#(and its perfectly ok for me to not act on desires when im feeling scared or nervous; those feelings can and do coexist)

[withonly-sweetheart]

kisses you mwah mwah mwah "go big or go home" <- my standards exactly (and im not talking height... well technically i am just another one-)

The worst part of it all is: you really like him. He makes you feel like you're in high school again despite the fact that he's decades past that point in his life - it's the way your heart flutters in his presence, the way he makes your cheeks heat up when he compliments you. However, this is anything but an innocent crush. You want more than the kiss on the cheek he gives you when he greets you at your doorstep, more than his hand holding yours as he helps you step in and out of the car, more than his arm around your waist as he leads you to the table.

THIS. WHOLE. PARAGRAH. GRAHHHH this perfectly sums up what its like to go on dates when you're not a minor anymore like you know what you want and it still feels like you're a kid? so wanting that is wrong but you want it and you know it should feel right but you're too scared to act on it. which leads me into:

But, at the restaurant, you decide to order a double shot of liquid courage, which is a one-way ticket to going home with Joel.

OK GIRLLLLL I SEE U... baddiessss pose for me (ass fat slim thick no tummy) love the number implications because if u think abt it, its a double shot right which is supposed to be strong and she says one way which means she's not coming back... guys a ONE WAY TICKET MEANS YOU'RE NEVER GOING BACK MEANING SHE WANTS IT TO LAST DID I JUST COOK???

He gets so far as slipping his hand up your dress, but the moment his fingers brush the gusset of your panties, you grab his wrist.  "Joel—" "Yeah?" He's quick to sit up and back off completely — not exactly what you intended but you're grateful that he respects boundaries.

oh my god the respect is so amazing... like personally that would be such a green flag because being able to push away ur own desires to hear out what the s/o wants is just!! peak relationship behavior me wants...

Handjobs, blowjobs, the whole nine yards - well, really, the first three bases in the sports/sex analogy.

STOPPPP I NEVER GOT THAT ANALOGY ESP W SO MANY OF MY GUY FRIENDS PLAYING FOOTBALL AND BASEBALL LIKE I NEVER WAS INTO THAT... bc i love them <3 and also they're dumbshits so if i ever try and explain they start yapping abt innings and shit i dont really care abt <3 love ya ishanth ik ur stalking my rbs

It doesn't fit down your throat, not even close, but Joel's 50, not 20, so he knows that unlike in pornography, most women cannot deepthroat. He doesn't expect you to even attempt such a feat. Just looking into your eyes while you're on your knees for him is enough to get him there.

FUCKKKK I DONT CARE IF IT RIPS MY THROAT I WANT IT- sorry who was that?? anyways love the realisticness bc i feel like 10 inches and smol girl will not equal something very good so love how realistic this feels! always the relatable one, eh liz?

Gradually, it starts to feel better, a lot better. You start to understand why people like this so much.

... but i don't. thats why i read about it, cause the more ya know...

He doesn't know your sobs of pleasure well enough to be sure they're not ones of pain.

chat what... but that line was so smooth like ngl i would fold immediately if someone was that concerned that even during sex they were watching out for me... ermm.... ahriasdlkasdklas tweaks out

And it's not calculated dirty talk, it's just the goddamn truth.

it sure is *tips cowboy hat and gallops away on a brown horse*

"I swear you're gonna kill me with that thing," you say, gesturing to his cock, which looks not nearly as threatening when it's soft. When he lies down beside you and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, you think to yourself, "maybe I am dead, and this is heaven." You don’t realize you’ve said it aloud until Joel says, "I'm pretty sure we're still in Texas, baby.” "Same thing.”

the title ref?? gosh ur so smart thats so funny to me tho like imagine having ur thoughts just blurted out loud cause you cant keep them in... but ig you've already revealed yourself to that person if you've had sex with them? also "death by joel's cock; perfect way to go" an essay by jj - would you read it ik i would (im the goat)

liz liz liz... you maniacal pixie dream... you are the tofu to my vegan lovers burger (where tf did that come from tf) ilysm <3. loved this one.. will be thinking abt... for next few days... weeks... erm... hah.

