hollow muscle

breathe me in.

Been wanting to write something about this since my good friend @sasusake and I flailed about how such a first time could have gone down during their travels. It was such an inspiring conversation, and the image I had in mind was just too good to pass up! And now many, many months later I finally got around to it.

Hope you enjoy! :)

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto.

It was that look in her eyes that unraveled him: hesitant, determined—but so gentle, so shy as she tentatively held his dark gaze. Straddled along the span of his legs, her small hands rested at the opening of his slacks; questioning him, but never pushing, always only gingerly testing the limits of where he was willing to go.

Swallowing thickly, Sasuke only pushed his face into her neck, and nodded. Closing his eyes, he exhaled a slow breath as she timidly worked on the buttons, slim fingers shaking. His stomach tensed when he felt her reach for the band of his underwear, fumbling with it momentarily with nervous tugs—but when she finally pulled him out, he found himself holding back a gasp, his lone hand curling tightly against the back of her shirt.

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anonymous asked:

Hi there! Firstly I want to say I'm in love with Indra because of you 😂 God, your orgasm headcanons were perfecto! And now could I get more headcanons for Indra and Tobirama ? For example rough sex huhuhu ?Thank you! ❤️❤️

Yooo, my first day back and I get to write about Tobirama. Lucky, lucky me. We are so glad that you enjoyed the orgasm face headcanons, and I hope I did these two justice! ~Admin Axel

Indra Ōtsutsuki and Tobirama Senju Rough Sex Headcanons

Originally posted by demigodxtonio

Indra Ōtsutsuki

• Indra isn’t exactly prone to rough sex, he prefers to take his time and really explore his lover’s body under normal circumstances. The only time that he would be particularly rough or domineering with his s/o is if something rubbed him the wrong way and he starts getting jealous of the attention his s/o is bestowing on someone else. They will know the instant he walks in the room that he is not in the mood for coyness or games – the stony set of his face and the tension radiating from him speaks louder than words ever would. His s/o knows what they’re in for when he’s in one of those moods, and gentleness isn’t in the cards.

• There is little to no foreplay when he’s jealous, let alone romance. His kisses are demanding and possessive, as are the hands that tear at his lover’s clothing just enough to expose the flesh he wants to see. He isn’t going to bother taking all of their clothes off, more than likely he will just lift their skirt or free one leg from their pants so he can cup their sex in his hand and say, “This is mine. No one else will ever touch you like this, do you understand?”

• Indra will probably take his lover against the nearest available surface, be it a bed, the wall, a desk, or even the floor. He isn’t overly concerned with comfort when he is in a frenzy like this, and everything he does is just a little too much. He will leave dark, ugly bruises on his s/o’s neck, but as a master of distraction, he will drive his hips into them just right so they don’t immediately notice how hard he’s biting. Wherever his hands fall, he will leave bruises behind in the shape of his fingers. Honestly, it’s an ugly mess and looks terrible but somehow he can make his s/o feel so good that they don’t even notice until sometime afterwards when they’re undressing for a shower.

• He gets in these moods where some primal urge possesses him and he wants to see them submit to his will and debase themselves completely, and there is something about the act of watching his s/o swallowing his come that is so satisfying. He will shove them down to their knees when he is close to coming and tap the head of his cock against their lips until his s/o opens their mouth and sucks him inside, their sweet little pink tongue gathering the pearly drop of precum from his slit. It doesn’t take long – within a minute at the most his thighs are tensing and he is shoving his cock as far down their throat as he can without gagging them, but he never closes his eyes. Indra likes to watch intently as their cheeks hollow out and the muscles of their throat work to swallow down everything he gives them.

Tobirama Senju

Originally posted by shisuithegreekgod

• Tobirama is really not into hair-pulling, ass-slapping sex at all, and no amount of cajoling or insulting will convince him otherwise. It’s distasteful to him and the idea of hurting his lover is not something he is willing to even try. Any attempts will be half-hearted at best and done solely at wheedling of his s/o, but he can’t really get into it himself and the sex will most likely be kind of disappointing as a result.

• However, he is into really intense sex and it doesn’t bother him so much to pin his s/o down in those situations. He will wrap his hands around their wrists and hold them tightly to the bed, tightening his grip if they try to move or shake him off to touch him, but never hard enough to leave marks. Even when he’s balls deep, he still has a prodigious grasp on his self-control and he will not stoop to truly hurting his lover, but it’s a small compromise that he does for his s/o because he knows it will excite them. He doesn’t even have to speak, with just the unyielding pressure of his hands there is no mistaking the air of authority that accompanies the gesture. He is letting them know silently that he is in control of their body and their pleasure.

• Tobirama doesn’t really mind if his s/o gets a little rough with him, but it is a thin line between being a little rough and being too aggressive, and when it crosses that line he will not hesitate to pause mid-stroke and attempt to deliver a scathing lecture. His s/o will need to distract him quickly, because Tobirama doesn’t know the meaning of tact and everyone will just end up angry. He can be placated and thoroughly distracted with hot, open-mouthed kisses on the side of his neck and gently tugging his earlobe between their teeth.

• When he’s in an intense, authoritative kind of mood he wants to be in a position where he can maintain eye contact, but keep their movements restrained. Usually, he hooks both of their legs over his shoulders, grabs their ankles, and folds his s/o almost in half until they can feel the warmth of his breath against their lips. If his s/o tries to close their eyes, he will go completely still and not start moving again until they open their eyes and look at him.

anonymous asked:

30, Submersion in cool water, Bones

“I’m gonna shower,” McCoy says and rolls up to sitting.  The sheet rumples at his waist and provides Spock with a study in contrast between white cotton and the length of his tanned and freckled back.

“Do you always announce your intentions for the morning?” Spock asks.

“You’re mouthy when you’re naked.”

“It is a simple inquiry.”

“Simple,” McCoy repeats in a mutter.  Spock does not bother to pretend he is not watching the play of muscles in McCoy’s thighs as he walks to the bathroom.  “I was going to invite you to join in, but now I’m thinking better of it.”

“Are you planning to declare your aim of eating breakfast and then beginning your scheduled shift?” Spock calls after him but is either ignored or unheard over the rush of water McCoy turns on.

“It is not warm,” Spock says when he has disentangled himself from the bedding and come to stand before the shower stall.  There is no fog clouding the glass, nor clinging to the mirror.

“A good wake-up,” McCoy says.  Rivulets run over the ridge his collarbone to the slope of his pectorals, and down the flat line of his stomach to-

“Perhaps you should consider sleeping more.”

“Didn’t hear an argument from you last night,” McCoy says.

“Showers are supposed to be a pleasant temperature,” Spock says, but is disregarded as McCoy squirts an unnecessary amount of shampoo into his palm.

Spock will shower in his own quarters under the sonics.  He has neither a clean uniform here, nor a toothbrush, and the morning’s… prevarication renders him not precisely late for his duties before his own shift begins, but not early either.

Water streams down McCoy’s raised arms as he rinses his hair, tiny rivulets finding the hollows and dips of muscle.  Spock leans back against the sinks allows himself another moment to contemplate McCoy’s clearly unsound reasoning.

“It’s tradition,” Sulu says, which Spock highly doubts.

“C’mon, it’s fun,” Jim says and skims his shirt over his head.

“It’s a thing that we do,” Nyota says and shrugs, at least apparently aware of the inanity of their plan, even if she clearly is collaborating.

“It is illogical,” Spock says but what he truly means is insane.

“Good for the nervous system,” McCoy says.  His breath puffs white in front of his face.

“You are a doctor,” Spock says.  “Surely you are not intending to jump into a nearly frozen lake on a planet with permanent winter, where the mean temperature is so grossly below what is bearable for humans, let alone sustainable for-“

“-Come with us,” McCoy says and steps out of his boots.  “We’re just dipping in there for a few seconds.”

“There is snow,” Spock says and this should be clear.  Apparent.  Obvious, as it is currently falling from the sky, borne in on a frigid wind.  “And ice.  And furthermore-“

“-Good God it’s cold,” McCoy says and shucks his pants off.

“Precisely,” Spock says, but it does little - nothing - to dissuade the group of them as they sprint for the shoreline.

Humans, Spock thinks.

“If you’re going to just sit there, grab me another one,” McCoy says from the edge of the hot tub he has arranged himself against and Spock frowns when he shakes his beer bottle towards him.

“Drinking alcohol while submerged in heated water leads to dehydration which in turn leads to-”

“-Oh, quit yapping and get in, would you?”  Water seeps through Spock’s pants to his thigh when McCoy lays a wet hand on his leg.  “And if the water’s so warm that I’ll-”

“-It is not warm,” Spock says.  McCoy squeezes his leg.  Jim tips his face up out of the steam that rises around them and mutters Gross.

Drops of water roll down from McCoy hairline, a slow meander down his neck.  Later, Spock will lick at that same trace of tendon and muscle that slopes to his shoulder and taste the faint bite of chlorine.

“When you are suffering the effects of this ill advised evening tomorrow morning, I will remind you of this moment.”

“You two are cute,” Jim says.  McCoy huffs out of a snort of a laugh.  Spock stands to retrieve the requested beer.  His leg is still wet.

The warmth of the sun is agreeable.  Even the beach is enjoyable, with its roll of waves, nearly cloudless sky, and crab-like creatures that skitter in the foam of the surf.

What is not to Spock’s liking, however, is being dripped on.

“The water’s nice,” McCoy says again, and again, Spock refuses to allow himself to be levered up by the grip on his wrist.

“Highly doubtful.”

“You’re burning up sitting here.”

“A gross exaggeration.”

“There’s nothing to do if you’re not going to come swimming.”

“Untrue,” Spock says for it discounts the rather gratifying experience of watching McCoy swim.  “My shirt is now wet.”

McCoy flicks even more water onto him with whisk of his fingers.  Spock grabs his hand.

“Sit with me,” he says.

McCoy sighs, an exaggerated blow of air.  “Fine.”

Sand coats McCoy’s feet and ankles, and drops of water coat the rest of him, dripping down to where the elastic of his swimsuit rests low on his hips.  When Spock leans over, the corner of McCoy’s mouth tastes of the ocean and the tang of sunscreen.

“You’re boring as all hell,” McCoy mutters and angles his chin as if he is not intending to allow Spock to kiss him properly.

“You have made me quite aware, thank you,” Spock says and leans further over until McCoy capitulates with another sigh, kissing him back with salty, sun warmed lips.

“I don’t want to hear it,” McCoy says and holds up a finger that Spock supposes is intended to be threatening.

“Hear what?” Spock says.

“Anything.”  McCoy leans back and shuts his eyes.  Bubbles cling to his chest above the lap of water.  His fingers, where they rest on the sides of the tub, bear wrinkles and prunes in skin that has grown pale from waterlog.

“Activities such as bathing are generally intended to improve one’s disposition,” Spock says.

“Shitty day,” McCoy says.

Spock studies the sight before him.  The poke of a knee through the surface of the water, the curl of damp hair at the nape of McCoy’s neck, the red flush across his chest and throat.

Spock turns on the tap.  For a moment, the tableau remains quiet.  Peaceful.  Then, McCoy yelps.

“Goddammit, are you trying to turn me into a lobster?”

“I am simply raising the temperature to a more tolerable level,” Spock says and removes his shirt.  “Sit up.”

“This isn’t big enough,” McCoy says as if he is not leaning forward in invitation.

“I quite agree,” Spock says and in the slippery negotiation of knees and thighs and “Dammit Spock, I don’t bend like that”, bubbles and water splash to the floor.  He will clean it later.  He pulls McCoy back against his chest.  

“This is remarkably unpleasant,” Spock says into a curved ear and McCoy’s body lurches with his short laugh.  

“It is, isn’t it,” McCoy says and settles back into him.

Spock finds his hand.  “Unbearable.”


Adrinette Month Day 12: Childhood Friends

Yes, I know this is really late. (you know, I do cover first kiss, reveal, and proposal in this though, soooo does that count as being ahead?) Apparently it takes me a week to finish a one-shot. But hey, I think I actually managed to write some fluff for once so I’m happy.



They were four years old when she first met him.

She watched as he tugged a pretty lady into the bakery, a smile lighting up his entire face and making his eyes shine, his hair tousled from the summer breeze. Marinette was mesmerized by that smile, by those eyes, by the golden glint of his hair. The boy looked like a drop of sunlight that had landed on Earth and was delighted by the people who lived there.

The pretty lady that must’ve been the boy’s mom struck up a conversation with her own mom, talking about needing things for something called a gala. The boy wandered from his mom’s side, gawking at the few handcrafted pastries displayed at his eye level. He stopped by a cake that had been baked and frosted to look like a cat and pressed his small hands against the glass. Marinette left her spot from behind the counter and tapped the boy on the shoulder.

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tea time for @winglysimmer. prompt: sex scene

this was levi’s first big role. it’d been years of headshots and failed agents until he finally got a low billed part in the most recent bond movie. he tried not to get excited–it wasn’t really his style to have any kind of enthusiasm in this industry. anything could be pulled out from under you at any moment, and even when you made it big, you could still fall hard.

but erwin smith. he was actually going to be working alongside erwin fucking smith. names didn’t light up in gold quite as much as his name. shine just as bright as the yellow of his perfectly styled hair. send women and men quivering and broken as much as he does. levi had his fair share of entertainment weekly magazines, full cover photos of half clothed and oiled smith shoved away in his nightstand drawer. he’d come enough times, whimpering into his wrist, thinking of big tanned hands locked into the grooves of his hips. a fantasy so much like a dream sometimes, that he’d sworn they could have been real.

he hesitated to call it an obsession. that would imply he had a problem. jerking off to celebrities wasn’t something you particularly talked about, but they were sex symbols and was of course a thing that happened. but he found himself following paparazzi twitters, following locations to see if he could come across smith in the open. see if he was as godlike as he was in the papers.

and now that he was sitting on set, clad in villainous attire of slicked back hair and a well tailored suit, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of erwin smith. couldn’t control his heartbeating so heavily through his neck that he tried to sedate it with a clench of his jaw.

smith’s bare ass, flexing with each thrust, the pits the muscles hollowing and catching the shadows of the hushed lighting. the shape of his muscles curving around bone, golden skin coated in a sheen of sweat. he made soft noises as he ground against the leading female, her dark brunette hair cascading to the pillow between his fingers as he held her head up to kiss him. the room was quiet except for the pantomiming of fake romance. 

and damn if levi shouldn’t have gotten an oscar for his spectacular ability to keep a straight face and a soft cock.

the director cuts the scene and erwin pulled away from the actress. unashamed, he padded off the set, his soft dick tucked away in a cock sock. he ran a hand through his hair to replace any stray strands as an assistant ran up to him to cover him in a robe and hand him a glass of water.

levi tried not to be star struck. tried to avert his gaze from this sex god he’d been following for his entire shitty career. this man that he couldn’t even believe he was sharing the same screen with for a whole entire minute. but he kept looking, and smith must have felt those grey eyes on him. they meet, grey and blue, and locked for what felt like ages, until smith started to walk toward him, glass of water empty and handed back to the assistant. and levi tried hard to find the next closest stage assistant to hide behind, his heart still pounding in his throat and up to his ears until his head felt like it was going to pop.

“hello.” smith said. he smelled like coconuts and cologne, and for some reason it worked really well for him.

levi didn’t look at him, ground his teeth until he finally could muster the words to respond. “hey.”

“i saw what you did earlier today. it was good stuff.”

“must have been thinking about ‘unnamed grunt A’. i’m ‘B’.”

smith laughed, and the smile that lingered was handsomely beautiful. “ah yes, i suppose i was mistaken.” he tilted his head and leaned forward. “but i think i’ve seen you before.”

levi shrunk away, still averting his eyes. “doubt it.”

“no… no… it was at ‘gilly’s’ wasn’t it.” smith smiled wider. “you know how to dance.”

levi’s eyes went wide. he focused them on the golden embroidered name on smith’s robe as he struggled with the words. gilly’s was his go to place–a west hollywood gay club that pampered to the super rich. he was not rich, but he was the kind of man that had other ways of getting through the bouncers. “i have no…”

“no. some people just dance through their booze. you dance through the music.” smith leaned back, his smile still etched on his face.

levi couldn’t hold the blush anymore. he shrunk away, his fingers curled up and played with the hem of his suit jacket. what was smith doing at a gay club? how had the paparazzi not gobbled that shit up? “like you’d be caught dead at gilly’s.” he croaked. 

“you helped my friend when they were pushed around by a drunk. i wanted to thank you at the time.”

“o-oh.” yep, that was him.

“i am glad that we’re able to meet like this. it was a pleasant surprise.”

“s-sure.” levi was losing it. every second his mask was cracking.

“what’s your name?”


“you can call me erwin.” he extended his hand, and levi took it. held it in his small one and tried not to imagine how much he had jacked off to the very thought of this, with the very hand he had offered to the man.


“erwin! get back on set. we gotta shoot that all again.”

erwin smiled. he removed his robe and stood completely naked besides his little cloth of modesty. levi’s nose flared. “it was nice meeting you.”

levi groaned, swallowed thickly, and nodded. “yeah.”

** my favs - ps sorry this is quite late :P

the freedom of birds (2/? | 7,410 | Rated M)**

Alec didn’t intend to buy anybody at the auction, but when he saw Magnus Bane openly defy his master, he stepped in before Magnus could get hurt. Now somehow Magnus belongs to him, and he has no idea what to do about it.

No Sweeter Innocence (5/6 | 14,518 | Rated E)**

Magnus is Alec’s first kiss, first relationship, first everything. So when they start having sex, he’s a little overwhelmed at first.

(Or: Five times Alec accidentally ‘finished’ early, and the one time he finally outlasted Magnus.)

Easy Enough (1/1 | 2,103 | Rated E)**

Alec let out a quiet ‘pfft.’ Before shrugging his shoulders indifferently. “Easy enough.”

This only allowed for a smirk to appear on the warlocks face, shrugging his shoulders with Alexander. “I mean if you say so.”

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Lonesome (Feysand Fanfiction)

So one day I’m thinking, what if Feyre couldn’t stand to sleep alone when she first came to Velaris because she’s suffering from PTSD, and has to share a bed with Rhys?

Then I wrote a fanfction about it.

Here it is. Leave comments and feedback below. :))

- Tris

The first night I spend in Velaris is torturous.

Rhys had flown us back to the townhouse from the House of Wind. I bid him goodnight in the foyer and went upstairs to the room that had been prepared for me. I quickly changed into a more comfortable pair of pajamas and slipped into the bed so as to tumble  into another episode of nightmarish dreams.

Except that I couldn’t.

I waited and waited for sleep to come but it evaded me. I had never felt more awake. There was the lingering ache Tamlin had carved in me by locking me up and shutting me out, but that wasn’t the reason I couldn’t sleep.

It was that dreadful feeling of paranoia creeping along my skin. Anxiety twisted my insides, tightly winding them up so that every small sound, every shift in the shadows, made my eyes dart around the room, expecting to see my nightmares come to life before me.

The room was dark, since I’d blown out the candles but a bit of light from the moon managed to shine through the windows so that everything was basked in an eerie, soupy sort of gray.

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The lieutenant did not weep. How easily her tears fell for the plight of others; how they calcified when it came to her own joy or sorrow. For surely this was an occasion for both in tremendous quantities, the day she learned her mother was as valiant a warrior as e'er lived, the day she lost her mother once more. But her face was as stone, watching glowing signs and silhouetted trees slide past the car’s window without reaction or comment.

On a normal night, he would have driven them to his cabin. She would have assumed the helm of her vehicle and continued home alone. Yet tonight, he steered them onto the quiet road that led to her apartment. He would not impose that solitary ride upon her; he would walk the paltry miles home.

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anonymous asked:

Road head with woozi

I hope this is enough of a road head and that you enjoy! 😘

After a weekend at Jihoon’s parents’ place, you were finally on your way home. It was 5pm and when you got to the more populated area, the amount of traffic got worse, and it didn’t take long for the practically empty roads at the countryside to turn into a traffic jam in the city. Jihoon sighed heavily while stopping the car, leaning his left elbow on the car door and resting his cheek on the hand.

You sighed, too - you were fairly tired and the ride had been long already, and nothing sounded as tempting as a shower and going to bed early did. The radio was playing with medium volume like it had for most of the ride. Early on you and Jihoon would occasionally sing over it or talk about the upcoming week, but towards the end you had both gotten so tired and so bored that the only sound in the car was the music.

Suddenly a slow, sensual song came on, and the silence between the two of you got a lot more tense. The lyrics were sung clearly, oh so clearly, and the sexual nature of them was difficult if not impossible to ignore. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jihoon’s face tense up a little as he pursed his lips and began tapping the steering wheel with his fingers.

