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mercif4l · 2 months

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𝗰𝗿𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 — kmg

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pairing: afab!reader x kim mingyu

word count: 3.5k

summary: sometimes it's hard to say what you want. sometimes, mingyu is just being insufferably coy.

content warning: more smut, slight angst, boyfriend!mingyu, nudity, explicit sexual acts (dirty talk, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex), discussions about contraception, dacryphilia(?), dom/sub dynamics, slight degradation, pet names, sub!mingyu is losing his mind

a/n: hugely inspired by @highvern who made my soul sparkle when i read the 'teach me' series and then had to get all my feelings out in a self-indulgent gyu fic. ty once again to @beomcoups and @wonuwoe for being my champions <3 and for your patience! hope this is even a little bit as special for you to read as it was for me to write ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Broad, brawny, strapping young idol, Kim Mingyu. The very image of a gym rat, filling every space he enters twice the size of everyone else; A true BFG.

And a total mess beneath your gaze as you ride his fingers without rest, legs bucking you up every time he presses against your g-spot and sends stars flying up your body and out through your mouth.

Mingyu has always admired (envied, resented, adored) your self control. It makes him feel like a horny loser for never lasting as long as you do, and eternally grateful that he can stay hard after cumming just to feel you palpitate around him with your quiet, quivering sighs, launching him into another orgasm even more devastating than the last.

When you’d first got together and had the sex safety talk, you told him he could ‘just pull out’, and in that moment he’d felt relatively confident about his abilities. But then he’d felt you, and tasted you, and before you could even get your panties off, he was leaking more precum than felt humanly possible.

You’d agreed to take birth control to curb his crippling fear of coming inside unexpectedly. And for your own peace of mind. Which seemed easier settled than his, frighteningly resigned to the side effects that birth control might bring — a concern he wouldn’t let you neglect, encouraging you to attend regular check ups every other month.

Eventually you told him that while it was endearing he cared so much, it could feel a little overbearing from time to time. It still took a boat load of convincing to get him on board with the pill. You’d said you knew the risks, and while it was unfair there was no male equivalent, you’d shown no abnormal reaction to the pill and were an adult; you knew well enough how to take care of yourself. How you cared a whole lot about your body, and his misled doting could border on condescension if he wasn’t careful.

(He’d put on a brave face for your conversation, never wanting to make it about himself, then cried to his mom on the phone later that day about how selfish he’d been. She told him to get over it and to try being a woman.)

Perhaps if he was a woman he’d be in less pain right now. Watching you wind down over a glass of wine like he wasn’t sulking up a fit, his cock so hard that it crooned against his boxers.

Despite his size and laid-back demeanor, he’s always been a bit bashful. Blushing at the slightest pinch of attention and covering his face with his jersey over some good-natured teasing. It was too bad he’d made himself such an easy target over the years. Any attempt to become non-chalant was at odds with every preexisting relationship in his life and was imminently met with even more teasing.

Still, no one makes him feel as embarrassed as you do. It’s like a sick cycle. You peek one second too long at his lips and his ears turn pink, making you grin, filling his chest with a familiar ache and making his dick purr.

“Excited, Gyu?” you’d asked him just an hour ago, sat squished together on the lounge loveseat. Your hand poised on his thigh as he tried not to salivate over your compliments. You’d just been doting on him over his latest interview, head heavy with giggles as you rolled around and gushed about your ‘gorgeous boyfriend’ . You’d been particularly tickled by the discussion of ‘Men in their 20s’, Mingyu’s input being as loathing as you’d expect. Once you’d had your fun imitating his exasperated response, you pet his hair like he was a well-trained dog and scratched under his chin for good measure.

That’s where this particular spiral started.

The bristle of your nails against the hollow of his jaw left him struggling not to pant. It hadn’t been two days since you’d last touched him, and already he was feeling a little lightheaded. This didn’t stop him from tucking his tail between his legs and pretending to be a good, placid, boy. Eyes all round and twinkling like a deer in headlights; mouth agape as he tries to say that dinner is in the fridge and he’d happily heat it up for you as soon as you’d—

Then, you’d raked those same hands over his neck. And like a never-before-touched-40-year-old-virgin, he let out a pornographic whimper, curling into you with legs spread just wide enough to display the stiff beneath his shorts.

“My puppy, what’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, he purses his lips and takes a few short, constricted breaths. Closing his eyes as if he can will this whole situation away (or to a head) by pretending it doesn’t exist.

“Can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Gyu.”

It was his least practiced skill: just fucking saying what he wants. He’s always too caught up in how turned on you make him or how vulnerable he feels. How deeply he enjoys the way you look at him with the eyes of a predator, and how hot he gets at the thought of being your prey.

“Gyu. Slow down.” For a man with the body mass Mingyu possesses, he’s always had a lack of spatial awareness. Bumping into the kitchen island every other morning; bonking heads in the elevator when he tries to give you a forehead kiss; generally not noticing injuries until he’s flexing in the bathroom mirror and a large bruise has appeared where once there was nothing.

His sex drive was no exception. He grinds against the cotton of his trousers without a single thought, even now as you lay your hand heavy against his throat and mock him for it.

“Such a desperate little puppy, can’t even breathe, humping yourself like a bitch in heat.”

With his airways partially blocked and his eyes squeezed shut, this friction feels almost as good as your hand might.

“Stop.” This time, the instruction is clear, the heel of your palm digging into his hip bone and forcing him to sit still. He trembles like an injured animal and you don’t hide your snort; the sound is like a bitter spirit left on his salivary glands and it only makes him more liquid in your arms.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll help you, bug.”

“M’sorry, can’t…”

“Gyu.” It’s a firm warning and still he bites his tongue in resistance:

“I— Fuck… ngh, can’t, I can’t—“

Working himself up over something as simple as wanting to be touched… Well, it makes you wonder if he enjoys being punished. Tears already trail down his temples, thick and heavy as they fall into his damp hair, and every time you lick at the salty water he bucks up into nothing again.

There’s only one way this is going to end. At this rate, with how you’re repeating his favorite nickname in the arch of his ear, the idea of playing nonchalant seems hilarious. How could he ever stay quiet or, god forbid, composed with you around?

It wasn’t always this way, mind you. Communication was a huge part of your relationship. Of course that included acknowledging anything that made you feel ashamed or unattractive. Physical, taboo, emotional: when one of you got shy, you were given a week of grace to iron things out, then you’d have to face the music and let the other in. It didn’t matter how. Actually, there were an infinite amount of ways to sort things out and you were both sticklers for likelihoods and probabilities.

But after six months, Mingyu still couldn’t verbalize his needs. The two ways he’d express himself were whimpering at inopportune moments or folding his legs extra tight until you got the idea. Initially, it was endearing; even after all this time, it’s still sweet and adorable (and a little bit of a turn-on). It sure gave you ample ground to assert your dominance over him. It also gave you a lot to tease him about after the fact. But in some ways, it suffocated you. In some ways, it made you feel gross for controlling the narrative.

“Actually,” you reckon with a tone so disinterested he isn’t sure how to recognize it as your voice: “I don’t feel like this right now.”

Then you cross your legs and shuffle across the couch, plucking your phone from the coffee table to retreat inside of it. You’re sure there was an abandoned webtoon chapter to keep you distracted. Anything to quell the bile rising in your throat.

Before he has a moment to recognize how blue his balls are, Mingyu makes the most sorrowful sound you’ve ever heard. Your head whips around, and what you find is devastating: the big lug has his knees tucked to his chest with his hands squishing against his cheeks. His pearly teeth are gnashed together but barely visible behind his forearm as his shoulders shudder, up and down, up and down.

“Please, please, don’t stop… touching, me, need… Please don’t stop, want you— can you?” and when his begging ends in a whisper of your name, your resolve snaps. You slide onto the ground, hands weaseling between his knees as you look up at him through bleary eyes of your own.

“Gyu?”

“no, no, I’m sorry, I know. Know I’m the worst — so stupid,”

While you expect him to react poorly, this was not the way you’d wanted it to go. The tears that leave his eyes aren’t pleasant or cathartic-they’re crushing. The weight of his sobs makes him look so so small, and his shoulders twitch at your slightest touch, and now you feel even sicker. But you hold it in, knowing that there’s no way he’ll calm down without a steady hand guiding him.

“Mingyu, breathe baby. Breathe. Let’s just try to breathe together.”

It only takes a few rounds of counting in squares to wind him down, after which he wipes his tears roughly and clears his throat.

“Sorry for—“

“It’s okay to cry. I’m sorry for overwhelming you. And stopping so suddenly.” A small point of contact between you remains at the apex of his ankle and the soft of your hand. It’s not enough but it’s the only thing that reminds him to breathe.

“I know—know it’s okay to cry.”

You snuffle a giggle at his pouty response; “I know you know it’s okay to cry. But sometimes we don’t feel that way, y’know.”

God. You’re so stupidly smart. So patient with him. God, he’s in love with you. And he’s such a mess.

“Of course… Of course I want to say it,” he tries to avoid your gaze but the fingers now pressing on his calf won’t let him.

“Want to tell you what I want. But I’m really.. I’m so scared. Scared and not really of you, even though it’s kind of hot when I am, but something about it feels… wrong?”

You listen without interrupting him or egging him on, chuckling when it seems appropriate and nodding as he trips over his words in worry.

“Like I’m… being like, I dunno, I’m not being the man? Or… something.

His hesitation is filled with sniffles against the overpriced hoodie he’d purchased just a week before. He’ll curse himself out for that later, undoubtably. Good thing he has the knack for a good hand wash.

—But I want to… I wanna try. Can I try?”

“Now?”

“Mm… want you now.”

Hearing it from his mouth for the first time in so long sends a bright red flush all over you. Your head dips low as a coy grin replaces that wrinkle between your brows you’d been keeping warm. Mingyu settles his focus on your face to avoid any more distractions. The demure purse of your lips is more than enough to encourage him to continue. Even if he stutters in anticipation a bit along the way.

“So beautiful. I, I love your smile, makes me feel so warm and…weird? Good weird, just like I wanna kiss you all the time. And look at you smiling. And at the same time, smiling at me, and I love it when I feel your tongue on mine, fuck, when I feel your tongue at all”

His words flow freely as you stretch your legs over his and settle in his lap. His hands move in even strokes down your sides and arms and thighs, gently cupping your face as he admires you. Well, it certainly seems like he’s getting the hang of it.

“S’all I can think about when I get sweaty… So weird, but I get sweaty and I imagine you licking it off me, shit, look at how pretty you are, shit, shit,”

As he hears himself, he suddenly feels like he could wax poetic for hours (or ramble, whatever this was). If it meant making you look as pleased as you do right now, he’d happily make a living out of it.

“Can I touch you? So beautiful, wanna feel ya…” The drawl of his accent gets thicker as he rambles on.

“You sure, puppy?” After all that emotional exhaustion it feels a bit strange to be so intimate. The last thing you want is for him to smother his feelings with sex. But then you see the conviction in his flared nostrils and set lips; the very face he makes when you’ve had a bad day and insist everything is fine. When all he ever wants is an excuse to shower you with his love.

“Yes. F’you’ll let me?” And when he asks so nicely, who are you to deny him?

There’s a slight back and forth as he tries to unbutton your jeans as fast as possible and it all goes so quickly you don’t really register how awkward it is, wiggling out of them in his lap on the couch. But Mingyu’s athleticism never fails him, especially in moments like these.

The foray over your sticky panties has him searching maniacally for some purchase beneath you. He rubs and pulls and taps until you’re canting into his knuckles sporadically. By the time he’s pulled them to the side and gathers your wetness in his grip, he might be the hardest he’s ever been.

“God, gonna, wanna make you cum—can I please? Show you?”

It’s your turn now to be silent, nodding profusely into his cheek as you nibble at his earlobe. There’s one sentiment you refuse to voice in this moment, as the pad of his thumb zeroes in on your clit and drags it in circles: that you’re cooked. You’ve never been this wet in your life, and if you had an ounce of self-awareness left in you, you’d shudder at the slick mess you’ve made. Or the blown out pupils lolling to the back of your head. Or the saliva that drools down your chin in excess and slings onto his.

But Mingyu is no better: if you weren’t sitting atop him, a dangerous puddle of his own precum would be proudly on display. Somehow the thought turns him on even more.

“Could come like this, in my pants, nnghh, but I wanna, wanna do it while you ride my fingers, can you…”

“Fuck! Gyu, just gimme—“ The sentence dies before its finish as he takes your excited exclamation and sprints. The longest of his four fingers push into your hole to fit snugly against your walls, pulsing against him like they’re welcoming him home.

“Love feeling you on me, my fingers, my—nngh, my cock, made for me, made for you” It comes out a sadistic whine while he bullies them into you with that same doe eyed look.

“Got so much to do, wanna do, wanna make—“

“Gyu, s’good. So good. All mine.”

“Yours. All yours, f’you’ll have me? Have me?”

The words circulate from your empty head straight to your core and you swear, you could cry. He keeps pleading for you to have him and take him and the fever of it all overwhelms you.

In the fissure between the pit of your stomach and where all this untenable excitement likes to linger, something weird begins to coil. Heating so rapidly that you have no time to warn him of it. One moment you’re there, and then next, you’re not; You’re somewhere where there’s color as far as the eye can see, and all you can feel is bliss. Once you do manage to open your eyes, you notice the pool of liquid that now sticks his tank top and pants to his lower belly and thighs.

Well, shit. You just squirted. And in record time, Mingyu might add. Was this all he had to do to get you riled up? Just divulge his every wet dream and watch you crumble beneath (or atop) him?

You don’t even double take his soaked white shirt, now stuck to his abdomen with slick, or the dampened the seat of his pants that leave very little to the imagination. You’re wasted with the whiplash of everything that has just happened and truthfully, you couldn’t care less.

The only thing that brings reality back to your conscience is the continuing buck of his hips.

“My baby, did so good. You wanna cum?”

“Yes!” He’s squeaking at this point, a pile of incoherent pet names and wet moans. He could probably come in his pants if you hadn’t suggested otherwise, just happy to be in close proximity to you like this: Soaking his clothes and skin and all sweaty all over him.

Mingyu is so distracted by the image that he barely notices the sticky feelings of his trousers being pulled off.

“Hands are shaking, m’sorry, your hands—“

“I know Gyu. It’s okay.”

There’s no space for him to hold you til you’re steady—his primary concern—with your entrance fluttering over him, still reeling from your orgasm. An ache he didn’t even realize was there is relieved the moment you stretch around him. Welcoming him home. He really could die happy like this: admiring the curve of your chin from below and so, so warm. The image of you, anchoring yourself on his shoulders and hips settled between his, is one he’ll be haunted by forever.

“Go.” You say it with the last of your energy and a firm bite to his neck.

He doesn’t need any further instruction; he’s so fucking glad you’ll still tell him what to do.

The rhythm he sets is animalistic. Heaving and whining and fucking up into you with more force than you’d expected him to be capable of. Something feral takes over your boyfriend and you wish you had the energy to watch it. Maybe you’ll just have to do this all again with a camera filming. God, that would drive him absolutely insane.

With the pace and how worked up he’s become, it’s no surprise when he pulls out a few minutes later to come. Strong arms yank you down and suddenly you’re sat on top of his cock, grinding it against his stomach with his direction.

“Coming, I’m, nnngh fuck!” Mingyu’s voice rises about two octaves as he finishes in white all over his belly. It spurts out long enough for you to feel the aftershocks. In his shivering thighs, in his clenched abs, and the overstimulated cries that catch in his throat.

It may take a long time to recover, but you’re grateful for the break. When Mingyu stands from the couch with you in his arms, you already know he’s taking you to the shower. He strips you as carefully as he can muster and grimaces at the messes made of you both in the harsh overhead light.

“You shower first.” It’s the first thing you’ve said in a while and he seems bewildered; not just by your wary voice, but by the idea of taking care of himself before taking care of you. So cute, you think. But you refuse to let up. You take a towel from the heated rack and gather all of your clothes in it, holding the sack out as if to say ‘add it to the pile’. Once he’s naked you shove him gently towards the running water and drag yourself out to the laundry room. It only takes a few seconds before you hear those long feet shuffling behind you.

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll be right back.”

A silence lingers and you know full well he hasn’t turned back just yet. Alright. You’ll coax him through this part.

