Sep 13, 2025
i only like enemies to lovers if it’s gay because i think men who are mean to women don’t deserve to live
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from Brazil
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Belarus
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
i only like enemies to lovers if it’s gay because i think men who are mean to women don’t deserve to live
Girlhood is trying to figure out which fictional man you wanna read a fic abt before bed
pro tip! if you ever get stuck on your project just fucking cry man. get it out, it's okay
Tumblr Tuesday: Halloween! Dividers!
Yes, yes, hello! It’s finally Halloween week, and we hope you're all enjoying the little creep haunting the like button. Today, we’re celebrating some of the folks out there creating Halloween-themed dividers to elevate all your spooky fics and posts. What would we do without them?!
Please enjoy, and do proceed with caution—we've got some flashing, mild gore, blood, and bones here. 'Tis the season, after all.
(Each of these dividers comes from a themed collection—tap the attribution on your faves to see the whole set!)
@saradika-graphics:
@solitary-serendipity:
@dollywons:
@animatedglittergraphics-n-more:
@tsunami-of-tears:
@petalpxl:
@crucifyd:
@strangergraphics:
@digilatte:
@kodaswrld:
@cursed-carmine:
@thecutestgrotto:
@drinkthesky:
@successfulicons:
@fisshbones:
@wethairjoel:
@bab3tt3-at3-oatm3al:
@pepsipoet:
@thehereticsx:
drunk in love ~ jo.bellingham
pairing: bf!jobe x black!fem!reader
word count: 1.2k+
warnings/notes: 18+ mdni, sub drunk reader, dom horny jobe, fingering, squirting
summary: after a night out drinking, you come home needy and desperate for Jobe, and he’s got the perfect remedy for you
a/n: hi lovelies !! lowkey I’ve been getting a little bit of writers fatigue from writing about jude all the time so I’m going back to my original husband 😆 enjoy xxx
masterlist
You stumble through the front door of Jobe’s apartment a little after midnight, the city lights still twinkling beyond the windows.
The match you went to watch had ended hours ago, but the after-party with the girls had left you pleasantly buzzed - giggly, warm, and increasingly needy.
The whole night your mind kept drifting back to him: those long, strong hands that had gripped your thigh in the car last week, the way his fingers flexed when he drove.
By the time you kicked off your heels in the entryway, heat was already pooling low in your belly.
You pad down the hallway in your short dress, the fabric brushing your thighs with every step.
His bedroom door is ajar, the low blue glow of the TV flickering across the walls.
Jobe is sprawled on the bed, shirtless, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches highlights.
The sight of him hits you hard, his smooth, toned chest, the cut of his abs, those veined forearms and big hands resting casually on his stomach.
Your mouth goes dry.
“Baby,” you breathe, pushing the door open wider.
Jobe’s dark eyes lift to you instantly. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips when he sees the tiny pout on your lips and the way you’re swaying slightly.
“Look at you. Come here, drunk girl.”
You don’t need telling twice.
You climb onto the bed on all fours, crawling straight into his lap and straddling his thighs. Your dress rides up as you settle over the growing bulge in his sweats, hands roaming greedily over his bare chest, tracing every ridge of muscle.
He feels so warm, so solid. You lean down and press open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone, grinding down against him with a needy little whimper.
“Missed you,” you mumble against his skin, fingers sliding down to map the lines of his abs. “Your hands… fuck, Jobe, I kept thinking about your hands all night.”
He lets out a low, breathy chuckle that vibrates through his chest, but his gaze has gone heavy-lidded and hungry, pupils blown wide as he watches you grind on him.
One big hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you, while the other rests on your thigh, thumb stroking dangerously close to where you’re aching.
“Yeah? That why you’re this fucking needy already?”
You nod frantically, rolling your hips again, chasing friction.
Your hands won’t stop exploring, palming his pecs, dragging nails lightly down his stomach, feeling him twitch beneath you.
Jobe’s jaw flexes, that hungry stare never leaving your face as you whimper and rock against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.
But then his patience snaps in the best way.
With a smooth, powerful movement he flips you onto your back, caging you beneath him for a moment before he sits back on his knees between your spread thighs.