The further the song progressed, the more difficult it was to ignore how much it brought your thoughts to the bedroom, or to a bare Jihoon, anyway. His situation wasn’t much better; he was one to feel the beat of a song, and he could imagine thrusting into you at that exact pace painfully clearly, among other things. What the man was singing about was something that fed his imagination endlessly, which only made him wish you were home more.

With a glint in your eyes and your gaze aimed out of the window at the numerous cars in front of you, you reached for Jihoon’s thigh and merely placed your hand on it, squeezing only lightly. He jolted a little. “Y/N?”

You let out the most innocent “Yeah?” you could muster, while slowly sliding your hand up Jihoon’s thigh. He turned his face to you momentarily, his eyes a bit wide and his lips parted as though he was about to say something. You gave him a small smile and winked. “It’s getting a bit boring with the traffic jam after so many hours of driving, don’t you think?”

Jihoon shrugged almost hesitantly, his brain telling him to move your hand away before it was too late, but from the way his hard-on kept getting worse, he could easily notice that his body wanted otherwise. “I guess..?”

You nodded and pressed your palm gently against his bulge, slowly switching the area you put more pressure on. Jihoon’s breath hitched in his throat as he tried to remain as normal as he could even when his hips bucked up; he was just glad the car wasn’t moving.

“Just try to stay still,” you said quietly, excitement bubbling inside of you, and earned a stiff nod from Jihoon. In reality, you wanted nothing more than to see his self-control break into pieces, but you knew that the car wasn’t the right place for that, not in broad daylight, anyway.

Swiftly, you reached your other hand to his crotch, too, and opened the button and zipper of his jeans before sliding them down a little, then doing the same with his boxers. Jihoon swallowed hard and held the steering wheel even tighter than before while you brought his cock out of its confinements and gave it the first, slow stroke, that had him gasping.

“Sensitive?” you asked with a grin, biting your lower lip playfully as you stroked Jihoon to full hardness. He only managed to give you an “Uhhuh” before grunting a little when you slid your thumb over the head of his length, spreading the small bead of pre-cum around it. Jihoon’s cheeks were flushed and he had some sweat gathered by his hairline already, and you loved it. “That’s just how I like it.”

He wasn’t able to register much before you had already bent down and spreading kisses along his shaft while simultaneously stroking him, which elicited a surprised moan from him. Noticing that the cars were moving a little, he pressed down on the gas, but when his time to stop came, it was abrupt - he wasn’t able to control his foot on the brake too well when you had just wrapped your lips around his length and were currently taking him deeper into your hot cavern.

You started out slow and teasing, knowing well that that was exactly what got Jihoon weak. You’d take him as far in as you could and painstakingly slowly move your head back up, your tongue pressing against his shaft until you’d only have the very tip between your lips, and you’d do it all over again. The sounds Jihoon let out were music to your ears, stifled moans and quiet grunts taking over the radio (that didn’t have a sensual song on anymore).

Jihoon took a glance down, panting heavily at the sight of your head moving up and down slowly. He could feel your tongue on the side of his cock, teasing his shaft with the tip of your slick muscle and hollowing your cheeks as you sucked a little every time you moved your head up. He tried to clear his throat when he noticed that the cars around you starting to move. “Uh, Y/N, the jam’s gone…”

You looked up at him with raised eyebrows, merely the tip of his cock between your lips. He swallowed when he saw the look in your eyes; they were clearly saying that there was no way you’d be stopping now. Letting the tip leave your lips, you kissed his shaft and dragged your tongue along some of the veins, your eyes never leaving Jihoon’s. “You don’t want me to stop now, do you?”

The shake of his head was hesitant yet vigorous - you were correct, as much as Jihoon’s brain was telling him that he had to focus on driving and driving only. Not that you wouldn’t have known it already, though, seeing how hard he was and how much pre-cum he was leaking, practically begging to be touched.

“I knew it,” you grinned and after wiping your mouth quickly, pressed a soft kiss to Jihoon’s cheek before bending back down with your lips parted and easily welcoming him back into your mouth. Jihoon bit down on his lower lip as he pressed the gas pedal, forced to continue driving. You held onto his right thigh for a bit of support while you sucked on him, sometimes taking him deeper and sometimes not as deep into your mouth but making sure that he was gasping or grunting either way.

Jihoon could hardly keep his eyes open and focused with how sensitive he was and how close he was to his orgasm, and to prevent any accidents he slowed the car down a little. He brought one of his hands to your hair (in all honesty he wanted to slide it down your back and into your panties, but decided against it; he’d have all the time and space in the world as soon as you were home) and began guiding your head gently, suggesting you’d take just a bit more of him in and move your head just a bit faster. A hiss left his lips when you let his tip brush against the back of your throat, and an uncontrolled groan followed the hiss when you sucked on his tip and teased his slit with the tip of your tongue.

“God, Y/N,” Jihoon murmured, his fingers slowly running through your hair, almost like he was praising you, as you continued bobbing your head up and down slowly, your hand stroking him at the same time; whenever your mouth moved up, so did your hand, and Jihoon could’ve sworn you had never given him as good a blowjob as the current one.

You smiled to yourself at his reaction and increased your pace, never failing to make him moan quietly when you sucked on his sensitive tip and lapped at the salty pre-cum. The cars behind yours and the ones passing were honking angrily, but Jihoon shrugged it off and gave them an awkward smile when they drove past glaring at him. Luckily none of them saw the real reason to why he was driving so slowly, or at least he hoped your head wasn’t high enough for them to see your hair.

Jihoon could barely resist his foot from pressing down on the brake when you suddenly played with his balls a little and swirled your tongue around the head of his length - he was close, awfully close, and you could feel his hand hold your hair a bit tighter. His breathing was heavy and uneven as he let out encouraging sounds and sounds. “Yeah, baby, just like that. I’m almost there…”

You nearly moaned around him; finally he showed just how into it he was, and it would’ve been a big lie if you had said it wasn’t turning you on. Pulling away from Jihoon’s length, you continued stroking him fairly fast and leaned to his ear. “Do you know how much seeing you like this turns me on?”

Jihoon nearly whimpered - whimpered - at your husky voice and the words you let out, and when you returned your lips to his cock, it didn’t take him long to be releasing inside of your mouth, his left hand holding the steering wheel in a death grip and his right one shaking a little on top of the back of your head. The car was barely even moving when he let his eyes fall shut and moaned.

Swallowing his release, you slowly pulled away and swept your lips clean and leaned against your seat after a long while. You let out a relaxed sigh and looked out of the window cheerfully, not even mentioning the dreadfully slow speed you were moving at, not to speak of the never-ending honking around you. Jihoon swallowed hard, still overwhelmed by his orgasm, and nodded slowly while starting to speed up.

“The next time you do that…” he began quietly, and the corners of your mouth tugged upwards at the prospect of a next time alone, “the traffic jam better be a longer one. I’d rather not crash into anything in that situation.”

You chuckled and placed a hand on his thigh, this time much more innocently than some time earlier, and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Admin Scooter

Don’t mess with the girl who writes.
The girl who writes won’t see your hesitance, the slighter nature of your advances.
When you get rid of her, it will hit her like a train.
Kind of like the first time you smiled at her.
She won’t see it coming.

Don’t mess with the girl who writes
She’ll immortalize you.
Build you into a better version of yourself
Encase you in gold statue
Write how much she cares
For every curve of your muscles
Every hollow of your bones
She’ll tell the world
How you make her nerves stand on end.

Don’t fuck with the girl who writes
Go out with her just to be nice
Just because she’s pretty and you have nothing better to do
She’ll find out
And she’ll feel it like you ripped her open
To see how she worked inside
Then sewed her up
And stabbed her where it would hurt the most

Don’t fuck with the girl who writes
When she falls in love with you she won’t tell you.
She’ll write it into poetry, into verses
You can’t get out of your head.
She’ll say words that will burn her into your memory
Words of devotion, sustenance, of air to breathe
She’ll suffocate you if you’re not careful

Don’t fuck with the girl who writes
She’ll make you into a villain
A black leather jacket and the embers of a cigarette
The smoke rising from a joint in the front seat of her car
She’ll listen to Taylor Swift and write you a list of grievances
Of condemnations
And when she is done with you
You will be heartbroken instead of her
When she is done
Your whole life will be splattered on the pages of the screen

And everyone will see how much she loved you
And how you only fucked with her
The girl who writes

—  “The Girl Who Writes”