“I’ll shower with you. Just make sure it’s warm for me?” He giggles at that. All it takes is making something a task for Mingyu to thrust himself into it, full force. The retreating footfall that follows is more than enough to make you smile. And laugh, just a bit.

“Thank you, Gyu.”

“Anything for you.”

penned by rowan. in reference to this interview among other things.

#mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #svt smut #svt oneshot #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #mingyu scenarios #mingyu oneshot #kim mingyu #mingyu imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #svt scenarios #kpop smut

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chrollogy · 3 months

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SUNSET DREAMS ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

kageyama tobio x afab!reader

╰┈➤ part of house of solis occasum’s summer fic exchange for @mcdonaldsnumberone !

synopsis: The tall, raven-haired surf instructor catches your attention during a private surfing lesson with your friends but due to circumstances, there was no space for small talk. Later that afternoon, you cross paths once again at a beach club—a sign from the universe to grab the opportunity, and get to know him better. This quickly leads to a turn of events where you both end up naked in bed, and eager to explore each other’s bodies but there’s just one thing though, he’s a virgin.

content warning: beach au, surf instructor!/surfer!kageyama, poor depiction of surfing, bartender!hinata cameo, alcohol use, awkward flirting, i am making kags PATHETIC, summer fling/beach romance, nsfw, smut (mdni), virgin!kageyama, bottom!kageyama, top!reader, virginity loss (m), porn without plot, handjob, cum eating, unprotected s*x, creampie, multiple orgasms (m), not beta read.

word count: 6.3k

notes: eeeeep it’s my first time writing for mr tobio but i absolutely had fun !! i hope you enjoy mac :3 divider: cafekitsune.

The scorching sun amongst the cerulean skies kissed your warm skin, the scent of salt, and sea lingered in the air as a summer breeze blew by; sounds of heavy waves from the crystalline water, and distant chatters from avid beach goers filled your senses. It was hot, and humid with no ivory clouds in sight—the perfect formula for a quick summer getaway. The beach buzzed with liveliness; colourful hues of towels, and essentials laid upon the white sand, kids with plastic buckets, and shovels eagerly building sand castles, surfers chasing the endless azure waves beneath the blazing sun.

Just the sight of swells had your heart thumping with adrenaline rush, a vivid imagery of yourself attempting to ride the waves formulated in your mind. You’ve never tried surfing before but today was the perfect time to do so—a completely out of the blue suggestion by one of your friends, not that you were complaining. It was always nice to try new things, anyway.

“How do I look? Did I put on too much sunscreen?”

A saccharine voice to your left reeled you back to reality; looking over at the owner of the voice, an emerald gaze stared right back, her eyes sparkling beneath the searing rays of the sun. Scanning your friend’s face for any white cast from the sunscreen, you shook your head, and smiled, “You look fine, Alisa.” Taking your word for it, she mirrored your smile before placing her sunnies over her eyes. You, and three friends were clad in a rental jet black skin tight wetsuit provided by the surf school, preparing for today’s private beginner lesson.

You weren’t going to lie, the thought of braving the waves made your heart pound from nervousness, and excitement but seeing as you were going to experience this foreign activity with your friends—who also haven’t tried it before—it put you at ease; you just hoped the instructor was could somewhat save you if you happen to fall off the surfboard, and onto the warm waters beneath.

Speaking of the instructor, Hitoka spoke up, a subtle devious smile on her face as she worked her hands on her flaxen strands, deftly tying it up in a low ponytail, “I bet our instructor is hot.” This earned silent chuckles from the rest of you, shaking your heads at the blonde who just shrugged in response. “Laugh at me all you want now but if I’m right, you owe me a free drink at the beach club later.”

Playfully rolling your eyes at her newfound determination, you waved a dismissive hand at your friend, mirroring her smile,

“Sure, whatever helps you—”

“I’m so sorry for the wait, everyone! I’ll be your surfing instructor for today.” A dulcet voice cut your sentence short, it belonged to a tall man clad in a wetsuit—he looked to be around your age. Blinking twice up at him, your eyes raked his physique up, and down before taking in his handsome beauty—cropped raven hair that framed his face, and the sharp gaze of his dark blue eyes were the cherry on top; a blend of an innocent yet sultry appeal. He emanated a subtle intimidating aura, especially paired with his looming height but his voice was as soft as the first rays of the early morning, something you could get used to hearing everyday.

You were already considering buying Hitoka that free drink because god was he fucking hot—the skin tight surf suit did not leave much to one’s imagination with the way it hugged his lean build; dips, and curves of his muscles accentuated by the waterproof fabric. It was beyond shameless to ogle your instructor because you’ve completely missed his name, instead, your eyes were focused on the way his muscular legs shifted as he leaned his weight from one bare foot to another.

Next thing you knew, his sharp gaze was on you, an expectant look on his handsome face. Snapping out of your trance, you hesitantly looked to the side—at your friends—clearly unaware of what was going on, ‘Your name. He’s asking for your name.’ Kiyoko mouthed. Letting out a sound of realisation, you smiled up at the instructor, and introduced yourself, ignoring the sudden warmth that crept up the column of your neck, and to your cheeks.

After brief introductions were out of the way, the five of you headed down to the beach—surfboards securely tucked beneath an arm—to start off today’s lesson. Hitoka fell into a step next to you, hissing at the white scorching sand beneath her bare feet, angling your face over to her, you spoke up, “Hey, what was our instructor’s name again? I didn’t catch it earlier.” She looked at you, that devious smile back in its place, brows furrowed, free hand shielding her sweaty face from the blinding sun, “Why? Too busy ogling his hotness?”

Yes. But you weren’t going to tell her that—god, no, she’d never live it down because she was right.

You mustered your best uninterested expression, however, the corners of your lips were itching to curl upwards at her blatant teasing, clearly hitting the nail on the head. Hitoka briefly returned the same deadpan expression, narrowing her chestnut eyes at you before letting out a sigh of defeat, “Kageyama Tobio. Full name, even.” She snickered before going on to complain about the hot sand, and the equally hot summer weather.

“Kageyama Tobio.” You muttered underneath your breath, satisfied at how it easily rolled off your tongue—little did you know, you were going to be moaning it out like a shameless common whore hours later, as though it was made for your tongue only.

As the group neared the deserted azure waters, the scent of salt grew stronger; the sound of small waves crashing on the shoreline filled your ears as you came to a halt just a few ways from the water. Kageyama started the lesson by skilfully explaining the safety guidelines, surfing etiquette, and basic techniques; you tried your best to listen in on the briefing since this was a crucial part of the lesson but his dulcet voice slowly faded along with distant noises from the background as you stared up at his face.

Your eyes gently traced over every dip, and curve of Kageyama’s features, lips parted in slight awe, completely lost in his serene beauty as the late morning sun casted a warm glow upon his skin. This has never happened before—sure, you’ve stumbled upon other jaw-dropping faces in the past that had your heart skipping a beat or two but this was different, you were shamelessly drawn to him; as though you were a moon affected by gravitational attraction, falling into an orbit around a planet named Kageyama Tobio. Though, you mostly chalked up your absentmindedness to nerves taking root deep beneath your skin, as each minute grew closer to hitting the swells of the vast ocean.

After getting thoroughly briefed through safety measures, and basic techniques—such as paddling, popping up, and maintaining balance—the next part of the lesson was getting into the water. Despite your heart pounding with nervousness, paddling wasn’t too bad, the coolness of the wavy waters calmed your nerves a tad bit—a daring contrast from the scorching sun directly above your head.

Fortunately for you, Kageyama was amazing at his job—even though the group practised on shallow waters with small waves, getting the hang of popping up, and maintaining balance on the board was tricky, and he was there to ensure an easy experience for you. The feeling of Kageyama’s firm grip around the back of your thigh had your heart hammering as he supported your weight, gently guiding you to stand up on the board,

“Good! You’re a natural. Remember to keep your knees bent—that’s it.” His praise went straight to your legs, knees slightly buckling; it absolutely caught you off guard, almost losing balance but luckily, you didn’t let up, and tried your best to navigate through the small wave.

The lesson carried on for another hour—it went smoothly despite unceremoniously falling into the water a couple of times with your friends but this earned you several words of encouragement from your instructor which definitely did not have you pressing your legs together; god, you just hoped Kageyama didn’t notice with the amount of times you’ve done it throughout the span of the lesson—you’d rather willingly drink the salty sea water instead.

It was already late afternoon, and the summer sun was beginning to set; blue skies turned into hues of cotton candy pink, and pastel orange which casted a vibrant warm glow over the beach, as though it was a scene from a movie. The group leisurely walked along the stretch of the beach, heading for the beach club mentioned earlier. The three indulged themselves in a mellow conversation, raving about their newfound surfing skills, your mind, on the other hand, wandered elsewhere.

Gaze locked on the warm sand beneath as moments from the lesson vividly replayed in your head; you could still feel the warmth of Kageyama’s palm against your clothed skin, the way his fingers ever so slightly dug into your body whenever you wobbled a little.

As if the universe somewhat knew the truth of your mind, Hitoka exclaimed, “Hey! Isn’t that our instructor from earlier?” At the mention of him, your head shot up, eyes following the direction of her pointed finger; as your gaze shifted all the way to the sparkling waters, you recognized Kageyama’s familiar physique.

There he was in his own world, propped up on his surfboard, deftly riding the afternoon waves. As expected from a pro surfer, Kageyama’s body moved with such accuracy, and intricateness as though he was the one controlling the water—clad only in black board shorts, he looked absolutely divine beneath the sunset skies, the golden glow of the sun bouncing off his bare torso.

“He was a little too intense for me, if I’m being honest.” Alisa momentarily stared at him before shifting her gaze. “Really? He seemed fine to me. Just a little stiff.” Kiyoko responded, brows subtly furrowed as though she was in deep thought; this earned a hum of agreement from Hitoka before rambling on about how intense Kageyama’s gaze was.

Hm, you must be the odd one out because in your eyes, his personality was warm, albeit, a little awkward, and blunt but despite that, it was manageable—hell, you even enjoyed his praises no matter how flat or awkward his tone was.

The conversation carried over to the beach club located along a tranquil coastline; greeted with a mix of elegance, and topical accents, you scanned the place in awe—wooden cabanas draped with ivory curtains, and outdoor sunbeds lined the white sands which overlooked the still, azure waters. Apart from the ocean itself, the pool was also an option to swim in, offering a mini bar that you had your eyes set on.

Kiyoko, and Alisa decided to explore other amenities of the club whereas Hitoka opted to lounge at a sunbed, wanting to catch a glimpse of the sun setting behind the horizon, and as for you, your feet were already taking you to the mini bar situated by the pool. After that lengthy, exhausting lesson, all you needed right now was a little alcohol to wash down thoughts about a certain surfer that plagued your mind.

Tropical beats spilled from the speakers, creating a lively atmosphere for its patrons to enjoy; luckily, the poolside wasn’t too congested, and you were able to secure a vacant stool. Opting for the farthest corner in the outdoor bar, your eyes thoroughly scanned the miniature, azure pamphlet on the counter which contained a curated list of cocktails, and other beverages to indulge oneself in.

“If you’re having trouble choosing a drink, I highly suggest our signature cocktail ‘Sunset Dreams’! I can turn it into a mocktail if you’re not interested in alcohol.”

Looking up from the menu, and at the owner of the buoyant voice from behind the counter, you were greeted with a radiant smile that reached his eyes as though he was the epitome of sunshine; his spiky, orange hair that mirrored hues of the sky were not easy to miss, standing out against the neutral colours of his clothes—a beige linen button up shirt that had a few buttons loose, paired with ivory shorts.

The man held a metallic cocktail shaker, vigorously shaking it above his shoulder with both hands a few times before pouring its contents into a chilled highball glass, and sliding it over to a customer just a few seats down.

“So! What would it be for you?” He tapped the counter, returning in front of you before slightly leaning forward; he had an expectant look in his doe, chestnut brown eyes—a look which one, including yourself, couldn’t help but adore. You caught a glimpse of a small, golden nametag glimmering against the beige of his shirt—bold, ivory letters read ‘SHOYO’.

You contemplated his suggestion for a moment, “Okay. I think I’ll try the signature cocktail.” This earned a gleeful expression from the bartender, eagerly nodding at your choice of drink, “Good, good! You’re gonna love it! I’m Shoyo, your bartender for the night. If you need anything, just call out my name, and I’ll be there!” He pointed a finger at his name tag before working on the signature cocktail.

Smiling to yourself, you felt at ease being serviced by such a lively individual; Shoyo cheerfully greeted, and bid customers goodbye every now, and then—you subtly watched him do his job though he was part of a live entertainment.

A few minutes later, Shoyo sets a pretty, gradient cocktail before you, “One Sunset Dreams for you. Enjoy! Call me over if there’s anything you need!” Giving the bartender a warm thanks, you admired the beverage, it imitated colours of the sunset—a vibrant hue of red sitting on the base which gradually faded into a light cotton candy pink topped with two cherries on a swizzle stick, and a straw.

You didn’t hesitate to pull your phone out, and quickly snap a few photos to send to the group chat, instantly earning a thread of replies from Hitoka gushing about how amazing it looked. Before you could properly take a sip of your cocktail, Shoyo’s radiant voice filled your ears as he greeted an oncoming customer,

“Heeey, Kageyama! I haven’t seen you all week!”

At the mention of the surfer’s name, your ears unabashedly perk up. Sure, there were probably thousands—if not hundreds—of other Kageyamas out there but you only knew one person with that name, and he happened to be standing just two seats away from where you sat. His raven strands were damp, glistening beneath the golden sunset rays; he donned a plain white tee, and blue boardshorts which had no business making your heart pound like crazy.

The chances of meeting Kageyama here weren’t exactly slim given his job but you didn’t entirely expect to meet him here, let alone make friends with the beach club’s lively bartender—you didn’t make him out to be a person to regularly attend places like this.

As if he sensed your curious gaze, Kageyama looked to the side, navy blue eyes meeting your own. You waved—you fucking waved at him like he was an old friend who was here to meet with you; embarrassment gnawed at your skin, warmth creeping up from the sides neck of your neck, and onto your cheeks, resembling small, sharp kisses.

To your surprise, Kageyama dipped his chin in return before sauntering over to the vacant seat beside yours. “You two know each other?” Shoyo mused, brown eyes shifting between you, and Kageyama. The latter bluntly shook his head before pointing a thumb at you, “Had them for a beginner’s class earlier today.” You nodded at Kageyama’s reply.

“Also, just the usual mocktail for me.” The taller male added, taking a seat next to you, completely catching you off guard—you didn’t expect him to actually sit next to you but hey, maybe this was the universe’s sign to get to know the man better; how? You were about to find out for yourself. Shoyo returned a bright response, saluting at his friend before getting to work.

Despite the lively atmosphere of the poolside with distant chatters, and soft beats playing on the speakers, the air between you, and Kageyama turned awkward pretty quickly. Talk to him. Talk to him. Talk to him, your mind screamed but all you could do at the moment was take a long sip of your cocktail—maybe getting a bit of liquid courage would help you in this dire situation, after all, as they said, a little goes a long way.

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you spoke up, “So . . What made you interested in surfing?” Good. This was a good conversation starter; you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back for quickly coming up with a question before the atmosphere got too silent, and uncomfortable to talk in. Kageyama met your eyes, cool gaze bringing an icy shiver down your spine; his dulcet voice engulfed your ears as he explained about his love for the sport.

Surprisingly, he had a whole lot to say about surfing—not that you were complaining, you listened to every word that slipped past his lips. You keenly watched how his relaxed expression gradually turned into something more passionate the more he talked about his job—eyes gleaming with pure enthusiasm, and the corners of his lips subtly curling upwards, it was adorable.

“Sorry. Did I bore you? I kind of went on a tangent there.” Kageyama sheepishly scratched his nape. “No, not at all! It was interesting to hear about it, really . . I think you’re really cute.”

Oh god.

Oh my fucking god. That wasn’t supposed to slip out.

Now would be a really good time for the ground to swallow you whole. Though, the only thing swallowing you whole was embarrassment, and to make matters worse, Kageyama wordlessly blinked at you with the most blank expression known to man—you were unsure whether it didn’t phase him at all or he just decided to ignore your blatant flirting altogether. Whatever the reason was, you were better off not knowing.

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as soon as the sentence slipped out. Though, in Kageyama’s defence, he didn’t know whether you were flirting with him or plainly just complimenting him—sure, he also found you cute but would it be weird if he said it back, and you just meant yours as a compliment, nothing more?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Kageyama was overthinking this whole conversation a little too much, he needed to give a response before it becomes unbearably awkward—

“Oh—um, thanks . . I think you’re cute too.” He practically mumbled the last part of his sentence but whatever, he wasn’t going to repeat it again, not when his cheeks turned awfully warm, and his heart skipped a beat or two. Kageyama tried his best to break eye contact but god he just couldn’t; he found your eyes beautiful, the way they shone beneath the warm glow of the sunset.

Maybe you were just being extremely delusional but did you hear Kageyama’s words correctly? He thinks you’re cute as well? Nonetheless, it gave you a boost of confidence, an invitation to shoot your shot, and see wherever it takes you. The raven-haired man subtly squirmed in his seat, deep blue eyes boring into your own; a small blanket of pink coating his cheeks

Was it just him or it felt really, really hot today? Even though the sun had dipped into the horizon, Kageyama felt like he was right beneath its scorching rays—all of a sudden his body felt uncomfortably hot, he felt sharp prickles kissing down his neck, and onto his chest. Kageyama had never felt this hot, and bothered under someone’s presence before—not to mention the growing sensation deep in his core. He felt pathetic, really, being all turned on from just a little flirting; if your words affected him this much, Kageyama wondered how he’d act underneath your touch.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Not the appropriate thought to think about right now.

He mentally cursed his mind for wandering to such impure thoughts rather too quickly because clearly it did nothing but further fuel the shameful feeling growing inside him—carnal desire. Oh, this was absolutely embarrassing on his end, it hasn’t even been at least ten minutes in your presence, and yet he’s getting needier by the minute.

Earlier, Kageyama was lucky enough that he was engrossed in the lesson, and therefore wasn’t too distracted by your presence—all he got was a pounding heart whenever he held your clothed body but that was just about it. Plus, Kageyama wasn’t one to muck around during his job since the safety of the class depended on him, he couldn’t afford some petty distraction, even if it meant pushing down his innocent feelings.

Though, Kageyama wondered if the feelings he had right now could be even called innocent.

As the raven-haired male squirmed in his seat once again, you caught a glimpse of the growing hardness between his thighs, the thin fabric of his shorts did so little to hide the tent at the apex of his legs—you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit to squeezing your legs at the sight.

It was barely above a whisper but Kageyama heard it just fine, a faint ‘I can help you with that.’

Maybe it was the alcohol talking but truthfully, you haven’t even finished your glass of cocktail, and it wasn’t even enough to get you tipsy—the next thing you knew, your thoughts swiftly flew out of your mouth before being able to stop yourself.

He gulped, nails digging into his palms at the erotic sight he just envisioned in his mind. Oh, god. Was this really happening right now? Did you just offer to help him with his growing erection? Kageyama’s throat felt dry. Where the fuck was Hinata with the drink he ordered? Why was he taking so long to make it? The whole situation felt surreal—a wet dream—too good to be true; he felt dizzy, and it didn’t stop there when he responded equally quietly.

If Kageyama was being honest, he didn’t hear his own words over the buzzing of his ear, and the thumping of his heart—all he knew was that it must’ve been a damn good response with your eyes widening, and lips curling up into a seductive smile, one that had his cock throbbing beneath his shorts.

It was all a daze from there, the rush of pure desire coursing through his veins, the spinning of his head; Kageyama vaguely remembered Hinata calling out to the both of you, assuming his mocktail was ready for him but he didn’t bat an eye, a mere beverage would simply do nothing to satiate the thirst he harboured—Kageyama needed you, only you could quench this growing ache between his legs.

Kageyama’s feet felt light against the pavement beneath, his flip flops scraping against it with every uncomfortable step taken. Hues of the fading sunset engulfed his mind, pretty pinks, and oranges slowly turned deep blue as you walked back to your accommodation—it was only a five-minute walk but god it felt like an eternity.

Your lips were on his as soon as the door to your room slammed shut, you swore the walls shook from impact but whatever, it was none of your concern. Kageyama’s lean arms caged you as your back hit the soft mattress beneath, fingers digging into the sheets at the dizzying kiss; no one has kissed him with this much drive, and passion before, the way your soft lips eagerly moved against his own, guiding him with each searing kiss.

Soft moans, and grunts slipped from Kageyama’s throat in between kisses, the sheer intensity from it was enough to make him cum untouched right then, and there; he could practically feel his body vibrating with lust—fuck, he couldn’t even think properly with the way your hands caressed his body up, and down, up, and down before sliding them under his ivory shirt, and gently clawing at his bare skin.

Heaven. Absolute heaven.

Kageyama moaned into your mouth at the feeling of your nails scraping his sensitive skin, trails of goosebumps forming beneath your sinful touch. And as he opened his eyes to meet your gaze, tears quickly pooled around them—from what? Kageyama didn’t know. Maybe it was from sexual frustration, maybe it was from the heavenly feeling of your nails, or maybe it was how each blissful emotion hit him like a truck, and took the air out of his lungs.

Momentarily pulling away from the kiss, Kageyama breathed out a string of incoherent words, a look of uncertainty crossing his crimson-painted face. “What—what was that?” You let out soft pants, dropping your head on the pillow beneath as you cupped his warm cheeks,

“I’m—I haven’t done this before . . I’m a virgin.”

You blinked up at him.

There was a slight pause—a heartbeat—as Kageyama’s confession lingered in the thick, warm air of the room; sweat already lined his forehead, raven strands sticking to his skin. “I’m sorry—Are you turned off?” He quickly peeled himself from your body, a rush of faint coolness momentarily engulfing you from his lack of presence. Kageyama sat on his knees, a bashful look painted on his face.

Quickly sitting up to cup his face, you shook your head, “No, no! Not at all . . Did you want us to stop? I don’t mind at all.” Now, it was Kageyama’s turn to vigorously shake his head, “No. I—I want to do it with you.” He breathed out, eyes glazed with pure lust.

You clenched your cunt at his words—just the thought of taking someone’s virginity, let alone Kageyama’s it felt like a whole lot of expectation had been placed on your shoulders but you weren’t backing down now, not at all, you were going to give him the most earth-shattering first time with how much trust he gave you.

“Take off your clothes, and lie on the bed.” As though time was of the essence, Kageyama hastily stripped his top off, shamelessly flinging it somewhere in the room. Your eyes keenly watched as his thumbs dipped beneath the waistband of his raven shorts, slowly dragging it down the length of his long legs ‘til it pooled around his ankles.

Kageyama wordlessly looked up at you, the fabric of his underwear still on him, cock painfully straining against it with a noticeable wet spot. “All of your clothes.” You added. The male’s cheeks warmed before shyly slipping it off, hard cock bouncing against the tufts of raven hair on his stomach, it shamelessly leaked of pre-cum, beads of pearlescent liquid sat prettily on his red tip.

“Good. Now, on the bed.” An icy shiver ran up his spine at the purr of your voice, velvety, and low as you pat the empty space next to you. As Kageyama situated himself on the bed, his bare back flush against the wooden headboard, he watched as you stood at the foot of the bed, hands slowly coming up to strip yourself.

What a tease.

Kageyama watched with eager eyes as each article of clothing slipped off your skin, Adam’s apple bobbing with each noticeable gulp—fuck, you looked divine; his hands ached to pleasure himself, fuck his cock on his fist as he watched you deftly unclasp your bra. Cursing beneath his breath, his gaze traced over your naked chest, eyes circling over your pert nipples, and down the valley of it. He was practically drooling at this point, rosy lips parted in complete awe at your raw beauty.

Oh, how he wanted to touch you so bad, roam his large hands all over your body, and squeeze, and rub at parts he’s never held before. Kageyama’s mind went absolutely wild, he wondered what your moans would sound like under his touch; would you enjoy his fingers on your sensitive clit? Moan his name out into oblivion? Cum on his hand?

You crawled up the mattress, situating yourself between his parted legs, just before his hard cock. Kageyama waited for your next move with a bated breath, toned chest heaving up, and down with anticipation, his hands gripping the ivory sheets beneath.

Deep, blue eyes widened as you curled over yourself, coming face to face with his dick; oh, you just knew that length would absolutely do wonders inside you. Kageyama bit his lip, stiffening underneath your touch as you circled a hand around his cock, languidly dragging it up to his tip to spread pre-cum down his shaft. Kageyama melted like putty at the first stroke, his head unceremoniously resting on the wall behind as pleasure consumed his body at the speed of lightning— he could already feel the building pressure in the pit of his stomach.

“Ah!—Fuck. T-that feels so, so good.” Kageyama moaned to the ceiling, his voice was airy, and light, a clear sign of pure bliss completely taking over his sanity. He’s never been touched by anyone before so this was a foreign experience for him; it felt different from when he pleasured himself with his own hands—your touch drove Kageyama to madness, and he was absolutely addicted to it.

Satisfied with his reaction, you picked up the pace, and brought another hand down to gently massage his balls which earned a loud whine of your name. Oh, fuck. Kageyama was floating on cloud nine, and this was only pleasure from your hands, what more if it was your wet cunt? Would he even last sheathed deep in your velvety walls? He doubted it.

As the pace picked up, Kageyama’s moans also grew in volume, his stomach clenched, and unclenched at the sheer pleasure that consumed his whole body, all because of your hands. “Fuck! Fuck! Fu—I’m cumming!” The raven-haired male let out a wanton moan, eyes closed shut, knuckles white, and muscles taut as the knot inside his stomach finally snapped. Pure bliss rocked through Kageyama’s body like never before, as though he was engulfed in a million pleasurable kisses.

White, hot ribbons of cum shamelessly spurted from his cock which coated your fingers, and wrist. Kageyama slumped against the headboard, all fucked out, and covered by a light sheen of sweat; his lips were parted as he desperately chased oxygen,

“Want you—I need you. Please . .” Kageyama panted, his lustful gaze locked onto your own; even though he just orgasmed, his cock was still rock hard. How needy. His breath hitched at the lewd sight before him as you languidly licked a long stripe up your wrist, gathering his cum on the tip of your tongue, and eagerly swallowing his essence down. It was like Kageyama’s brain short circuited—he’s only ever seen this sight on his laptop screen during sleepless nights, never did he think he’d see his own cum licked, and swallowed from one’s hand.

Was it possible to faint from such a sinful sight?

Sitting up, you inched closer to Kageyama’s lap, thighs on either side of his slim waist, and clothed cunt hovering his cockhead. With keen eyes, the raven-haired watched as you deftly pushed your panties aside, catching a glimpse of your glistening cunt. He licked his lips as though he was a predator silently stalking his prey, waiting to pounce. Kageyama wondered what you’d taste like on his tongue, your sweet slick smeared all over his mouth, and chin—he could only fantasise.

The violent thrumming of his heart filled his ears as he watched you shift your weight over his lap; this was really happening—Kageyama was about to lose his virginity. He felt a rush of every single emotion from A to Z, all things good but mixed with a bit of nervousness; what if he couldn’t satisfy you enough? What if he accidentally cummed way too soon? What if—

“Ohhhhh—fuck! Ngh—ah!” Kageyama violently threw his head back against the wall, fists gripping the sheets below as you slowly inched down his red tip. Oh god. Oh god. You hugged him so, so tightly, your cunt felt hot, and wet around him but in a good kind of way; he let out short breaths, his chest quickly heaving up, and down as he tried his best to ground himself. It was like his sanity snapped in a split second as soon as you made raw contact with his dick—this feeling was beyond cloud nine, as though he was one with the cosmos.

You bit your lip at his pornographic sounds, letting out low whimpers as Kageyama’s cock desperately twitched inside you. With your hands gripping his bare shoulders, you slowly inched down his cock, grounding yourself as the head kissed intimate parts of you that no one has ever reached. A unison of heavy pants filled the thick air after bottoming out; you momentarily stilled, giving yourself ample time to get used to Kageyama’s length because fuck it drove you absolutely insane.

“P-please move. Need more, please . .” He whined, desperately moving his hips beneath your weight, causing his tip to momentarily brush against your g-spot ever so slightly. Moaning at the contact, a string of colourful curses slipped past your lips, toes curling at the sudden wave of pleasure.

Without wasting any more time, you lifted your hips all the way up to his tip before slamming back down, earning muttered curses of your name from Kageyama. His hands immediately flew to your hips as a way to ground himself, as though holding onto anything else would immediately deprive him of this heavenly bliss.

Soft, wet squelches bounced off the walls with every languid roll of your hips, Kageyama couldn’t peel his eyes away from where to two of you connected—it was wet, and slippery, glistening from all your arousal; everything felt so sinful that it made his head spin, not the mention the bounce of your breasts with each movement of your hips. Every moan that slipped past your lips went straight to Kageyama’s cock, he was the one making you moan this loud, not to mention the look on your face—hooded eyes, and lips parted to chant his name every now, and then; pride blossomed in his chest.

Shared pleasure ate away at your bodies like a rabid animal, gnawing at your skin with nothing to stop it ‘til it reached your bones—it was immense, a toe-curling sensation with every relentless bounce of your hips; the way Kageyama’s cock repeatedly kissed your g-spot, the way your velvety walls sinfully wrapped around him like it was meant to be. Your thighs burned with exhaustion, a mix of pain, and pleasure completely taking over your body but you didn’t stop—you didn’t want to, not when Kageyama felt this amazing inside you.

You could tell the raven-haired was getting more, and more greedy for pleasure from how his nails painfully dug into your sweaty skin, the subtle upward thrust of his hips to meet your own, taking him even deeper into your wet heat. Heavy balls slapping onto your ass fuelled your desire further, the slight burn of it had you clenching around him.

“Ah!—Kageyama! Ohhhh fuck! You’re so deep . .” He closed his eyes at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, voice as sweet as honey. Kageyama wondered if he could be a little more greedy, “Tobio—ngh! Call me Tobio.” He panted. It took all of his sanity to string the short sentence together, Kageyama couldn’t even hear himself over the loud skin slapping mixed with your endless whines.

Vigorously nodding, you moaned his name, “Tobio! Mhm—You gonna cum for me? Yeah?” It was Kageyama’s turn to nod at your gasped words, eyes momentarily screwing shut at its effect on him.

He wasn’t going to last any longer after just cumming his brains out from your hands a few minutes ago. “Oh, god!—Can I cum inside you? Please? Fuck, I want to stuff you full of my cum—ngh!” Words spilled from Kageyama’s mouth, blabbering out any coherent thought that came to mind. Truthfully, he’s always fantasised cumming inside someone, the feeling of emptying his balls, and shooting his thick load while sheathed deep inside was probably his biggest dirty secret—and he just shamelessly bared it to you.

“Yes—ah! Stuff me full of your cum, Tobio! Want your cum deep inside me, please.”

The desperation in your voice was all it took for Kageyama to snap, his fingers clawed at your hips as he painted your walls white, body stiffening under the immense pressure of pleasure. It didn’t help how your cunt gripped him like a vice, pulling him further, and further down the rabbit hole called bliss. You came with a loud moan of his name, curling over yourself, sweaty forehead resting on Kageyama’s bare chest as you desperately rode out your orgasms.

Both of you stayed still for a moment to catch your breaths, the sticky, uncomfortable feeling of warmth slowly engulfed your bodies as the high wore off. Kageyama didn’t even do much but he was absolutely spent, and drenched in sweat, he could only imagine your state, especially your thighs from all that bouncing.

“A-are you okay? That was—that was amazing . .” Dulcet voice sliced through the thick air, it earned a chuckle from you, you could only return a weak nod at his concern, your body too heavy to even move an inch. Kageyama’s soft breathing slowly pulled your to the borders of sleep but the summer heat against your skin was unbearable,

You mustered every strength to peel yourself off of him, “Shower with me?” Your lips wickedly curled upwards, hands gently caressing Kageyama’s bare chest. What a temptress.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel tired anymore. —

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

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nanaslutt · 11 months

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Hiii hope you are well ❤️💜💕💕you're a amazing human being and I love your work 😘💖 requesting sukuna fucking you from the back while holding you in a choke hold with his big bicep (true form or not it's fine)?

Have a wonderful dayyy😭😭💜

This is uhhhhhhhhh read at your own discretion (ILY nonnie ty for the ask<3)

Contains: fem reader, true from sukuna, double penetration, blood, so much degradation, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, hair pulling, passing out, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, blood, dacraphillia, cumming inside, talk of pregnancy, dub con if you squint, mind break, strangling, breath play

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Fucking." thrust "Take it." thrust. Sukuna fucked his inhumanly large dicks in and out of your holes at an almost intolerable pace. He had completely filled you up, not a single ridge inside your pussy was being neglected as his massive cocks abusing your sore holes.

He had two large lands gripping your waist, while he dug his nails into your skin, making pretty streaks of crimson blood drip down your hips and thighs. One hand was dangling by his side, occasionally leaving harsh slaps against the fat of your ass, while his other—arguably the meanest limb—currently had you in a chokehold.

The massive curse would squeeze his arm around your throat and completely constrict your airflow before he loosened it for a couple seconds, laughing at you while you gasped and sputtered, choking down the oxygen he allowed you to. You were positive he had ripped you open at some point, it had been hours and you still hadn't adjusted to his cock properly. Every time he pulled back his hips and thrust his cocks inside you, you felt like your guts were being shoved out of the way to make room for him.

You had gone numb to his nails that dug into the flesh on your hips, too focused on the painful pleasure you were feeling between your legs. "Fuck! Fucking bitch-" He cursed, squeezing your neck tighter and leaving a mean slap on your ass when he felt you cum around him for the nth time that night. The pulsing and clenching of your walls made the pace of his hips stutter before he got ahold on himself again. "Did I say" slap "You could fucking" slap "Cum?" he snarled, spanking your ass so hard you swore it would leave a permanent imprint of his hand against your skin.

"'M s-ooryy, sorry s-ahh!" You tried to speak through his heavy thrusts, but he was having none of it. "Didn't say you could fucking talk either," The king emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, that made you dizzy as you yelled out in pain. "Gotta shut you up." He growled, pausing his hips for a second before he cupped his free hand over your mouth, completely covering your mouth and nose as he once again squeezed his bicep around your neck. "Try not to die." He laughed menacingly into your ear before his hips started up a bruising pace.

Your eyes immediately rolled back into your head at the overbearing stimulation. You were thrown into fight or flight mode when you tried to gasp against his hand but to no avail. Sukuna kept his hand firmly pressed over your face to ensure that no oxygen would enter your lungs. "Aww, is the little slut crying?" He giggled, staring down between the two of you at the mean arch he had you in, watching his cock leave your asshole, lined with streaks of blood.

"You wanted this, kept fucking around so I brought you into my domain like you wanted." He snarled, gripping your jaw with his current hold on your face and turning it to the side so he could get a glimpse of your expression. Your face had gone pale, save for the deep blush that covered your cheeks. Your eyes had lost focus, continuously rolling into the back of your head with each thrust he gave you, and your soft cheeks were wet with your tears—those same eyes had begun to swell up from how long you had been crying.

He was right though, your fucked up body was loving this, you would scream that from the rooftops if he allowed you to, but right now it was quite evident he didn't want anything to do with your voice. "Oh fuck." He laughed, his four eyes all staring into yours as you did your best to keep yourself awake, trying to maintain eye contact with the curse to the best of your ability. "You really are crying." He bared his teeth to you as he smiled maliciously, both of his cocks twitching at your fucked up expression.

He watched intently with bated breath as your eyes fully rolled back into your head, your body going limp in his hold as he smiled, "Yeesssyesyes, fuck." He groaned, before releasing his hand from your mouth and simultaneously loosened his hold on your neck. Immediately his big hand started slapping your face harshly, "You don't get to get out of this that easily." He laughed, watching you slowly regain consciousness against him as you coughed and sputtered into the air when you came to.

"How was your nap?" His laugh vibrated your body, at some point he had picked you up a couple inches off the ground, and you internally thanked him as you had lost feeling in your legs quite a long time ago. Your moans echoed loudly in the space of his domain, whines turned into screams when he scratched his nails deeper into the skin of your thighs, reminding you of his hold there.

"You're a fucking mess." He chastized, as you gasped and cried into the space in front of you. Your smaller hands came up to grip his bicep, using the little strength you had left in your body you push his arms towards your neck once more, silently telling him to choke you out again.

Sukuna's eyes shot up in disbelief, were you seriously trying to order him around right now? You had balls, he would give you that. "Oh you want to die don't you, bitch?" He snarled, releasing you from the chokehold he had you in and instead used two hands to wrap around your neck and strangle you while he fucked his hips into you impossibly harder.

“You like this? Huh?" He growled as your cunt unashamedly squeezed around his cock, "Such a fucked up human I caught." He laughed to himself while you gasped and clawed at his hands, leaving angry red marks on his skin. "What's wrong? Gonna pass out again? Huh?" He cooed, feigning remorse while he felt your body try to fight back against him.

Despite how bad you had wanted him to choke you out, your body was going to register his actions as a threat no matter what. "God, stop fucking squeezing or I'm gonna cum inside." He said, making you panic slightly. You weren't on birth control, but you weren't even sure if a curse could get a human pregnant. Sukuna was a special case, which made you even more confused. Not like you had the brain power to go over the logistics of that right now anyways.

He felt your cunt and ass squeeze his cocks simultaneously at his words, also noticing how you tried to shake your head at him, warning him not to. "Oh does that scare you?" He asked, unimpressed when you continued your annoying moaning and babbling, not answering him. "I asked you a question, brat." He growled, squeezing your throat harder for a brief second before he loosened his grip, allowing you to breathe.

You gasped and choked on the oxygen, trying to turn your head to the side to look at him when you spoke, making little progress in your efforts as his hold on your neck was quite strong. "N-no, do-nt cum insdie." You cried, making him smile at your weeping face. "No?" He repeated, pouting his lip out at you in faux sympathy, "But I want to." He said, shaking your neck in his grasp and making your empty head shake around like a bobblehead toy.

You had no strength in your body left to fight him, opting to face your fate and let him have his way with you, you would deal with the consequences later. You couldn't lie that the thought of this terrifying man filling you up in both holes for the first time didn't excite you. The rational part of your brain was slipping further and further away from you the longer he fucked you. He was hitting all the right spots inside you, and at some point, the pleasure had started to overwhelm the pain.

He noticed your body had stop stying to fight him, falling limp to his ministrations as he pressed his hips flush against your ass and rotated it in circles, "You want my cum inside you, human?" He asked, his deep voice against your ear sent goosepumps down your arms. "Wanna be my concubine huh? Ill keep you here forever," He groned, his hips still rotating in circles and massaging your sweet spots, "Ill fuck load after load into your used-up cunt, till I get you pregnant." His voice was pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

You knew this was fucked up but you couldn't bring yourself to care right now, he was working you over so fucking well. "Yesyesyes Sukuna~ S-sukuna pl-ease~" Your hoarse voice whined out, broken up by his thrusts. In any other scenario, he would've cut you down for using his name without permission, but right now, your cunt and asshole were milking him quickly toward his orgasm, he was too close to care. He groaned at your words, his large hands abandoning their place around your neck to grab your tits and massage them, digging his nails into the flesh there, hard enough to draw blood as he used your body to ground himself.

"Fuck- sloppy fucking pussy gonna make me cum-" He groaned. His eyes wandered up to your neck, and he shook his head at the dark purple marks that littered your skin there, he couldn't help but think how fucking pretty it looked. The sight brought him closer to his high as his hips started losing their pace against your ass. "P-please- c-can I c-cum" You wined. He smiled at you, proud that you remembered to ask before you so greedily orgasmed without his permission. He was the one who was so kindly fucking you after all, so he should get the say in weather you cum or not.

"You can cum after me." He challenged, wanting to see if you could really make it. From how hard and rapidly your cunt was pulsing around him, he didn't think you would last much longer. "F-fuuuuck fuckfuck." You whined as he fucked the moans from your throat. He shook his head in disapproval, "Such a naughty mouth, remind me to take care of that next time." He said in response to your cursing as one of his large hands abandoned its hold on your hip to push your lower back down into a meaner arch against him.

The promise of a next time almost made you cum around him at what was to come. You had no idea how you held yourself back, maybe it was your inner consciousness afraid of what he would do to you if you disobeyed him, but you managed to hold out long enough for the king to cum. "Fuck, take it all, if you let a drop go to w-waste, I’ll kill you where you stand." He promised, clenching his jaw together as the rope started to untangle in his stomach.

His head tipped back, his jaw going slack as the first suprts of his cum started flooding your cunt and asshole. The second you felt his seed fill you up, you came around him, your holes milking him through his orgasm as you came harder than you ever have. If it wasnt for his four arms that held your body up, you woulve gone slack against the floor, "Fuuuuck! Fucking" thrust "Take my cum" thrust "Yesyesyes" The curse groaned, biting his lip at the intensity of his own orgasm.

His cum filled you up to the brim, the feeling of his warm seed filling both your holes at once felt strange and uncomfortable, but also weirdly right, you felt like this was your purpose—like his words were true, maybe your purpose really was to be here and be at his beck and call whenever he needed to release his stress, or simply wanted to get off.

He didn't wait for your own orgasm to finish before he released your body from his hold, letting your weak body fall to the ground of his domain by his feet, his cocks slipped out of you with a lewd squelching sound as you twitched below him in your aftershocks. The mouth on his stomach smiled at you, matching his own expression before it opened to lick your blood and juices off of his orgasm, and swallowing it greedily.

Your eyes fluttered as you started to come down from your orgasm. The massive figure in front of you ran a hand through his sweaty hair before his heavy leg kicked you in the stomach, not too hard, but hard enough to make you cough and direct your attention up at him. Before you knew it his face was in front of you and his large hand was in your hair as he raised you up from the ground with that grip alone, making you wince and whine in pain.

He stood to his full height once more, dragging your head and pressing it flush against his dirtied cocks, smearing your cum and blood on the side of your face as he gave you a disgusted look, "Clean your mess, useless human." He spat, digging his nails against your scalp. You gripped your hands into his massive thighs, and looked up at him from underneath your lashes, practically looking at him with hearts in your eyes as you rubbed your head against his thigh before kitten-licking one of his dick's tips.

He huffed out a laugh of disbelief at how obedient you were. How did he manage to find such a perfect fuck toy? Let alone a human toy at that. He could work with this.

#this is so filthy #this came from deep within me #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna ryoumen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna scenarios #true form sukuna #gojo smut

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starkeysprincess · 4 months

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hello hello it’s dom rafe anon back with more dom rafe thoughts, what do you think his harshest punishments would be? i definitely see him preferring “sir” and reader following whatever rules he decides for the day, fully intending on setting her up to fail. maybe after a few times she catches on and snaps at him a little but she doesn’t realize the punishment she’s about to get for giving him attitude (which is just what he wanted)

this had me talking to @babygorewhore abt it so ty morgy muah!!! also have i ever said how much ily dom rafe anon hehe <3 i once again got carried away 🙈

oh i definitely agree that he would prefer her calling him "sir". i think he likes both "sir" and "daddy" but for me, "sir" makes him feel like he has power and is more in control.

now the harshest punishments, i have two that i can think of. the first one, without a doubt, is edging. he would edge the hell out of her if she’s being bratty and giving him an attitude.

the second one would be not cumming inside of her but rather on her, just wait, hear me out.

he would do it as a way to humiliate her but his main reason for it is because he knows she associates him cumming inside of her as him liking her. what i mean by this is she's the type of girl to ask "do you still like me?" if he were to pull out which is why he would use it as a punishment because he knows it fucks with her.

he would give her the hardest time by picking out rules for her to follow throughout the day knowing damn well that those rules would be impossible for her to follow. she doesn’t realize what he’s trying to do cause she’s just trying to be a good girl for him.

but the second she starts to realize and catches onto how ridiculous his rules are, she snaps at him, giving him the exact reaction he was wanting.

which results in her instantly regretting snapping at him the moment he flips her over onto her stomach with her ass in the air, face pressed against the mattress and her wrists bound together behind her back.

he’s pulling whines and whimpers out from her as he continuously toys with her puffy, wet cunt with his fingers and mouth. each time he felt her walls flutter against his fingers, he’d stop, making her cry out at being denied of her orgasm.

each time she was near the edge, he’d stop. “p-please” she would cry out, tears streaming down her face as she sobs and he’d just tsk at her, “this is what happens when you wanna give me a fuckin’ attitude”.

she thinks his punishment is over and that he’ll let her cum when he’s pushing his thick cock into her, stretching her open but she couldn’t be more wrong.

rafe is relentlessly pounding into her, his bedroom filling with the wet, squelching sounds from his cock sliding in and out of her. his fingers rubbing her clit as his hips continue snapping against her ass.

she can feel his cock twitching inside of her as she’s clenching around him. “rafe…” she whines and he can’t help but taunt her, “my pretty girl wants to cum?”.

“uh huh” she nods, not sure how much more she can take, “that’s too fuckin’ bad” he chuckles. her vision starts to become blurry as her eyes fill with more tears and she wants nothing more than to cum and to feel him fill her to the brim.

“n-need you to cum inside of me” she pleads, hoping he’d at least fill her aching cunt with his seed. “you don’t get to cum or deserve being stuffed with my cum” he grunts and right as rafe is about to cum, he pulls out of her, groaning as he strokes himself before shooting his cum all over her back.

tagging: @oceandriveab / @sturnioloshacker / @rafeinterlude / @xxbimbobunnyxx / @eddieslut69 / @drudyslut / @peterpan-neverfails / @maiiuelle / @nemesyaaa / @hallecarey1 / @heartsforvin / @kisses4angel / @hyperfixationgirl / @emilysuperswag / @flvredcas / @starkeysheart / @ihe4rttwd / @rafesthroatbaby / @rafescurtainbangz / @starkeyisthelastname

#𝕞𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜 ¸.*☆*.¸⁭#starkeysprincess asks #anon asks <3 #dom!rafe #dom!rafe x reader #dom!rafe cameron #dom!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe obx #obx blurb #obx smut #rafe cameron x y/n

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sincerelybubbles · 2 months

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Could u please do a fanfic Y/n never had her first kiss and boyfriend, and Aaron hotchner is her first kiss and boyfriend and one with spencer reid if it isn't too much trouble thank u

Aaron can tell you're stressed on your first date. You know you're not hiding it well - rubbing sweaty hands down the front of your skirt and shifting in your seat.

Still, he smiles at you over the rim of his glass. He rests a large, warm palm on your leg and squeezes gently, bending to catch your eye as you talk.

Slowly, he soothes you in that way.

"I've never really done any of this before," you admitted, waving a hand between the two of you after accepting his offer for a date.

"I know," Aaron said, soft smile teasing you. "You haven't exactly hidden it well. I thought you were going to cry the first time I touched you."

"Oh god," you groaned, covering your face with your hands. Laughing, a quiet sound rumbling in his chest and chasing butterflies into your belly, Aaron tugged your hands away from your face by your forearms, not letting go as he pressed them against his belly.

"I don't mind."

If he didn't look so amused, so adoring, sitting next to you, you would be afraid that the sentiment has changed now that he's seeing just how truly awkward you are right now.

You met him at the park you take your dog and he takes Jack, slowly getting to know each other as your odd schedules aligned. The first time you noticed him, you thought he was handsome for a brief moment before returning your attention to your book. After that, you felt like you saw him every time you went to the park.

He introduced himself after a few chance encounters, sat next to you while you watched Jack and your dog playing together.

And, after weeks of syrupy-sweet flirting on his end and countless blushing fits from you, he's insisted that he sits next to you in the booth at dinner.

Once you manage to settle your heart, you find yourself truly enjoying your date.

Aaron doesn't talk about work. You know he's a profiler for the FBI but you don't know much beyond that.

He does talk about his team though.

Funny little stories about them ease you back into your usual routine, the pressures of the date forgotten after 20 minutes.

He walks you back to your apartment, hands linked and swaying between you two.

"Jack wants to know when we'll see you at the park again. He says he misses you but I think it's mostly a front to see the dog."

"They do really like each other," you admit. Smiling at your feet, matching your strides to his, you say, "Tell him we'll be there tomorrow?"

It's a not-so-subtle way of asking if he wants to see you again. You look up at him, eyes wide and smile wider. Unbeknownst to you, it takes Aaron's breath away. He nods slowly, subdued smile slowly growing warmer.

"Of course. Lunch after?" He asks, voice gentle in the night air. You nod slowly, looking away quickly to hide how excited the offer makes you.

"This is me," you say, motioning to your apartment complex. You both stop by the front door, toe to toe.

He leans forward, hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, he bends at the waist and blood rushes in your ears, overtaking every other sense as you wait for his kiss.

Instead of your mouth, though, his lips settle on your forehead. He lingers for a moment, smile obvious against your heated skin, before pulling away. He watches you for a moment, eyes liquid and warm, before tucking your hair behind your ear and whispering a, "goodbye."

ty for requesting!! sorry it's a little short, I still hope you enjoy <3

#bubbs.writes #criminal minds #cm #x reader #fluff #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #fem!reader

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luveline · 1 year

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hi honey, i love you so so much!!

what about stripper!reader with derek morgan?? he's on a case where strippers are being murdered, and while hotch is driving morgan calls you and tells you not to go into work because of what's going on, and emily is listening in on the conversation from the backseat and they tease him

thank youu!! love you!

ty for requesting lovely!! ilysm ♡

"I know you don't like listening to me, but could you do me a favour? Just this once?"

Emily leans over in her seat so Spencer can see her side eye. "Who's Morgan talking to?"

"Stay home tonight. No, this isn't a jealousy thing, you vixen–"

Spencer shrugs. "No idea. But–"

"But," Emily agrees. They've just left a crime scene with a specific victim, and now Morgan's on the phone asking someone to stay home. That someone would have reason to visit said crime scene's location, and the word vixen suggests female rather than male, which means, "Morgan has a secret stripper girlfriend."

Spencer's entire face takes his frown, eyebrows pinched, mouth quirked into a telling line. "I like the implausible," he murmurs, "but that feels illogical. Where would they have met?"

"Uh," Emily says, widening her eyes at him. "Where do you think, Spence?"

"Morgan doesn't need to go to a strip club."

Emily understands what Spencer's saying. There are lots of reasons that people frequent strip clubs or gentlemen's clubs and none of those reasons apply to Derek. It's possible he could go socially, but it's just so unlike him, it doesn't add up.

"I'm telling you the truth. I can't give you more detail than that, I just need you to stay home tonight." Derek pauses, laughs. "Alright," —his voice takes on a mechanical rendition, clearly having been fed a line he has to repeat aloud— "I, Derek Morgan, am an ignorant, jealous man, who can't cope with the fact that you don't want me, and am making up sad and childish lies to get you to stay home from your job. Is that what you wanted? Yeah, laugh it up."

Emily laughs and grabs the headrest as he hangs up on you, pulling herself forward to taunt him as is required. "Care to explain yourself?"

Derek sighs. "This is why I didn't tell you guys."

"What!" Spencer says, though his smile is more audible than his incredulity.

"So you have something to tell us?" Emily asks.

Derek knows he can't weasel his way out of telling them, and he doesn't really want to. "I don't have a secret stripper girlfriend," he says, rolling his eyes, "she's not my girlfriend. She is an exotic dancer at one of the clubs downtown, and I met her at Home Depot."

Emily isn't perturbed that Derek heard their gossiping. She's shameless. She doesn't even care that Hotch is frowning behind the wheel. "What was an exotic dancer doing at Home Depot?"

"Weirdly, Emily, she has a home. She wanted help finding renter friendly flooring."

"Can we meet her?"

"Never," Derek says with a smile. Emily couldn't know this, but he really likes you. You're sweet, super funny, and yes, you're a stripper. You work hard. Pole dancing is as physically demanding as any manual labour and you're damn good at it. "Ever."

Spencer interjects the ensuing argument with a statistical analysis of strippers who are homeowners (unfairly few), but Morgan doesn't answer, trying to read a new text from you discretely.

Sorry if I embarrassed you at work :( is it really not safe to go ?? Maybe u can come and be my bodyguard. I won't even make u tip me 4:10PM

He sends back, Really not safe. Stay home for me, relax for a few days. Call you tonight even if nothing changes 4:11PM

My hero <3 I trust u, but be careful OK ? and pls if it isn't too much trouble can u bring back some of those weird candies again? thank u thank u <3<3<3 4:14PM

Hotch makes a quiet sound of approval, eyes on the road. "The same girl you were with at Docklands? Rossi said she was cute."

"She is."

"Rossi met her?" Emily asks. "Oh, you're the worst."

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan x fem!reader #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan fanfic #derek morgan oneshot #derek morgan scenario #derek morgan drabble #derek morgan fic #derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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bittersweet-folder · 1 year

Text

~□☆ seventeen imagines:

☆Types of kinks I think Seventeen has [hyung line version]

[ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT JUST FUCK OFF IF YOU DON'T LIKE THINGS LIKE THESE:) ]

[ Maknae line version ]

• masterlist • ps: reader here is a female with vagina and breasts and identifies as a female as well •

☆Seungcheol: (soft dom who goes hard eventually)

Breeding kink: this man wants kids so bad. Of course he'll talk with you about it and if you don't want kids he'll still love to fill you up with your consent of course.

Foreplay: please we all know he radiates big dick energy. Hence he needs to prepare you well before he uses the actual thing.

Very light bondage: loves tying up your hand with a piece of silk cloth

Creampie: he can and will make you cum more than once. And will make you squirt too <3

Praise kink: He. Has. A. Huge. Praise. Kink. He literally worships you and your body and well how good you're doing.

Daddy kink: self explanatory im hoping.

Thigh riding: he loves to see you struggle to get off, on his thigh without his help.

Extras: he's always so ready to try different positions when you tell him to.

☆Jeonghan: (switch with a sub lean who teases you a lot)

Edging: this man loves, literally loves to control your orgasm so that you cum hard later.

Oral fixation: either you are giving him the best head of his life or he's pussy drunk so he's eating you out like there's no tomorrow.

Sensory deprivation: he loves it when you blindfold him he loves the adrenaline rush he gets while anticipating what you might do next.

Pegging: he took a lot of time to open up about this and when he did he had the best experience ever.

Degradation: when he's taking control he will be like "only my fucking cock can make you feel this way and make a moaning mess of you right kitten" and so on<3

Overstimulation: he wants, sorry needs you to push his limits. It goes the same way around for you as well.

Extras: this man is very vocal. He will moan loudly. And has the ability to make you moan loudly as well.

☆Joshua: (the soft yet mean asf dom)

Edging: he loves to see how frustrated you get when he stops and doesn't lets you cum.

Shower sex: very self explanatory I'm hoping

Cockwarming: the warm feeling of your pussy around his cock. He loves it when you squeeze around his cock too.

Dacryphilia: he loves to make you cry on his cock, literally loves to see how desperate you become to reach your orgasms. "Fucking hell you're so pretty when you cry baby" that's what Joshua says.

Squirting: again, he loves to make you cry so he would push your limits a little bit if you give him the consent.

Praise kink: "being such a good girl for me yeah" "you're doing so fucking good baby" "you're driving me crazy do you realize that" yeah this man would go crazy.

Extras:he sometimes would let you ride<3 he would have his hands grabbing your hips while you ride him and cry on his cock<3.

☆Jun: ( soft dom through and through until he's- well- all riled up )

Edging: with his fingers and mouth until he uses the real thing.

Marking: he loves, literally loves to give you hickeys on your neck.

Creampie: he can and will make you cum twice to fill you up.

Overstimulation: he's soo pussy drunk he craves and needs more.

Bondage: he likes tying your hands only if you're okay with it and will try something new as well if you talk about it to him.

Sensory deprivation: he loves to blindfold you. Also he's into wax play

Mirror sex: this man's a menace as we all know. He literally loves the position where you're bent over on the edge of the bed while the mirror right beside the bed displays everything. He'll make you look at yourself while whispering "see how it's me who makes you scream like this baby". Yeah he's a menace.

Extras: he has a thing for you in lingeries because he loves foreplay.

☆Wonwoo (soft to kinda hard dom)

Edging: he enjoys it so much when you get frustrated because he isn't letting you cum. Oh and he will make you cry outta too much pleasure later on.

Dacryphilia: he will make you cry on his cock. No one can stop.

Choking: I hope that's self explanatory or should I say he loves it when silent moans slip from your lips and squirm a bit under him.

Daddy kink: I mean you can't convince me that this man doesn't have a daddy kink.

Degradation: oh he gets cocky on how you're crying on his cock begging for more.

Thigh riding: he loves it when you ride his thigh while hold onto him and he will kiss you while doing so with his hand on your hips while the other hand caressing through your hair.

Very light bondage: like tying your hands or just holding your hands together by the wrist while he thrust hard.

Extras: he has a thing for skirts because he likes how it slides up to your waist during the process and how easy access he gets as well, he can and will make you sit on his lap.

☆Woozi (switch with a dom lean but a switch)

Foreplay: he loves the intimacy of those kisses and touches all over each other's body before the actual thing takes place.

Creampie: this man loves it in a messy way with his cum dripping outta your pussy.

Squirting: told ya he loves it so so messy getting his freaking studio couch wet.

Slight like very slight exhibitionism: since he's fucking you in his studio.

Reverse cowgirl: this man loves literally lovesss groping your ass.

Mommy kink: he has a mommy kink you can't tell me otherwise. He gets very vocal when you ride him. He loves it when you take control and make a mess of him.

Praise kink: showers you with praise and makes you remember that you're the prettiest girl he's ever laid his eyes on.

Extras: he'll make you sit on his cock for hours when he's working. He relishes that warming yet tight feeling of your pussy.

☆Hoshi: (a pure switch with a slight sub lean)

Marking: he loves leaving bite marks and hickeys on your neck and chest.

Mommy kink: he'll moan so fucking loudly and lewdly when you ride and call him a babyboy.

Praise kink: it goes both ways. He showers you with praise. You shower him with praise as well.

Orgasm control: in other words edging. He has to see you struggling to cum. He wants you to beg for it as well.

Oral fixation: he's so pussy drunk too. He'll eat you out as well as finger you until you can't take it any more.

Creampie: another man who loves it so so messy. He'll make you squirt eventually as well and then he'll eat you out just to overstimulate you more.

Overstimulation: the sight of you squirming and crying on how good he makes you feel is literally heaven to him

Extras: he has a great stamina and will go on all night long in various positions until you're crying. He likes to bend you over on the table the most.

~~☆~~

a/n: I'm working on that Hoshi fanfic presently but i can't guarantee you when exactly I'll post.

Also here's the taglist till now: @hongmingoo @shuabby1994 , @nishloves , @unlikelysublimekryptonite , @asyre , @yumiyumis-blog

[If anyone wants to be in the taglist please comment under this post]

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honeybuckin10 · 1 month

Text

Hospital Beds - a Hawks x fem!doctor!reader One Shot

Summary: Hawks heals more than his wings after the Paranormal Liberation War attacks [wc: 4.6k].

Warnings: mentions of mental health struggles, mentions of character death, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, fluff, comfort, potentially unpopular Hawks opinions. characters slightly aged up.

a/n: started writing thinking this was gonna be cute and flirty, ended up taking a kind of serious turn (still otherwise cute and flirty with happy-ish ending). might do a spicier part 2 at some point. as always, don’t be a ghost reader pls and ty <3

Hawks’ eyes were focused on the window, lost in thought. There was a crowd gathered outside Central Hospital. From the muffled voices through the glass, it didn’t sound like they were there for support. He felt the span of his back against the hospital bed, a sensation both foreign and grounding. The space where his wings once were stung slightly at the contact, despite the heavy nerve blockers he assumed were administered earlier.

“Back again so soon?”

You broke him from his trance as you shut the door behind you. Your eyes immediately scanned his monitors, a pleasant smile never leaving your face.

“At some point, we really do have to get your heart rate checked out.”

He didn’t actually have a high heart rate. But the machines he was hooked up to always went crazy whenever he got sight of you. He was too embarrassed to say anything, though he wondered if you noticed why his charts never reflected any underlying conditions when his vitals were checked by others.

“You’re not a very good patient, you know. Though now that you can’t talk, perhaps you’ll actually listen.”

He tried to respond, but quickly remembered he couldn’t open his jaw, not very much at least. No sound came out of the small gap between his lips.

You had treated Hawks on several occasions now, usually after incidents involving fire. Most were minor. He’d come in and joke that he’d done it on purpose to see you. You’d roll your eyes, every now and then you’d even dignify him with an actual response: ‘nice try’. But his injuries now were unlike anything you’d ever seen. You knew it was bad when he didn’t try flirting with you. Then again, it’s not like he could even if he wanted to.

Your tone was light and breezy, but the furrow in your brow betrayed your façade.

“I’m only joking, of course. But in all seriousness, your trachea was severely damaged from the smoke inhalation during the attack. Fortunately you narrowly avoided respiratory failure, but you won’t be able to use your voice for a couple of weeks. Lucky for you, technology has advanced enough that you won’t have to carry around a notepad everywhere you go. We recommend using the voice app on your phone.”

You handed him his cell phone, when Hawks noticed a plastic bag of personal items behind you with unknown origins. You followed his eyes to see what was distracting him.

“Oh yes, a young man named Tokoyami brought you a change of clothes and some other things you may need while you were out. Said he was your mentee.” You paused, searching for some kind of reaction. You thought it might brighten his spirits. His eyes widened somewhat, but there was still no smile. “It’s clear you’ve had a big impact on him.”

Tokoyami. His mentee. A child. More memories of the battlefield came flooding back. Twice. Dabi. He knew you hoped that bringing up his pupil would put him at ease. But Hawks was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt that he had put the student is such a dangerous situation.

“I also spoke with Dermatology. They informed me that sixteen percent of your body is covered with third degree burns, another twenty percent second degree, and twenty-two percent first degree. Given the severity and location of the burns, you’re also at risk of developing contractures that could compress your airways in the future so we’ll need to keep a close eye on that. Once your wraps come off, they’ve prescribed you a topical treatment that you’re to use three times a day until everything is healed. You’ll also be started on an oral antibiotic immediately, which you’re to take for three weeks.”

He attempted to use his new voice.

“What about wings?” You took a deep breath. Not good.

“I’m getting to that. I’m going to adjust your bed a little first. Are you able to lean forward?” He nodded as the bed rose up and the angle of his back moved more upright. He winced, unable to hide his discomfort but did as you instructed.

“I’m sorry, I know this is painful for you. I’m going as quickly as I can.” You talked through how you were examining his dressings, that his biggest risk at the moment was that the wounds would get infected, and that the dressings would need to be changed again before the end of the day.

“I think they will grow back. But it will be painful and it will be slow. You must be patient during this time and you’ll have to stay out of the field for a while. I’d recommend taking a well-deserved break until they’re fully healed.”

Bedrest sounded like Hawks’ personal hell. He only nodded his head. He didn’t have the energy to protest.

“You’ll also need to go through a psychiatric evaluation before rejoining field.”

Hawks let out a muffled groan. You let out an exasperated laugh.

“Really, you didn’t make a peep when I was examining your open wounds but you draw the line at psych eval?” You watched as he typed out his next thought.

“Waste of time.” Your eyes softened.

“First of all, this is standard procedure. Endeavor, Mirko, Eraserhead, all those UA students are going to have to get one too. Second, even if it wasn’t, what you – what you’ve all gone through would cause even the strongest soldier some kind of stress. We want to make sure that you’re all in the right headspace so that you’re the most prepared you can be going against whatever this enemy is. You have to take care of yourself first before you can take care of others.”

Hawks sat there a moment in silence, absorbing your words. Wondering whether you would be so sympathetic and kind if you knew the truth. He began typing.

“I killed someone,” the unnatural voice said. It came from him, but it didn’t feel like him. It echoed against the walls of the sterile room, void of emotion.

You pulled a chair next to his bed so that you were slightly below his eye level.

“I heard. That must be a lot to carry.”

“You hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully for the fragile hero. “I don’t know what your world is like. I wasn’t there so I don’t know exactly what happened. But I do know that we are both in the business of saving lives, albeit in different ways. My guess is you made a split second decision on what was in the mission’s best interest to save the lives of your colleagues and ultimately the lives of civilians. Nobody has a crystal ball to know whether that was the best or right choice. But it was a life or death situation, and you did the best you could in the moment. It’s natural to feel remorse and guilt, but you can’t let it debilitate you for the rest of your life either.”

What right did you have to comment on such things?

“You’ve never killed someone,” he countered.

“I have. In my OR. There are some people that can’t be saved, no matter how hard you try.”

“I think he was a good person,” he typed, wondering if that negated everything you just said.

“Good people do bad things all the time. It doesn’t make them bad people.” He sighed, swallowing the searing pain as harsh air passed through his lungs. You watched closely as the hero studied his bandaged hands, refusing to make eye contact. “For now, the best thing you can do for yourself and Japan is rest. We need you.”

He sat with your words. It didn’t dawn on him until long after you left the room that you weren’t just talking about Twice.

As you warned, the days passed at a glacial pace. He didn’t enjoy how quickly he acclimated to talking through his phone. He had growing pains from the nubs of his wings that began to poke through his skin. Each day brought a revolving door of doctors and healers and other specialists, by whom he was constantly poked and prodded and observed. Hawks hated every minute of it. Almost every minute.

You came in daily to monitor the progress of his wings. It was the most painful part of his recovery. But you entered his room with a smile and sunny disposition, like you weren’t about to inflict torture on him for thirty minutes. The air hurt his exposed back when you removed the old bandages. It stung when you applied antiseptic to cleanse the area. It felt like he was going to pass out when you ran your gloved fingers along the growth that was coming in. He felt all the more pathetic laying on his stomach as you did your work.

But you did your best to distract him with bad jokes and hospital gossip. Not that you had to put in that much effort. Your presence was distracting enough.

On the fourth day after the battle, you finally got a chuckle out him. What’s black and white and black and white and black and white? He shrugged as you applied ointment. A penguin falling down the stairs. You quickly realized that your methods may have been faulty as his laugh devolved into a coughing fit, his lungs still weak.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Try to remember your box breathing.”

He held his breath at the top of his inhale. Four, three, two, one. Exhale. Four, three, two, one. He repeated this for a minute before his breath finally returned to normal. He gave a thumbs up. I’m ok.

Relief washed over your face. “I’m sorry I made you choke on air. But glad to see you in better spirits today.” He began typing.

“I’m always in good spirits when you’re around.” You bit back a smile no one could see as you started redressing the incoming wings.

“Ah, there he is. Yeah, you’re definitely starting to feel better.”

“Can’t you tell? I’m the pinnacle of health.” The gallows humor was hard to miss despite the monotone robotic voice, the statement in stark contrast to his fully bandaged and hospitalized body.

“You will be, soon enough.” You finished applying new bandages. “That’s it for me today, unless there’s anything else you want to share.”

“Capricorn. 27. Single –“

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” You pulled off your disposable gloves, turning to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “I already knew that from your chart. Nice try,” you teased.

“Didn’t know you were stalking me.”

“Goodbye Hawks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You knew your faux sternness was hardly believable, as you caught him wink before you closed the door.

Two days later you bumped into Hawks and Best Jeanist in the hallway. You broke into a wide grin when you noticed the two heroes, pleasantly surprised to see just how much progress your patient had made in such a short time.

“Good morning gentlemen.”

“Good morning Dr. y/l/n,” Best Jeanist said with a small bow. Hawks was visibly confused about his formality.

“Please, there’s no need for that. It’s just good to see you back in the land of the living.” Best Jeanist helped fill in the gaps for his perplexed cohort.

“Hawks, Dr. y/l/n was part of the team who developed the drugs to put me in a temporary death-like state to convince Dabi that you’d killed me. We can thank her for setting us up for success to get you undercover.” Hawks knew he missed out on a lot during his covert mission, but had no idea how many parties were involved outside the ordinary network of hero agencies and the Commission. You blushed at the praise.

“It was nothing, really. You guys are the ones doing all the hard work.”

“Truly, we are in your debt,” Best Jeanist piled on. You weren’t used to so much flattery and you had a job to do so you tried to end the conversation.

“Anyways, I have to get to my next patient. Jeanist, keep an eye on your partner. It’s good for him to walk around a little bit but make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” He gave another bow.

“I’m right here,” Hawks typed, unamused by the turn of the exchange.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Hawks,” you yelled over your shoulder before disappearing down the next corridor.

The session later that day was nothing out of the ordinary. The nubs sprouting from his back had formed into tiny but well-defined wings and he was able to sit up during exams as opposed to lying face down on the hospital bed. All signs of positive progress.

He watched wistfully as you documented your observations, swaying his legs off the side of the bed like a child.

“They’re coming in quite nicely, I’m really happy with where you’re at.”

“Great what do I need to sign to get out of here?”

“Ahhh not so fast. You have to stay at least another two days and even once you’re discharged, you most certainly are not ready to return to active duty.” He pouted underneath his respirator mask.

“You’re no fun.”

“Sorry, just doing my job.” You proceeded to check his other vitals before heading out. First you took off his mask to check his lymph nodes, pressing your fingers firmly against the outer side of his jaw, moving down his neck. He was acutely aware of the lone thin layer of latex that separated you. He couldn’t stop the warmth that crept up his face, thankful that most of it was still covered. His flushed cheeks may have been under wraps, but he couldn’t hide his quickened pulse from you. You put on your stethoscope and instructed him to breathe deeply a few times, the cold metal circle moving from his upper back, to lower back, to his chest.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Your lungs are sounding better but your heart’s beating like crazy.”

He feigned surprise, which was much easier when he didn’t have to control his own voice. “Really? That’s odd, no one else’s said anything.”

You pulled up his chart again to check the inputs of all the other practitioners who’ve treated the hero since his arrival at Central Hospital. All values normal.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in at this point?”

“Two or three.”

“Are you feeling nervous about anything?” He chewed his lower lip trying to think of a way to get out of this, knowing that if he said no you would run more tests which would be unnecessary and prolong his stay.

“Yes,” he lied. Kind of. He actually was a little nervous, though definitely not for the reason you likely thought. You brought your chair next to his bed again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” A loaded question.

“No.” The good thing about talking through his phone and the mask was that he could get away with saying less. Sympathetic people tended to not ask follow up questions.

“Okay. Well, you know I’m always here if you ever want to talk.” You spoke slowly, your reassuring voice laced with uncertainty. It was difficult to get a read on him when you couldn’t hear the tone of his voice or see his face. “Do you have any questions?” He nodded.

“Will you go on a date with me?” You almost choked on your own saliva. You blushed, but forced yourself to remain stoic.

“I’m very flattered, but there are strict protocols against physician-patient relationships.” Your stern message was undercut by your stammering, high pitched squeak.

“What if I promise to never get hurt again?” You tried not to smile, knowing it would only egg him on. You were failing.

“You shouldn’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

“What if I find a different doc?”

“You’ve gotten awfully good at talking through your phone,” you muttered under your breath.

“Can’t hear you.” Despite his mostly covered face, you could tell from the crinkle around his eyes that he was enjoying every moment of this interrogation.

“I-I’d have to take it up with the Board of Ethics.”

“That’s not a no.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Can I say one more thing?” You sighed, bracing yourself for whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

“I’d rather you didn’t but legally I think I have to say yes.” You watched as his thumbs frantically moved over the keyboard.

“Thank you for taking care of Best Jeanist. This operation wouldn’t’ve gotten so far without him or you.”

“Oh.” Your felt your heartbeat in your throat. “Again, just doing my job. Glad I could help.” You fiddled with some papers. “Let’s try this one more time. Do you have any other questions… about your health.”

Hawks shook his head, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Despite the fact that you wanted to scold him for the bizarre interaction, you were reassured by his pleasant disposition, one you hadn’t seen since he arrived.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow rolled around but you entered an empty sterile room, bed ready for a new patient. After a few seconds your confusion passed and you saw red.

You stormed down the hall in search for any hospital staff, until a poor resident had the unfortunate luck of being in your path.

“Where the hell is my patient?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Room 3409. Yesterday my patient was there and today the room is empty. He wasn’t ready to be discharged so where is he?”

“I-I-I don’t know ma’am, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. y/l/n, this is a hospital, not wrestlemania if you could keep it down please. And stop traumatizing the junior residents.” Hawks’ pulmonologist emerged from his office and tried to placate you. You glowered at the first young doctor as he silently excused himself from the conversation that was definitely beyond his paygrade.

“Please tell me he got moved to a different wing.”

“I’m afraid not.” He spoke again before you could let out another outburst. “I warned him of the risks of a premature discharge, to which he insisted he was feeling fine and that those were risks he was willing to take. I had him fill out some paper work and a consent form and he left this morning.” Your nostrils flared as you silently seethed.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that so I don’t have to report you. Oh, and one more thing…” The doctor took a deep breath before proceeding, worried he may end up the subject of your wrath. “This is probably terrible timing, but – he requested to take you off his care team,” your eyes widened “…and should he be re-hospitalized that you not be involved.”

“WHAT?” You continued mumbling a string of profanities under your breath. The doctor continued slowly and calmly.

“He made it very clear it had nothing to do with the quality of care he received from you. But he uh, mentioned something about a potential conflict of interest.” He took a step back as you burned an imaginary hole through his head with your retinas. “I cannot emphasize enough how much I do not want to know any more information about this.”

“There is no more information about it because it doesn’t exist!” You wanted to scream. “Fuck him. Fuck you. Fuck this hospital. I’msosorryItakethoselasttwoback.” You stomped your foot down like a petulant child before storming off. “FUCK!”

By the next day you had cooled off, that is, until you saw Hawks loitering outside Endeavor’s room as you were making your rounds.

“YOU!” you boomed. Hawks’ excitement to see you was quickly replaced with fear as you approached and you were close enough that he could see the rage steaming off you.

“Hey doc,” he said sheepishly.

“Don’t you ‘hey doc’ me.” You were very close to his face. He was sure he would’ve felt your breath if he didn’t have the stupid respirator mask on. For a split second he thought about taking it off but realized that would only further enrage you. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He began typing but you swatted his hand before he could answer. “Ow.”

“And you –“ Best Jeanist would be the next recipient of your verbal lashings. “You said you would keep an eye on him. Liar.”

Hawks had never seen his colleague scared before, but there was a first for everything.

“He just wanted to come for a ride-along, I promise he stayed in the car the whole time!”

“I have never been more disappointed,” you said in a low voice. Best Jeanists bowed.

“I am very ashamed and deeply regret my actions. I am sorry.” That seemed to pacify you momentarily. You returned your wrath to Hawks.

“I told you you’re not ready to return to the field. And now I hear you’re refusing to receive treatment from me? I cannot explain to you how embarrassed and insulted I am.” You allowed him time to type this time as Best Jeanist stood there as witness, desperately wishing for the floor to open below and swallow him whole.

“You’re right. I’m not ready. But this enemy is moving too quickly, time is of the essence. I’m in good enough shape that I can help off the field. I’m sorry I went against your professional judgement.” You continued to glare at him with pursed lips.

“And?”

“And I was being proactive. I’m taking you on that date.” Your face flushed immediately while the avian hero somehow remained shameless. You did your best to maintain your composure.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” You crossed your arms defensively.

“After a stunt like this, I wouldn’t be so sure. Plus, since you’ve already taken it upon yourself to be discharged I’m not sure why you’re even here.”

“Now that we know about the Todoroki family connection to Dabi, we need to gather intel. Also need to consolidate info from those at the Jaku Hospital attack. Off-field work, if you will.” Your eyes narrowed, only to be met with undeterred playful golden irises.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But I feel the need to make it known that I’m not happy about it.” The injured hero smiled again.

“Thanks, doc.”

“Again, our sincerest apologies for the mishap.” Best Jeanist did his best to make up for his companion’s clear lack of repentance.

You only gave the heroes a parting glare as you walked away.

The rest of the day passed, otherwise uneventful but long and exhausting. You kept a professional and pleasant face for the benefit of your patients, but it was getting hard to maintain after all you’d seen in the last seven days since the attacks. Yes, there were cases of miraculous recoveries in the face of overwhelming trauma. But far more frequent were lives that were forever altered by all that had transpired, not just for patients themselves but all the other souls connected to those individuals. The hospital was at capacity, and each bed represented not just one person but a web of lives that now had to face a new crippling reality. If you thought about it too much you could cry – which you did, in the nearest break room or supply closet if had even just two minutes between appointments. Thus, your favorite part of the day became doing paperwork in your office at the end of your shift. It was methodical and soothing, and allowed you to disassociate.

It was at that moment when you were enjoying your oasis that an intern rushed into your office, disturbing your peace.

“There’s an emergency on the top floor, you need to come quick.” You immediately got up and followed her down the hall and up the elevator, asking clarifying questions about the situation.

But when you entered the room in question, all you saw was a picnic blanket on the hospital bed, two champagne flutes, a bottle, and the number two hero. The intern shrank in the doorway.

“I’m really sorry, he said he would send me a bunch of merch if I could get you here.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” You rubbed your temples, hoping it would transport you to another dimension where you never went to medical school and thus would not be here. “You are not to accept a single thing from him, do you understand?” The intern nodded aggressively. “Now go, I’m sure you have better places to be, ideally with a patient who actually needs help.” The intern scurried away without another word.

“And you,” now turning to Hawks. “Bribing medical professionals? Super illegal.”

“Sorry.” His mischievous eyes said otherwise, clearly undeterred by your scolding. You scoffed.

“No you’re not.” He shrugged. You took a closer look at the set up. “Seems kinda wasteful, doesn’t it? You can’t even drink.”

He turned the bottle to show the label. Sparkling nonalcoholic cider. The corners of your lips tugged upwards, threatening to betray your steely exterior.

Any semblance of a smile quickly vanished, however, when he removed his respirator mask.

“What are you –“ He spoke before you could protest or before he lost his nerves.

“I’m going to be gone for a really long time after today. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back.” He cautiously grabbed your hands. “Regardless of which it is, I really want to make sure I don’t break any promises.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in when he paused. You suddenly found it hard to keep eye contact.

“This is a hospital, not the Make A Wish Foundation.” Despite your icy response, you made no effort to pull your hands away from him. He gently rolled his thumb over your knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge and crease.

Most of his face was still covered in bandages, but you liked that you could now see how his lips curved into a lopsided smirk, punctuated by laugh lines that formed around the corners of his mouth. You liked knowing that you were responsible for it. Your mind concocted imaginary circumstances of other things you could do to get him to make the same perfect expression. Your eyes lifted to meet his when you were done daydreaming.

“I thought they were one in the same.” He was insufferable. His arms fell to his sides when you separated yourself from him. For a moment he almost looked like the defeated shell of himself that was in your care a week ago. But it was quickly washed with relief when he saw you grab the bottle.

“You are the worst patient I’ve ever had.” A satisfying *pop* echoed in the room. He knew your words were hallow, as your acquiescence was rewarded with the hero’s bright eyes and heartfelt smile that made your heart beat in time with the little bubbles that evaporated around you. You handed him a glass of cider, his fingers ghosting over yours as he took the flute from you that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not your patient anymore.”

346 notes · View notes

megistusdiary · 9 months

Text

𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙨 + 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨

𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘥𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘢, 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯, 𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘰, 𝘻𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪, 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢, 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺, & 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘨

i was bored and thinking about some of my faves...so i put together a list of my favorite kinks and sorted my faves into them <3

this is quite long, a bit of a doozy, and very self-indulgent

i am also open to discussion or any thoughts on these or other things...teehee

warnings: 18+ content (mdni), dom and switch characters only, no implied reader gender!

mentions of: asphyxiation, size/strength kink, bondage, praise, degradation, marking, breeding kink

𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘹𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

giving

arlecchino, yelan, wriothesley, rosaria

i think arlecchino likes to have complete obedience. but, she also just loves the feeling of her hand on your throat, feeling every little sound through the vibrations, every swallow and gulp. and, of course, all the trust you put into her when you let her grip your throat.

yelan...especially with leashes and collars. she's wrapping it tighter around her fist and yanking. hard.

wriothesley's got big, beautiful hands perfect for your neck. he's also one of the ones who really appreciates how much you trust him with this.

rosaria would probably like the feeling of power ngl. her claws leave little indents or scratches in your skin, unless she is merciful and removes them beforehand.

recieving

wriothesley, zhongli

sorry, i'm on my switch zhongli/wriothesley agenda here guys.

wrio probably loves being controlled just as much as controlling so wrap your hands around his neck and he is gone

zhongli would probably worry too much about hurting you to go as far as putting his hand on your neck...but he would love it if you did it to him (if you really did hurt him, he's an archon, and he will just move you)

𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦/𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

zhongli, wriothesley, dehya, arlecchino

dragon zhongli loves feeling big compared to you, i think.

wriothesley is huge, as we all know. he would love to just drape himself over you, completely covering you and pressing you down with his weight.

dehya's a merc who wields a claymore constantly. i just KNOW she's buff and has abs...idc what the in-game model says, they lie!! and she loves to use her strength to her advantage

arlecchino is a harbinger, and was ready to take down an archon, so i just know she's strong

𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘦

giving

yelan, ningguang, zhongli, wriothesley

once again...yelan with leashes and collars

ningguang i could see being really into shibari and tying you up super pretty like a little gift for her on her bed/desk

zhongli would also probably be into really intricate bondage on you, makes his dragon brain think of you like some treasure for his hoarde

wrio and handcuffs...come on

receiving

wriothesley, dehya

wrio and handcuffs...it goes both ways

dehya gives me switch vibes, too. she would LOVE it if you tied her hands down while you took control

𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 vs 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

likes to give praise

arlecchino, zhongli, wriothesley, dehya, ningguang

arlecchino 100% treats you so well...i know they say she's crazy, but she's only crazy because she would do anything for her own reasons...and if you are important to her, she would do anything for you!!! (i'm delusional)

zhongli definitely likes to give praise...you're just so sweet to him, how could he not?

wrio seems like the type to praise you often. he deals with horrible people and criminals all day, and it gets so exhausting being so tough all the time

dehya likes to praise, but also be teasing about it. she likes it when you get embarrassed over her being sweet on you

when you behave, ningguang will shower you with gifts and praise for being such a good partner

likes to recieve praise

wriothesley, zhongli, dehya

just call wriothesley a good boy...i know he likes it

zhongli was definitely used to all the praise he received for years as an archon, and even now, people talk him up. they respect him, obviously. but you're the one he seeks for respect from the most. give it to him, and he will melt.

i just think dehya likes to be told how much you love her. tell her every little thing you love about her.

degrader

rosaria, yelan, ningguang

oh, i just know rosaria's calling you a bunch of names, saying filthy stuff while she has you doing exactly what she wants. she knows you love it, and it gives her an outlet to release her stress and frustration. she might be so so mean, but you're guaranteed to be a fucked out mess at the end

yelan just wants to see you break before her very eyes. the sky is the limit, and she will push past it into space just to have you all embarrassed and falling over yourself to please her

remember how i said she likes praise when you're good? well when you're bad, ningguang pulls out all the stops. no gifts, no nice words, no nice treatment; that's only for when you behave appropriately. when you're naughty, she's probably taking you right over her desk, and all of her degrading words are said so loudly everyone can hear it and she loves it

degradee

wriothesley

i know wrio is all alone here, but i just think he's that type of switch!! he would love it if you hold him down (even if you're much smaller/weaker than him) and just call him filthy names. bonus points if you put a 'my' before anything you say...

𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

giving

rosaria, yelan, wriothesley, zhongli, arlecchino, ningguang, dehya

rosaria likes leaving lipstick marks, scratches, hickies, bruises, you name it. she loves seeing them on you the next day. she wants everyone to see, but nobody should dare ask any questions~!

yelan leaves lipstick marks all over you...she loves leaving hickies all over your neck and shoulders too. you're all hers.

wriothesley is a big guy, unless he's treating you like glass, he's probably gonna leave some bruises. once you tell him you like it though...it's all fair game. definitely a biter too!!

as we know, zhongli and his dragon thoughts...you are his, just as he is yours, but he just can't help the thoughts of biting into your shoulder, leaving deep marks that you see every morning when getting dressed, and every evening before bed.

arlecchino is definitely strong...i think she's hiding some muscles under her fancy coat. she holds you down so firmly, she's gonna leave some bruises. she gets busy with leaving hickies everywhere, but strategically placed ever so slightly below your shirt collar or waistband..

while ningguang prefers her skin to be completely and perfectly unblemished, you're not leaving without some marks on you. she likes leaving them in places nobody can see, but she's all too aware of exactly every spot she left hickies...

dehya just loves seeing her marks all over you. she'll leave hickies anywhere you let her: neck, shoulders, chest, thighs, you name it. and, yes, she wants to see them. she wants everyone to see them and have no doubt in their minds who was responsible

receiving

wriothesley, zhongli, yelan, dehya

wriothesley wants you to leave hickies on his neck, purposefully having you put them where everyone can see! also scratch down his back. he's already got scars, but these ones are special to him. you'll catch him admiring them in the mirror

zhongli likes it when you mark him right back. you are his, but he's yours too, so please bite him back!! his fingers subconsciously rest over your bite...even if it doesn't last as long as the one he leaves on you...you'll just have to keep remarking him! oh, and yes, he also wants you to scratch your nails into his back

i would venture to assume that while yelan loves marking you up, she wants you to do the same. she has a claim on you, so you better fight to show her your claim on her. if she ever acts annoyed by hickies you leave, she's secretly so enamored by how much you want everyone to know she's yours

dehya wants your marks on her, duh. she's got scars, sure, and they carry stories. she wants your marks so she can carry you with her everywhere.

𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

zhongli, wriothesley, arlecchino

for the final time i will repeat it: dragon zhongli. it's in his primal instincts to fill you up. while he has matured much since his youth, he still holds some of those innate desires. you just awaken them in him...he loves watching his essence drip from you before pushing it back in. almost like another form of marking for him.

for wriothesley, it's all about the intimacy between you two. he likes mumbling to you about filling you up with him. he wants you pressed as close to him as possible. it's just how you're full of him, dripping with him, you know?

arlecchino runs an orphanage, she's constantly around kids. she's literally called father all day. she raises kids, and if she could give you some of your own, well...regardless of whether she can fill you up with her essence or not, she likes to talk you through it as if she is. she'll certainly fuck you like that's the goal.

well...if you made it this far into my dump of thoughts, let me know of yours in my askbox xoxoxo

i need more people to discuss with :(((

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #zhongli smut #yelan smut #rosaria smut #ningguang smut #arlecchino smut #wriothesley smut #arlecchino x reader #wriothesley x reader #zhongli x reader #rosaria x reader #ningguang x reader #dehya smut #dehya x reader #✎─𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 ❛ ༉‧₊˚

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cyxnidx · 6 months

Note

HI HI HELLO! I saw ur cat n mouse gamr for Wriothesley and loved the idea so much! I would like to request f! Reader x wanderer (genshin) playing a cat n mouse game as well hehe. And if you dont mind please do write more on the smut part I am very curious on how itll play out 🫢 TY!

CAT & MOUSE 2 !

character pairing: wanderer / scaramouche x f!reader

warnings: smut, degradation(use of 'slut, whore') + a little praise, oral (m!receiving), cat & mouse game, slight bondage (ropes🤭)

a/n: Hi~, apologies for such a late response :(. had to get some sort of inspo flowing. i'm glad you enjoyed, & hope you enjoy this one even more <3.

"where are you, slut." wanderer's tone echos throughout the house.

you're hiding - hiding, being bratty, as usual. getting your boyfriend all riled up, only to leave him to deal with his boner himself.

not this time, though. it seems you've gotten him a little too riled up today.

you slap a hand over your mouth when you hear his shoes against the hardwood floor, hoping he doesn't find you.

now you're realizing its foolish - and your hiding place doesn't make it any better. under the bed, really?

"come out, come out, wherever you are.." he calls again, obviously teasing you. hes so close, so near, yet you don't have sight of him.

the adrenaline rush is addictive. it's probably the main reason you're doing this to begin with. the rush of hiding, and the chance of being caught, and fucked to oblivion?

its addicting.

you notice it goes quiet. it doesnt seem like the wanderer is walking anymore, nor is he calling for you.

theres only one conclusion you can come to when this occurs.

and before you know it, you're yanked up by your ankles and pinned to the ground.

you've been caught.

you fight him, for the fun of it. to give him a hard time, not that you want to win. not necessarily. the whole point is to get under his skin.

finally, he gets you under control, and thats when you notice a rope being held between his teeth. he holds your hands above your head with one hand, while with the other, he works to tie your wrists together.

"scara - let's talk about this!" you whine, only adding fuel to the fire. you knew he wouldn't wanna talk - why would he?

without a word, he throws you onto the bed you once were taking cover under. "not another word, you hear me?" he demands. "say anything more, and I'll stuff that pretty mouth with my cock."

your eyes narrow, analyzing his. lust swirls in his pupils, a gaze of daggers stabbing you. though, despite the betting stare he's giving, you take it as an opportunity to provoke him more.

"well, if you're so bold, do it-"

you're basically cut off at the last syllable of your sentence when he moves you off the bed. his grip is harsh on your waist, and you were on the ground before you knew it.

"open your mouth," he says in a haste, unbuckling his pants and fiddling with his zipper.

"wha-"

"open. your. fucking. mouth." he demands, stroking the bud of precum over his cock as he waits. you let your tongue fall out of your mouth, mouth wide, awaiting to be filled by his cock.

not taking more than a minute, he shoves his cock down your throat, immediately fucking you.

"you," he pants, the warmth of your throat hitting him like a truck. like a pressure he never knew he needed for the minute. "fuckin' slut. always rilin' me up n', shit."

he continues to shove himself down your throat, your gags filling the otherwise quiet house. he grabs a harsh fistful of your hair and your hands go to massage his balls, tempting him to cum down your throat.

his head tilts back. "god, damnit. you're sucha little slut, fuck, taking my cock like a good little girl. mmh, g'na let me cum down your slutty little throat? huh?"

you attempt to moan in response, the tightening gesture throwing scaramouche over the edge, filling your throat with his seed.

he waits for you to finish sucking every little bit off his cock before moving you to the bed. "good little slut, you must like to be used." he mumbles, turning you over on your stomach and arching your back. "g'na treat you how you want, yeah? like the little whore you love to be."

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mayearies · 1 year

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… ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

.. ❛ nailed it ❜

genre: suggestive | warnings: implied making out, suggestive speech ->summary: miles gives you a prize

꒰ঌ a/n ໒꒱ needed to spice up shi a little bit since i havent in a while lmao i didnt feel like adding pictures to this one (ty @/q2ie for letting me steal ur format 😊 i might not keep it tho LMAO)

miles and you were doin' your nightly routine—facetiming each other for 3 hours before you actually went to sleep. you two would talk about anything and everything. drama at school, shit at work, etc. but you wanna see him in person. you would drop that in the convo for a while.

"then this bitch down the street was lookin' at me sideways n' shit, i swear to god-" "i wanna come see youuuu"

he broke, bursting out in full on laugher and rolling around in his bed out the frame. all your other attempts landed in him letting out a breathy laugh or a small chuckle.

"okay but no seriously! you haven't came over in foreverrrr" "we saw each other last week, mi vida?" "that's too long! what can i do to make you come over?"

it didn't take him long to think about a possible challenge. the smirk on his face told you all you needed to know. "you can try that one filter goin' around."

"which one? the hammer one?" "yeah." "hmm. you make it seem like it's that big of a challenge." "knowing your timing skills, yes. yes it will be a challenge for you." "what's in it for me?"

miles held his face in his palm while he looked to the side, making a humming noise. "i'll come over and kiss you."

"make out, you mean?" "i mean... it depends if you pass or nah."

you sucked on your teeth as you moved over to tiktok and got ready to win the little prize he had for you. you didn't even tell him that you started. you just went at it. he saw your focused ass self through your camera and he was snickerin a whole lot. "yo, shut up or i swear to god."

miles sat up and took a deep breath before saying in a mocking tone: "yo, shut up or i swear to g-"

"STOP"

once the timer hit zero, you had landed around 14. still bein' salty about not being able to get at least two because of his sabotagin' ass. you mumbled a curse under your breath which he knows for certain was for him. "awww.. you mad, ma? estás molesto conmigo?

"shut up." "you're too cute, i can't." "you didn't even tell me how many i had to get!" "... 15."

you stared at him with unamused which only made him feel amused. you swear, this boy plays too much. but that's one of the reasons you love him. the other reasons? well... that's another story.

"i'm jokin', ma. unlock your window."

once you heard your window slide up, you stopped shaking your leg. you had been waiting a whole 10 minutes. far too long. he came in his prowler pajamas, which was cute and it matched your spiderman one. "took you long enough."

miles held your chin with a playful smirk on his face. tilting it upward a little so he could plant a little kiss on your neck. "y'know. i wonder if you taste as salty as you talk, ma."

"just kiss me already."

and so he did. rather passionate, you would say. he knew everything you liked when he kissed you. what you didn't like, and what you loved. what made your face warm. what made your heart flutter. all of it. it's one of the other reasons you love him.

"i know just how to make your knees weak, amor." "sad but true." "what is that supposed to mean?" "you always make me fold. it hurts my back."

he let out a small giggle while cuddling up under the covers with you. he was proud to be able to tease you so much. even if you might get sick of him. "i love you so much."

"wish i could say the same." "damn. you still got that salty ass mouth after all that? thought i carried all my sweetness over to you. you want me to do it again?"

©hiimayee

#miles morales #miles g morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales blurbs #e!42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales earth 42 #miles 42 #42 miles morales #earth 42 #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader

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slvtforoldermen · 7 months

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Pedro’s Characters: The Dick-tionary

How big are Pedro Pascal’s characters and some NSFW headcannons

(WARNING: DETAILS OF PENISES AND TALKS OF SEX - MDNI)

Part Two <3

A/N: Sorry I never continued Fluff February :(, I lost motivation so I’ll just write them and post them as a prompt list for whenever…

Joel Miller:

Okay, all his characters are big, it’s a known fact, but Joel is 100% the biggest. Probably about 8.5 inches, with a pretty pink mushroom tip, and GIRTHY AGH! There’s a vein on it that is really visible when he’s hard. Oh and his balls are big too. Everything about Joel is just big. Not only is he big but you best believe he knows how to use it too. He’s got a daddy kink… Fav positions are missionary and cowgirl, however when he’s angry doggy or the mating press are a no-brainer. Daddy kink! DOMINANT!!! There’s no way this man is a sub, it just doesn’t work, he’s just so dom yknow, and when he’s soft, he’s the sweetest he’s ever been, but if he’s angry, hard dom Joel comes out and that’s a man you don’t wanna piss off if you wanna cum. He’s got such a daddy kink. “Fuck babygirl/boy, you’re so fucking sweet, sugar. So fucking good for daddy. Yeah baby? You like that? Such a good little girl/boy, so fucking sweet.” Daddy kink is such is a big thing for him. Hair wise? Well it’s the apocalypse so it’s probably hard to find the Manscaper 3000 or whatever. He trims his hair with some scissors, honestly he didn’t really care for shaving before you, so he just let it grow, but once when you were sucking him, you almost sneezed from how much it tickled your nose and made a little joke about it after, which made Joel feel a little bad so he cut them just a little shorter. Oh I’m sorry and did I mention… DADDY KINK!!!

Javier Peña:

(Here I’m purely writing about Javier Pena in a fictional sense AS PEDRO, not the real guy, this has nothing to do with the real Javier Pena)

Okay, Javier, my baby daddy. Um, who said that- ANYWAYS! Javier is probably the second biggest, in joint place with Oberyn, definitely about 7-7.5 inches, as he’s nicknamed by moi, the Pussy Slayer of Medellin. It goes without saying that Javier is rough, as we’ve seen, side note: I don’t know why I thought watching Narcos with my family would be a good idea… I was sat on the couch like “😀 okay, I’m watching Pedro have sex next to my mum, just a normal Saturday morning…” anyways back to it (hehe Negan reference) but Javier is rough, doggy and cowgirl are his favourite positions, but sometimes when he’s feeling a little somber he likes a little missionary. As how domestically-kinky I like my men, I’m a little disappointed that Javier isn’t a committed man, but he does have a tiny 🤏 breeding kink, he defo isn’t a fan of being called daddy, in fact just call him Javi and he’s yours, and he’s dom obviously. “Oh carino, you take my cock so well, you good little whore… fuck… my sweet little angel.” I mean, we’ve all seen his hair, so do we really need address it, that also might genuinely be my fav sex scene in all of cinema history.

Oberyn Martell

Okay, admittedly, I haven’t seen any proper scenes of Oberyn, because I’ve just started GOT, so I have no clue what his character is like apart from being a HUGE BISEXUAL SLUT, so he’s just like me 🤭

Oberyn, tying with Javier, is about 7-7.5 inches, and I feel like his cock is definitely a lot more tan than others, idk why, it’s just an instinct. Defo uncircumcised. His fav positions are definitely cowgirl OH and dude is the literal definition of a pillow prince, again, just like me. Suck his dick, please, just suck his dick. Again, I don’t know how he’s presented in GOT, but I’m like 74% sure he’s dominant? From the clips I’ve seen 🫣 Hair wise, do razors exists in the GOT world? Or does my man just shave himself with a sword.

Javi Gutierrez:

Oh my sweet baby Javi… he’s so kinky. I’m fully convinced he’s into full BDSM, not so much where he has to do it every single time, but maybe like once a month. When I was watching TUWOMT for the first time, when Nick is about to go into the room with all his merch and stuff, I was dead convinced it was gonna be a sex dungeon. There’s no way a man is this sweet and adorable without being into some freaky shit.

Anyway, Javi is about 6.5 inches, with a sweet pink tip and he’s definitely a giver not a taker, don’t get him wrong, he ADORES you with his dick in your mouth, but he prefers to eat you out/suck your dick for hours on end. Oh and he’s a sweet talker, when you guys aren’t being full kinky, he’ll praise you to hours on end, mumbling in your ear how good you are in that sexy accent of his. Is a little bit of a switch, but mostly dominant, soft dom if it’s a normal night but if it’s that special night, only your safe word will pull him out of hard dom space. Definitely the type to overstimulate you in a sweet way “you can take it right sweetheart? Mi amor~ just take my cock nice and good, ahí tienes.” Um, daddy kink for surely, but not like every single night like Joel. But when he’s between your legs, and he’s stimulated you so far into sub space, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes open, and you’re reaching up for him, babbling how good his cock feels in your hole, he can’t help but coo down at you and praise you so hard. He’s not bald, but his hair isn’t long, just trimmed to the point where it tickles your nose when you suck his cock.

Din Djarin

Okay, so I think it’s canon that Din hasn’t really ever felt human touch, so I feel he’s really inexperienced… but the dude’s got a pretty dick. Like it’s just so… pretty. About 6 inches with a sweet baby pink tip, he’s so sensitive too. He loves head but he really can’t say it, he’s just too embarrassed. I just get the vibe that he’s mostly subby. He tried to be dom once but the poor baby couldn’t handle it all. But then he tried again and he did so good, but it tired him out, so if he’s domming, which is once in a blue moon, he’s going to be soft, maybe even softer than Javi. Mommy/Daddy kink!! “Please, I’m good right? Please, please tell me I’m doing good… you always feel so so good, I love you so much.” Please, he’s so sweet I love him. It’s rare that you guys get off together because of reasons due to his upbringing and stuff so he just likes being taken care of, the sweet boy. Before you, he never really cared for shaving, so when you first strip together, he’s a little nervous about it, and then after that he trims it, quite short.

Marcus Moreno

If anyone says this man is a hard dom they’re just kidding themselves, this man is the sweetest man out there, obviously not as much as Din ofc <3.

Marcus has an obsession with using his hands, making you cum just by fingering you. Then when he’s inside you, he slips his fingers into your mouth, or around your neck, or on your cheek. His dick is about 7 inches, and like everyone else, knows how to use it perfectly. Angel is one of his favourite nicknames to call you. “My perfect Angel, taking my cock so good baby…” whilst hes thrusting into you ever so gently. Would never EVER do it when Missy is around, so quickies before picking Missy up from school are his go to, but he loves the days where his mom can take her out for the day or even a grandma sleepover so he can be with you for hours. You under him, over him, him inside you, his good girl/boy, his good angel. Pleasuring you until you get numb. The armpit hair in the scene of the gif gets me and idk why, I have never had a thing for armpit hair but maybe I’m just really horny, but his hair down there is nice and trimmed, not bald, never bald.

Tim Rock(Hard)Ford

Here we go…

Oh Tim man! I have a teensy 🤏 detective kink so when Pedro played this role it was over for me.

Maybe it’s the greying, like Joel, but I feel like he’s huge, just like Joel. He’s 8 inches, living his best life. But he’s just a tired old man, so when he gets home, please just get on your knees for him, he’ll just lay there, stroking your hair, praising you, telling you how good you suck his cock. Then he’ll bring you up to the bed and return the favour, making sure to always get you to tell him about your day as he does so. Saturday nights are always his favourite time to rail into you, he’s had the whole day off, just resting, watching you walk around, getting him so worked up. He has a domestic kink. So seeing you do chores get him so hard. Loves fucking between your thighs when you’re sleeping because he gets home so late and just needs a little relief, but you look so cute and peaceful while you sleep and because he’s so considerate, he doesn’t wanna wake you. “So good for me baby, so good for daddy, gonna fill you up, you’re not gonna let any of my cum slip out right, gonna keep it all in your tummy, yeah, that’s it, cum for me.” TALKS YOU THROUGH IT!!! Sleeps naked. Not trimmed, not shaved, just grows it out, he’s old so he doesn’t care, it’s not like anyone but you would be seeing him like this anyways.

Dieter Bravo

I love Dieter, he’s so cute.

Not dom, but not sub either, just dom enough to see you break under him but sub enough to whimper and get soooo desperate. Such a huge pillow prince, he loves it when you suck him, especially when you grab his balls and caress them, he cums so quick when that happens. He’s about 6.5 inches, and it loves fast, not as in quickie, but he loves seeing you fall apart as he jackhammers into your hole. When you ride him he gets so sweet, and he can last long, don’t worry, but you just look so pretty on top of him, he can’t help it, please don’t be mad at him. Has a thing for dry humping, especially in the morning when he’s too lazy to move properly. “So good baby, oh yeah, fuck, grind against me just like that, mmmf fuck…” loves to beg and watch you beg, he’s so good to and for you, don’t doubt him ever. He doesn’t shave, he trims it, but he’s so goofy, so once he shaved it into a heart.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javi gutierrez #oberyn martell #din djarin #marcus moreno #tim rockford #dieter bravo #slvtforoldermen

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overtake · 20 days

Note

I’m sorry we need about 5k more words of mechanic Daniel driver max pls and ty!!!

Part One

I’m actually so shocked (but pleasantly surprised and honored!) by people enjoying this verse because I almost deleted it without posting. I don’t have 5k more, but I can offer 1.2k!

I still lowkey hate this - and you can definitely tell I have no vision for where this story would go, hence why it’s just harping on the same 3 details we already knew - but it’s all yours and I hope you have a good time reading it anyway :)

Five minutes into pretending to examine an engine instead of obsess over what Max said, Daniel breaks.

“Did you mention me to Max?” he asks Cyril, trying to come across casual.

Cyril looks at him disbelievingly. “Max Verstappen is in our garage and you think I talked about you at all?”

Daniel lifts a hand to his chest and feigns being shot. “People love me, you know. Guys are all over this.”

Cyril heaves out a long-suffering sigh. “Get to work, Daniel.”

Daniel’s lucky, given his condition, that everything is relatively routine today. He does three oil changes, and he could kiss those people’s feet for it.

He’s mentally preparing himself to slide under a car, wincing at much more congested he’ll be once he emerges again, when Max suddenly appears in the corner of the garage.

“Hello,” he says. He does a cute little half-wave to get Daniel’s attention.

“Hey,” Daniel says, straightening and rubbing his grimy hands on his thighs. “Cyril’s working on your car, so he’ll have any updates you need.”

“It’s not my car, just a rental,” Max dismisses. “No, I just have …” He cuts himself off, turns a sweet pink on the apples of his cheeks. “You sounded sick earlier and looked really pale. I brought you soup.”

He lifts a takeaway bag from the cafe down the street, which usually specializes in ten dollar lattes and sandwiches with names so cutesy, you have to practice five times to order without shame.

Daniel smiles at the idea of Max Verstappen, world champion, saying one of those horrible names for Daniel’s benefit. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you. Let me pay you back.”

Max shakes his head. “It’s my thanks for fixing the car.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “So what soup did you get Cyril, who’s actually doing that?”

Max scrunches his nose in disgust. “You cannot expect me to say the name Noodle Nest Paradise more than one time.”

“How many times did you laugh trying to get that out?”

Max shudders. “I pretended to speak really bad English and just pointed at the menu.”

“So you could’ve ordered multiple,” Daniel points out. Max very blatantly pretends not to hear. He focuses instead on pulling a little bag from the order and holding it up proudly, smiling a crinkly-eyed smile.

“I got you crackers!”

Eating soup with Max Verstappen is an out of body experience.

Daniel’s been eating his soup over the coffee table in the office because it felt wrong to make Max sit at the grimy, wobbly table in the closet-sized corner of the garage where Daniel and Cyril usually change and scarf down meals. This, however, means they’re stuck together on the loveseat. Max’s expensive skinny jeans knock knees with Daniel’s greasy coveralls when they get too into the conversation.

Daniel knows he’s being a terrible conversationalist, especially at first. His normal easy charisma is buried somewhere in the pile of tissues he’s burning through. He’s basically just answering Max’s rapid-fire questions about his life, his job, his family, his non-existent partner (“do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything?” Max had asked, and looked remarkably pleased by Daniel’s answer of no).

Daniel’s about 87% sure he’s being hit on right now. It’s a nice confidence booster given how much of a mess he looks, but it’s not like it matters. Max is Max, and Max is F1, and Max doesn’t live here.

He likes Max, though, the longer they talk. He likes his eagerness, his down-to-earth nature, his total lack of interest in discussing racing. Max delights in all Daniel’s behaviours that usually make people roll their eyes and wait for him to be done, whereas Max leans into Daniel’s dumb songs or drawn out jokes. He likes the long lashes that frame Max’s bright, happy eyes, and soft double chin he gets when he ducks his head into his laugh.

Daniel’s not sure how much time passes before Cyril comes in, but he knows his voice has faded to practically nothing, and he’s having to constantly turn to avoid coughing on Max.

Cyril’s timing is rather unfortunate, entering just as Daniel breaks into a particularly rough wheeze. Max is patting his back gently, which Cyril will definitely have words about later. Presently, however, he seems too concerned about Daniel’s wellbeing to lecture him about appropriate contact with famous customers.

“Daniel. Go home,” he orders, voice kind but firm. His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Daniel really wants to fight him on it. He’s enjoying this, but his brain and body feel as if they’re wading through a pool of thick custard.

“Are you okay to drive?” Max checks. His eyebrows are knitted in sweet concern, like Daniel actually might keel over and die in the ten-minute ride home.

“All good,” Daniel promises. He stands, then promptly has to collapse back onto the couch when black spots dot his vision.

“I’m driving you,” Cyril says firmly.

“I just stood up too fast.” Sure, he’s a little woozier than expected, but he could do this drive blindfolded and half-dead.

“I’ll drive you,” Max says. “I mean, Cyril has work to do, but I’m just sitting here.”

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me or steal my car?” Daniel rasps.

“He’s not worth kidnapping, and selling his car probably couldn’t cover an oil change for the kinds of cars you drive,” Cyril informs Max. He ignores Daniel’s protests, then pushes Daniel back down to the couch when he half-rises from it.

“Stay. I will get your keys and bag.”

The second Daniel’s brain understands that he’s off-duty, that it’s no longer expected to carry him through the day, it mostly blacks out, and everything is a blur from there.

He’s pretty confident Cyril steals his phone to call his mum, which is vaguely embarrassing but perhaps necessary given his current state. He knows Cyril gives Max directions to Daniel’s parents’ place instead of his own. He feels Max’s hands help him into the passenger seat, and he definitely mutters some fever-addled sentences on the drive. That’s about all he remembers until he wakes up in his childhood bed, shivering and sweating while his mum runs a hand through his hair and forces medicine down his throat, before he falls back asleep again.

When he finally comes to enough to make his way downstairs, he finds his parents seated at the kitchen table. His mum jumps up, forces him into a chair and fusses over him while simultaneously lecturing him about going to work sick. His dad just sits there, eyebrows half-raised, until Daniel is settled with food and water.

“So. You had an exciting day at work.”

He slides a piece of scrap paper across the table. There, under some advertisement for gardening services, is a scrawled message in red pen:

It was lovely to meet you (again). I hope the terribly named soup made you feel better! :)

- Max

Under his name, Max has scrawled a phone number.

Daniel runs his finger over the lines, feeling the imprint of each number that Max etched into the paper. It’s neatly written, far more cautious and intentional than the rest of the words, as if to ensure that no digit could be misread or smudged.

Daniel pauses, processes the full note, and double backs to the word ‘again.’

“Yeah,” Daniel croaks through the stabbing pains in his throat. He stares at the word harder, like it might reveal what the fuck Max means by again. “I guess today was pretty interesting.”

#fics #maxiel #thought i’d only manage a few hundred words since i just wasnt feeling this verse #but shock of the century: i don’t stop talking #me versus my need to describe every minute of a day in excrutiating detail #i would be an editors worst nightmare #they would have to scrap basically everything #they’d be SCREECHING at me to advance the plot #good thing i’m never writing a book

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vexis-world · 8 months

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“You can't seriously be that dumb..!”

💗 Clarisse la rue x daughter of Apollo!reader one-shot 💗

Authors note: hi reader!! This is my first fan-fiction post so I'd love any constructive criticism to help improve my writing for the future! This is not beta read so it's far from perfect - but I hope you will still enjoy it nonetheless :)) Ty for reading! 🫶

Short summary: Clarisse has some doubts about your "relationship" and seeks you out to speak about her worries.

Word count: 940ish words!

Clarisse’s mind was swarming with thoughts; it always does when she trains alone. She thinks best in the training arena, it's in her blood after all. You and her had been in a relationship for almost 3 months now and hadn't kissed yet. Which isn't a big deal! Clarisse doesn't mind, at least that's what she tells herself. But this is her first relationship, and she doesn't have anyone to unload this onto. To ask advice without having to reveal too much about herself, and her most private fears. She knew that you wanted to take things slow. Although it was not confirmed by words, Clarisse could (in her opinion) read her ‘girlfriend’ well. However when was slow, too slow? Were you having mixed feelings all of a sudden? And if so why had this not been brought up? Clarisse believed that you two were close, as ones in a romantic partnership should be; but perhaps not as close as she had originally thought.

Clarisse took large and fast steps, speed walking over to you. People moved out of her way, they could tell it was urgent and that they shouldn't mess with Clarisse at this moment. Or any moment for that matter.

“Hey Clarisse!” you spoke enthusiastically, finishing up a patient in the infirmary. “Pretty girl, explain something to me.” Clarisse's words make you blush, faintly; you had mainly gotten used to her flirty remarks these past few weeks, but she always manages to catch you off guard, every once in a while. “Ok.. what's up?” you asked, in a nervous tone. You could clearly see the distressed look on the girls face. “It's sort of private, can we speak in the back?” this added to your nerves, clarisse was usually never this off. “Of course, is everything okay?” but before you could finish your sentence, clarisse had already walked over to the back of the infirmary and into the supply area.

The supply closet was cramped with the both of you in there. Clarisse had to push up against you with an arm over your head for you two to fit somewhat comfortably. “Clarisse, is everything okay?” you asked again, this time hoping you would get a straight forward reply. “Do you.. Have you um..” clarisse stuttered avoiding your concerned gaze. “Have you lost feelings for me or something?” she finally mutters. You spent a minute gathering up your words, to find a way to reply. You bit your lip with furrowed brows, before the words fully processed and then said. “What..?” Clarisse had a strange expression on her face. “It's been three months and we haven't kissed or held hands in public. We don't go on proper dates. I feel like you don’t like me” she says quickly with an eye-roll included. “Clarisse, what are you on about..? Why would we kiss?” you asked hesitantly. “Why wouldn't you? Were in a relationship, isn't that kinda the norm?” This left you frozen. You were shocked, obviously but also majorly embarrassed. Had you been in a relationship without even knowing it? And to your crush no less. Fuck. “.. relationship?” you said nauseously, with butterflies in your stomach. “Clarisse, is this some sort of sick joke..?” you added, with shallow breaths. The room was getting stuffy and suffocating. “What do you mean sick joke? Have I ever lied to you? Are my feelings a joke to you? Is that it? Forget it. If I make you this fucking sick then good thing you're in the infirmary. I'm leaving, let's not talk for a while, 'kay?” she pushes past you. since you two were practically melted into one another, you could feel how she'd gotten warmer and how her heart rate had gone up significantly. You try to go after her but just as you do, your brother, Will asks you to tend to another patient that had just come in. He calls over his shoulder. “trouble in paradise? