasn’t shy, and neither was the way you stroked him once, slow, before pulling him free.

He let out a low, broken sound, his head tipping back against the seat as his hips twitched into your palm. Jesus Christ, he was already leaking, hard as hell, and your soft hand felt like heaven.

He looked down just in time to see your thumb swipe through the wet at the tip, smearing it along the ridge. Your eyes flicked up, lashes heavy, lips parted, and then your tongue slipped out to wet your bottom lip. His eyes narrowed on the sight.

“It’s so… big,” you said, half breathless, caught somewhere between awe and nerves.

He couldn’t help the twitch of a grin, pride low and warm in his gut, but it faded fast when you licked your fingers and brought them back down to him. Joel’s mouth went dry as he watched, wide-eyed, his cock jumping in your grip as you used that spit-slick hand to spread the moisture, dragging it over the head and down the shaft with slow, deliberate strokes. His head hit the backrest again, a low moan escaping him as your hand wrapped fully around him. He was pulsing under your touch, every vein thick and straining, and all he could do was grip the seat with one hand and brace his other on your thigh.

His breath caught as you lined him up, the swollen head of his cock notched against your entrance, slick heat already soaking him. His hands flew up to your hips, fingers curling into your skin tight. He looked up at you, chest rising hard beneath his shirt.

“Fuck,” he managed, voice shredded. “Baby, take it slow. Alright?”

You nodded, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, and began to lower yourself down on him.

It was hell and heaven all at once.

He’d never felt bliss like this before. You were so tight, so velvety and wet and welcoming to his cock. He forced himself to keep his eyes open even as they drooped heavily, needing to see you. He watched your jaw slacken, your eyes roll back and your lashes flutter shut, the way your neck arched back at the feeling of him filling you completely. 

If you didn’t take this slow, he was going to embarrass himself. Two pumps, and it’d be over. 

“You okay?” he rasped, voice hoarse and frayed, trying to keep his focus on your face, not the overwhelming squeeze of your walls around his cock.

You nodded, still dazed, still adjusting to the stretch. He watched your hands slide up his chest for balance, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt.

“So… so full,” you whispered.

Joel groaned, his eyes squeezing shut for just a second. “You feel like heaven, baby. Fuck. Can’t—can’t move just yet.”

He breathed through his nose, short and hard, jaw clenched tight as he fought to stay still. Your walls kept fluttering around him, tightening every time you shifted. He could feel every tiny twitch, every squeeze, and it was sending his brain sideways.

You shifted your hips once, just a little roll of them, and his body jerked.

“Jesus Christ,” he bit out, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, a soft chuckle escaping, voice high and breathless, and gave another little roll, just enough to make him groan again.

“Not trying to,” you said sweetly, rocking just once more, a little deeper this time, “but you feel so good, Joel. So deep.”

Your hips rolled again, slower this time, deeper, and Joel’s whole body tensed under you like a live wire. He hissed through his teeth, hands sliding down to grip the plush curve of your ass, thumbs digging in as he tried to ground himself, to breathe, but Jesus, it was like you were made to ruin him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gritted, watching the way your body moved over his, the way your thighs flexed as you lifted up and sank back down, taking him in inch by inch. “Just like that, baby. You’re doin’ so good.”

You moaned, a soft, desperate sound that made his head spin, and then you started to move in earnest, just slow at first, a grind that let you feel every ridge of him, every twitch and pulse as your slick walls dragged along his cock. His jaw clenched, hips rising to meet yours on every stroke, and then you found your rhythm.

Up, down, harder, faster. Until the sound of skin of skin filled the cab of the truck, your breathless moans and his gritted grunts, all a symphony of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

Joel could barely think. All he could do was feel—your heat, your slick, the way you clenched around him tighter with every bounce. His hands never stopped moving, guiding you, holding you open for him, sliding up your back, your waist, gripping anywhere he could find. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” he said, mouth hot against your throat. “Look at you, pretty little thing, ridin’ me so good,”

You whined, nails digging into his shoulders as you bounced harder, grinding down between strokes, chasing it now. Joel felt you start to shake, the rhythm turning erratic, frantic, your breath coming faster as your thighs quivered on either side of him.

“My good girl,” he rasped, barely able to get the words out, his lips brushing your jaw, his voice thick with everything you were pulling out of him. “Takin’ your old man’s cock like it was made for ya, huh?”

You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he growled, hands locking down on your hips now, helping you ride him, thrusting up to meet you with punishing force. 

You were trembling in his lap, gasping his name again and again, every breath broken, every moan more high-pitched than the last. He felt the change in the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your legs started to give out, and he knew you were close.

“Gonna come for me again, hm?” he whispered, lips finding your chest as you pushed back up, a look of bliss and agony on your face when his tongue lapped at your nipple before taking it in his mouth, teeth scraping until he let it go with a pop as he said, “Come on, baby girl. Let me feel it. Wanna feel your sweet pussy squeeze the life outta me,”

Your body tensed hard as he took your other nipple between his teeth. Your back arched, your mouth dropped open as you cried out his name.

Joel felt it in the way you clamped around him, how your whole body seized and shook, how the heat of you spread and pulsed around his cock. He didn’t stop his tongue on your chest or his heavy thrusts into you. He couldn’t. He chased you through it, fucking you through your orgasm, his rhythm relentless now.

“Good girl,” he groaned, releasing your breast, head tipping back as you convulsed around him. “That’s my girl.”

It’s all he could say, all he could muster up as his blood roared. He knew he was going to leave bruises on your hips with the way he was holding you, his fingers digging deep, guiding you down onto his cock again and again as he fucked up into you, chasing the tight pull in his gut, the pressure building so fast it burned.

Your body was limp against him, boneless and spent, your forehead pressed to the side of his neck, still clenching around him in aftershocks that made his vision blur. He could feel the way you twitched as he pumped into you, cock filling you to the hilt every thrust. He could hear the wet sounds of your slick coating him, and it was pushing him right to the edge.

Maybe it was the sound of his breath, ragged and uneven in your ear, or maybe it was the way his thrusts had started to lose rhythm, hips stuttering beneath the weight of everything building inside him. Whatever it was, you knew.

You shifted, lifting your chest off his and sitting upright in his lap. His eyes opened, dazed and half-lidded, just in time to see you reach for his hands, pulling them from your hips and guiding them up to your chest. You pressed his palms back against your breasts, dragging a soft gasp from him as his fingers curled instinctively around you, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

And then you started to move.

Your hips rocked in a slow, devastating rhythm. Grinding forward, rolling back, twisting just enough to make him feel every flex and clench of your body around his cock. The new angle let him feel you in full, the grip of your pussy tighter than anything he’d ever known, slick and pulsing and dragging him deeper with every shift of your weight.

His eyes locked on you, chest rising hard, muscles taut, and he could barely keep up. He could hardly even breathe.

“Gonna come for me, Joel?” you asked, your voice breathless, raw, and almost sweet in its teasing.

He groaned, hands tightening around your breasts, his fingers twitching as you ground down harder. Your pace picked up just enough to wreck him, every movement drawing him closer to the edge.

“Come on, handsome,” you whispered, leaning in, your breath hot against his cheek. “Know you can. Know you wanna come inside me, don’t you?”

Joel’s whole body seized, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He could feel you squeeze around him as you said it. The flutter of your pussy gripping him like you were trying to pull every last bit out of him.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out, “Are y–are you sure, baby?”

He didn’t think he could take any more. But then you reached for one of his hands, lifted it gently, and brought his fingers to your mouth.

“Come for me, Joel,” you whispered, and then you slipped one of his digits into your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks to suck, soft and slow, tongue warm and wet.

And Joel saws stars as he came.

He groaned from deep in his chest, hips bucking up into you as his cock throbbed inside you. His release hit him hard. His hands scrambled for something to hold, one sliding across your waist and thighs, squeezing hard as his vision blurred. The one in your mouth stayed, his other fingers tightening around your jaw and cheeks. Heat coiled through his spine, thick and hot, pouring into you as every muscle in his body tensed and shook.

As he came down, he pulled his hand from your mouth, bringing your body to him, your chest against his and held you close. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of your breathing the only sound between you for a long moment. You stayed wrapped around him, warm and wet and still twitching with aftershocks.

His breath came slow and heavy, chest rising beneath yours as his eyes slipped closed.

“My god,” he muttered, voice worn raw, scraped down to gravel.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, fingers combing gently through his hair, your body soft and loose in his arms. He felt your lips brush his temple, then his ear, warm and light, and when you shifted, you kissed the tip of his nose.

“That was…” you murmured, smiling against his skin, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He hummed, a small sound low in his throat, eyes half-lidded, lips curved with something lazy and content.

You leaned down and kissed him again, soft and slow, and his felt cock stirring faintly inside you, twitching in the warmth he hadn’t pulled out of yet.

“Amazing,” you finished, lips brushing his.

Joel could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

His hands were still resting low on your back, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing along your spine. He blinked slowly, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth, still a little swollen from kissing him stupid.

You tilted your head, smiling like you knew something he didn’t.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice still a little breathless, lips brushing his again.

Joel wasn’t sure where it came from. His mind was fogged with desire, those damn post coitus hormones and having the prettiest girl he’d ever seen his arms. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it echoed from the cavern on his mind until it was screaming to be let out.

“Be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, surprised, but your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew, soft and wide and toothy. Your cheeks warmed, and not just from the heat of the truck cab.

“Joel Miller,” you said, sweet and teasing as you pushed a bit of damp hair from his forehead, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend right after blowing my mind in your truck?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes narrowing in mock offense, his grip on you tightening like he didn’t want to let you squirm away from it.

“Well, yeah, suppose I am,” he said, a little more grounded this time, the words settling deeper in his chest. “I mean it.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, still grinning.

“Okay,” you said finally, soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “Yeah. I’m your girl.”

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, every part of him relaxing under the weight of those simple little words.

I’m your girl.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and real, his hand lifting to cup your cheek as your eyes stayed locked on his. You were both grinning now as you brought your forehead to his, lost in it for a long, quiet moment.

Then he pulled you back in, kissing you again slow and deep, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

taglist: @lizaispunk, @joelscowgirl69, @littlcdarlin, @cuntyhunty22, @glitterspark, @joelsslutt, @melmel-fandom, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @plsilovedilfs, @yxtkiwiyxt, @whisperingcherub, @teehee18, @thebumbqueen, @alyhull, @yourgirljasmiin, @alicenasflowers, @dariaanddaria, @onthelo1012, @soymiguelsesposa, @emmiland, @heavymetalhater, @pedropascalsbbg, @izzy698

[pennjammin]

wanna see what your insides look like.ᐟ

JJKHALLOWEEN! chosoxreader

to sum it up. you got tickets to a live Scream experience, where you’ll be chased by the infamous Ghostface through a dark wood. but the idea of being alone with the character arouses you more than it scares you. lucky for you, though, Ghostface is totally on board.

CONTENT (MDNI): friends to lovers, smut, switch!choso, afab!reader, prop knife, fake blood, masochism kindaaa, overstim, 86’d the sorcery (modern au), breeding, exhibitionism

word count. 7k

soundtrack 💿: RUNRUNRUN - dutch melrose

divider @saradika

“Please come, Cho. I need you to come.”

An exasperated breath comes from the other end of the phone. You’re sure your best friend is shaking his head, trying to come up with a way to let you down gently, because he’s incapable of being mean.

“I wanna,” he says honestly. “I know that Scream is our thing… but I’ve gotta take this shift for the extra money. I promise to make it up to you, kay? How about a movie night when I get off?”

You huff. You know this is reasonable collateral, but your heart still aches because you’ll be missing out on the Scream experience with your best friend in the entire world; the only person who truly understands the place the movie series holds in your heart.

“A movie night with face masks,” you correct him.

He grins from the other line. “Deal. Have fun tonight. Tell Satoru to not be a little bitch.”

You grin back. “Level: impossible. But will do. Love you, Cho.”

He pauses for a minute before replying. “I love you too. Later.”

The phone hangs up and you are unable to shake the pressure in your chest. You really shouldn’t be this sad; you’ll be with the rest of your friends. But they aren’t Cho.

You sigh and begin to get dressed; a blood-red low cut tank top, black plaited skirt, ‘nets, and thick running boots. Red lipstick tied everything together, as well as your hair in two ponytails with ribbons.

Hours pass and soon, night falls. Your friends arrive to collect you, and you all make it to the sight of the attraction in no time, both fear and excitement bubbling within you.

You ride down a long, long driveway, nothing but trees surrounding the acre of attractions, stalls and decorations. At the end, there is a large arch with an inflatable ghostface, connected to a giant curtain that serves as an entrance to the woods where the experience takes place.

According to reviews, there are multiple ghostface actors, increasing difficulty for everyone else - but it increases the thrill for you. If you make it to the exit without getting caught, you get your money back and a Ghostface collectible. So as far as you’re concerned, you have no choice but to make it though.

“Quick, shoot it back!"

You gasp as your friend is shoving a tiny liquor bottle into your palm, before reaching into her purse to pass one out to every member of your group. You’re in line now, almost halfway to the start.

Your friend’s insignificant other, Toji, grins wickedly as he takes back three or four of them. You're still nervously holding onto just the one, feeling your mouth water as you imagine the nasty liquor sliding down your throat.

"Ah, look at 'er," Toji clowns, gripping your friend by the waist. "If she's afraid to take a simple shot, she ain't gonna last in there."

"Piss off, Fushiguro," Geto - another member of your group - grits. "Not all of us are hopeless alcoholics like you are."

"And 'm not afraid," you butt in, glaring at Toji. "A bitch can't hesitate?"

“Just drink it, girl,” Toji replies, his tone bored.

You roll your eyes at him before you turn away from the group and quickly take the shot, knowing you're going to need it inside. Because, no thanks to Choso, you’re going to be all alone. Geto is paired with your other friend, Satoru, and your girlfriend has Toji. Geto had offered to ditch Satoru for you, but you like the idea of being by yourself.

So, in short, you'll need a lot of liquid courage to make it through, even though Ghostface is your favorite Halloween character - and you can hardly contain your excitement.

"Alright!" Toji and your friend clap after you turn back around with a grimace.

The line moves forward. Your group is going to start being escorted inside, pair by pair, and you’ll be the last of everyone to enter. You snatch another shot from your friend and take it back, the sinking feeling in your stomach setting in, knowing how close you are to a dream come true.

But what outweighs your fear is your fantasy. Ghostface is hardly scary as he turns you on, like a pervert in heat. You had never built up the courage to ask your exes to wear the mask in bed or anything, but the fact that it had even crossed your mind makes you feel like some kind of freak.

"Step right up, step right up!" A voice booms from the man leading people in through the curtain, pulling you away from your thoughts.

He holds up an imaginary microphone to Toji and your friend.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" he asks with a grin.

Their answers conveniently match, which is cute, but not the answer the man was looking for; his face drops.

Then, the man pulls back the curtain to allow them to step through. Now you are alone with Geto and Satoru.

"You better have your arms ready," Satoru says with a nudge to Geto. "The minute anything pops out at me, I’m jumping on you.”

Geto huffs, "Absolutely not. We're not paying fifty bucks a pop for you to cower the whole time." He pauses to glance at you. "Besides, Y/N is literally going in by herself."

"Yeah, 'cause she'd rather die of fright than partner with you," Satoru teases, and Geto simply rolls his eyes.

You are zoning out of their conversation slowly, your heart thumping rapidly in your ears as time draws nearer for you to go inside.

The same routine happens with Satoru and Geto several minutes later; the bouncer asks them for their favorite scary movie before shoving them inside.

You shift your weight nervously, all alone now, your fingers fiddling with the trim of your skirt.

A few minutes pass by, shrieks coming from the other side, making you giggle at just how squeaky Satoru had gotten. Then, after another eternity, the bouncer turns to you.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" he questions, red eye contacts sliding down your body.

"Uh, I don't know," you reply with an innocent shrug.

"Oh come on, you have to have a favorite,” he grins, his face lighting up because someone finally catches his reference. “What comes to mind?"

"Um, Halloween, you know the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters," you continue, unable to help smiling back at him.

He nods approvingly and pulls back the curtain, flashing lights on the other side greeting you. You swallow nervously as fog rolls over the floor, a red light at the end of a long walkway.

You carefully walk down, your buzz weighing down on you, but unfortunately not enough to get rid of your fear entirely. You look at the edge of every wall, waiting for something to jump out at you, but it never does.

Nothing happens except for cool air blowing in your face as you walk, hugging your arms, gooseflesh rising on the back of your neck. You begin to feel that this isn’t so bad, but right as you think you've made it out safely, you hear a footstep.

You turn in a flash, but there's nothing there. You know you heard it though.

You shake it off and turn back around, only to see him - standing all but a grave's length away from you.

You jump and shriek a bit as he just stands there, menacingly, in all his Ghostface glory.

You gulp thickly, alcohol lingering in your saliva. You try to come up with a fast plan; you couldn’t go down this easily.

You take a step to the side. He mirrors your actions.

You bring your hands up in defense now, feeling your stomach sink at the thought of what he could possibly do next. He cocks his masked head at an angle, slowly holding up his knife...

As he does this, you bolt right past him. He stands there for a second, possibly stunned, before you hear the crunching of him sprinting after you.

He's hot on your heels. You've exited the safe cushion of the hallway and are now in the middle of darkness, only trees and tall labyrinth-like bushes surrounding you. It’s scary, but it’s exactly what you came for. You’re living an absolute dream.

You dare to glance over your shoulder as your chest becomes tight, your oxygen feeling as though it's being choked out of you.

He's not there.

Your body shakes in fear. It's so exhilarating. You smile sadistically to yourself, deciding to give yourself a break from running.

You run around a tall bush and squat down. You glance from side to side and listen for his footsteps. They're nearby, but there’s lots of bushes around. No way will he be able to pick the exact one you’re squatting behind.

You smirk and stay where you are, on your hands and knees. His footsteps get closer, and you hold your breath.

You can see him now through the branches in the bush, his shoulders bucked as he is equally on guard as you are. He stops to look around, listening for you.

You lose your balance and take a step back, crack!

His head whips in your direction, the permanent scream etched into the mask giving your cunt its own pulse.

You let out a deep breath and back up, still crouching, as he starts to come around the bush.

You make a run for it.

Trees seem to taunt you as you zigzag through the darkness, your boots crunching twigs and dead leaves.

You realize too late that you are lost.

You can’t keep running. Your breath is slowly disappearing.

You think you may have a moment of sanctuary, so you find a bush, a tall bush that has no visibility - but that also fortunately means you cannot see if he’s near.

You squat low to the ground and pant as quietly as you can. You’re enjoying yourself, but unfortunately without a partner, you have no way to discuss strategy. You don’t know what to do next.

But that’s when you hear it.

Crunch!

Someone is nearby, but you can’t see how nearby.

You figure you may have time to run again; the issue is that you still can hardly breathe.

But, another part of you writhes in the idea of being caught. You know realistically, though, that they aren’t allowed to touch you, but God do you wish for the opposite.

You swallow down the burn in your throat from running. You need to move.

You turn your back for a split second to look for a new hiding spot - your eyes land on a gap in foliage nearby. You turn back to stand straight, but to your horror a new Ghostface is there, standing tall over you; bare, toned abs covered in blood glistening under the moonlight. You feel your breath hitch and you yelp again.

"Surprise, Sidney," he beams, his voice a little raspy and - dare you say, familiar.

You swallow again before ripping an exaggerate shriek, scrambling to stand up, backing away as you do so, before thump! your spine hits the bark of a tree you swore wasn’t there a second ago. You’re trapped between bushes and trees.

Your chest heaves as you try to back up farther against the tree, but to no avail, and the half-naked Ghostface creeps closer. His hand with the fake knife is raising slowly, which you know is for dramatic effect. But on account that you know he can’t really stab you, you wonder what his plan is once he reaches you.

You whine, shaking your head with a quivering lip, wondering if you can fight, or run. But instead you become distracted as you take another look at him.

God, his stomach is carved into perfect shapes of abdominal muscle. You're so enticed by such art that you don't even notice him putting a hand right behind your head.

Your lips part in surprise once you register the closeness, and your back arches against the tree, as if that would move you farther away from him.

He takes his knife and presses the tip to your chin - using force to point your face towards him, and you make eye contact with the two soulless pits he has for eyes.

"What do you suppose I ought to do with you now, hmm?" he questions lowly, tilting his head to the side.

You swallow thickly, hands scrambling behind you against the bark of the tree. The next group should be arriving soon - right? You wonder how long you will be alone with him. You don't think you'll make it if he keeps you pinned to the tree like this.

"Let me go," you suggest, voice hoarse from fright, and lust.

"Well sheesh, Y/N, that's lame," the voice suddenly raises a few octaves and is much more playful than before. "I mean - goddamnit."

"You-” you cut yourself on in astonishment. “How do you…?”

"I fucking ruined it," he growls. "I'm so stupid."

Suddenly, he's breaking away from you, his knife falling from your face. You watch in actual horror as he uses his free hand to lift up his mask - revealing the angelic face of your best friend. Choso.

"Cho, what the fuck?" you gasp, your fright immediately dissolving into... embarrassment, but masking it in the form of annoyance. "You dick, what are you doing here?"