The TV is forgotten. He yanks your dress up to your waist and hooks his fingers into your soaked panties, dragging them down your legs and tossing them away.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, voice low and rough but still soft around the edges. “Already dripping for me.”
You’re panting, drunk and desperate, hips lifting off the bed.
Jobe settles back on his heels, knees spread wide, giving himself the perfect view.
He runs two thick fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick before pressing them deep inside you in one slow, deliberate thrust.
A broken moan tears from your throat.
“That’s it,” he coaches quietly, dominant but velvet-soft. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
He curls his fingers, stroking that spongy spot inside you with devastating precision while his thumb finds your clit and starts slow, firm circles. His free hand presses down gently on your lower belly, holding you open for him.
“Good girl. Feel how deep I am?”
You’re already trembling, the alcohol and overwhelming need making everything sharper.
He pumps his fingers steadily, deep and purposeful, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. His eyes stay locked on your face, drinking in every gasp and whimper.
“Jobe…oh fuck- ”
“C’mon, first one. Give it to me.” His voice drops lower, commanding yet soothing. “Let go. I’ve got you. Cum on my fingers like a good girl.”
The orgasm crashes over you slowly, building from deep inside until it blooms outward in hot, pulsing waves.
Your walls clamp down around his fingers, thighs shaking as you cry out his name.
He doesn’t stop moving them, working you through every aftershock, murmuring praise the whole time.
“There she is… so fucking pretty when you cum for me.”
He slows but doesn’t pull out, letting you catch your breath for only a moment before his fingers start moving again - deeper this time, a little rougher, curling with intent.
The heel of his hand grinds against your clit on every thrust.
“Second one,” he says softly, eyes dark and hungry as he watches your face contort in pleasure. “You’re gonna give me another. Breathe through it, baby. I want to feel you squeeze me again.”
It builds slower this time, a deeper, heavier pressure.
You’re writhing on the bed, hands fisting the sheets, drunk whimpers spilling from your lips.
Jobe leans over you slightly, still on his knees, his free hand stroking your thigh, your hip, grounding you.
“Eyes on me,” he orders gently. “That’s my girl. Feel how wet you are? This pussy was made for my fingers tonight. Come on…cum again. Now.”
The second orgasm rips through you harder, longer, your back arching clean off the mattress as you moan loudly.
Your walls flutter and pulse violently around his thick fingers.
Jobe groans low in his throat, clearly affected, but keeps the steady, rough rhythm going, fucking you through it until you’re gasping and oversensitive.
He eases up for a few seconds, letting you float, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh while his fingers stay buried deep, giving you the gentlest strokes.
Then that hunger returns.
“One more,” he murmurs, voice low and dominant. “You’re gonna squirt for me this time, baby. I can feel it. Let it happen. Don’t fight it.”
He starts again - fingers plunging deeper, faster, curling hard against that spot while his thumb presses firm circles on your swollen clit.
The pressure builds impossibly high, a different, almost overwhelming sensation flooding your core.
You’re shaking, crying out, trying to close your thighs, but he holds them open with his body.
“Jobe- fuck, it’s too much- ”
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna give it to me anyway. Relax… push into it. Good girl. Just like that.” His voice stays soft, steady, commanding. “Cum. Squirt all over me. Let go.”
The third orgasm explodes through you like a dam breaking.
Your whole body seizes, a raw cry tearing from your throat as you gush around his fingers.
Clear fluid sprays out, soaking his abs and the front of his sweatpants, dripping down his skin.
The sight makes Jobe’s eyes roll back for a second, a deep, guttural groan leaving him as he keeps fingering you through the longest, most intense release yet, drawing it out until you’re a trembling, soaked mess beneath him.
“Fuck…yes,” he breathes, voice thick with raw arousal, staring down at the mess you made on his toned stomach.
His cock strains visibly against his sweats, harder than ever. “That’s my girl. So fucking perfect.”
He finally slows his fingers, easing them out gently, and leans down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your exhausted whimpers.
His body is flushed, abs glistening with your release, and a look in his eyes that promises he’s nowhere near done with you tonight.
This is your signal to let yourself write the deranged, uncomfortable, disgusting fiction that you've been thinking about.