everything's bigger in texas

pairing: joel x reader

tags/cws: size kink, praise kink, p in v, oral f and m receiving, virginity loss

summary: go big or go home on your first time

a/n: reader is a virgin, but is not specified to be a certain age and in my mind is only a bit younger than joel

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 2k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @withonly-sweetheart

It's embarrassing. It's the reason why you'd hesitated to even talk to Joel in the first place, fearing he might like you back, in which case, he might ask you out, and according to Cosmopolitan and the metaphorical grapevine, you would only get three dates at most before you'd have to end it. And you better not order the fucking lobster. Ever.

You get dolled up on the night you plan to bid him adieu. You'd feel horrible for wasting his time regardless, but the fact that he decides to treat you to dinner at a fancy restaurant for your third date, makes you feel even worse.

The worst part of it all is: you really like him. He makes you feel like you're in high school again despite the fact that he's decades past that point in his life - it's the way your heart flutters in his presence, the way he makes your cheeks heat up when he compliments you. However, this is anything but an innocent crush. You want more than the kiss on the cheek he gives you when he greets you at your doorstep, more than his hand holding yours as he helps you step in and out of the car, more than his arm around your waist as he leads you to the table.

You want him to fuck you.

You try to give yourself a pep talk in the mirror before he arrives, and for an extra confidence boost, you wear the singular pair of underwear in your drawer that matches the one bra that actually fits right, hoping it'll make you feel sexy. But what good is sexy if you’re not going to have sex?

But, at the restaurant, you decide to order a double shot of liquid courage, which is a one-way ticket to going home with Joel.

He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. He’s so hot that even the smallest things can get you worked up. It’s the first time in a long time that your arousal has been able to override your nerves.

You barely get your coat off before you’re pressed up against the door, and he’s kissing you with a type of hunger you’ve never felt before. You know he'll leave you with a case of stache-rash but you can't bring yourself to care.

You stumble across the room to the couch – you would’ve walked backwards into the coffee table if Joel hadn’t picked you up and carried you. You’re not even that drunk - at least, not on alcohol – just insistent on not breaking the kiss until you’re out of breath and you absolutely have to. 

When his body looms over you, all you're thinking about is the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands playing with your tits, making you gasp when his thumbs brush over your nipples. 

He gets so far as slipping his hand up your dress, but the moment his fingers brush the gusset of your panties, you grab his wrist. 

"Joel—"

"Yeah?" He's quick to sit up and back off completely — not exactly what you intended but you're grateful that he respects boundaries.

"I should just be honest with you. I’ve never done this before, so I’m a little nervous…"

You're more than a little bit nervous, especially when you're so used to guys making up excuses to leave when they notice your hesitance after you reveal the truth, after they find out that they're not guaranteed to have you in bed that night.

Joel doesn't kick you out, not even close, he looks unfazed, and you're at a loss. The script you've planned says: end scene, but the camera is still rolling. You have to ad lib.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do that. I’m more than satisfied just getting to kiss you. Hell, I’d be happy just to have you sit on the couch with me, not touching or anything.”

You should feel more comfortable - and in a way, it does - but the novelty of the situation still leaves you dumbfounded.

You can see the worry in his eyes gain prominence as you remain silent.

"Hey," he says quietly. "Are you okay? I promise we don't have to do anything like that. We can just hang out, watch a movie or somethin', no touching at all."

"But I want you, Joel. That's the problem. I really want you."

"I want you too, but only when you're ready."

“I am ready, just nervous since this is new to me.”

“Is this your first time doing anything… of that nature?”

"No, I’ve done some things, I just haven’t gone all the way yet."

Handjobs, blowjobs, the whole nine yards - well, really, the first three bases in the sports/sex analogy.