"I told you that I had to work," he says meekly, "I thought it would be fun to play Ghostface, but I mostly thought you’d enjoy it.”

You feel a little bad after that, he’s entirely too sweet. But you can't help but wonder what he’s implying.

"I... do enjoy seeing you as Ghostface," you admit, but you're embarrassed because you know he saw you ogling the fuck out of his abs. "But... you went through all this trouble for me?"

"Mhmm," Choso nods proudly, his hair falling boyishly over his forehead. "What, you don't like it?"

"No, I-I..." you taper off, unsure of what you want to say next. "It’s just, why are you shirtless? You did that for me too?”

As his face heats, his cheeks turn apple red. “Maybe.”

Oh, he’s terrible. This new knowledge does not help the tingling at the meeting of your thighs.

His embarrassed face changes to a grin after seeing the expression on your face, and he takes a step closer to you again. "So, you forgive me for bailing on you then, yeah?”

“Mm, not quite,” you frown. “You think you can just flash your sexy pecs and toned stomach at me and I’ll forget that you left me here all alone?”

You see each word hit Choso, but you try to look past it, as you’re only speaking to him like this to rile him up. Because now, your nerves are on fire, lust filling up your body. He’s so close, why is he standing so close? You can smell him; a heavenly mix of wood, musk, and corn syrup.

He smelled like your Choso, who’s body fit perfectly against yours when you cuddled, who’s silky hair slid through your fingers when you played with it, who’s laugh is extremely contagious. You try not to make it obvious that you’re inhaling deeply, breathing him in for what felt like the first time.

Damned the alcohol, you think to yourself. Making you look at your friend with such feelings you’ve been swallowing for months. But you just can’t help it…

“You think my pecs are sexy?” Choso asks, but he’s not grinning. He looks genuinely shocked.

You don’t reply and instead smile at his innocence. “And not to mention, did you not even see how scared I was?”

“I did, but,” Choso admits, “I… I’m probably some kind of sick freak, because-“

“Because you liked it?” you finish for him, and his moon-colored face somehow grows whiter.

He nods carefully.

“I feel the same way,” you reply, taking a shaking hand and planting it right over his heart. You feel the pec flex as he responds to your touch. “Why haven’t you dressed up f’me before?”

Choso’s Adam’s Apple bobs harshly in his throat. “I…I thought you’d be weirded out.”

“No,” you said softly, “it’s amazing, Choso. That you enjoy my interests enough to go out of your way like this.”

“Well, of course,” he scoffs, shaking his hair from his eyes. “I would do anything to make you happy.”

“Like what?” you coo, tilting your head to the side, sliding your hand across his chest to grip his thick arm.

“Y/N,” Choso breathes, his eyes fluttering shut. “You h-have to stop touching me like that.”

“Not till you answer my question,” you say.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers, leaning towards you more, as if he wants to put his head on your shoulder. “I am a man of little words. I don’t know what it is that women like.”

“Well, I promise I’m not that complicated,” you reply, sliding your hand up the side of his neck to rest on his jaw. He nuzzles his cheek into your touch.

“No, but you might not want what it is that I really want to do to you,” Choso spits out suddenly, his words coming fast and nervously.

“To me?” you ask, astonished.

He grunts and shifts his weight uncomfortably. “For you. I-I meant for you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you tug your bottom lip with your top teeth - his words traveling straight to your cunt. You couldn’t take much more of this. “How do you know I don’t want it unless you try?”

“Because,” Choso grits suddenly, jerking his head away from your face. “All the guys say you’d never go for someone like me. They say I wouldn’t know what to do with you.” He pauses to sigh. “They may be right but, nonetheless, I wanna see you scream and run like you did a second ago. It just got me so…”

He grunts uncomfortably, and you try to pretend you don’t notice the freakishly long bulge in his costume pants.

“You know everything about me,” you frown, dropping your hand. “You shouldn’t have listened to them.”

“Well, we are just friends,” he replies nervously. “Didn’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

You scoff, “What could you possibly wanna do? You know my limits.”

Choso bites his lip. “But I want to… to push the limits really hard. Especially since,” he pauses and glances around. “We are alone.”

“Push them, then,” you say, and you swear Choso’s eyes are going to pop free from their sockets. “Let’s say I run and hide again. If you can find me…” you pause to smile. “All limits are off.”

You blink up at him innocently, wanting to run your hand over his bulge just as a tease - but you refrain. You had plenty of tricks ready for him.

Choso’s eyes flash and he looks down at the ground for a second. When his head lifts again, desire has overcome his pupils, and he’s smirking.

“Better run then, Sidney. I will not be merciful.”

You take a deep breath before peeling yourself off of the tree and beginning a sprint. Your stomach is knotted with excitement. You have no idea what’s going to happen, but you can’t believe Choso’s down for… whatever it is.

You must have been dreaming. This would change things between you and Choso forever, but maybe that was for the better. Maybe the two of you needed to do this to break the friendzone, even if it was in the form of some kind of sick game of chase in the middle of a forest.

You run and run. You run until you can’t even see the actual attraction anymore; where there had previously been signs to let you know you were still in the bounds of the game, there’s none now.

You may very well be lost but you’re also away from possibly being seen by anyone. Totally not intentional.

You smirk as you find a new spot, and plant yourself there. You should have a few minutes before Choso catches up.

You take your phone out of your pocket. Barely any signal, but enough to see that the group chat is on fire.

Toji

There’s absolutely no reason I should hear Gojo screaming like a bitch from out here 😂

Satoru

ok, im hiding rn, and there’s people everywhere.

besides suguru left me ☹️

Geto

Yes because you were compromising my hiding place with your fuck ass breathing. 👍🏼

Y/F/N

Well, Suguru just made it, so now where are you?

And Y/N?

Satoru

there’s literally nothing but trees ????

but i think i see the lights at the exit

Toji

mentioned you in the chat: You got ma girl here worrying bout you , are u alive???

Satoru

Y/N wya so you can help me out of here 😭🙏🏼

You

im trying to stay off my phone, take notes

Satoru

nah hell nah. i need my phone out in case i need to call 911.

Toji

The cops can’t do shit for u 😭

Y/F/N

mentioned you in the chat: Are you lost?

Choso

Guys did you leave her alone?! Wtf

Nanami

Yeah, you guys are sick.

Satoru

im not hearing shit from the two mfs who decided not to come.

Geto

I offered to go with her -.-

You

i can see the exit guys. im fine you lie.

Satoru

i can see the exit too. i don’t see u. sure ur in the right place?

Geto

I can see your hair, Satoru.

Satoru

FUCK HE FOUND ME

Geto

As could anyone with eyes -.-

Y/F/N

Satoru just came out screaming so loud he woke up a baby. Now they’re crying together 😭

Choso

Guys focus. What did you do to Y/N

You

im fine cho <3

Satoru

AWWWW

Toji

Brotha eughhhh

Y/F/N

Okay, we’re going to play some of the games. Call us when you make it to the exit or if we haven’t heard from you, we’re coming in bitch!

Nanami

Good. At least you all have a plan.

Your phone continues to buzz, but you don’t reply. You sigh, silently thanking Choso for playing along with you in the chat.

“Seems like your friends are looking for you,” a voice suddenly breathes, muffled from the mask.

Your breath hitches as you lock your phone and it falls to the forest floor.

“You found me so fast,” you say with a gulp, turning to face him.

“Didn’t wanna waste precious time,” he says with a chuckle. “Now, what’s that you said? All limits are off? I can do whatever I want?”

You smirk as you turn to face him. “Does widdle Cho even know what he wants?” you mock.

You can’t see his face under the mask, but his body responds to you: his shoulders tense and his head leans forward.

“You,” he says quietly. “On my cock.”

You bite your lip, “Oh? How?”

He grunts and steps forward, before taking your throat between his fingers. His squeeze is soft, not enough to take your breath but enough to force your head still.

“Need your pretty lips on it,” he replies. “Wanna smear your lipstick. Always love when you get dolled up, but too bad y’gonna look a mess when I’m finished.”

You whine a bit in response and hold his wrist, looking directly at the eyes of the mask. “Where’s this side been hiding?”

“Told you already,” he grunts, “didn’t wanna scare you off with the twisted things I think about doing to you.”

You groan at the way his words are flooding straight to your panties. You thank your past self for wearing a skirt, it’s going to be so ridiculously easy to slide out of it.

“You think some head is twisted?” you grin. “Maybe they were right when they said you couldn’t handle me.”

This earns you a deep growl as he uses his grip on your throat to force you to slide down, until your knees hit the hard earth. You hiss in pain but ultimately don’t care, as he releases your throat and uses his knife to tip your face up towards him.

At this angle, he’s delicious. Solid stomach stares at you from just inches away and the mask on his shoulders makes your thighs quench with desire.

“I mean face fucking you until you’re gasping for air,” he grits, “‘Choso, no’ you’d say, but I can’t understand you with a mouth full of dick, hmm?”

You blink up at him, too stunned to reply. Your lips part in expectancy, and your hands shoot out to lay flat against the top of Choso’s thighs.

He’s doing such a fantastic job of catering to your disgusting fantasy that you can’t help but slither your hands up to the top of his waistband before he can say another word. You want to please him so bad, wanna be good for your Choso.

He stands and watches, still as air. His chest rises and falls as he breathes, the mask still staring down at you, but it makes things hotter knowing that on the other side of the mask is Choso’s stare.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of the black pants.

Choso lets out a small noise. “I-I’m supposed to be the one in control, not fair.”

You grin but do not halt your movements. Your fingers begin tugging, tugging, tugging down the pants - along with his boxers.

You watch as his length slowly gets revealed until it inevitably pops out - slapping against his stomach before hanging erect in alignment with your face.

You take in a deep breath, and Choso appears to be holding his own. You examine his cock, just to make him nervous. He’s got a very thin amount of hair that leads from the trail on his stomach, the length itself being veiny and darker than him; skinny at the base, but fat and terrifying at the pink tip.

“I knew it’d would be this pretty,” you hum, “pretty cock on a pretty boy.”

Choso’s hips shift as he knocks himself forward so that the tip grazes your chin, leaving a faint residue of his sticky precum. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

“Th-Thank you,” he whimpers, “need your throat.”

He leans down to take one of your pigtails into each hand. He is not gentle now, his grip being harsh enough to make you yelp; when you do, he stuffs his dick right between your red lips.

Your eyes flutter closed immediately at the feeling of a full mouth. You carefully wrap your lips around him as he slowly shoves his hips forward until he’s barely halfway in, and his tip kisses the back of your throat.

You stick your tongue out so that it can glide against the sensitive underside of his cock. He notices and his head tilts back.

“S-So warm,” he moans out, sitting stagnant for a minute, before looking down at you.

You hum a bit, knowing the vibrations feel good against his tip, and he thanks you by sliding his cock back out of your mouth and ramming it back in.

You gag and your mouth gets watery, drool leaking out of the corners and covering every inch of him that you are able to take. His thrusts start getting faster, smearing your lipstick all along the length of him, his grip on your hair never loosening.

His little moans are so delicious; soft whines as he uses your face for his pleasure.

“Doin’ s-so much better than I imagined,” he mutters out, and though you love looking up and seeing the mask, you desperately want to see his innocent face twisted up as he experiences this ungodly amount of pleasure.

“Mmh-” you moan around him.

You’re still in awe that this is happening. You’d had plenty of opportunities to do things like this with him, but you’d never been sure he would go for it. You guess you can’t blame him for feeling the same way, because how were either one of you going to ask for a face fuck?

All that doesn’t matter anymore because everything in this moment is perfect, including him. Your Choso.

You take your hand and wrap it around the base at the part that doesn’t fit in your mouth. You take him out of your mouth to plop a pool of spit there and slide your hand up and down for a minute, giving your jaw a break.

“Take off the mask for a second,” you say to him, now that you can speak.

He obeys immediately. The mask is gone, hanging from the hand that doesn’t have a fist full of your hair.

Your lips part at seeing his perfect face, fucked out, twisted in astonishment.

“Back in,” he demands softly, tugging your pigtail.

You blink as you obey and slide your mouth back over his length. You keep your face angled upwards to look at him, and he’s staring down at you like you’re both the most amazing thing he’s ever seen and the best thing he’s ever felt.

You lather up your saliva as you continue trying to go down as far as you can, taking his cock down your throat, which unlocks a new noise from Choso that gets your cunt pounding harder.

You twist your hand over the base and hollow your mouth out to squeeze your cheeks around his sensitive skin. By now your face is covered in drool, spit bubbles all around his tip, saliva dripping onto the earth below you.

Choso loses it and leans forward, releasing your hair and dropping his mask, placing his hands on the trunk of the tree. Now his hips are thrusting, hard - the bottom of his stomach kissing the tip of your nose as he fucks your face.

“Hah - oh,” he whines as he uses your mouth. “Th-Think ‘mgonna cum already.” He sounds sad, and you smile on his dick.

You don’t say anything back but you grumble deep in your throat again, knowing it’s going to drive him insane.

But he quickly pulls his cock back out of your mouth with a deep breath as if his head had been underwater.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not till I get to make you feel good, too.”

“I did feel good,” you say hoarsely, wiping saliva and lipstick from your face. “Liked pleasing you.”

Choso groans and shakes his head, his chest heaving rapidly. “Stand up for me,” he says gently.

You miss rough Choso already.

You obey though, standing back tall, almost eye level to him in your thick boots.

He doesn’t waste any time; in a flash he’s latched himself onto you, hands pressing into your thighs and he slides them up slowly towards your hips. He tilts his head to the side as you find your back hitting the tree - again, this time, circumstances much different.

“Can’t believe my pretty best friend wants me to fuck her,” he speaks, voice sultry with lust. “Sounds too good to be true.” He leans forward again and lets his nose brush yours, and you shiver with a deep sigh.

“I want you so much,” you say pathetically, bringing your arms over his shoulders and digging your fingertips into the hair behind his head.

His brows furrow in pleasure and you keep speaking.

“In different ways,” you say, “not just to fuck me. But right now… that’s all I want. Please, I need it. Need you.”

“Such a good girl when you beg,” Choso’s voice is soft, but firm, ��you never have to beg with me, but I love hearing it. Keep going.”

“Please.”

“Yes?”

“Please, Choso.”

“Choso what?”

“Mmh - god, I hate you.”

“Love you most.”

You go to fire back, but he shuts you up with a harsh crash of his mouth against yours. His warm, wet lips mold right into yours, sliding effortlessly together. Your hands shoot out to his shoulders and he keeps his hands on your hips, gripping them like you’re going to disappear if he doesn’t maintain his hold on you.

Your name leaves his lips in soft little pants as he tilts his head to the side, forcing your lips apart with his tongue before he slides the wet muscle inside so deep that you can feel it on the back of your throat.

You suck on his tongue and he grunts thanks into your mouth. Your hands are running wildly over each other, as if you could crawl inside one another’s skin, two souls joining as one.

He breaks away and gasps, and you grab him by his hair and force his head to an angle. He allows you to then leave sloppy, red kisses all over his neck. His eyes flutter closed as you pleasure him, knowing your innocent baby must feel so good.

You pull back and blink at the mess on his neck.

“Cho, it left stains, I…”

“Don’t care,” he hisses, “brand me all you want. Want everyone to know, that in some way, you own me.”

His big hands whip you around suddenly, like you’re nothing but a ragdoll; now your cheek is planted against the tree and your hands are digging into the bark for stability.

Choso rips up your skirt, and presses his bare, wet cock right to your backside.

“Always fuck my pillow while I moan for you, y’know,” he grunts, reaching his arm around the front of your waist, tugging the thin material that are your panties to the side. “Then you come over and lay your pretty head all in my cum, leaving your scent, and I do it again. Can’t get enough, just love you so much.”

You gasp as he talks, the quake of desire making your legs tremble as Choso’s fingers start circling your clit. Your best friend - so sweet and cute - knew exactly where to find it. You cry out.

You want to pretend you’re disgusted at him making you sleep on his cum, but you really don’t care. You find the thought exhilarating, wondering how many times he’d done that, while smiling innocently next to you.

“Y-You’re so - mmh,” a moan cuts you off as he applies more pressure to your clit. “You fuck yourself to me? My good boy.”

Choso whines before he begins panting against the back of your neck, pathetically rubbing himself against your fishnets, leaving slimy trails of his precum and your saliva all over your ass. He’s keeping the same rhythm with his hips as his fingers on your bundle of nerves, and just when you think nothing can feel any better, he starts to push his dick between your thighs.

You feel his cock slide over your clothed pussy over and over, meeting his fingers at your clit as he swirls them expertly.

Your eyes roll back as you try desperately to reach your high, but you need him to stop teasing you. And fast.

“Choso, please,” you cry, pushing your hips back against him, the sound of your skin meeting his pelvis cracking like the twigs under your feet.

“What is it, my love?” he coos hotly in your ear. “What do you want? Anything, you got it.”

“Ngh - you, goddamnit,” you growl now, frustration overcoming your softness for your best friend. “Who taught you to tease like this?”

Choso chuckles in your ear, “My dear, you did.”

You gasp as he pulls his hands and his cock away from you suddenly. “H-How did I-”

“Mmh, did you think I wasn’t listening to you whenever you’d come over and tell me about your hookups?” he questions softly, taking a step back and you realize he’s going to collect his mask. “It hurt, believe me, but I’ve been taking notes. Wanted to ensure I could make you happier than those other losers.”

You realize this means Choso’s been thinking of fucking you for way longer than you can comprehend. You can hardly blame him; though it came later, you’d had the same awful thoughts of him, but you were able to control it. You’d talked yourself out of it, that is, until tonight - with the liquor in your system.

“You make me happier without fucking me, y’know,” you grin, as his presence returns behind you.

“Oh,” his voice drops, “s-so you don’t wanna do this anymore?”

You gasp and shake your head. Now isn’t the time to be second guessing things, you were deep in heat and Choso would be traumatized if you had to stand here any longer, your cunt dripping uncontrollably down your thighs.

“I want to, mmh,” you hiss, “‘m just saying, you make me happy in general. But… I wouldn’t know if you can fuck me as good as the others, would I?”

Choso growls at this. His fingertips find the edge of your panties and he pulls them over once again - your body jerks at the reunion of his hands on your skin.

“Not as good,” he corrects, “better.”

His dick finds your folds again, thigh fucking you for several moments to lubricate himself in your warm juices. You end up standing on your toes at the shiver that ensues from this, your back arching against him.

He takes a deep breath, and finally, pressure hits your hole as his pretty tip pushes through the threshold.

The first thing either of you says is a dramatic “fuck,” as Choso pauses with just the tip in.

“Why y’stopping?” you panic.

“Hah - the guys said if it’s really tight, you’re not ready f’me,” Choso says sadly.

He almost goes to move his hips back out when you shove yours against him, sliding yourself down several inches of cock.

“Just gotta give me a sec to adjust, Cho,” you say, growing angrier at a second mention of the cockblockers. “Y’so big.”

“Not big, you’re just tight like this,” he groans. “M-Might not last long.”

“‘s okay,” you say, biting your lip, knowing you’ve been brewing a devilish plan in your head the entire time - so if he cums fast, that has nothing to do with you. “Fill me up, please.”

Choso wastes no time bowing to your request. He takes his arms and wraps them around your body, planting his hands on your stomach, where he hikes up your shirt and your breasts fly out of their restraint - your bra.

“Mmh, mmh,” Choso’s mumbling behind you as he thrusts his entire length up into your cervix, dragging himself back out as slowly as he wants, before shoving his cock back in hastily.

His fingers are gently twisting your nipples now, this combined with the cold breeze from the woods has goosebumps rising all over you.

You whine a pathetic “Choso. My Choso,” as his pace quickens; his sheer amount of girth perfectly passing over the sensitive ridges in your canal. At the angle, his dick is curving up into your g-spot, making your cunt wetter; inflaming the urge to squirt all over him.

Choso is grunting like it’s his first time feeling a real pussy. He digs his fingers into the soft skin of your breasts for leverage and continues drilling his hip bones into your ass.

You decide to look back at him. The mask is on his face, which makes your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. One of his hands leaves your breast and finds your pigtail - yanking your head so that you’re forced to keep looking at him. You thank him by meeting the wrecking force of his hips with your own.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, his head falling back. “Fuck this cock, s’all yours. Doing so good-“ he cuts himself off with a whine. “Been in love with you for years, but now I know you got this good ass-” a grunt cuts him off, “ngh - fuck, and we’re just friends? I’m supposed to share this with other people?”

You laugh at him before your smugness is cut off with a moan. “N-Not anymore,” you answer, “I’m yours now, Choso.”

“All mine?” he echoes, driving an extra deep thrust into you for emphasis.

“Yours,” you repeat, “how do you feel about that?”

Choso growls and leans his torso forward, the delicate curve in your back sliding perfectly against his stomach and chest. “Like this.”

Fwip! Fwip! Fwip!

His pace grows quicker, harder. You can’t believe you’re still standing with the amount of pleasure he’s inflicting on your poor insides. Each time his tip hits the opening to your uterus, you sulk out a pathetic cry, but he’s not showing mercy. Your sweet best friend could care less how bad it hurts - and you love it.

“Need you to be meaner,” you groan, “more often. Fuck. Needed this so bad.”

“Yeah? Y’like that?” Choso buzzes, pulling your head towards him even harder. “Like me tearing up your guts?”

“S’much,” you are barely able to moan, let alone speak as white spots appear in your vision. “Wanna c-cum.”

“Mmh - not yet,” Choso purrs, hand falling from your hair, then leaning his head over your shoulder so that you can see a glimpse of the creepy Ghostface mask out of the corner of your eye. “Already gonna cum? Thought you were stronger than this.”

“Ngh - usually,” you whine pathetically, “but you - you feel so good.”

“I know,” Choso grins, slamming himself into you several times in a row before slowing his strokes to an agonizing pace.

You’re still convinced this is a dream you have yet to wake from. To think, he was afraid to even make the first move. Now you’re bent over, middle of the darkness, crying out his name as he fucks your brain against your skull. You can’t think, can’t feel anything besides your needy hole being filled and then some.

“O-Oh,” Choso grunts, “‘kay, maybe you can cum, ‘cause I don’t think ‘mma make it.”

“Oh, really?” you taunt, giggling, now using force from the tree to throw your whole body back against his.

“Y-Y/N, no,” he complains, his hands flying to your hips as if they’re reigns he needs to hang onto.

You ignore him, using all the strength in your legs to fuck back onto him, your pace fast - till you feel the twitch in his cock and his moans become louder than yours.

“No!” Choso shouts fakely, before trying to pull himself out of you, but you follow him with your hips and he lets his spurts of cum splash uncontrolled all over your walls.

You grin greedily because you’re not finished with him. You reach next to you and rip off his mask, wanting to see your plan unfold in his facial features.

Your hips don’t stop, even as Choso’s cock twitches and shakes inside of you, and his hands are leaving bloody nail-shaped crescents on your hips by now from the amount of pressure he’s putting on them.

“Hah - hah - ngh, mmm, n-noooo,” he whines, his head falling limp on your shoulder as you continue to swirl your hips on his cum-covered dick, using him to get your orgasm.

“Such a good boy, Cho,” you purr in his ear, “letting me use your cock however I want? Dressing up to get my attention? Fucking me exactly how I asked? S-So good.”

“Th-then why are you punishing me,” he stutters, his teeth sinking into your bare shoulder as overstimulation floods him.

“‘M not, Cho baby,” you say softly, “I need to cum too. Not fair only you get to finish, is it?”

“I-I was gonna help you,” he says, his voice muffled from his face buried in your shoulder.

He drives his point home by reaching up to your clit, using his fingers to rotate little devilish circles over the spot. You feel your stomach light itself on fire.

“Agh - can’t take it,” Choso groans. “‘m gonna cum again.”

You can barely hear him, because you’re so cockdrunk that your senses are gone. All that exists in your mind’s eye is Choso’s hand and his cock, both pleasuring you in different ways.

“‘M cumming!” you chant together, full body compulsions overcoming you both as you clench around him - milking every last drop of his second orgasm out as your own ripples through your veins.

You hear squelching as Choso gasps, and you’re vaguely aware of your pussy gushing, but you can’t find it in you to care as you’re still trying to stop grunting and shaking.

“Oh god,” you manage to rasp, your limp body falling towards the tree as Choso lets go of you.

He collapses against the tree next to you and slowly lifts up his pants as his chest heaves; the world silent around you, save for both of your breathing.

Moments pass and nothing is said, just a silent agreement in the air that the two of you need to gently float off back to the ground.

But then, Choso’s curious voice pierces the bubble.

“I-Is it bad that I…” Choso gestures to you. “Finished in you like that? N-never done that before, but it felt so nice.”

“No,” you answer, your voice ringing in your ears. “Nothing bad will happen, I take a pill to prevent that. Don’t worry. You can do that as much as you want and whenever you want.”

Choso nods, “Can’t even think about doing it again right now.”

He’s so fucked. You are too, feeling like you can’t get your brain to speak to your bones. You can’t move. All you can do is blink away your high and catch your breath, stars still dancing along your vision.

But after a while, you’re able to pry yourself off of the tree, and the two of you clean each other up as best as you can - Choso wipes his bloody hand print off of your throat, but when you try to get your lipstick off of his neck, he fights you.

“No,” he says sharply, “leave it.”

You feel your face heat. “Choso, everyone’s gonna know.”

“That we made out and you kissed my neck,” he grins, leaning forward to plant a kiss on your nose.

And just like that, your best friend, the person you love more than anything else has you wrapped around his finger and ready to obey his commands. His softness has returned for good.

The two of you find yourselves walking hand in hand through the woods, ecstasy surrounding you in your own little bubble.

You pull out your phone and alert your friends that you’re approaching; and when you two reach the gate, the whole group is standing there - Satoru munching on orange and black popcorn, Toji holding a stuffed panda with blood stains, Geto examining his nails, and Y/F/N slurping a giant purple drink.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Toji bursts out, almost immediately after seeing you two approach.

“I know you’re fucking lying,” Y/F/N adds, almost dropping her drink.

“You motherfuckers were in there FUCKING?” Satoru shouts, popcorn flying from his fingers in disbelief.

Choso turns beet red. “N-No, what?”

“Yep,” you nod, contradicting him. “Nasty, rough, raw sex.”

“RAW IS CRAZY!”

“Oh my GOD-”

“Hot.”

Everyone turns to look at Geto in disbelief.

“What? You mean to tell me you guys didn’t consider fucking in the woods?” he questions Toji.

“Well, I asked,” Toji says, scratching the back of his neck. “She said we’d get caught.”

Your friend kicks him in the leg.

“They didn’t,” Satoru points out. “You freaks. Choso, we didn’t even know you were here.”

“Right,” Choso nods. “That was the point.”

Satoru bursts into laughter which prompts the rest of the group to giggle.

“Also, we were wrong,” Toji admits suddenly. “We always tell him he can’t do shit with Y/N… but he managed to tame the beast. Well done, soldier.”

Choso rolls his eyes. “I-It’s not… I didn’t… she-”

“Well, anyways, I’m feeling rather… sobered now,” you cut him off, adjusting your shirt, unaware everyone can see the red marks Choso left on your sides, as well as the giant hole in your fishnets. “Say we grab some drinks?”

“Sounds nice,” Choso confirms.

“Oh I’m sure it does,” Toji snickers. “Gonna get her drunk again for round two?”

“Toji!”

“Ewww!”

“Nobody wanted to hear that!”

You giggle quietly next to Choso before you look up at him, only to see he’s already smiling down at you, disheveled hair and all.

“I love you, Sidney,” he coos.

“I love you more, Cho.”

[connorsui]

UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

[gguk-n]

Your brother's Oscar Piastri? (Oscar Piastri x Reader)

I've had this idea in my head since I found out Oscar's sister is a K-Pop stan.

{Reader's POV}

Getting tickets to a K-Pop concert got exponentially more difficult as their popularity rose. It took so many attempts and almost losing the hair on my head before I got tickets to the TXT concert in town. I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as the confirmation email rolled in.

On the day of the concert, I might have gone all out and dressed up but everyone dresses up for the concert and it was the most exciting day I've had in a while. I love that I get to spend my adult money on stuff I enjoy. At the venue, I got to meet some people I had connected with online and made some new friends.

There was a girl next to me in the seating, who I ended up vibing with. We had a lot of fun as we sang along to all their songs; our voice went hoarse by the end of the night. As we walked out while talking about the concert, "Ugh, my mum won't answer my calls" the girl next to me, who I was introduced to as Hattie groaned. "Is there an issue?" I asked. "My mum's supposed to be my ride back and she won't answer my calls" she whined. "I could drop you" I suggested. "Oh, no. That would be too much to ask for" the girl shook her head to avoid causing any inconvenience . "It'll be fine. We're part of the same fandom so it makes us family" I laughed. She seemed to mull over my suggestion before nodding her head, "OK, but I'll pay for the petrol" she suggested. "Done. Let's go" I said pointing to my car.

The drive to her house was entertaining as we got to know each other better and sang along to the songs. We become concert buddies after that. I didn't really have many friends I could drag along to concerts anymore; having a friend made things much more exciting. She was a joy to have around and we shared the same bias for most groups we liked so it made stuff even more chaotic then they already were.

This went on for a couple more concerts until the latest one where I took the bus to the venue since my car broke down and a non-functioning vehicle was not about to stop me from seeing Enhypen. I met Hattie at the entrance who had been waiting for me. We hugged and grabbed some stuff from the stands outside and walked into the venue. The show was great, the fan service at K-Pop concerts was unmatched.

Hattie knew that my car had broken down and offered to drive me home as a pay back for the favour I had done at the start of our friendship. We were waiting outside for who I assumed was Hattie's mum but instead I was greeted by a tall pale Australian man, I knew more as Oscar Piastri, Formula One driver for McLaren. My jaw almost hit the floor before I caught myself and greeted the man before entering the car. "Hi, I'm Y/N." I said while climbing into the back seat while Hattie sat shot gun. "Hey, I'm Oscar" he said giving me a smile before he started the car.

Hattie kept looking back at me every time I sent a message. As soon as she read the last message, "Oscar, Y/N loves you" she laughed. Man, I hate the friends I have sometimes, I thought. Before my mind could react my body did, "No" I shouted. Oscar turned around to look at me, "no?" he asked. "I mean yes" I stammered. "yes?" he quizzed. "I mean, I love Formula One and since you're a Formula One driver that's why I asked her to ask if could get your autograph" I rambled. If the earth swallowed me whole, I don't think I would mind right now. I could hear Hattie snickering in the background.

The rest of the car ride had me sweating. Oscar dropped me off in front of my building; I bolted out of the door. "Don't you want that autograph?" Oscar shouted. I stopped dead in my tracks with slumped shoulders; if I'm going to embarrass myself, let's leave no stone unturned at this point. "Yeah, sure. I have some merch in my house you could sign" I mumbled walking back to the car. "Maybe you would like to join me for some tea" I offered. Hattie nodded along from inside the car and the three of us headed up. My house, I must've forgotten was not clean enough to be seen by anyone but me; I had to literally stop them, throw everything in the nearest closet and then open the door. I ran a kettle for hot water and asked them to sit on the sofa while I grabbed the Oscar Piastri hat and shirt I had bought recently. He graciously signed it for me and I handed them the cup of tea. "Your house is lovely" Hattie commented while looking around, "I don't see any of the albums or merch" she continued. "they're in my room" I said. "Must be fun explaining to the guys who come over" she spoke more to herself. "It's hilarious watching their reaction" Hattie added at Oscar's quizzical expression. "If you guys are done, would it be harsh to ask you to leave, I have an early shift tomorrow" I asked nervously. "No, thank you for the tea. We'll be leaving" Oscar said while lifting Hattie up. "I'm not leaving yet. I haven't seen your room" Hattie whined trying to get free from Oscar. "You know where she lives, come over at a more acceptable time." Oscar told her and dragged his sister away, "Good night Y/N" he called out as I closed the door.

Thank god she didn't see my room, I don't know how I would explain the Oscar Piastri poster I had above my bed and in my closet. My life got interesting to say the least.

Hattie and I weren't able to meet after since there weren't any concerts for a while but there was a Formula One race in a week. Hattie called me asking if I would like to join her family. I was more than grateful to be going because I got to see the race for free. God knows my saving's are crying.

I got dressed for the race and met them at the venue. It was the race day and the hustle and bustle at the paddock had adrenaline pumping through me. Hattie greeted me and introduced me to her family, 2 sisters and her parents who were very kind and welcoming. "It's nice to finally meet the girl who's accompanying our daughter to concerts and the subject of my child's interest" Nicole chimed extending her arm out. "It's so nice to meet you too Mrs Piastri" I said while shaking her hand. "You make me sound old, call me Nicole" she said. "What did she mean by the subject of my child's interest?" I whispered to Hattie. "Nothing" Hattie answered quickly. We walked in to McLaren to be greeted by Oscar and Lando. Starstruck was an understatement. After exchanging pleasantries and me asking for Lando's autograph and a picture with him and then tripping over the wire on the floor almost discharging vital piece of equipment found my way back to everyone and decided to sit in place. Oscar did ask if I was okay but I couldn't really focus on that since I keep embarrassing myself in front of him, of all the people.

The race ended with a pretty decent finish for Oscar that had all of us cheering. He came back to meet everyone after all the formalities and celebration. After a while we started to pack up to leave; "you should help Oscar pack up" Hattie said while making a quick exit with the family. "What? Why?" I asked but was ignored while everyone left. "Hi" a small voice came. "Hey, Oscar. Great race" I said trying to making things less awkward. "Thanks for coming" Oscar said. "Hattie said you guys had extra tickets and plus I couldn't say no to a race" I rambled. "Umm" he scratched the back of his neck, "there were no extra tickets, Lando lent me one of his so I could invite you" he said. "What? I'm so sorry for the trouble" I apologised. "What? No I mean, I wanted you to come...so I asked Lando for the extra ticket" Oscar corrected me. "You wanted me to come" I repeated. "This is so stupid" he muttered to himself. "Let's go, or we'll be late for dinner" Oscar said packing his stuff. "What dinner?" I asked. I was so lost, what was going on? "We're going out for a family dinner" Oscar stated. "You're going on a family dinner, I'm going home. I'm sure they must be waiting for you in the garage." I said grabbing my stuff. "They're not" Oscar lamented running a hand through his hair.

"I could drop you there if you would like" I offered. "No, I...ugh" Oscar sounded frustrated. "Is something wrong? Maybe I can get help" I suggested. Oscar looked at me with the softest puppy eyes, "I got tickets for you, specifically even though I didn't have one, I was ready to not have one of my sisters attend so that you could have a ticket" he said now staring at me. "I don't" I began. "Fuck, Y/N IthinkIlikeyou" he mumbled. "Oscar, I don't know what you said" I said. Lando peeped in, "This is getting frustrating, I thought it would be fun to watch but it's not. That muppet means he likes you, go out with him." Lando chimed. "You like me?" I asked shocked. Oscar just nodded his head slowly. "Put the kid out of his misery and go out with him. I don't think I can take pining Oscar any more or watch him stalk your Instagram profile" Lando quipped. "Can you shut up Lando?" Oscar glared. "I would love to go out with you Oscar" I cut them off; "really?" Oscar asked. "Yeah, I mean you are my favourite driver on the grid" I stated. "Really" Oscar shouted making me and Lando jump. "Let's go now" Oscar said while holding my hand and dragging me out.

[crispy-bonnie]

MK1 guys attending the fair with their S/O

(Tomas Vrbada, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Johnny Cage, Kung Lao, Raiden, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Liu Kang)

i just need to write these down because oh my god they've been stuck in my head for too long

this also ignores canon a bit (cough cough lin kuei cough cough) because i'm delusional and refuse to believe anything that bi-han did was canon /lh [lighthearted]

also not proofread and just a bit ooc , just made this outta impulse

• • • 🍟

Tomas likes to go on the rides, specifically the more intense ones. He just finds the thrill of being tossed and turned around fun. He will do his best to comfort you if you don't do well on those kinds of rides and will even bring motion sickness meds just for you. Also please hold him whenever you're scared on those rides because it makes him feel so happy to know that you're willing to cling to him shdbsb

Tomas also enjoys the fair games a lot, the both of you trying and failing miserably to win the games and simply laughing about it. There was only one time he ever won a game, and it was only because he used a bit of his magic to toss the ring around one of the poles. Even so, it was a win in his book.

• • • 🍟

Bi-Han doesn't really care for the fair. He's only there because both you and his brothers dragged him along. However, he seems to lighten up just a tad when he sees you gushing over how adorable one of the prize plushies is. He wastes no time in buying play tickets and making his attempt to win it just to impress you.

He eats shit every attempt that he tries. Eventually runs out of tickets and gets mad so he just uses his cryomancy out of pure rage. The poor guy at the stall is scared shitless and just claims that he won before handing him the huge ass plush out of fear. Bi-Han immediately hands it to you and just smiles tiredly at your giddy behavior as the two of you walk away hauling the big ass stuffy.

• • • 🍟

Kuai Liang has you on a leash because you get lost easily. Either that or he's just worried about losing you in the crowds. The leash is most likely latched to some kind of bag or belt that you might be wearing. Whether or not it's you or him taking the lead, he always makes sure he's got a firm hold on the leash.

If you get distracted or overwhelmed, Kuai Liang will tug lightly at the leash to bring you closer whilst muttering 'C'mere' under his breath. He'll hold your hand to keep you from straying and as a means of comfort. If you're too overstimulated, he'll cradle you to his chest and shield your face from the noise, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances for you to focus on.

• • • 🍟

Syzoth has had very little experience with fairs. Closest thing he's gotten to one is the Sun Do festival, and he's only experienced it once. You'll have to guide him through a lot of the stuff. He doesn't really like the rides (aside from the chill ones) but will do his best not to projectile vomit acid anywhere if you do.

You two are strolling down the place while munching on some fair food when you spot a cute looking prize at one of the game booths. You decide to use some tickets to try and win one, but you don't seem to nail it. Syzoth offers to give it a shot, scarfing down the rest of the turkey leg in his hand (that both of you were supposed to share together) before trying it out. He wins, like- perfectly, managing to win you the prize in one shot while leaving some fairgoers and the vendor stunned.

• • • 🍟

Kung Lao is absolutely destroying all the food at the fucking stalls. It's a wonder how this mf isn't built like a 1x1 lego piece from the sheer amount he powers through. He likes to share portions with you so that you can have a nice taste of whatever high-calorie junk is being served.

Oh my god and don't get me started on the stranger sides of the fair food. Kung Lao would happily order the weirdest shit only to regret it two seconds later. Except for once. There was one time where he tried pickle drink, which is just pickles in Dr Pepper. To your misfortune, he liked it, and now it's something he whips up at home every now and then. I hope you like pickles.

• • • 🍟

Raiden prefers to just have a chill day with you, doesn't want to do anything intense. He just walks around with you, looking at the shops and such while eating some fair food or something. He doesn't go on any of the dizzying type of rides, and will simply watch from the ground if you decide to do so.

Even without all the thrilling shit, Raiden does his best to make it enjoyable, mostly through romantic actions. Like- my dude will get matching stuff for you, stuffed animals or treats with the cheesiest lines ever—it's like you two are on a first date with how he tries to treat you. You find it adorable, especially when he gets flustered after you return the favor.

• • • 🍟

Johnny Cage thinks he's an absolute legend at the fair games. He's really not, but he will always boast about it anyway. He'll most likely drag you towards where most of the games are and use his fuckload of tickets to play. If you point out a prize, he will absolutely fight tooth and nail to win the prize.

He never does and eventually the vendor gets so tired of his attempts that the guy just hands him the prize. Johnny will probably go on about how he totally won that while you simply chuckle and roll your eyes as the two of you move on. He also will be taking an excessive amount of photos during the fair—but that's pretty par for the course on anything with him.

• • • 🍟

Similarly to Raiden, Kenshi isn't very fond of the intense rides, especially the ones that spin a lot. He just likes to stroll around and chill with you. He also doesn't really favor the games all too much, and if he does play, he's probably using Sento to help out.

Kenshi likes to hang around the animal-petting zoos, seeing as it's one of the few things he really can enjoy with his blindness. The two of you like to play this game where you hold an animal out to him or guide his hand towards one, and he has to guess what animal he's touching. The animals also seem to be very fond of him. Especially the fluffier ones.

• • • 🍟

Liu Kang is kind of a mix of Raiden and Syzoth. He doesn't really care as much for the fair than he does your happiness and enjoyment. He'll happily go along with you around the fair or on rides, except for the dizzying ones. He'll gladly try some fair food, play some games, all to see you smile.

While Liu Kang often chooses not to play any of the games, he's actually jacked at this shit. Point out a prize and he'll fuckin slam dunk that game like it's nobody's business before handing you the thing you were eyeing. He doesn't pay mind to the shocked stares around him, content with watching that grin of yours shine as you giggly thank him. He also likes to go on the ferris wheel—he finds it relaxing and it gives him time to just be able to sit in peace with you whilst the fair goes on from below.

• • • 🍟

[nakylvr]

can i req gp!daniela x f!reader smut with semi-public sex when danon were at that festival or whatever bc the photo dani posted on her ig (the one on the swing) is making me feel too many things

this was lowkey one of my favs to write...thank you for requesting anon! 🫶

— CARNIVAL 🛡️

warnings/tags: language, nsfw content, f!reader, g!p!daniela, dom!daniela, sub!reader, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, mami kink, cumming inside

minors dni

you always enjoyed a good festival. so when you managed to score two-day tickets for you, daniela, and manon, you were ecstatic. you were one to bring a tent seeing as it went throughout the whole weekend and you had other friends who were there also, so you wanted a mutual meeting space for everyone.

for the second night, dani told you in advance that she would be there later with manon, having to stay at the house for their 1 year reunion (that was not live, as dani thoroughly explained, irritated that she would be late). so you were currently sitting outside the tent on one of the lawn chairs your friend had brought, a bit away from the crowd that was only growing as the night progressed.

"hey, yn!"

you look up hearing manon's voice, and a smile instantly forms on your face seeing her and dani walking up to you. standing up on your feet, you flatten your skirt and hold your arms out wide. manon quickly hugs you first before taking a step back and glancing around at the environment. "there's a lot more people tonight."

"well with carti headlining tonight it only makes sense," you respond as daniela silently wraps her arms around you. "hi, baby," your smile grows bigger as she rests her chin on your shoulder.

"you look really good," dani murmurs into your ear.

"thank you!" you beam as she pulls away, pecking her lips quickly. "i had a feeling you would like it."

"mm, well i do," she nods, her arms snaking around your waist. "a lot, in fact."

"i'm sure," you smile innocently at her, clearly seeing the way she was practically undressing you with her eyes. "but for now, let's go have some fun!"

after an hour or two of going on little rides and the giant swing the festival had, eating overpriced food, and hanging out, the night was nearing the time of the headliner to start. standing near the back of the crowd as the current performer finishes, daniela wraps her arms around you from behind, pulling you close against her.

"y'know we have at least fifteen minutes until the set starts," she mumbles into your ear, her fingers grazing your skin under the crop top you were wearing.

she starts leaving light kisses down your neck, and you know what she's trying to do. "you just can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?" you tilt your head to the side a bit, your hands on top of hers but not making any attempt to move her.

"not when you look this good," dani speaks quietly, her voice low so that only you can hear. "how can i when you're practically asking me to fuck you in this slutty outfit?"

"dani-"

"come with me," daniela cuts you off before you can get another word out, grabbing your hand as she starts walking away from the crowd.

"dani, where are we going?" you ask, but aren't really annoyed at her actions despite trying to be. you're not surprised, really. whenever you wore something she liked a little too much, she ended up doing this. dragging you off somewhere for a quickie before going back or going home depending on her mood. "dani," you say more sternly when she doesn't respond.

she doesn't answer you, stopping in front of the tent and unzipping it open. she gently pulls you inside before zipping it back up and closed again. turning around to face you, dani grabs you by your waist and kisses you roughly, her lips moving faster than you could keep up with.

"dani– this is way too public," you get out through kisses, your hands on her shoulders but not making any real attempt to push her off.

"no one will see," daniela murmurs, "you just gotta be quiet for me, you got that?" she says, her fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "c'mon, baby. don't leave me hanging like this." she grabs one of your hands, bringing it to her visible bulge in her baggy pants.

"you're so annoying, you know that?" you reply with a non-serious eye roll.

"you love me," she whispers, pulling you into another kiss.

laying you down on the floor of the tent, you peer up at dani as she fumbles with the buttons of her pants before sliding them down her legs along with her boxers. hiking your skirt up, she groans lowly at the evident wet patch on your panties, dragging her fingers up and down your clothed slit before pushing the material aside.

with one swift thrust, you can feel every vein and ridge of her cock filling you up, leaving you letting out a sharp gasp at the sudden intrusion. "fuck..." dani breathes out. "you're always so goddamn tight," she mumbles, starting to move her hips in a fast rhythm.

"oh my god, dani–" you're cut off of your moaning when one of daniela's hands clasps over your mouth firmly.

"shh, you gotta be quiet, baby," she says to you lowly. her other hand is secured on your waist as she pounds into you at a fast pace. "ju-just be quiet f' me," she grunts, her nails digging into your soft skin.

all you can do is nod your head, your moans coming out muffled past her hand as you try to be as quiet as possible. you stare up at your girlfriend who is so focused on getting to cum as quickly as possible, little grunts and whimpers escaping her mouth as she thrusts into you. she looks so good like this, too lost in her own pleasure that she doesn't even notice the noises she's making herself.

"fuck," daniela curses, leaning down and putting her face in the crook of your neck, her hips showing no sign of slowing down anytime soon. "god, you feel so good, baby."

your arms instinctively reach for her back, pulling her down closer to you while gripping her jacket tightly. your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel the tip of her cock hit your g-spot, moaning loudly through her hand and squirming under her touch. "fuck...mami," your words come out barely audible through the muffled voice of yours.

"shit," dani hisses into your ear hearing the title fall from your lips. "you always take me so good, so good, baby," she mumbles into your neck. your walls spasm around her cock at the words, clenching tightly causing her to groan lowly. "fuck..you gonna cum, baby?"

you nod your head feverishly, your grip on her jacket getting tighter as your moaning comes out louder as her hand loosens slightly from being so focused on getting off. "please," you whimper softly. "please, mami, 'm so close, please,"

"go on, baby," she tells you. her thrusts are becoming more sloppy and erratic as her breathing gets heavy against the skin of your neck, her hand leaving your mouth and trailing down your chest, reaching under your shirt and fondling your breast in her hand. your body shakes under her as your eyes roll back and you cum on her cock, your jaw falling slack in a silent scream. "fuck, 'm gonna cum. let-let me cum in you, please, baby," dani borderline begs, getting interrupted by more sighs and whimpers leaving her mouth.

"mhm," is all you can hum, nodding your head as your hand finds her hair and runs through it.

a long groan comes from dani as she thrusts into you one last time, filling you up and painting your walls white with her cum. panting heavily into your neck, she slowly pulls out of you, causing you to let out a quiet whimper at the feeling disappearing. pulling away from your neck, her hand moves up to cup your cheek, kissing you deeply.

"i love you," she mumbles against your lips, parting from the kiss. sitting back, she pulls her pants back on and buttons them up before pulling your skirt back down and flattening it, a small smirk on her face as she sees her cum dripping out from you. "don't worry, baby. we can leave as soon as carti's set is over."

you can't find it in you to roll your eyes at her words, merely nodding your head and letting her grab your hand to pull you up. "you're so annoying," you mumble, leaning against her.

"yet you love me," she whispers, smiling at you.

"i do."

[readwithsahana]

window seat ✭ OP81 ✭

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

On a train you don’t want to be on, to Melbourne you find yourself sitting in the aisle next to a charming young man, about to ask for the window seat…

warnings…none!

author’s note…Hi lovelies, i’m Sahana! nice to meet you all. This is my first fanfic on tumblr and i hope you guys like it!! Requests are open and i’ve got way too much free time so go for it 🤍!!

———————————————————————

You were walking on into a train that’ll take you from Queenscliff to Melbourne and you definitely didn’t want to be there. Truth be told, the only reason you came on this trip was because your company forced you to, for some boring conference. You’d rather be back at home doing anything but this but you had no choice.

The stale air in the station made you want to throw up, as it always does. The weight of your bag felt much heavier than yesterday, but that may just be the extra unenthusiam you were carrying.

As you stepped up from the station onto the train, the air-con hit you like a bitch.

“Why is it always so damn cold on these things?”

You muttered to yourself hating every second of this day already.

You looked at your ticket, for the 100th time today, hoping it was actually a Disneyland pass and you’d just seen it wrong…but of course, your life didn’t let anything nice happen to you.

“1B, 1B, 1B…”

You repeated quietly to yourself, as your eyes scanned the seat numbers written until you finally found yours.

It was the aisle…

You would have to be staring at someone’s bald head in front of you….

For 3 hours straight…

Fun.

You saw the guy sitting in the window seat on his phone. He looked young, probably not much older if not the same age as you. And he didn’t seem to be all that in love with the window seat. So…maybe he’d let you switch?

“Hey, excuse me?”

He looked up at you, his hazel brown eyes meeting yours. Oh…he’s cute.

You took a deep breath and began your plea.

“Do you mind if we switch seats? It’s no problem if you don’t want to, its up to you, its just if you wouldn’t mind sitting in the aisle, we ca-“

A small smile along with a soft chuckle appeared on his face as he heard you rambling on and on so he politely interrupted - you had secretly thanked him for, respectfully, shutting you the fuck up. It was starting to get long.

“Sure, go for it.”

You were a little surprised by how nicely he accepted…that wasn’t so hard. He got up and made way for you to sit inside, and then sat down in the aisle seat.

“Thanks for that.”

“Oh no problem, i’m not really one for window seats anyways.”

He smiled. You swore you felt butterflies for a second.

Theres a second of silence, but it surprisingly wasn’t awkward.

“I’m Oscar, by the way.” He smiled again. There was no doubt he was attractive, but his smile was something else…

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. So, not a fan of windows? Or scenic views?”

Oscar can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at your humour. He catches himself subtly admiring your features…you were really beautiful. Not what he thought this train ride had in store for him, though he wasn’t complaining.

For Oscar, any travelling was just boring. As someone who travelled a lot, he got used to just tuning out the whole ride - If you ask him to name one trip he remembers, whether a train ride, flight, or car ride…he honestly couldn’t answer. To him, the destination became more important than the journey since nothing ever made the trip memorable.

“I’ve just grown up seeing all of Australia before, so I don’t find the need to see it through the window.”

He said, making up something more poetic, so that you wouldn’t think he was some cynic that hated seeing pretty views, since that obviously wasn’t true - he was enjoying looking at you.

You find yourself captivated by how he speaks. He’s calm and composed while saying the smartest of things - you’d never met someone like him before. And he’s good-looking? You had basically just won the lottery of strangers to sit next to.

From that point onwards, you both didn’t stop talking. Covered pretty much everything and anything. Oscar was usually a pretty reserved person, but for someone that he’d just met, he felt weirdly comfortable sharing a lot. He’d often find himself not even paying attention to your yapping, too focused on the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about something that excites you. Hell, he’s known you for less time than it takes to grill shrimp on the barbie but you’ve got him smiling uncontrollably.

———

“Actually, it’s my first time in Australia.”

You admit, still beguiled by how amazing this country is and why you haven’t come sooner.

“Oh, I better show you around some time then.”

Oscar smirks, hoping it’d be more true than a joke.

———

“How is football better than cricket?!”

He said, in disbelief, looking at you like you had just committed a crime.

“Cricket it just hours of men running with wood in their hands.”

“Football’s the same thing but with a ball?”

———

“Strawberries over Kiwis anyday.” Oscar was fully confident with his answer.

“Okay, you’re actually insane.” You say, shocked by the statement he’d just recited.

———

“The last stop is Melbourne. Please take all your belongings and mind the gap as you leave the train.”

The PA system announced, snapping you out of your dream-like experience with Oscar.

Just like that, 3 hours had passed by. You had forgotten the dead awful conference you had to attend, the shitty company you work for and how much you were supposed to hate today.

Oscar helped you with your bags as you both got off the train, a bittersweet feeling left hanging in the air.

“I guess this is goodbye…” The young Aussie said, his endearing smile seeming more than forced.

“Show me around, sometime?”

You had hoped this wasn’t going to be the last time you would meet Oscar, and by the way his eyes lit up when you offered, you guessed Oscar felt the same way.

As you both bid your goodbyes, and walk in opposite directions, both you and Oscar come to a realisation.

He had just been on a journey he would remember, thanks to you.

You didn’t even need the window seat to get through that ride, thanks to him.

You heard your phone ping in your pocket.

‘How does 7pm tomorrow sound?’

Maybe this trip wasn’t so bad after all…

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Coffee Orders

AO3

The guys had all come to the shop tonight. Johnny led the way, his bright smile finding you first. Kyle winked, Gary waved, Simon nodded, and Price studied you.

“Hi guys, what can I get you? Gary, I know your order if you wanted to find a seat.”

You had quite a few patrons tonight, they might struggle to find a space to sit together.

“Why do you know his order bonnie?” Johnny looks from the menu to you.

“Ask him,” you smile before looking to the rest of them. “Do you know what you want to order?”

“I’ll take a large black coffee, one sugar,” John said.

“Small London Fog for me,” Kyle adds.

“Large black, one London, got it. Simon, want an Earl Grey with a splash of milk?” You glance up from the tablet to see his nod. “That leaves you, Johnny, anything pique your interest?”

“I can’t decide, why don’t you give me your favorite drink on the menu?” He looks at you.

“Can do. All one ticket tonight or separate?”

John steps up, “I got this trip.”

“Alright, go ahead and tap your card I am going to get started on these drinks for everyone.” Leaving the counter you start on their drinks.

You would normally call out their drinks and have them pick them up but you wanted to talk for a few minutes. Grabbing Gary’s ice caramel macchiato and John’s black coffee you leave the kitchen. You found the seating space rearranged. Someone had pushed together two of your smaller tables to make room for them all.

Gary’s ears reddened as you put his drink down. A general chuckle spread out from the table as the men saw his drink. Johnny elbowed Simon with an eye on the ice floating in Gary’s glass. Kyle snorted and turned to look at some art on the walls. John lifted a brow as he took his own drink from the table.

You snatched the coffee from John’s hand as it headed for his lips.

“Okay. That’s not going to fly.”

Everyone looked at you, slightly confused.

“If you want your drinks, you’re going to apologize for laughing at Gary. We don’t make fun of my friends.”

You stared at them expectantly, expertly ignoring the red rising in Gary’s ears.

When murmurs of apology drifted from each man you gave John back his drink and headed back to the kitchen for the rest. When the guys all had their drinks you nodded once and went back to the kitchen. The reaction had been extreme, and unnecessary. Gary was a grown man who worked a secret job for the government, he didn’t need you to defend him. You stayed behind the counter until closing, waving everyone out before locking the door. You set about cleaning up the seating, and tables, and sweeping and mopping the floor. You sent your cleaning playlist through the speakers that were placed around the building, blasting it so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think.

Quinn knocked at the door at his normal time. Quinn washed your dishes. Letting him in you go back to finishing your closing duties. Once you cleaned the front of house well enough for tomorrow you stepped into the kitchen. Turning the volume down you chat with Quinn for a few minutes.

When a jaw-cracking yawn overtakes you he shoos you out the door. Quinn would go out the back, taking the garbage with him. The back door locked automatically so you went out the front door and locked it after you.

Music still spilled from the bars nearby as you worked your way to your car in a parking lot a few buildings over. A large shadow peeled off one building as you got closer to your car. Keeping your pace even, you checked for anyone else on the streets. No one. Figures.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“Fuck Simon! Don’t do that!” You slap a hand to your heart. It is still trying to beat out of your chest. “Next time if you want to walk me to my car maybe ask before you leave the shop so you don’t scare me near to death.”

His shoulder hunched as he must realize what you were thinking.

“I’ll ask next time.”

“’s too late now. Do you need a ride home too or just waiting to scare the shit out of me?”

“Told Price I would ride with you.”

Pulling teeth from a feral cat would be easier than getting information out of this man right now. Taking one deep, calming breath you straighten.

“Alright. Come on then. I am in need of a shower and my bed.”

He doesn’t say much of anything on the drive home. At least he didn’t comment on the mess of your back seat. Simon opens your door when you arrive home. He had gotten out quickly once you parked and turned back to grab your things.

“Thanks, Simon.”

He got to the front door too, following like a cat as you drifted into your room. Standing at your doorway he stared as you started to remove your jewelry and shoes.

“The drinks were good.”

“Were they? I’m glad. I’m always a bit worried that they will come out terribly and that is why my shop draws in such a small crowd.” Pulling out your hair tie you run your fingers into your scalp. It had been up too long today.

“Can’t be the coffee.” With that he slips into the dark hallway, leaving you staring at the open door.

Gently closing the door you finish your routine, sliding into bed with the curtains blocking out the light of the rising sun.

When you head out to your car next you are shocked to find a full tank of gas where you had been hovering on E the night before.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[jellicatty]

꩜ .ᐟ PRINCESS TREATMENT WITH JJK MEN

╰┈➤ contains : nanami x reader. gojo x reader. geto x reader. sfw. fluff. 181 words.

After dreadfully walking the whole night in your uncomfortable heels, NANAMI offered you a fun solution: a piggy back ride home. He's not tolerating another night of you insisting on damaging your feet. So, being the man he is, he bent down and signaled you to climb on his back. With hesitation, you did so, and kissed his neck after as a thank you ♡

SATORU's job undeniably pays a lot, so what's the harm with his girl using his wallet? He absolutely adored seeing you back home with loads of shopping bags. Watching you try the things you bought was enjoyable, but there's something else he's anticipating— your new lingerie set, where he's sure you're going to give him an unforgettable show ♡

The days have caught up to you, exhaustion evident from your face alone. So, when SUGURU announced that he bought tickets to your favorite country, you can't help but be tearful at his plan. Ever since, unwinding was something you looked forward too. But, what made you more excited was the time you'll get to privately share with your lover ♡

© jellicatty | no plagiarising please (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[chrrychills]

the look of love .

main six « homecoming with their s/o!

ashlyn banner:

•honestly, she didn't plan on going until less than a week before the dance. homecoming is too hot, crowded and noisy for her and it just didn't seem like something she'd enjoy, but all of her friends (but more importantly you) were going, so she bought a last minute ticket.

•her dress is emerald green, because you and taylor wouldn't shut up about how good redheads look in green. she almost got a different color because she was convinced she looked like princess merida.

•wears heels for a good five minutes before taking them off because her feet hurt.

•tries to steer clear of the crowded areas, and you'll take breaks from dancing/socializing to sit at the snack table with her.

•glancing at you every three seconds because she'd die if you caught her staring, but you looked so good it hurt.

•let's you do her hair and makeup after twenty minutes of convincing. she ends up loving it and telling you how good you did.

aiden clark:

•he goes all in– a cheesy hoco proposal, complete with your favorite flowers and a jellycat. also lets you choose the color you two wear.

•he convinces you to run for homecoming court with him and does everything in his power to make sure you two win. you end up winning prince and princess.

•absolutely the life of the party. he's obliterating the middle of the dance circle and he ends up on at least 15 people's private snap stories.

•constantly complimenting you the entire night and reminding you how good you look.

•the dance ended at 10, but you guys don't end up getting home until midnight because aiden wanted to go eat and you lost track of time.

•the entirety of his insta story is you two for the next few days.

•surprisingly, he's really good at slow dancing. he's lowkey making fun of all the other couples that keep tripping over each other's feet.

•he cracked is phone because it fell out of his pocket while he was trying to do a backflip. tyler has a video.

ben clark:

•also wasn't too sure on going at first, because he isn't a huge fan of crowds. that doubt is gone as soon as you express even a sliver of excitement, though.

•while you were looking for a dress, he went shopping with you and sat through probably 100 different dresses with a smile on his face.

•he also does a homecoming proposal, but it's a lot more lowkey than aiden's. he shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and your favorite food, and the most heartwarming message anyone's ever written.

•he takes all of your pictures, holds your bag and heels, and takes you out to dinner after because he's the best.

•your insta post the day after is nothing short of perfect. thank ben and his amazing camera skills.

•not a big dancer, but he'll walk around with you and stay with you while you socialize. he's either doing that or making sure aiden isn't breaking something.

•let's you fall asleep on him during the car ride home because he could tell how exhausted you were.

tyler hernandez:

•he didn't show it, but the hoco proposal had him stressing. he recruited taylor and they spent hours making a poster and looking for flowers.

•his teammates made fun of him for being "whipped" after they saw you had posted his proposal on your social media.

•let's you pick the color, and you two end up wearing red.

•like aiden, you guys also run for homecoming court and win prince and princess. (tyler's teammates went around the school and bribed people to vote for you two.)

•staring problem. you caught him shamelessly staring at you with the most lovestruck expression so many times, you've lost count of how much it happens. that doesn't even stop him, either.

•taylor takes the cutest pictures ever. tyler says he doesn't like any of them because he looks dorky, but he secretly loves them. ends up posting at least five the next day.

•after homecoming ends, he's actively brainstorming dates that give you a reason to wear your dress again.

taylor hernandez:

•she loves hoco. she's been counting down the days since the theme and date was released.

•you both decided on wearing pink, except taylor's dress is the sparkliest one she could find. you two end up cleaning glitter out of random places for a good two weeks after.

•you guys get ready together and blast trashy pop music the entire time.

•the two of you ended up accidentally making homecoming proposals for each other, and asking on the same day. she keeps the poster you made next to her vanity.

•since taylor's fairly popular, you end up socializing with most of the school the entire night. you spend the entire ride home gossiping about things people told you that you probably aren't supposed to know.

•another top tier photographer. the pictures of you two come out so cute neither of you shut up about them for a week.

•you guys have a sleepover after and spend the entirety of the day after bed rotting.

lacey's notes:

in honor of my homecoming being yesterday, here's this. the post-hoco depression set in this morning and i have nothing to look forward to now.

i love hoco.

[lrithill]

PASSENGER SEAT PRINCESS

Greetings to all the clowns of the second circle!

It is both my honor and my pleasure to offer you this new installment. This might just be the fanfic I've had the most fun writing, the one that made me the wettest, and the one that broke me the hardest… and the best part? It’s a REQUEST!!!

Wow… I truly have the best readers, because this idea never crossed my mind—AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. So, huge thanks to @partycityshowgirlfreak for trusting me and handing me this story like a loaded gun.

This is also a warning—a warning that any request you send me might be transformed into a full-blown work of art, because I don’t let go of a story until I’ve squeezed every last drop out of it… every last drop of blood and cum HAHAHA.

Also, a special thanks to @artstomfoolery, my primary gif dealer😂 . I could spend hours searching through Tumblr for that one specific gif—and it’s just NOT THERE, impossible to find. But then she swoops in and BAM, like magic—as fast as Art grabs the salt and bleach—, she sends me exactly what I need. Seriously, if you haven’t already, go check out her blog and follow her. She makes insane edits and videos, and her talent is the kind I can only dream of (we need to make a fic trailer one day 🤫 HAHAHA).

Now that the thank-yous are done… let’s get to the good stuff.

🖤Synopsis:

You and Art, after a night of unhinged slaughter, need an escape route before daylight hits. You need a car—but cars come with drivers, don’t they?