“Would you like to tell me about those things?”

The look in his eyes – sweet and suggestive all at once gives you a spark of confidence. 

"I could tell you, but I’d rather show you," you say with a flirtatious smile. 

"Only if you let me return the favor."

It takes a lot of willpower to keep yourself composed when you're face-to-dick with Joel. You feel a rush of something — lust, nerves, both? All you can think is: there's no way that is ever going to fit inside me.

It doesn't fit down your throat, not even close, but Joel's 50, not 20, so he knows that unlike in pornography, most women cannot deepthroat. He doesn't expect you to even attempt such a feat. Just looking into your eyes while you're on your knees for him is enough to get him there.

Post-orgasm, he's internally beating himself up for not using his good southern manners and pleasing his woman first. The best he can do is double his typical dedication when he goes down on you.

He doesn't need to try that hard. In what feels like mere seconds, Joel's fingers work you open, pulling an orgasm from you when he dips his head between your legs and flicks his tongue over your clit.

When he can tell you're close, he says, "I'm right here, baby. Let go for me." His lips return to your clit and with his reassurance you let yourself fall over the edge.

It's not until your fourth date that you actually make your first attempt to lose your virginity.

He makes you cum twice - once on his fingers, once on his tongue - before he even takes his cock out of his underwear.

You're tired by that time, ready to apologize and see yourself out, but then you look at him, naked and hard in front of you, and despite your exhausted body, your pussy drools (maybe your mouth too). It gives you a jolt of energy, a rush of blood down south.

Joel��s body is positioned perfectly above you, ready to give himself to you, but he waits, looks at you with admiration in his eyes but doesn’t touch you. When he does, it's his right hand on your cheek.

"Are you gonna… put it in?" you say, laughing a little – anything to break the tension.

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay first," he says with a warm smile.

"I'm more than okay," you assure him.

At your confirmation, his kisses move from your cheek to your jaw, they get rougher at your neck, your collarbone. He sucks on your tits until you whine in impatience.

You feel his breath as he huffs out a laugh into your neck between kisses. But you're more focused on the head of his cock prodding at your entrance. When Joel presses himself inside you — one inch first — you both take in a sharp breath. You're audibly wet, but there's still a stretch, a sting.

Joel sees your eyes squeezed shut and feels you tense up.

"You wanna stop?" he asks.

"No," you tell him. "Just… go slow."

He takes your hand, interlocks your fingers, before giving you another inch. For whatever reason, you hadn't expected him to be this sweet during sex, but you have no complaints.

Gradually, it starts to feel better, a lot better. You start to understand why people like this so much.

But then, you accidentally sabotage yourself when your gaze fixates on his cock going in and out of your pussy. A sense of shame falls over you when you realize he's only halfway inside you.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"It's not all the way in," you sigh.

"And that's okay, baby."

"I wanted to be able to take it all… I wanted to be good for you."

"Trust me, baby, it feels fuckin' amazing. You're squeezin' me so damn tight you're gonna make me embarrass myself."

"I can't help it."

"I know," he says, leaning down to whisper beside your ear, "and that's what makes it feel even better."

You whimper quietly - it's a flustered, needy, good noise, but still, Joel cups your cheek and holds infinite comfort within his touch as he shushes you, saying, "you're doing so good for me."

With slight shift of his hips, a change in angle, he hits that special spot inside you and you can feel the pleasure begin to build.

You moan — louder than you intended to — and it almost startles Joel, briefly takes him out of his trace. He doesn't know your sobs of pleasure well enough to be sure they're not ones of pain.

"You okay? You want me to pull out?"

"No, don't pull out. Do that again," you say, frantically grasping at him, horrified at the thought of him no longer being inside you.

"Do what again?" he says with a subtle smirk that lets you know that he knows exactly what. 

"This?” he asks as he hits the same spot again and you can't tell him 'yes' when your mouth is busy with far more obscene noises, so you nod.