🚨 Warnings:

Unintentional voyeurism, humiliation, violence, and my general hatred for warnings because I feel like they’re spoilers… So let’s just say: A lot of sex, a lot cruelty, a lot of fun and a lot of blood, and all of it Art-style, which means a guaranteed thrill . Woohoo!

📊 Word count:

10,000 words (there were simply too many things for Art to play with)

You needed a car.

Urgently.

The sun was barely grazing the horizon, the night still reeked of gunpowder and scorched flesh, you were dragging a decent body count behind you—and it wouldn’t take long for the cops to start sniffing around.

In the distance—shining like a promise—stood the best place to find a ride: A gas station.

Bingo.

It wasn’t even 7 a.m.—the place was deserted, wrapped in that artificial silence and half-dead lighting. Still, odds were some idiot working the night shift was fueling up before heading back to their miserable little life.

Jackpot.

Next to one of the pumps, a big family car stretched lazily under the flickering yellow lights. A “Baby on Board” sticker decorated the trunk, along with some doodles that screamed “big happy family.”

The kind of car that smells like routine, bedtime prayers, and Thursday dinners with the in-laws.

You glance at Art—he’s already locked onto the target. Judgment has been passed.

You’re both soaked in blood. His clown suit isn’t black and white anymore—it’s black and red. A crimson trail stains the pavement behind you as you approach like wolves—soundless and certain.

You need the keys.

And there he is—your ticket. The driver, still inside the car, gently bobbing his shoulders to some soft blues tune—something mellow and catchy, the perfect soundtrack for a crime at dawn—utterly unaware of the evil creeping up on him.

Art looks at you, eyes gleaming—he gives you a light shove, lips curled in that twisted grin of his.

“Put on that pretty sad face of yours,” his mischievous look says—cruel.

You smile… you already know what to do.

CRACK.

You collapse right in front of the driver’s window, like a horror movie final girl—dried blood on your legs, torn clothes, perfectly timed gasps...

“Help… please…” you whimper. “I had an accident… I think my leg’s broken…”

The driver sees you—and freezes. His blood runs cold, his heart skips a beat—his face shifts, tightens, switches into action mode.

“Jesus! Hang in there!” he shouts, flinging the door open to help you.

You laugh on the inside. These idiots see a damsel in distress and immediately think they’re the hero of the story—they have no idea what kind of menace they’re dealing with...

You writhe on the ground—groaning, panting—, clutching your leg like it’s about to fall off in pieces.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone with trembling fingers.

He fumbles through his apps. Can’t find the dial pad—his pulse is betraying him.

And you already see Art approaching from the side—a shadow with teeth. But then, an idea slithers into your mind—a wicked one—so you shoot Art a look that says: ‘Not yet.’

“Wait,” you murmur.

He pauses, confused.

“I can’t see anything… can you turn on your flashlight for a second? I want to see the face of my hero before I pass out…” you whisper, sweet and soft like honey.

The guy blinks, visibly shaken, might even be smiling a little—and obeys. So well-mannered.

The flashlight clicks on—a white beam cuts across his face. He looks up, searching for your angelic face… but what he finds is something else entirely.

Nothing he could’ve prepared for: First, eyes—unblinking, wide, inhuman. Then the smile—two rows of jagged teeth, bloodstained and hungry. And then, hands like claws, snapping around his throat with the precision of a bear trap.

“Shame… I’ve always preferred villains,” you purr, lips pouting as you watch him choke.

You sit up slowly, unbothered, watching as Art strangles the man—his hands working with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. The poor bastard kicks a little, but he doesn’t stand a chance—Art knocks him out in seconds.

Silence.

Only the soft murmur of blues music hums from the speakers—a cheerful little tune playing as the man slips out of consciousness.

Art fishes the keys from his pocket—there’s a keychain that reads “Cool Dad”—then grabs his phone, still buzzing with incoming messages.

“Perfect, darling. Let’s leave him here, we’ve got our ride home,” you say, letting out a satisfied sigh.

But Art doesn’t move. He’s somewhere else—lost in thought.

He leans into his bag and… is that duct tape?

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh… I get it”

You wanted a getaway.

Art… wants a guest.

“Looks like he won’t be walking out of this… don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him” you giggle, and Art’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning.

—

RAAAHH.

Duct tape.

Hands bound behind the back.

Mouth sealed shut.

Knees tight together.

Ankles locked.

Torso disabled.

The only things left working: Eyes and ears—and you want them wide open.

Art—ever the gentleman—opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical bow. He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting his blood-soaked suit like he owns the car. Grinning from ear to ear—so smug, so sure of himself—he checks his reflection in the mirror—the most illegal thing he’s done today? Being this fucking hot.

In the back seat, your new companion is starting to wake up. He stirs clumsily—bangs his head against the window—, trying to make noise, desperate to catch someone’s eye, to call out to a world that hasn’t woken up yet.

Art laughs—a sharp slap lands on his own thigh—, delighted by the uselessness of his struggle. He even has the courtesy to turn the music up—that dirty, sultry blues swallows the thuds and grunts, turning them into part of the rhythm.

The man stares—that stare: panic, defenseless, confusion. He has no idea how this happened, or why, or what’s about to happen to him. But he’s starting to understand that he’s trapped in a play he never auditioned for—and the two maniacs in front are the directors.

Art feels those eyes on the back of his head; and without turning around, he calmly adjusts the rearview mirror—until his gaze locks with the hostage’s.

And he winks—his tongue sliding over his teeth, his grin curling like a promise… a filthy one.

“You’re so bad,” you murmur, watching him do it—fully aware of the things that turn your psycho boyfriend on.

Art tilts his head toward you—amused. He bites his lower lip, eyebrows bouncing twice—a swirl of vicious thoughts brewing behind those eyes.

“I’m just getting started,” his look says.

And you know exactly what that means.

You start poking around the car.

A pine-scented air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror—the unmistakable stench of middle class.

You open the glove compartment. A photo: a smiling family at a water park. The dad—your passenger—and his wife hugging two little kids with duck floaties.

There’s also a canvas bag hanging off the passenger seat.

A crumpled grocery list.

Whole wheat bread, baby wipes, organic yogurt.

A forgotten parking ticket.

Art takes mental notes of the important things, of course—the night is young.

His eyes roam the dashboard, with restrained hunger gleaming in them—the car hasn’t shown him everything it’s capable of yet. He’s curious about the motor, he wants to hear it roar—he wants it to purr for him.

He slides the key in with intention—precise and firm.

BRRRUMMMMM.

That metallic growl pulls a smile from him. The car jerks and vibrates under his touch—obedient, like a beast under its handler.

And you… you feel it.

The hum of the engine crawls up your legs, coils in your pelvis. The vibrations buzz at your core—and your clit throbs, swelling from the involuntary friction. Your lip catches between your teeth, and your hips shifts in the seat before you realize it—just slightly… just enough.

He knows—of course he knows.

He wanted this—to warm up the engine, under the hood… and between your legs.

It’s getting to him too—not just you. He’s already picturing it: you trembling on top of him, the car growling beneath his cock, vibrating inside you with every thrust—like his body’s synced to the same pulse, throbbing with it.

He can feel it building—an undeniable erection is beginning to press against his pants—, shifting and swelling under the fabric as it takes shape.

“What’s the plan, baby?” you ask, biting your lips—your voice thick with smoke and want.

Art doesn’t answer with words—he simply raises a hand—elegant, dismissive… brushing your question aside like it’s nothing.

He’s telling you there’s no rush—just relax…

There’s so much to do… and he wants to savor every fucking second.

Art locks eyes with the rearview mirror again. The hostage is panting, his forehead pressed against the glass like he’s still trying to convince himself this is all just a nightmare—he looks like a rabbit cornered in a burrow with no way out.

Art stares at him—speaking volumes without a single word.

He can already taste it: the fear, the eroticism, the humiliation, the sex, the cruelty, the climax…

A full-course meal.

Then he looks at you: torn clothes, skin smeared with blood and sin—you look beautiful.

He wants you naked. Now.

But he won’t push—he’s not a brute.

He wants you to undress for him—wants the guy in the back to witness what it’s like to be craved like this—to see what it does to a woman, needing him like this.

So he lifts a hand—easy, unbothered, lazy—and presses a button.

Click.

The heater kicks in with a low hum… warm air starts filling the car, wrapping around you like an invisible tongue. The engine’s purr still buzzes beneath your thighs—deep inside you.

He smiles—a satisfied smile—like a magician pulling off a perfect trick. Without laying one finger on you, he already has you blushing, squirming, breathless, aching for him.

You know it.

He knows it.

And the hostage is starting to catch on too…

Your body grows sticky beneath the damp fabric. Every thread against your skin is torture—you need to get it off, you need to move, you need—

Art doesn’t even look at you. He’s still staring into the mirror—still wearing that smile.

Waiting.

And he does it—he reclines his seat slightly, spreads his legs, and folds his arms behind his head—clearly putting himself on disply… just so you’ll notice the erection straining against his pants—begging for your attention, impossible to ignore…

He’s sending you a message—saying everything without a single word… and you’re practically drooling at the thought.

“Strip for me—do it slow, do it sexy. Do it while he watches—I want him to see you… but only that. Fuck me.”

You nod, breath quickening. Your fingers glide across your torso—trembling from anticipation—over the dried blood, the torn fabric, as you begin to undo what’s left of your clothes.

Not for comfort.

Not because of the heat.

For him.

Because you want to show him just how obedient you are—and how feral when he lets you.

To both of them.

Art’s pupils twitch in their sockets—tracking your every move—, hunger burning behind his eyes as you begin to undress—you unbutton your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders to reveal a black-and-white lace bra (his favourite), your fingers reach for the zipper of your skirt...

But he stops you there. He doesn’t want you completely naked—not yet.

Your gaze flicks down to his hand on your zipper… then climbs back up to his eyes—so close, and still out of reach.

You see him bite down on his tongue, and he swallows hard—his Adam’s apple bobbing, the tension thick in his throat.

Touching you is the point of no return.

His hands move to your thighs—slow and deliberate—drawn to the fire he’s been stoking. His breath grows heavy—warm fog curling in the air between you. He feels how hard he’s getting, his arousal straining tight against his pants—an obscene bulge; twitching and dripping like a caged animal.

His hand moves upward, sliding along your thigh—he knows you’re melting beneath his touch—his fingers trace the edge of your skirt… and then slip beneath it, slowly—like a serpent.

You let out a soft sigh when you feel his cold fingers against your bare skin.

His fingers barely brush against your panties—right where you're burning, where you need him the most—and he feels the slick warmth of your arousal soaking through the fabric.

That jagged grin spreads across his lips like a wound.

Look what I do to you. thoughts swirl in his head as he brushes the moisture.

You let out a soft moan at that first touch, legs parting involuntarily—your body pleading for him to keep going—to explore you, enjoy you, lose himself in you…

Anything… but stopping.

His cold fingers move slowly over your clit, teasing it—making you tremble with that cruel kind of pressure—punishing you for wanting.

You can feel yourself dripping, your pussy opening for him like a sick flower.

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed, lost in the heat and the ache. You keep your legs spread perfectly wide for him—there’s no use pretending you have any dignity left.

You’re his.

“Art…” you whisper through clenched teeth, barely able to say his name.

But Art isn't looking at you—he’s watching the hostage through the rearview mirror. The victim stares back—wide-eyed, mouth sealed, face twisted in confusion, fear… and maybe something else?

And you feel it: the heat, the trembling, the need… Just his hand—just that—and you’re already soaked.

You need more.

Art slips his fingers under the band of your lingerie—finally breaching that thin, delicate barrier—and this time he goes for your wet entrance.

Two fingers ease into you, meeting no resistance.… and he starts fucking you with them—deep, firm—, those long, thick fingers that reach places you can never reach on your own.

How can hands so violent bring this much pleasure?

“Yes… yes…” you breathe, eyes shut, unraveling in his palm.

He finds your G-spot and presses—makes that motion, the one that drives you wild. He massages it in sweet circles, stroking it, pressing rhythmically,… the way he knows you crave.

“God… God… God…” you moan, each word a gasp timed with his thrusts.

Without thinking—driven purely by instinct—your hand slides to Art’s abdomen. You caress him, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles through the soaked fabric of his suit.

Art lets out his first sigh—needy for your touch, but still patient.

Your hands trail down his body—calm and deliberate. The heat from the car is making the dried blood liquefy again, coating your fingers like a sticky kind of lubricant.

Art tries to hold back… but he can’t.

In a sudden movement, he grabs your hand and drags it down—pressing it against his cock, still trapped behind fabric. His much larger hand wraps around yours, forcing your fingers to tighten around his aching manhood—right where he wants them.

He guides your hand up and down—dictating the rhythm—then releases you, letting you take control and stroke him on your own—just the way he likes it, feeling the weight of his need in your palm.

You work your hand along his cock, adding pressure with each pass—you love watching him unravel… live for the way he trembles under your touch.

With your thumb, you trace slow circles over the head—his most sensitive spot. You see his mouth fall open in a silent moan, his stomach tightens—abs rippling with tension—, his thighs tense without warning… His whole body betraying how much he feels it.

He wants to close his eyes… and yet, he doesn’t.  

He wants to watch the hostage. No—he wants the hostage to watch him. To see him enjoying it, to see him moaning under the touch of a woman he’ll never have—no one will.

The car windows are starting to fog up from the heat radiating off your bodies—a humid, heavy cave of lust. It’s thick, stifling… 

Inebriating.

Everything smells like sex, blood, and restrained desire.

Your breathing grows heavier by the second—the vibrations of the engine, the heat, the slick movements, the scent of sweat and iron, the hostage in the backseat...

And then—your eyes meet.

"Let’s show him how it’s done." You both think it, in perfect sync.

You straighten in your seats—and reach for each other.

You kiss.

Tongues tangled, mouths devouring one another in a filthy, hungry kiss—while the hostage watches every movement, eyes wide with disbelief. 

As you both keep working each other: you, stroking his cock with devoted hands, desperate to feel him inside; and him, pumping his fingers into you in wet, rhythmic thrusts—opening you up, stretching you, preparing you to take him.

Art pulls back, eyes locking with yours in raw desperation—and in a sudden, urgent motion; he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, snaps the driver’s seat back into place and slips into the backseat—like a man who’s reached his limit, on the edge of breaking.

He leaves the keys in the ignition, but takes the small remote with him—he’s not letting go of control over his new toy.

He settles beside the hostage—just one seat of space between them.

And you follow—immediately.

You climb onto him, straddling his lap like it’s a throne. Being on top of this beast—riding him, dominating him—it makes you feel powerful, sexy, dangerous.

Your tits—still wrapped in your black and white lace bra—, sway close to his face. Teasing him, taunting him—daring him to claim what’s his with kisses and bites.

Your lover—pupils blown wide—licks his lips at the vision before him: Your legs spread wide over his hips, your waist rolls slow over his aching cock—your bloodstained body… so obscene, so evil, perfectly soaked in sin—yet untouchable…

It’s exactly how he wants you.

You smile as you peel off your skirt, leaving only your lingerie—his favorite set: black and white,

the panties featuring a manual opening he knows all too well... Warm blood splattered across your exposed skin drips like a baptism in violence.

Then you feel it—Art shifting beneath you, rocking his hips with need—urging you to move in that way—his way—the way only you know drives him insane.

He’s searching for you—needing you.

His body is begging for the heat of your cunt, for your wetness, your tightness—that divine prison that squeezes him down to the soul.

He grabs your hips—firm, greedy—and grinds you down against him. He’s smiling up at you—he wants you to know what you’re doing to him, how much he wants you, how badly he’s dying to fuck you right here, right now, in this stolen car, with this bound man watching, beneath this cunt that exists for him alone.

You moan when you feel his clothed manhood—hard rock—press against your entrance—thick, throbbing, threatening…

Irresistible.

You move with the rhythm of the soft blues still floating through the air—slow, sensual, evocative. You match the rhythm of the engine, letting it buzz through your core as you ride his cock—teasing him—, without letting him in just yet, denying him entry—keeping him just where you want… dragging your slick heat along his length with your soaked folds.

He’s pinned beneath you—helpless—, while you grind on him like he paid for the best lap dance of his fucking life—and you’re overdelivering. The stage is yours and he’s so lucky to be under you.

And the bound spectator right next to you? Trapped in the front row of the filthiest show he’s ever witnessed.

Art’s eyes light up as his hands trace the full length of your body, gliding over your curves,

smearing blood across your soft skin. Your body shivers under his touch—so seductive, possessive, demanding, masculine… Art.

Every move draws him in, pulls him deeper—impossible to look away from. And when you meet his gaze, what you see there… can only be described as obsession.

Pure, raw, sheer obsession.

Your hands slide down his torso, beneath his magnificent clown ruffle, searching for the front zipper of his suit—you tug it down, slowly… revealing his body—pale as snow after a murder.

You pinch his nipples, gently, but with wicked intent—you can’t help yourself.

Art lets out a harsh breath, teeth clenched. He says nothing—just lets his hand do the talking, landing a stinging slap on your ass.

SMAK!

The sound cuts through the air—louder than anything the hostage could possibly muster.

You laugh—and moan.

You lean in, take his face in your hands, and kiss him. 

Deep. Slow. Damned. Making love to him with your mouth alone.

Your hips roll back and forth as you moan into his mouth, rubbing your swollen clit against the thick, dripping erection you've been teasing to madness.

Art’s hands tighten around your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh—right where they always do. He bites your lower lip with a hunger that leaves droplets of blood on your scarlet mouth, savoring you.

He growls as his tongue absorbs your essence—the one thing he aches for the most, and the one thing he can never truly claim.

You’re both floating in a toxic cloud of pleasure, wrapped around each other, losing yourselves,

burning together…

You are fire and gasoline—and this car is about to explode.

Then—a sound.

A dry, desperate sound.

The hostage is fumbling with the door using his elbows—trying to escape while you’re both too distracted—, a useless, clumsy, pathetic attempt.

Art chuckles, and presses a button on the remote.

Click.

Locked.

The last flicker of hope dies with a cheerful electronic beep.

The guy slams his head against the window in pure frustration. And Art—naturally—has to take it a step further.

He presses the button again… and starts to play.

The window goes down…

Then up…

Doooown.

Uuuuup.

Like he’s saying:

“You leave when I say so.” That grin of his stretches wide—every ounce of swagger in the world packed into one smug expression.

“Bet your wife’s never done anything even remotely like this to you, huh?” you taunt through a laugh, still grinding on Art, and you plant a hot kiss on his flushed cheek—which he accepts with a pleased smirk.

Art rolls his eyes and shakes his head, confirming your suspicions with mock exasperation.

Then he reaches out—arm casual, fluid—and pinches the hostage’s cheek. A playful, mocking squeeze—like a grandmother scolding her grandkid for being nosy and naughty.

“You’re probably so horny right now, huh?” you purr, voice thick with mockery. “You want this so bad, don’t you? But you know what? You’re not getting any of this. The only thing you can do is… watch.” You tell him, making sure he knows his place.

You slip one bra strap off your shoulder, tilting your head to reveal the imprint of a bite—deep teeth marks—already darkening like a brand.

“I belong to him. Only him,” you finish with a wicked, toothy smile.

Art sees it—and his mouth waters.

He leans in and licks it.

Not for you.

Not for pleasure.

He licks it for him—for the hostage.

So he sees it.

So he understands.

So it hurts.

“And now comes the best part,” you moan, eyes shutting—just as Art’s teeth sink into the imprint—driven by a mix of worship, lust and hunger.

His arms wrap around you like a perfect trap, his hands traveling with expert precision to your back.

Click.

The clasp of your bra pops open, the fabric slides down your arms, surrendering to him—like everything else. Your tits fall free—or into his captivity—as he lowers the straps with care, like unwrapping a present.

His hands trace over your bare back, and his mouth—God, his mouth—works its way over your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders. Kissing—devouring—every inch of skin he can reach.

You start pulling his suit down while he consumes you—as far as you can manage—letting him shrug his arms free, removing the hood from his head, kissing the pale skin beneath every piece of fabric you strip away.

And then—your world flips… upside down.

Art grabs your hair and yanks your head back, exposing your throat—that vulnerable stretch of skin, that one delicate spot where a single well-placed bite could bleed you out in minutes.

But no.

He won’t—he never would.

Instead, he licks you—slowly. Dragging his tongue up your throat, from the base of your neck to your chin—like a predator savoring his prey before the final bite… until he reaches your lips.

He kisses you—and smiles against your mouth.

And you melt into that smile—your spine arching for him, offering every inch of yourself.

You are his—and you want him to know it.

Then, without pulling away—still gripping your hair—he turns to look at the hostage. And he makes a gesture—a light tap under his eye with one finger.

Tap, tap.

"You don’t want to miss this."

Art releases you and turns back to meet your eyes.

You look at him.

No words needed—your gazes say everything

You lift yourself—just enough—and free him from the fabric yourself. It springs up, thick and heavy, smacking against his stomach—so hard it sure hurts. Promising you so many things…so much pleasure and pain.

You hold him in your hands like something precious—just like the rest of him—burning in your hands. It’s hot, pulsing, alive…

You spit into your hand and smear it across your chest, mixing your saliva with blood—his favourite lubricant.

You guide him to your soaked cunt, rubbing his head against it—preparing yourself to take him in. Your mouth parts with moans as you press his sensitive, dripping tip against your clit, and Art can’t help but close his eyes—he lives for this.

Precum, blood, and saliva mix, slicking your tight entrance—necessary.

You’re getting ready—you’re offering yourself.

You’re about to open for him like a beautiful wound.

Art takes the chance to cradle your face in both of his bloodstained hands—grateful—pulling you in for one last kiss before taking everything from you. Thanking you

And just like that, you sink down onto him—inch by inch—, your breath trembling against his mouth, moaning into the kiss as he fills you with his ruthless passion.

You break the kiss to breathe—your sighs and moans brushing against his shoulders like a fevered confession.

You whimper against his neck as you feel him push deeper—claiming more of you. His hands grip your hips like anchors, keeping you from pulling away. The only thing you can do is keep sinking… all the way down to hell.

The hostage can’t look away.

You close your eyes as he spreads you, splits you, fills you—destroys you with his love. Your insides part for him, bowing to his presence.

Your body yields to him completely—like always—, welcoming him once more.

“Fuck…” you mutter through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t matter how many times Art fucks you… it always hurts at first.

And you love it.

You’re full to the edge—can’t take anymore… but you know there’s still one last stretch to take.

Your body trembles, thighs tight like pulled cords, your back arches under the pressure, under the depth. You’re fully impaled—as deep as your body will allow.

You look at Art—and he’s smiling. 

That arrogant, knowing smile—and you know exactly what it means. He’s holding back—just a little. He still has more to give, of course—he’s not done. He feels that last part of him, just out of reach... waiting for your warmth too.

He tilts his head, giving you that look:

“Stuck there again? God, I love it.”

And he knows you know what’s coming.

He bites his tongue, barely fighting the urge—but his abs tighten, his nails dig into your flesh.

And then—

SLAM!

He slams in—fills you to the hilt. No space left, just wet flesh locked tight—your body, an extension of his own. Your spine arches like a broken bow, and your scream finally bursts free.

You collapse against him—undone by him, wrecked by him. Clinging to his neck like you might fall off the edge of the world. A tear slips from your eye—uninvited—, and Art feels it land against his neck. His pupils blow wide—it turns him on more than any moan, any scream, any word. A tear… drawn from pleasure, from excess

For him.

“Everything about you is deadly… you can't deny it”, you whisper in his ear—trembling

He holds you close, crushing you to him—your bodies pressed together perfectly, completely.

One hand caresses your back, sliding through the blood and sweat with an affection so gentle it borders on insulting. The other lifts to his lips, and—with a single finger—, he makes a gesture:

“Shhh.”

It’s not to comfort you—it’s because he likes the contrast. It turns him on to silence you while he destroys you.

He’s a bastard—a stylish fucking bastard.

And you couldn’t love him more.

You stay like that, bodies fused. Kissing—your tongues whispering everything your vocal cords could never express, everything your voices would never dare to say aloud.

Even Art needs a second.

Even though you’re the one bearing the more brutal trauma, he has to adjust too—has to carve his way inside you… and you don’t make it easy.

Your walls clench around him, strangling him with pressure—but at the same time, massaging him with that exquisite mix of pain and pleasure—, while his tip kisses your cervix in the deepest intimacy your body has to offer—rooted deep inside of you.

You feel yourself start to relax—the pain slowly, melting into pleasure.

There’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than having him inside you, wrapping him in your heat…

And you can’t wait to have him trembling beneath you—to ruin him.

So you start to move—drawn into that delicious, rocking motion your body craves... your hips swaying over his hard cock—wrapped tight around him—, dragging your wetness along his length—lost in the rhythm that only the two of you know.

In, then out…  In, then out…

Art exhales—a shuddering breath that trembles through his entire body—that vibrates beneath you as you begin.

His head falls back, eyes slide shut as he finally lets himself feel. His lips part—soundless moans escaping like breath—and his arms sprawl out wide and lazy along the car’s interior, offering himself to the moment, to you… 

One of them resting dangerously close to your guest.

Close? No—he wraps it around the hostage’s shoulders, like a whore waiting for her turn to ride him too. Though truthfully…he’s already very much involved in the act—doing his part as the good little sex toy he is.

“God, you look so fucking sexy right now,” you murmur, watching the way your movements unravel him.

Art smiles—eyes half-lidded.

The truth is: as much as he loves fucking you, there’s something next level about watching you ride him—seeing you worship him without being told, offering yourself like that, dripping devotion. It’s like having the power to force someone to obey… but without needing a gun—just by spreading his legs.

The hand resting on the hostage’s shoulder moves. Art runs it through the man’s hair, tender and soft—like stroking a beloved pet.

Which, of course… he is.

The hostage flinches—recoiling with a shiver—, trying to shrink away.

You act immediately.

“STILL.” Your voice cuts like a blade. “Or you’ll regret it…” you say, lifting his phone with an evil grin curling your lips. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?” you say, giving him puppy eyes.

You open his gallery—rows of family photos. His two kids and his wife. You pick one—a birthday shot.

“Happy 10th, Marvin… ooohhh,” you coo sweetly. “Might be the last.”, you finish—dry, flat, final.

You show it to him.

Not with rage—but with tenderness.

Like you’re showing him the ending of his own movie.

Both men lose their breath. Their eyes snap open—but for very different reasons.

One is paralyzed by sheer terror.

The other… nearly cums.

You are—without question—, his most powerful weapon.

The hostage instantly returns to his original position—silent, obedient—like a scolded dog. He’s finally understood who’s in charge.

“That’s how I like to see you…” you whisper—poisoned sweetness dripping from your voice as you stroke his chin, like you’re rewarding him.

Meanwhile, Art is still threading his fingers through the man’s hair, playing, mocking him.

Then he looks at you—stunned. You’re the sexiest thing he’s ever fucking seen—and also the cruelest.

You’re a perfect match.

“If he disobeys,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for the hostage to hear, “we’ll kill them, right;  sweetheart?” You ask it like a little girl asking for permission to cause mischief.

Art nods enthusiastically with a toothy smile. But it’s all theater—you both know exactly how this story ends.

BRRUUMMM BRUUUUUMMMM

Art presses the button on the remote again. The engine roars—like a beast awakening.

The vibrations intensify—the window glass rattles—shaking through your bones, ripping a moan from your throat that drowns out the soft background blues.

“ART—!”

Your hand flies to the window to brace yourself against the jolt. It leaves behind a perfect blood-red handprint smeared across the fogged-up glass—as beautiful as it is erotic.

A perfect signature on this masterpiece.

What Art’s really telling you is—he wants it louder.

He wants chaos.

He wants lust.

He wants blood.

He wants you completely unhinged.

“So you want me to hit the gas, huh?” you growl, eyes dark, voice hoarse with want, with power, with pure unfiltered lust. “You’re not ready for this ride… and I’ve already cut the brakes”, you finish by throwing him a defiant smile, trailing a finger lazily from his neck down to his chest.

Art mimics a bite in the air, baring every single tooth—all sharp and full of challenge. He’s dying for you, dying for your worst self.

You start to move—riding him with rhythm, your hips grinding in perfect sync with his. Your bodies separate and slam together again and again, filling the car with obscene sounds—wet, violent, animalistic.

Art holds you tight against him—your tits squashed against his heaving chest, your clit grinding against his vibrating pelvis with every relentless thrust.

Your eyes roll back, your mouth opens helplessly against his neck—obscene, slack, starving—your moans pouring into his ears and filling the car like a spell—like they’re trying to crawl under his skin.

You pull yourself free from his embrace for a moment—straightening up fully in front of him. Your perky tits bouncing up and down with your wild movements.

You look up at the ceiling like you’re praying… but all you do is curse.

“I’m your fucking whore,” you cry, drunk on him. “You ever seen a whore take your cock like this? This good? So obedient?! So fucking broken for you?!” you scream with your tongue out, drool spilling shamelessly down your chin.

Art closes the distance in a heartbeat, catching you in his claws again—as if you ever stood a chance. Pulling you back into his grasp like you never escaped in the first place.

And growls against your skin like an animal.

PLASH.

Another slap—sharp and loud—leaving five perfect red fingerprints. You deserved that—for being such a filthy little bitch.

His teeth sink into your neck—too hard. Skin splits, blood flows… God—there’s no name for how much this turns him on.

From your bleeding neck, jaw stained crimson, he looks up at you—devoted—, like you’re a fucking miracle.

He holds you like you’re his whole everything. Clutches you like the world would end if your flesh left his for even a second—like you’re part of him.

And by now—you are.

A red blur in the hostage’s vision—a distorted silhouette of blood and motion. A mess of flesh—writhing, breathing, groaning, laughing—reveling in its own depravity.

You kiss again—rough, messy, dripping with blood—as you keep riding him toward the end of the world. Which—coincidentally—, lies between his legs.

And then—one of your hands drifts toward the hostage.

He goes still. Paralyzed—he knows what happens if he misbehaves. You take him by the chin and force his gaze upward—to make him watch. 

“Don’t even think about closing your eyes... We’ll sew them open.” You warn him with a sweet, venom-laced smile.

Art blinks hard.

“How the fuck did I not think of that before?” he wonders—but mentally files it away for next time.

With one firm shove, you rip him off your body—force his back against the headboard, right where it was, right where he belongs—and start moving on your own again.

You change the rhythm—start riding him faster… faster and deeper. You lift yourself until just his tip kisses your entrance—and then slam down to the base, over and over. Fucking every inch of him—every rise a damnation, every fall a sentence.

Art’s eyes roll back into his skull, whites flashing in ecstasy—he’s in a trance. This is the rhythm that kills him: savage, deep, frantic, punishing.

“This is how you like it, huh?” you gasp between moans, never letting your pace break. “I love dragging this devil to heaven… and letting him split me right back to hell.” You moan, unhinged for him.

And for the hostage, to make sure he doesn’t forget where he is.

You dive for his neck—and Art stiffens instantly… it’s his weakness. You kiss that spot with tongue, with teeth, with hunger. Your mouth pays back every favor—latching onto the muscle, biting skin, licking his Adam’s apple, sucking his jugular, devouring him—owning him.

Art growls, mouth open in voiceless agony and bliss, eyes clenching shut—your rhythm is wrecking him, your mouth is shattering him. His cock is rock hard inside you, every twitch giving away how close he is… but you’re not letting him finish yet—and neither is he.

Suddenly, he yanks you off his neck and stops you—right before it’s too late. He looks at you—panting, ruined,—gasping for breath. Head bowed… so ashamed and submissive. 

Trying to hold himself together, like he's saying:

“Gurl… you can't do this to me—have some mercy ”, but he can’t even look you in the eye.

“Oh… is it too much for you?” you whisper like a lover, but it tastes like betrayal. “My poor baby can’t take it anymore? Feels too good?” you speak in silk, stitched with spite.

You turn to the hostage—offer him a smile as sweet as arsenic.

“You wouldn’t last either… But you won’t get the chance to find out.” you say, teasingly bringing a finger to your lips, amused.

And now, you lean in—toward Art’s ear.

Your warm breath caresses him, drowning out everything else—muting the world—, so that all that reaches him… is you.

Your tongue brushes the shell of his ear, lick the back of it, bite the lobe… And then—without warning—, you slide your tongue into his ear canal. Art melts, a shiver shoots down his spine, a guttural moan bursts from deep in his throat.

He drools—eyes fluttering, head slack, body limp. Your soft, wet moans reverberate inside his skull, a sensual echo that floods his brain—blending with the slow thrusts, the sweltering heat and your hands worshiping his body with criminal devotion.

He’s almost like a ragdoll—a puppet with its strings cut. All moans and drool and absolute surrender: eyes closed, eyebrows knitted in pleasure, a stupid smile on his parted lips... Utterly spellbound by your touch, barely clinging to consciousness.

And then—your voice.

A whisper—like a kiss… soaked in poison.

“Will you fuck me on top of him?” Just for him. So the hostage won’t hear—but to set Art ablaze again.

His eyes snap open—his pupils blown wide, his body tensing like a bow pulled tight.

“I want our faces—our climax—to be the last thing he sees. I want us to come while staring into his eyes.” you breathe sensually, tongue still working his ear like a wicked spell, your hands cradling his head.

The words pierce through him—a direct shot to the heart of his lust.

He rips you away from his ear and crushes your mouth with his teeth, letting you know just how badly he wants that—and more. He kisses you with madness, with sickness, with sadism.

And then his hips find rhythm again—furious, murderous, lethal—ready to strike again.

You cling to him with a grin—watching the world burn beneath you.

Your mouths part, leaving a viscous string of spit and lust hanging between your swollen lips, and there he is—your sex toy, your passenger princess—heart pounding, dignity in ruins.

Four predator eyes lock onto him.

Art licks his lips— so much slaughter, so much sex… 

It makes a man hungry.

You both stare at him in silence—cheeks pressed together, bodies still joined, frozen in time… and then you see it—a shy little bulge in his pants.

“Aww… poor thing, looks like he wants a taste too,” you sneer right in his face, irony dripping from your voice. “Bet he’s jealous,” you say, glancing at Art. “Bet he’s imagining himself in your place.” You know exactly which buttons to push—which wires to cut.

Art’s expression darkens.

Is this fucker imagining what he shouldn’t? Thinking about touching you? Kissing you? Fucking you?

No… absolutely not.

He’s not allowing that.

He leans forward, bends slightly—slips a hand into his shoe… and he pulls out a pair of scissors.

You feel his cock twitch hard inside you as he holds them—sadism bringing out the very best in him.

He opens and closes them right in the hostage’s face—that grin stretching ear to ear.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

He only has one free hand—so you help him.

(Yeah!)

You pull down the hostage’s pants with a bloodthirsty smile.

You grab his balls.

The almost-princess squirms in the seat, trying to retreat from the inevitable steel approaching—with mechanical precision, cold and certain.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

But every tug makes his balls ache, making it worse—only adding to the torment. The skin tethering his balls to his body pulls tighter with every desperate thrash.

You laugh as you squeeze and tug at his balls, stretching that fragile strip of skin that holds them to his body—that perfect little point of breakage.

Art’s eyes shine, his mouth hanging open in a huge smile—he looks thrilled, he’s having the time of his life.

You're still riding him—still fucking him—while he brings the scissors closer, while the cold blade grazes the hostage’s delicate skin.

He’s just a heartbeat away from mutilating his scrotum, from stripping him of his manhood, from turning him into something new, from castrating him forever.

Art’s eyes are wide, crazed. Your smiles are the most wicked they’ve ever been. Laughter—psychotic, unhinged, echoing in your skull—fills your ears in a rush of delirium, your hands working in sync—like a human chimera.

Nothing seems able to change what's meant to be.

And just then—

“Incoming call: Samantha Wife,” announces the car’s robotic voice.

And what follows is the most absurd ringtone imaginable: a xylophone—cheerful, obnoxiously cheerful.

You and Art freeze for a second—just one second. You stare at each other, eyes wide, blank with disbelief…

And then you burst out laughing.

You’re still full of him, and each laugh sends a tremor through you—your pussy clutching his cock in involuntary spasms.

Art slaps his thigh, cackling, gasping, moaning and laughing. Each contraction makes him grunt and huff beneath you—equally turned on and amused.

The hostage can’t breathe, he can’t move. He just cries in silence, pathetically—pants pulled down to his thighs, his balls still dangling between your fingers.

“Samantha... Wife,” you repeat like you're naming a ghost that just passed through the room.

Art doesn’t waste a second—the xylophone is still chiming. That call won’t last forever.

He grabs your face with his bloody hands, pulling you to him, forcing you to look at him—and in his pupils, you see something desperate.

His eyes are overflowing wells.

And then—he starts nodding, manically—like a child begging for an impossible toy.

His hands guide your head in sync with his—nodding together, your eyes just centimeters apart,

like two birds mid-mating ritual.

“YES, YES, YES”

Suddenly, he lets go, collapses into you, buries his face between your tits like salvation lives there. He clutches you—he’s one sob away from crying.

And the xylophone keeps playing—time’s running out.

The hostage is anxious—pants down, balls in your grip, scissors awaiting. 

His dignity hanging by a literal thread.

(Maybe… maybe this is his chance to call for help?)

“Accept call,” you say loud and clear, so the car’s AI picks it up like a loyal servant.

Silence.

Art still clings to you, face buried in your chest—he doesn’t want to look.

Then, a voice—feminine, tired, worried.

“Phil? Hello? Are you there? Why aren’t you answering?” She echoes through the cabin like a ghost.

You freeze. You have no idea what to say—your body stiffens, suspended.

And then the hostage—Phil, apparently—starts thrashing like a drowning rat. Grunting through the duct tape. Lunging forward, his torso slamming into the air, desperate to be heard, to create noise—to make that woman on the other end understand.

THUD!

Art’s fist slams into his gut—a clean backhand strike from the hand holding the scissors. Right to the solar plexus—precise, silencing.

Phil folds like a wet rag and falls silent—immediately. 

How dare he interrupt? How dare he try to upstage the star of the show?

“Phil?! Are you there? It’s almost 8 AM. You have to take the kids to school.” Her voice pushes through the speakers—tense, rising.

Art exhales against your chest, frustrated by your hesitation—your silence. Then he grabs your nipples—hard—twisting them without mercy, like he’s trying to tune your voice in. Like your body is a radio and he’s searching for your signal.

“Samantha…” It’s the first thing that comes out—choked by the pain.

Art softens at the sound. He leans in and licks your nipples—an apology. He strokes them gently, like he’s saying:

“That’s it… good girl. Keep playing.”

And you do.

“So you must be Samantha, huh?” you purr—already sketching the direction you want this to go, like tracing fresh skin with a hot knife.

A dry silence from the other side… Then, the question:

“Who is this?” Her voice lands sharp.

You smile. You feel it—confidence blooms. Art feels it too, through your hips—and his hands encourage you.

He starts to move beneath you—just a little. A slow push, a subtle rhythm, a gentle thrust of support.

He rocks you slowly, just enough to keep you warm, stimulated, aware—paired with the ever-present vibration of the engine beneath you both. Your bodies radiate heat—sex-charged warmth, thick and tangible.

You smile.

“Mmmmmm... You didn’t know?” you reply, tongue gliding over your lips, your voice a velvet blade—sensual, wicked.

Silence on the other end—but she doesn’t hang up.

You feel her frozen, listening—processing.

Art’s licks become kisses, kisses and caresses—he massages your breasts as you speak—rewarding you. Telling you without words that you’re doing perfect.

His hips grind into you—deep, slow—shaping every syllable with his body.

He wants to see you shine—he wants you sharp.

And just then—

Phil lunges—a reflex, a desperate, final attempt. His torso bent, wrists bound, duct tape soaked on his mouth.

His body—weak, restrained—but driven by pure, feral panic. He thrashes, he jerks, he writhes like a dying animal. Maybe he’s trying to scream, maybe trying to break something—anything that will make Samantha suspicious.

But all he manages to do is brush your leg with his shoulder.

A stain on the masterpiece.

Art reacts like someone just spat in his face during mass. 

First fantasizing about fucking you—and now actually touching you? Really?!

He smashes the glass of the side window with his elbow.

Grabs Phil by the hair—hard, brutal—and yanks him between you two, like a trussed-up piglet. 

Then, with the remote, he lowers the now-broken window, shoves Phil’s head out of the car in the cold—and starts rolling the glass back up. The blade-like edge of the shattered window rises—slow, relentless, sadistic. 

Phil’s throat gets trapped.

The pressure builds—and the razor-sharp glass starts tearing into the flesh of his neck, spilling blood down the window like a waterfall of pain. He fights to breathe, but the air leaks out through his torn trachea before it can completely fill his lungs—choking him from within. 

Each movement forces the sharp edges deeper into his bleeding flesh, making it worse to resist.

And Art has no intention of letting go. His finger stays on that button—until Phil bleeds out, suffocates, or freezes.

Art has him by the balls—literally—, and Phil coughs, gags, spasms under the glass’s murderous edge—but Samantha hears nothing…. because her husband is now outside the car.

You cling to Art’s shoulders, gasping, your body still flushed and pulsing from before—but now caught in that delicious edge between murder and desire.

That razor line where you both live.

And then—with the call still active, with Samantha likely crying on the other end, believing her husband is cheating on her—Art starts moving inside you again.

Rough.

Powerful.

Devastating.

All while gripping Phil, all while staring into your eyes—his face twisted in bliss and brutality.

Because the suffocating, bleeding body wedged between you is just part of the entertainment. Because the gagging, the twitching, the sobbing—It’s just background noise for your moans, music to your ears.

“Phil’s been having a blast this whole time. You should’ve seen us, hahaha!” you laugh out loud—bright, mean, unapologetic.

You keep riding Art—who still has Phil by the hair and the balls—without stopping. Your blood-splattered hips slam against Art’s vibrating pelvis with every deep thrust.

“We’ve done things…” you murmur through heavy breaths, biting your finger playfully, “things that would leave your jaw on the floor.” You’re not lying, not even a little.

“And the best part is…” you drop your voice to a sensual whisper, “we’re not done yet. The best is still coming.” You shoot Art a look. 

He’s losing it—laughing harder with every word out of your mouth. And the best part? He knows you’re absolutely right.

“Where is he… I want to talk to him, I need to…” comes the whisper from the speaker—a broken, trembling voice.

“Phil? Oh, he’s…” You glance at him—gasping through the window, barely conscious,

bleeding down the glass.

“He’s getting some air. It’s just… so hot in here. Poor thing’s outside, pants down, trying to catch his breath…” You shrug your shoulders, like it means nothing.

Click.

The call ends—abruptly. She’s heard enough—she can’t take any more.

And Art cheers.

You’ve been flawless. He’d be clapping if his hands weren’t full of hostage. You never broke character—not once. And all the while, you kept fucking him, both of you using Phil like he was just part of the set design.

Art starts bouncing you on his cock with the momentum of his hips—like you weigh nothing, making you jump, then slamming you back down onto his length.

He celebrates you.

Every thrust feels like he’s saying: “Hip hip hooray!”

You both brace yourselves on Phil’s limp body, kissing with feverish desperation as your hips keep moving—he’s stopped resisting. He’s not fighting anymore.

You use him—like a table, like furniture—as if his useless body was made just to support you.

Art lowers the window all the way to free Phil’s lacerated neck—he’s dizzy, disoriented, fading.

And you both look down at him with something almost like… tenderness, as he writhes weakly across your naked laps.

The important thing is… your princess is still alive.

Oops! Did I say princess?

That reminds me...

SNIP.

We left off right there, didn’t we?

The—now official—Passenger Princess is fully conscious again.

Art moves fast.

He rips the duct tape from his mouth in one swift, dry motion—and in the blink of an eye… shoves his own mutilated scrotum back inside it.

Without hesitation—like forcing medicine down a rebellious child’s mouth..

And then, reseals it—tape back in place.

Well, he won’t be making any more noise now, will he?

Art slams him down against the leather seats. And taking full advantage of the position Phil’s in—flat on his back, humiliated, turned into both mattress and rug at once—you waste no time.

You pounce on him.

You get on all fours—right on top of him as Art strips off the last of his bloody suit and positions himself behind you.

He lines up—presses his chest against your back—and sinks into you from behind. 

Doggy style.

You both moan from the pleasure of this new sensation, your bodies shuddering in response.

And from that angle—you both look down at your lovely victim. Your hands are planted on either side of his head, and Art’s face leans in over your shoulder, never taking his eyes off him.

You both smile down at him.

Your hair brushes across his face with every thrust, and Art bites his lip as he fucks you from behind—absorbed—, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist—over your stomach—pulling your bodies together as much as possible.

Your arms start to give out, buckling under the weight of Art pressing into your back—your strength is fading…

You let yourself fall without a second thought—you don’t care.

You both collapse onto him like a cross—settling atop him without missing a stroke.

You—body to body, chest to chest with the hostage. And Art—on top of you, inside you—pinning you both in place.

A human tower of sin: Three bodies, two lovers, one victim—one act.

A perfect threesome.

And beneath you, shifting like a ragdoll—his movements pulled by the rhythm of Art’s thrust… your princess.

Your soft, squirming mattress, creaking with every motion—your own private living bed.

Art doesn’t wrap his arms around you anymore—he takes the opportunity to wrap them around your hostage, just to make sure he doesn’t feel left out.

He hugs you through him—as if you were the steak, and the man-and-a-half were the bread in a meat sandwich.

And you gasp—between laughter and moans—feeling the weight of him crushing your back,

the burning heat of his skin, and his cock—unyielding—fucking the life out of you.

You smile—you close your eyes. Lost in the pleasure, lost in this madness you love—this chaos that is him.

Exactly this.

Exactly this is what you needed to come.

Your man giving you everything—on you, against you, inside you—filling you with himself like the end of the world depends on it.

You moan his name with a broken voice, drool slipping down your chin, eyes squeezed shut—your fists clutching the hostage’s shirt like it were a bedsheet.

That feeling—building deep inside you, rising higher and higher.

Art is holding you now—tight. So tight you can’t even move… All you can do is take it—take his cock until his grip finally breaks… until he cums.

Your bodies—naked, bloodied, overflowing, frantic—can’t take much more. 

So close.

So close.

Art bites your shoulders—his teeth ache like a teething baby needing something to gnaw on.

God—he’s hitting every single spot, every place you need. And your tight walls clutch him harder with each thrust, a velvet trap begging him not to stop.

And he won’t—not for a second.

Not the fucking.

Not the biting.

His tongue finds yours in a frenzy. And you kiss like oxygen doesn't matter—like your tongues have to melt together before the end comes.

Your mixed spit drips down onto Phil’s face, who’s right there—just inches away—unwilling witness to your sexual apocalypse.

Moans, growls, gasps, filthy sounds fill the car—a hellish symphony.

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEEEEP.

The seatbelt alert—triggered by Art’s brutal thrusting—like a child kept awake by the sounds of his parents fucking in the next room.

From the outside, the image is absurd: a car bouncing like a cartoon, that shrill warning screaming alone into the empty world.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—matters now.

You’re on fire.

He’s on fire.

The world is on fire.

And Art… Art doesn’t stop.

His arms locked around your body like he hates you for how much he loves you.

“Come for me, baby,” you soothe him. “Fill my body with your poison… spill into me… flood me.”

You whisper it with all the heat in your soul, but some part of you starts to wonder—is something wrong with him?

You look back at him for a second. And he’s wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, sweat dripping down his temples, saliva trailing from his lips—in shock. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, erratic.

And then—you get it.

You lunge for Phil’s throat. You want Art to see you—to see your mouth soaked in fresh blood—hungry, feral, sensual for him.

He loves the sight of you like this. This is his favorite you—your freak self.

And he can’t help but do the same.

The princess moans beneath the tape. No longer fighting—but still feeling… and that’s all that matters.

Art licks one side of his neck. 

You lick the other.

One on each side—like two hyenas toying with a trembling fawn.

You feast on his throat with teeth and lust—leaving red, wet, gleaming marks—, sucking his skin like it’s candy, moaning as you devour the meat of his neck.

And then, the taste of fresh blood hits his tongue—seeping from the tiny cuts made by shattered glass… and he savors it.

That taste… Hot blood from fresh cuts, still full of life—slipping out of its vessel.

Art finds the wounds—and fucks them with his tongue. He plunges into the gashes, tongue twisting and probing, teasing the torn flesh before driving deeper into the raw, bleeding meat.

And then you feel it—a shift. The tension in his jaw, a tremor rippling through his entire body…

Art growls.

“No…” you whisper, already knowing what’s coming. “You’re not going to be able to stop, are you?” you say, already bracing for what’s about to happen.

And he can’t—his ragged breath, his blown pupils, his endless thrusting—they tell you everything.

It hurts you to see him like this—to know you can’t satisfy every one of his needs… 

“This is exactly what you need to finish. I know… do it,” you whisper to him—calm, loving.

He nods, eyes locked on that pulsing throat—he can’t resist any longer.

CRUNCH.

Hot blood splashes your chest, your face, your hair, your neck.

Art’s teeth sink into the Princess’s neck like ripe fruit.

And he starts eating—tearing off chunks of flesh as large as his mouth will allow.

The Princess spasms beneath you, moaning like a dying animal—his body convulsing under your writhing, relentless fucking.

This is the end.

And you look at Art—mouth dripping red, eyes completely gone, face twisted in pure, carnal lust—fucking you harder, faster and deeper than ever. 

And right then—he cums.

Inside you—violently, completely.

He closes his eyes, furrows his brow, his head drops to the angle of your neck, pressing his forehead against your skin. His mouth opens in silence—he’s screaming on the inside, riding the wave of his orgasm like it’s tearing him apart.

His cock pulses inside you like a second heart.

And you feel everything—under pressure.

All his sickness.

All his love.

All his hatred.

And you cum with him—as if your body has no choice.

Not with this image.

Not with this feeling.

Not with those final breaths brushing your neck, escaping his lips as he devours human flesh and clings to you like you’re his torture and the only relief from it.

You cum together—on top of the still-warm corpse.

Art’s thrusts don’t stop as you both ride out the climax—filling you with thick white ribbons of the most intense pleasure a man’s body can take.

He trembles as he clings to you, and you offer yourself completely—you stretch his orgasm out as long as you can—wishing it could last forever for him.

And he does the same for you, in that way only he knows—only he can.

This is the most beautiful part of sex: That moment when you trap each other in a cage made of pleasure.  That moment when it feels like nothing exists outside the other.

The car finally stills.

The beeping fades.

All that remains is your breathing.

And the echo of madness.

Art slips out of you—just for a moment, just long enough to turn you over—and slides back inside with the little strength he has left… just enough to kiss you until he gives in to exhaustion. 

“I love you…” you whisper against his lips, stroking his sinful, naked body. “More than anything,”

you continue between soft kisses that taste like human meat. “I’d do anything for you.”

And he holds you—not quite understanding what you mean, but utterly captivated by your sweet insanity.

He still moves inside you—soft now, but present—in a slow, ghostly rhythm. You close your eyes, letting the fading climax travel through your still-entwined bodies.

Foreheads pressed together, as he finishes unloading inside you—as he empties himself deep inside. The last of him—slowly trickling out in drops, like tears.

And then—a vibration: Phil’s phone.

A new notification.

Marvin Son: Dad, where are you? Mom’s acting weird and we’re going to be late for school.

Art sees it—squints—, and with fingers still trembling from the effort, he types:

Dad: I got lost, I think I took a wrong turn somewhere, and the GPS isn’t working. No clue how to get back home from here… Send me your location and I’ll be there in a sec.

Marvin: Ok. (location attached).

You lie there, eyes unfocused on the ceiling, utterly spent.

“Truth is…we need a nice, relaxing shower.”

Thank you for reading all the way to the end!!!

I hope you enjoyed this story just as MUCH as I did.

Although… I have to admit I might’ve gone a little too far with the poor guy.

There were moments when I genuinely started to feel bad…

Maybe I should’ve stopped after making his wife believe her husband was a son of a bitch.

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art started choking him with a broken-glass-powered automatic window.

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art cut off his balls (and stuffed them in his mouth…).

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art was literally eating him alive.

Maybe I should’ve stopped before dooming an entire happy family.

Oh well. Terrifier things, I guess 😅 HAHAHA.

If you liked the story, please leave a juicy like—it seriously motivates me to keep writing and keep feeding you all.

Comments are also very welcome. I love talking to people as insane as I am.

And don’t forget about requests—I'd be more than happy to make all your dreams cum true.💋🩸

Thanks again for everything, and I’ll see you in the next Artventure.

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j.b.

chapter ten, all ears

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: thank u everyone for the kind words i hope everyone is enjoying it! i keep getting jacob edits on tiktok and its very motivating LOLL

prev. series masterlist! next.

“You’re kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide, mouth parted in disbelief. “I haven’t been here in years.” You glance over at Jacob, a grin pulling at your lips, unable to hide the giddiness bubbling up.

Jacob chuckles, pulling into the gravel lot with no marked lines—just scattered vehicles and uneven tire tracks. “Glad you finally like one of my surprises.”

Your attention is already out the window. A faded banner reading Clallam County Fair sways in the breeze above the entrance gate. Just past the fence, you catch glimpses of neon rides spinning in the sunset—the pendulum, the drop tower, the Ferris wheel slowly turning in the distance. An assortment of food trucks spew out the scent of butter and fried batter, the neon signs on their rooftops flickering like they're trying to compete with the stars. Colored lights blink against the dusk sky, casting glows of pink, green, and blue.

You haven’t been here since you were a kid, but everything about it still sparks the same thrill.

Clallam’s fair was practically a summer tradition. Your family came every August, and more often than not, the Blacks came too. You and Jacob would run around the grounds until your legs gave out, pockets stuffed with tickets and sticky candy wrappers.

Jacob hops out, walks around, and opens the door for you without a word. There’s a smile on his face, something steady in it.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

He buys your tickets at the booth—no arguing, no letting you pull your wallet out—and then the two of you are walking into the fairgrounds, swallowed by sound and scent and light. The air smells like sugar and grease, like popcorn, dirt, and fried everything. The noise is a blur of laughter, distant screams from rides, and distorted announcements over crackly speakers.

The moment stretches, weightless and buzzing with energy. You take a slow look around, soaking it all in. The lights, the scents, the old familiarity of it. You glance at Jacob, and he's already watching you like he’s cataloging your expressions, quietly satisfied.

Without hesitation, you drag Jacob straight into the clutter of vendor stalls and merchandise stands. He doesn’t complain. In fact, he plays along so well that you end up breathless from laughing. You bop him on the shoulder with an inflatable hammer, and he retaliates by sticking a tie-dye bucket hat on his head and dramatically posing like a model.

“How do I look?” he asks, puffing his chest.

“Like a tourist at Woodstock,” you reply, and he nearly drops the oversized sunglasses he’s trying on.

You drift from booth to booth, weaving through macrame jewelry, bootleg graphic tees, and glitter tattoos. The light around you shifts as the sun continues to dip, casting long shadows beneath the rows of vendor tents. The buzz of the rides eventually pulls your attention forward. The sound of squeaky hydraulics and a child’s distant scream over laughter reminds you of what you haven’t done yet.

You nudge Jacob’s arm. “Okay, time to get serious. Froggy roller coaster?”

He groans, already shaking his head as you pull him toward it.

“You do realize we’re, like, four feet too tall for this?” he mutters, ducking his head to squeeze into the car.

“Shhh,” you hush him, giggling. “It’s nostalgic.”

The ride is barely faster than a brisk walk and feels more like a jostle than a thrill, but you still scream at the top of your lungs for fun. Jacob groans the whole time, but he’s smiling when you get off. After that, it becomes a rhythm—ride, laugh, wander. The sky fades from dusty lavender to a deeper navy as you wind your way toward the game booths, still glowing under harsh fluorescents.

You eye the Down-a-Clown setup skeptically.

“All these games are rigged,” you say, crossing your arms. “So unfair.”

But then you spot it—a comically oversized stuffed bear, locked away behind the mesh like some carnival trophy.

Jacob catches you staring and halts.

“I’ll get it for you,” he says, as if it’s already decided.

You laugh, unconvinced. “These games are a scam. You won’t win it.”

“Wanna bet?”

He grabs your wrist and leads you to the booth. The teenage attendant barely glances up before Jacob slaps down his ticket and collects the softballs. His arm moves with effortless precision, each ball knocking a clown down with perfect accuracy. You stare, slack-jawed, as his score climbs higher and higher.

When the timer buzzes, Jacob turns to you, smug grin stretched across his face. He jerks his chin at the stunned worker, who reluctantly hands him the bear.

“Told you,” he says.

You try not to look impressed. “Show-off.”

“Say it again. Slower.”

You roll your eyes but smile, hugging the bear. “You’re carrying this, by the way.”

“Obviously.” He adjusts it over his shoulder like it’s nothing. “Why’d you want this thing anyway?”

You shrug. “Kinda reminds me of you.”

He gives you a side glance. “What, big and awkward?”

“Soft and annoying.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

By the time you make it to the food area, Jacob’s got a glowing LED necklace around his neck and you’re sporting a light-up headband and a psychedelic scarf he won for you in some dart-throwing contest. He’s showing off, clearly, and you let him. The smell of fried dough and sugar is practically magnetic, and your stomach growls so loudly Jacob raises an eyebrow.

“Hungry much?”

“Starving.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you eye the concession stand. The line moves fast, the air thick with the sounds of batter sizzling and syrup being drizzled over funnel cakes. The murmur of nearby families—kids tugging on sleeves, parents negotiating over snacks—creates a cozy kind of background noise.

When it’s your turn, you glance at the menu board, but you already know.

“Let’s get an elephant ear.”

Jacob’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Then we have to.” You turn to him. “Split one?”

He hesitates, just for a second. There’s something flickering behind his eyes, but then he nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

You take the greasy paper plate from the vendor and bring it back to the bench, sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, like it’s second nature. Powdered sugar clings to the air between you, catching the glow of string lights above.

“She used to give us five bucks,” he says eventually, voice low. “Said it had to cover one ride and one snack, so we always picked this.”

You glance at him. “Your mom?”

He nods once, then shrugs. “She’d always sneak us extra, though. Pretended she didn’t.”

You don’t say anything. Just smile gently.

You sit together on a bench tucked just to the side of the stand, sharing the elephant ear like no time has passed. The sugar sticks to your fingertips and the warm dough melts on your tongue. Jacob pulls off a corner piece, his thumb brushing against yours for a second. You tear off a bite and chew slowly, savoring it.

He looks over, about to say something, and then pauses.

“You’ve got—” He reaches out and gently brushes the powdered sugar off your nose with the pad of his thumb.

You blink. “That obvious?”

“Blinding,” he says dryly, but there’s a softness in his eyes now.

“She used to wipe powdered sugar off my face too,” he murmurs. “Always said I ate like a baby bear.”

You smile, quiet. “You kind of still do.”

He lets out a breath—half a chuckle, half something else—and leans back slightly, the moment stretching between you.

“Thanks for sharing,” you say.

He looks at you like you’ve just said something far more important than that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anytime.”

The remaining golden hour haze dips low over the fairgrounds, stretching shadows long and warm across the grass. Everything glows—soft amber dusted over cotton candy stands and glittering off the tops of ride canopies. The Ferris wheel lights flicker on one by one like tiny galaxies sparking into life.

Jacob stands and offers a hand. “What do you say? One more ride?”

You glance up at the Ferris wheel, your hand tightening slightly around the bear. “Only if you promise not to rock the cart.”

“No promises.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“I’ll build you a little shrine in my garage. Right next to my toolbox.”

He smiled—just a flicker—and stood. You gathered your loot with exaggerated effort, wrestling the oversized bear under one arm, your prize haul dangling from your wrists. He waited, steady and quiet, before you both turned toward the Ferris wheel, weaving through the soft-buzz quiet of the fairgrounds.

The crowd had thinned to a gentle hush. Most of the families were gone now, their sugar-high kids dozing in backseats, while the fair itself exhaled into twilight. Faint, dreamy music floated from the booths, that old-timey kind of tune that made everything feel slightly cinematic. The lights above you blinked softer now, more glow than glare, and it all felt slower, like time was giving you a moment.

By the time you reached the Ferris wheel, only a couple pairs stood ahead of you—couples leaned into each other in that quiet, familiar way that said the day had been shared, not just spent. You wondered for a second how you and Jacob looked from the outside. Old friends, maybe. Or maybe two people pretending not to fall into something that had been waiting.

When it was your turn, the ride operator barely glanced up—his bucket hat was pulled low, and his hoodie looked like it had survived too many summers. He waved you into the gondola with a tired gesture. You stepped in first and slid onto the cool metal bench, tucking the oversized stuffed bear between your legs. Jacob followed and settled onto the seat directly across, his knees brushing yours for the briefest moment before he leaned back. The gondola gave a small jolt as the wheel creaked back to life beneath you and slowly, the world began to fall away.

Below, the fair became a tilt-shift version of itself. The booths looked like dollhouses, the people like toys, voices blurring into a low, distant hum. A breeze stirred your hair and cooled your skin, and everything below felt small and far away.

“They look like ants,” you said, peering over the edge. The structure gave a little creak, and you immediately flinched back. “This thing’s got to be fifty years old.”

Jacob gave you a sidelong look. “Why would you say that now?”

You grinned, unapologetic. “Just making conversation. But seriously—how sketchy is this thing?”

He shrugged, arms stretching out across the back of the seat, casual and broad-shouldered and smug. “It’s fine. Probably. Structurally questionable, yeah, but it’s survived this long. If anything goes wrong, I’ll just jump us to safety.”

You snorted. “Oh, great. Heroic and delusional. That’s new.”

The gondola rocked gently as the wheel moved again, taking you higher. You were almost at the top now. The sky had deepened into full navy, stars beginning to blink out from the velvet. Below you, the fair shimmered like a constellation of lights and motion. Distant laughter, golden bulbs, and the fading scent of kettle corn made it feel like you were watching someone else’s dream.

Jacob went quiet. You glanced at him—and for a second, just watched.

The colored lights from the wheel rolled slowly over his face—blue, then pink, then soft gold. They lit the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw, the thoughtful set of his mouth. He looked older up here, or maybe just more real, like the version of him you’d always been moving toward.

He caught you staring.

You looked away, cheeks warming. “This, uh... this kinda feels like a date,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off but meaning every word.

There was a pause. Not heavy. Just quiet.

Jacob leans further back, arms draped over the railing behind him. “That a bad thing?”

Your breath caught. “No,” you said, softer now. “Not a bad thing.”

The wheel turned again, dipping low before lifting you back into the sky. This time, it didn’t stop. The operator wasn’t even watching—just scrolling through his phone with his chair tilted dangerously far back.

“Guess we’re getting bonus rounds,” you murmured, settling deeper into your seat. The stuffed bear finally slumped forward between your knees, its oversized head lolling like it was trying to bow out of the moment.

Jacob glanced at it and smirked. “Even the bear knows it’s third-wheeling.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, nudging the bear’s fuzzy snout with your toe. “He’s trying to be respectful.”

Jacob’s eyes met yours again, softer this time. “Yeah. He gets it.”

The breeze was stronger this high, catching at your hair and brushing cool across your cheek. Everything below faded to a hum. It felt like the world had hit pause, holding its breath just long enough for you both to hear your hearts beating. You looked down, fingers fiddling with the bear’s plush paw in your lap. Then up at him again.

And then the words just fell.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You hadn’t planned it. They just slipped out, raw and unguarded, landing between you like a match dropped in tall grass.

You winced. “Sorry. That was random. Never mind.”

But Jacob wasn’t laughing.

He was watching you.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”

Your heart tripped.

You sat up straighter, your pulse thudding in your ears. “You—”

“I didn’t mean to say it here,” he interrupted gently. “Not in some squeaky gondola with a lopsided bear third-wheeling us, but I’ve known for a while.”

You couldn’t look away from him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said again, slower this time, like he wanted each word to land. “I think I have been since before I understood what it was. You were always there—even when you weren’t. And when you came back… everything made sense again.”

Your throat tightened. The silence was full of stars and fairground lights and the sound of your heart catching in your chest.

“I didn’t want to mess it up,” he said, voice quieter now. “Didn’t want to pull you into my world before I knew how to say it.”

You watched him through the soft glow of the Ferris wheel lights. He looked steady, but there was a flicker of nervous energy in the way he sat—one knee drawn up, his hands loosely clasped in his lap.

He glanced down at the bear slouched between your legs like it had passed out from secondhand tension.

“But then I looked around.” He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “We’re a hundred feet in the air, on what might technically be our first date—chaperoned by this guy.” He nodded at the bear, now slumped even lower like it was trying to disappear out of embarrassment. “And yeah, the view’s mostly just overpriced funnel cake and busted string lights—but it’s quiet. You’re here. And somehow it feels exactly like us.”

You smiled, heart pressing against your ribs. “You’re not wrong.”

You didn’t think. You didn’t have to. You leaned forward, and so did he—both of you bridging the space across the small gondola until your knees bumped, and your fingers brushed in the middle.

“I love you too,” you whispered. Your smile trembled. “You idiot.”

Jacob laughed—quiet, breathless. The sound wrapped around your chest like a hug. He turned his hand, palm up, and yours slid easily into it. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low.

Your nod was barely more than a breath. “Yeah. Please.”

He moved slowly, crossing the space between you like the moment was something sacred. When his lips met yours, it was careful and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say—warmth, certainty, the ache of time spent waiting. He tasted faintly of cotton candy and that cheap strawberry lip gloss you’d swiped on in the car mirror, not expecting this. Not tonight. But maybe you should have.

His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Like you were something breakable and golden and his.

You kissed him back like you meant it, like you always had.

When you pulled away—barely, just enough to rest your forehead against his—the sky behind him cracked open in a bloom of color. The fireworks.

You hadn’t even noticed the countdown. But now the world outside the gondola was glowing—bursts of red, gold, green, silver—each one lighting up his face like something out of a dream.

You sat there, suspended above it all, heart pounding, breath tangled with his. And for the first time in forever, it didn’t feel like you were falling.

It felt like you were finally caught.

[xxoxobree]

Morales Fam Road Trip HC’s.

Ft. Jeff, Rio , The Twins, And You 🥰

You guys are driving to Florida To Visit Rio’s Parents. Orlando Specifically.

You weren’t supposed to come but the twins begged you and their parents until they heard yes.

It was so last minute too, they asked you two days before the trip.

It was Really Miles’ idea that you came, he hates to be separated from you.

Milo (because you guys like that name 😭 it’s so basic) too hates to be separated from you but he’s Capital P fr so he couldn’t let you know that.

Rio said you guys weren’t going to any theme parks but the ticket prices are reasonable so they bought them to surprise you.

You are forced in the middle seat to keep the peace between the twins. 😂

It works for the first 2 hours of the trip.

Big Daddy Jeff 😍

He’s Driving ofc

Goes 10 under the speed limit.

Calls out every traffic violation he sees.

Had a lot of coffee so he’s a bit jittery and is talking a lot.

Holds Rio’s hand🥰

Does the dad hand thing when he hears snacks being opened.

Shakes it and throws it in his mouth 🤣

He was that nigga back in the day, yk what I mean ? 😏 so the playlist is good but clean versions only 🤣

Does the dad “Hey.” When y’all are misbehaving in the back.

We’ll get there when we get there , when asked how much longer.

Needs to stop to pee every hour 🤣

Mama Rio.

Had to pray for her sanity before she entered the car.

Takes pictures of everyone and everything the whole car ride.

Loves the cows , makes everyone look at the cows and horses.

“Oh my god Jeff, stop.” Whenever he calls out a road violation.

Ask if you guys are excited every time you stop.

Turns around with the mom face when you guys aren’t listening. Fussed at you guys in Spanish.

Y’all are listening to Selena.

Plays some of her childhood music and talks about memories in Puerto Rico.

Plantain chips and water. And don’t ask her for none. 🤣 She gives Milo some cause that’s her baby Miles is salty , but she shares with him too.

Miles

Is sooo excited you said yes, has a whole itinerary for you guys, that he FaceTimed you about the night before.

Sits to the left behind Jeff

Sketches Things he sees, on the way , redesigns street signs. Sketches a picture of you and his brother.

Shows you the sketches to get your approval.

Only one who listens to Jeff’s fun facts

“That looks like you” when he sees something ugly. He did it to Jeff and had the whole car cracking up

Begs to go to universal studios because he wants to take a picture with Megatron. Lowkey a minions fan too.

Shares his blanket with you.

Leans on your shoulder and falls asleep.

Makes you watch cartoons with him. You love it.

He and Jeff eats everyone snacks. Doesn’t want to share his tho.

Share with you ofc.

Tells you stories of his grandparents.

Takes pictures of him you and Milo.

Throws his legs across you and Milo.

Milo

Is excited you came too but he’s Capital P so he just hugs you.

Is the reason you’re in the middle. “I’m not sitting next to him ma.”

He leans on your shoulder too , they’re clingy boys.

Talks to Rio in Spanish the whole ride.

Shares his AirPods with you. His playlist is fyeeee🔥🔥🔥 puts you onto new artists and songs.

Plays IMessage games with you. He wins every time.

Texts you talking shit about Miles 🤣 you tell him to be nice.

Shares his candy with you and Miles

Him and Miles go back and forth about Miles eating his snacks.

Pushes Miles’ legs off of him every time and give him a death glare.

“We close Ma?” Rolls his eyes every time he hears no.

Watches Tik toks with you

[perksofbeingpoet]

☆ THE POETS AT THE AIRPORT ☆

CHARLIE: trying WAY too hard to be everyone's airport crush. has to be dragged out of the liquor section of the duty free shop ("but the vodka is so CHEAP"). plays a game of "trying to sneak as many metal objects past the security check as possible". when he gets a pat down he keeps wiggling his eyebrows and saying some variant of "wow no you're wayy too old for me" to the security guy (who's probably considering quitting his job). is secretly terrified of flying but tries not to let it show (grips neil's hand so hard it hurts when they take off)

TODD: literally a ball of pure anxiety in the beginning of it. SO scared he overpacked, he's constantly talking about what if his suitcase is too heavy and he has to empty it out and everyone in the queue will be watching him and GOD HE HATES AIRPORTS. calms down a bit after the security check (totally panics about what if he accidentally put a gun down his pants or something and doesn't remember), and then just chills in the perfume area of the duty free shop, trying all the scents. buys loads of snacks because you never know if the place you're going to has the good ones. tries not to think about the possibility of the plane crashing. likes watching the clouds.

NEIL: A literal kid. Is the one who ACTUALLY overpacked, and runs around with his suitcase (he'd totally sit down on it and ride it around if that was socially acceptable). spends like an hour in the shops and is suddenly convinced he needs to buy a lot of unnecessary stuff. BUT goes into airport dad mode as soon as he needs to, he has all the tickets and keeps reminding everyone of having their passports ready, he knows the gate number etc. takes the lead and gets them to the plane safely.

KNOX: has like an hour long "in case i die on the plane" video ready for chris, and they have a long phone call to say good bye (interrupted when charlie gets into a fight with a security guard - "c'mon dude, who's side are you on, the government?? like being a small little guy in power??" "Sir I'm going to repeat it one more time, I need you to take off that belt please."). if knox wasn't dating chris, he'd totally be looking at all the cute girls at the airport for like two seconds and trying to telepathically tell them they're cute (relatable, not gonna lie). Is so polite and charming to all the staff that it's on the verge of being funny, Pittsie teasing him about really being the perfect son in law. Honestly just a very chilled flyer, he has fun.

PITTS: has even more fun. has like an extra bag full of snacks that everyone makes fun of and then obviously wants some of later (pittsie gives them some because he's a bro, but they have to swear that he's the best and will get the front seat of every car they'll ride). TOTALLY has one of those inflatable neck cushions. the security guy comments on how tall he is mainly to make conversation, but pittsie is still proud of it (i think i mentioned my headcanons about pitts' relationships with his height? or did i never publish them?) and smiles for the next minute. reads the on-flight magazine. super excited at take off, he's like LET'S GOOOO while todd and charlie are on the verge of crying. freaks out about omg I forgot my passport (neil took it from him one second ago). fun facts about planes!!

MEEKS: the chillest. tries to calm todd down by telling him statistics and all that about the narrow chances of dying on a plane until charlie snaps and is like SHUT UP OH MY GOD ("'kay sir" 🫡😳). nerds out about planes with pittsie! has WAY too many tags on his bags in case they get lost. tells really bad airport puns that pittsie thinks are HILARIOUS. spends the wait by just sitting in a café and drinking way too much coffee. ONLY buys one teeny tiny little bag of m&ms and then eats like half of pittsies snacks. sits more comfortably than pitts because his legs are shorter and don't get cramped and DEFINITELY teases him about it like 'hmm i don't know what you mean, there's plenty of leg room!"

CAMERON: really excited for the flight, loves the whole experience. printed out everything twice just in case!! all his liquid items are in these little plastic bags that no one ever uses (or maybe y'all are just better than me). eats SO much beforehand to save money because the airport prices are ridiculous. runs to the gate like three times to check it hasn't been changed. has the craziest methods to keep his ears from popping.

[mattslolita]

meet me at our spot - c. sturniolo ( 002. )

warnings ; drugs, alcohol, stoner!chris , riding, hair pulling, smut

do not interact if you're a minor!

"can you kiss me more? we're so young boy, we ain't got nothing to lose."

"wait, i'm coming with you."

your own words surprised you — you really didn't know chris like that, and you had barely only met him tonight; but honestly? genesis was right — you needed to have some fun and if hanging out with a random drug dealer ( who was cute as hell! ) was your ticket to that, then so be it.

chris grinned at you, holding his hand out towards you — you accepted it with a smile, as he hurriedly pulled you next to him.

you held his hand close as you both weaved throughout the drunk bodies, the loud music and smell of weed encasing the whole home. you followed close behind chris, and as you both had made it downstairs, you caught sight of genesis and hunter, who had his arm wrapped around the girl.

as if sensing your look, genesis looks towards you, a huge grin forming on her face at the sight of you with chris — she raised her solo cup up to you in approval followed by a wink, causing you to roll your eyes playfully and wave her off.

chris's hand found its way to your waist as he guided you out the door, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach at the feeling — you both walked a short distance away from the house where his car was parked, and he opened up the passenger door for you.

you thanked him and slid inside, and he quickly went around the passenger side, slipping in. he let out a sigh and ran his thumb across his nose, and you looked at him curiously, turning to face him a little. "chris, what music do you like?"

chris then looked over you, a small grin taking over his lips. "i like a lot of people, to be honest. did you want me to play some music?"

"yeah, i'm finna put you on," you grinned, and chris shook his head with a small chuckle.

you went to grab the aux cable as chris put the car in rear, his arm going to the back of your seat as he pulled out of the parking space — you felt a warmth encompass your cheeks because of how attractive he looked in that moment; the veiny arms, the way his arm gripped your seat so tightly, it was turning you on.

chris began driving down the road, and you were still scrolling through one of your playlists, then you smiled once you had finally found a song — a second passed by and you set your phone in your lap as big poppa by the notorious b.i.g began playing softly.

"i love this song," chris grins, one hand resting on the wheel as he drove, the other one coming to rest somewhere on the counsel.

"me too," you agree, "so tell me chris, how long you been slanging?"

"probably bout almost a year," chris shrugs and you hum in response, "i mean i smoke alot and i always had good product, so i figured why not make some money?"

"no yeah, i feel that," you nodded, leaning more towards his side of the car.

a comfortable silence passed between the both of you, and you found your gaze occasionally wondering over to chris periodically — his eyes were still red being that he was still high as shit, but you thought it made him look even better; his brunette hair slightly hung over his eyes, but you could still see the crystaline of them clearly as he looked ahead.

chris's hand on the counsel came to rest on your thigh, but you didn't even flinch — in fact, you leaned into his touch as he drove on. you turned to look out of the window, and chris couldn't help but sneak a glance at you whilst you were unaware of it. you hummed to you know how we do it by ice cube playing in the background now, chris beginning to rub gentle circles around your thighs.

"hey, can i ask you to do something for me?"

chris had already successfully given the person their drugs, so now he had the both of you parked on a hill overlooking a view of the city — you had your legs propped to side while you faced him, and chris was leaned back in his seat, rolling yet another blunt.

"yeah, what's up?" he asked you, his eyes still trained on rolling the paper between his fingers. you watched as his tongue glazed over it to seal the other side, and you bit your lip to keep from sighing.

"so like," you began, holding your phone in your lap, an embarrassed smile taking over your features, prompting chris to look at you with a raise of his eyebrows, "i've deadass never smoked before."

an amused expression paints his face as he holds the blunt in his hand, licking his lips. "never? even with your friend who does it all the time?"

"never," you said, feeling your cheeks heat up at the way he was looking at you, "would you be down to teach me?"

"yeah ma, i got you," chris agrees, nodding his head in your direction.

you grin as your hand finds the orange lighter on the counsel, holding it up towards chris — he holds the blunt up to his lips, and you flick the lighter on, the flame touching the end of it as you pull away, watching as chris inhales, then exhales the smoke.

kiss me more by doja cat and sza began to play in the background as chris smirks at you, and you grin at him anticipation. "alright, you try holding it, like this."

chris turns the blunt the opposite way of him, and you take it and hold it in your own hand. "how do you like, do the inhale thing? that probably sounds dumb as fuck, nevermind."

"nah, you're good ma, there is a certain way you're supposed to inhale it," chris explains, how eyes low and hooded, "breathe it in slowly, then exhale."

your eyes stayed glued on chris's as you brought the blunt up to your lips and inhaled slowly like he said, the end of the blunt lighting slightly, then you pulled it away and exhaled, smoke coming out of your nose; you coughed just slightly, and chris is grinning at you proudly.

"look at you, already doing so well," he rasps, causing you to clench your thighs together, "now let's hit this shit together."

you giggle and pass the blunt back to chris, watching as he throws his head back, his brunette hair swaying slightly as he puts the blunt to his lips, exhaling the smoke and shaking his hair again — he was making you so hot and bothered, even though you had barely known him.

you both passed the blunt back and forth a few more times, giggling aimlessly about nonsense. you were becoming more and more comfortable around him, but there was still something you really wanted.

when chris handed you the blunt again, and idea popped into your head — you looked over at chris lazily, a grin overtaking your features as you bite your lip at him.

"what you lookin at me like that for, ma?" chris asks you, a lazy smirk on his lips.

"i wanna try something," you giggle, sitting up in your spot, "if you're down to let me."

"what's up, then?"

you hold the blunt out to chris and he takes it with a confused expression, as you pushed your seat back, preparing yourself — he watched as you carefully climbed over onto his lap, smoothing your dress being that it rode up when you sat down on him.

a low grunt escapes chris's lips, as he reclines his seat so that you can have more room on him — taking the blunt from his hand, he watches you with hooded eyes as you inhaled, then blew the smoke in his face, a smirk residing on your lips.

"that was hot as fuck," he rasps, as you giggle at him, moving slightly.

chris's hooded eyes stayed glued to yours as he rubs his hands up and down your sides, coming to rest on your hips — you bit your lip as you moved up and down on him slightly, emitting a low groan from him.

"don't do that, ma," chris growls, and you could feel the wetness pool your panties.

"why not?" you ask innocently, bringing your face down to nibble on his earlobe, "am i making you feel some typa way, chris?"

without warning, chris grabs the back of your neck and pulls you forward, crashing his lips onto yours — his are warm and soft, and you kiss him back hungrily, having been waiting for this moment all night.

chris's hand move down to grip your ass and at this you let out a small moan, allowing him access to slip his tongue into your mouth — you grind down on him, trying to gain more friction from your movements.

"fuck, chris," you say, pulling away from him breathlessly.

you and his lips are both swollen and red, as he looks up at you with his hooded eyes, and you feel the wetness pool in your panties even more.

"what ma, tell me what you want," chris breathes, and in response you grind down on him again, causing another low growl to emit from his lips.

"i wanna ride you," you say finally.

"come on baby, let me take off this pretty little dress, then," chris says.

you remove your hands from the sides of him momentarily, as chris's hands wander down to your sides and pull the dress up over you, revealing your black bra and black lace panties — chris reconnects your lips, and you continue grinding down on him, feeling your panties leave a small wet spot on his sweats.

pulling away from the kiss, chris goes down to nip and suck at your nipple, whilst pinching and kneading the other causing a moan to escape your lips. "please chris, i need you already."

he watches you with hooded eyes as his hand travels down to your panties, feeling the wetness of them when he slips one finger inside of them.

"fuck baby, you're so wet for me and i haven't even touched you yet," he groans, "take these off, ma."

you do what he says and lift yourself slightly to pull your panties down while chris works at pulling his own sweats down — your eyes widen slightly as his boxers come off too, revealing his long cock, the pinkish tip dripping with precum already.

chris's hands move to your waist as he grips onto you tightly, helping you to sink down on him — a lewd moan escapes your lips as you sink onto him, his cock stretching your walls.

"you're so big, fuck!" you moan out, as chris attaches his lips to your neck.

"c'mon baby, start moving for me," chris says against your neck, sucking on your sweet spot harshly.

after adjusting to his size you began to move up and down on chris slowly, his hands guiding your hips as he let out a low groan.

"shit, you're so tight, baby," chris breathes, his hand going down to your clit, rubbing circles around it, "go faster for me."

you speed up your pace, throwing your head back in pleasure in the process — your hand goes up to grip at chris's hair, tugging on it slightly, which caused a moan to escape his lips as he continues rubbing your circles around your clit.

"you feel so good inside me like this," you breathe out, bouncing up and down him, your pace having sped up, "fuck, i'm close."

"i'm close too baby, cum all over my cock," chris groans.

you feel your high approaching you, your mind clouded with pure euphoria as you throw your head back, feeling the familiar feeling in your stomach build up — chris continued his movements of his fingers on your clit as you begin bouncing up and down sloppily, your arousal releasing on his cock as you let out a pornographic moan.

chris continues helping you ride out your high, but then he suddenly lifts you off of him and encompasses your lower stomach with warm, wet spurts of his cum.

both of you are now trying to catch your breaths, and you couldn't help but look down at chris's fucked out face — his hair hung low over his eyes, and they were once again still red from him still being high as fuck.

you climbed back over to the passenger seat, feeling a slap against your ass as you do so, causing you to give chris a playful glare as you sit down. "bro, seriously?"

"it was in my face, ma," chris smirks, as he grabs a napkin and hands it to you, "my bad by the way, i just didn't wanna y'know..."

"no you're good, i'm on the pill anyway," you waved him off, wiping your stomach with the napkins, "thanks."

"of course," chris says, handing you back your dress as well.

you slipped the dress back over, furrowing your eyebrows once you realize you didn't have your panties on. you looked around for them, your head feeling slightly dizzy as you were high as shit too.

"chrisss, where are my panties?" you said giving him a goofy smile, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"they're somewhere around here," chris rasps, "wait, let me see..."

both you and chris went to look at the back of the car but end up bumping your heads, causing you both to burst out laughing — you were both high as fuck, and just got done fucking, and now you were both laughing hysterically at something so stupid; you definitely liked chris.

after the whole ordeal, chris was driving you back home. you both sat in a comfortable silence, his hand rubbing circles around your thigh again as you hummed to the lauryn hill song in the background.

he pulled up to your house and parked right in front, and you looked over at him to see he already had his own eyes on you.

"i know we barely just met and all ma, but you seem so cool," chris admits, rubbing his thumb across his nose, "can i have your number?"

"yeah, for sure," you smile shyly, handing your phone over to him, "it was cool hanging with you."

"which part the smoking, or the sex?" he grins, and you slapped his shoulder playfully, causing him to laugh.

"i mean, all of it was pretty good i can't lie," you admitted with a small shrug, a small smile playing on your lips, "maybe i should go to parties more often if you finna be there."

"you know we don't have to just hang at parties, right?" chris says, "you can just come chill with me any time."

"i'd like that," you smile, as he hands you back your phone, "goodnight, chris."

"i'll see you, ma," he nods to you, his hand on the steering wheel while he rubs his jaw slightly with the other one.

you exit the car and almost lose your balance ( you were still weak in the knees, go figure ) — chris watched you as you went all the way up to the front door of your house, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

and only then, did he pull off, causing your heart to ignite.

heres pt.2 finally baefys, sorry it took so long. do we want a pt. 3, or nah?💌