"Right there?" he confirms again, as he steadily thrusts in and out of you, not pushing any deeper, only meeting that special spot over and over.

It's rhetorical, and your 'uh-huh' is more than sufficient as an answer.

Pride mixes with lust and he rattles off praises, knowing he'll get your tight, wet heat to clench around him with every single word.

"You're takin' me so well, baby. You look so pretty like this," he says.

You cry out his name like it's the only word you know, over and over again.

"You're gonna make me cum if you keep sayin' my name like that, baby."

And it's not calculated dirty talk, it's just the goddamn truth.

With begging eyes and a mouthful of moans, you nod and hope your wordless gesture will convey the meaning, which is: please.

Your legs wrap around his hips and there is nothing Joel can do to hold himself back from burying himself to the hilt. There's nothing he can do to stop himself from spilling his load inside you immediately.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach, and you can see a bulge in your abdomen, and it would be fascinating if you weren't focused on clutching the sheets for dear life in an effort to save Joel from the wrath of your acrylics as you shudder through your orgasm.

You nearly lose yourself in the bliss of your high, all you know is Joel and the way he feels inside you.

When you come to, you turn to Joel and he says, "I'm proud of you," a phrase that never fails to make you melt.

You want to say "thanks" or "I love you" or any normal response one might give to that statement, but your words are already halfway out of your mouth.

"I swear you're gonna kill me with that thing," you say, gesturing to his cock, which looks not nearly as threatening when it's soft.

When he lies down beside you and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, you think to yourself, "maybe I am dead, and this is heaven."

You don’t realize you’ve said it aloud until Joel says, "I'm pretty sure we're still in Texas, baby.”

"Same thing.”

[fmddevin]

take care of me: daein’s story of fear.

scenario: so this is about the very first time daein tripped on acid & also his first bad trip. so....you could say he was pretty scared. big reason he doesn’t do lsd much. word count: 2,200 😳 notes: please know this isn’t saying if you get high you’re the same as very stupid kim daein. this is just his experience where tbh, a lot contributed to his bad trip. just please be safe & smart ok!!!!!!! and also, he’s dumb, especially in this phase of his life, and says/does some dumb things!! they don’t reflect my views. in fact...i cringed writing 98% of this. but also! if things like drugs & overdose and anything else in the tags make you uncomfy, please don’t read this...it might bother you! there’s also quite a bit of cursing. and i hate this & it’s not good AT ALL but i’m running out of time so i have to post it. anyways that’s all, ily all <3)

everything started off fine.

everything started off perfectly fine, and that was the scariest part.

there he was, in the center of the room, staring down a girl with her friends on the other side of the room.  he was still too sober, too bored, and was wondering where a few drinks could land him by the end of the night. truth be told, the usual routines were getting to be repetitive - get drunk, find a girl, land in bed by 3am, kick her out before his parents woke him up in the morning. but that was becoming a little too predictable, and tonight daein was craving a change of pace. he’d even gotten their early, thinking that getting there at the start of the party would hype him up. he only intense disappointment of a near empty room, not yet at it’s peak.

“you don’t look like you’re having much fun.”

huh? he can’t tell if he said it out loud over the blaring music, but from his furrowed eyebrows he’ sure the girl in front of him can sense his confusion. he scans her over, but nothing’s coming to him. no name, no potential friends - hell, did she even live here? because he swears he’s never seen her before, and if he did he would’ve tried talking to her a long time ago. “i mean - i guess. i might dip - party’s kinda dead, you know?”

she takes a step closer, and her unexpected proximity almost causes him to step back. “or maybe you’re just dead. what’s your name? i might be able to help you out,” she offers, gesturing across the room. shit. she wanted him that quick? that was a record, and he’s already getting himself ready to go before she turns around to him. 

“i have a friend here, he’s probably got something that’ll make you have some fun. i’ll tell him to hook you up.” for a second, he has no idea what she’s saying, and the only thing that’s really processing is that he won’t be getting laid tonight. deflating in every sense, and mouth agape in embarrassment as she talks,  he can only mumble a small thanks as he follows instructions.  really, he had no reason to comply, but trusting a random stranger seemed like the most exciting opportunity that would come to him for a while. only after she continues he gets it, and as he’s following her across the cup littered room he sees him. he would’ve just dismissed the guy in the corner of the room as a wallflower if he didn’t know any better, and although he’s getting the gut feeling that he shouldn’t be doing this he walks up to the expectant male.

“first time?”

“uh...no, dude. i’ve smoked plenty of times.” for a guy who pretends to be such a badass, he obviously’s the lamest of the bunch, because the other two begin cackling at his response. was that the wrong thing to say? so he laughs, along with them, pretending he’s in on a joke - even though it might be him.

“you’re funny. but for real, you’ve tried acid before, right? i don’t want to give it to you if you can’t handle it, man.”

 shit. acid? shit. this was really….really getting real. here he was, thinking he was getting a discount on some weed, when peeking out between the other’s hands is something much smaller than what he was expecting. he’s puzzled, but tries his best not to show it and shake the feeling off. “nah, im good. just a little nervous, that’s all. i haven’t….done this in a while, so….yeah.” by now he knows he sounds stupid, but this wasn’t what he signed up for when he agreed to come to this party. but what was he supposed to do? he had asked for fun and here came his saving grace - who was he not to accept an offer given to him so conveniently? fear is only reluctance about the unknown, he reminds himself. he’s not really scared to try it, he’s just scared because he doesn’t know what to expect. 

daein’s a sixteen year old phony, a kid from florida who smoked his first joint and thought he was the big man on campus. hell, he barely got away with sneaking that past his parents. how was he going to manage this? alcohol was predictable. he knew his body, and knew he could recover by the time he was supposed to be back from a “sleepover” with his friend. he’s never done anything above those things, and quite honestly is scared to try. but it wouldn’t hurt, just this once. he’s not going to let some nerves ruin his fun, right?”

“so…? you joining, or what, man?” daein’s lost in thoughts until he becomes aware of the awkward stare off, coughing uncomfortably. “oh - right, right. how much?” he asks, bringing his hand toward his wallet before the other brings it back down. he’s told not to worry about it, that it’s on the house - as long as he comes to him next time he wants to buy. just like that, it’s in his hand - what was it, exactly? a little square, almost like a piece of paper. it took multiple shots to knock him out cold. it was hard to imagine this would do anything.

looking around the circle they’ve formed, he’s watching to see who’s going to go first. not so much because of his nerves, but more because he doesn’t really know shit about what he’s doing. other kids might have learned from the movies or watched their friends, but these saturday night sneak-outs were the only times daein really got a glimpse of the real world. if he wasn’t here, he was at home studying, sleeping, or eating. but always, always under the watch of his parents. they were like hawks, which may have explained his desire to act out just this once where he wasn’t under their control.

everyone brings the thin slip to their lips - daein follows suit. everyone puts it under their tongue - he follows again. it’s like a game of simon says, except daein doesn’t really know what voice in his head is telling him to do all this. do i swallow it? do i chew? but no one else seems to do much else, so he lets it do it’s job.

now, the party’s starting, he thinks. except….it’s not. an hour passes. hell, wasn’t this stuff supposed to mess you up? he can barely feel a difference and it feels like he’s been waiting for hours. “i don’t feel shit,” he rather obnoxiously complains, only feeling the same boring buzz of alcohol. he wants more than this.

“dude, is this all you’ve got? you’re fucking weak. come on, i told you i’m not a lighthead. do you have anything else?”

“trust me, just chill out for a bit. it’ll kick in - i swear, you don’t need anything else.”

daein’s eyes plead for a reconsideration, but by the look on this guy’s face he’s not going to risk it. fine, he thinks. he doesn’t want to help him out? daein’s gonna speed up the process.

“pussies.” another shot.

but now….now he’s feeling something. the teen swears its because that one last shot gave him that extra push he needs, but after a while he’s not convinced that’s it. because it’s like a feeling in his chest, a feeling that’s getting bigger and bigger until it’s almost boiling over. he feels like he has bubbles in his stomach.

skip forward thirty minutes later, and it’s really kicking in. holy shit. he can feel every one of his toes, he swears, and when he tells his friends they tell him he’s gone crazy. it feels like the lights are getting hotter and hotter, and he wonders if it’s because he’s been dancing or it’s just his imagination. and honestly? he feels good. it’s like he’s really in one of those coming of age movies, everything seems so fun and everything is so funny. it’s like he’s dancing on the clouds, and daein gives himself a pat on the back for ever thinking this was a good idea.

it was different, but definitely manageable. this is nice, this is fine, he thinks. but the problem is, it’s like he’s going up an elevator he can stop.he wants everything to….stop here, but it’s not. fuck - how’s he going to get home.

now he’s got a new goal - have someone take him home, and take him home now. the feeling in his chest hasn’t subsided, and something’s telling him he hasn’t reached his peak high yet. what the hell was he going to do if he saw his parents like that? it was one thing climbing a fence drunk, but this….this was definitely different. he doesn’t have a clue how he’ll be able to sneak into his house like this - hell, he can hardly make it across the room. everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion around him, like he’s the only one who knows what’s going on. louder than the music, the voices, everything, he can hear his heart. it gets louder, louder, louder - shit, was it gonna beat out his chest?

“shit, is it gonna be out my chest?”

“what, is what gonna be out your che - man, what’d you take? you look awful.”

he knows that, but what can he do about that right now? he’s hot, at least, it feels like he is, but everything about him seems heavy and he’s not even sure he can wipe the sweat from his forehead. it seems like he has a piece of crinkled plastic over his eyes, like something’s stopping him from seeing clearly. he can’t see. it seems like every time he panics, he feels worse, and although he tries to calm down he’s not doing too good.

“home - i’ve gotta head home - now.”

“no can do. ask….tyler or something, i don’t know. i’m headed out with marina.”

“but-” he’s never heard himself this desperate. “-please.”

“sorry, devin. duty calls.”

duty calls. that’s his thing. and now that he’s the one asking for the ride, he realizes how shit the phrase really sounds. he’s the king of egocentrism, because all he can think is aren’t i more important? but he’s getting too unbothered to care, and through hooded eyes watches the other leave through the back door.

he makes the mistake of slumping down into the chair, and with how heavy his body seems it feels like he’s sinking into the carpet. he has to remind himself that he’s okay, that everything’s just an illusion, but it’s hard to remember when he feels like he’s falling further and further into the ground.

he’s sitting down, and still, it’s all just too much. he wants to throw up. there’s nowhere to go - his friends are assholes, and his parents will beat his ass. so he figures he’s a badass and can wait it out, and tries to close his eyes. but that doesn’t block out everything. he still hears the loud noises, feels the bodies brushing past him, feels like someone’s moving his chair around and around again. and for the first time that night, he realizes how alone he can feel around so many people. because he has no one. his heart’s getting louder, still. he’s slumped over a chair in the middle of a party and he thinks he’s gonna die. all he can think is - 

“how the hell did i get here?”

hot. cold. hot. cold. from breaking out into sweating fits to random spurts of chills, everything’s out of wack. and the funny part? he’s not even blaming it on the acid, he just wishes he knew where the thermostat is. but he can’t even find out, because the soles of his feet feel as if they’d got shackled down. he can’t go anywhere, and this is not ok.

he knows he needs to calm down, but the more he worries the faster the room seems to spin. the louder it seems to get, and the more daein wishes that it would all just stop. when he tries to get up again, only this time, he really feels like he’s headed for the floor.

until there’s nothing, nothing but darkness.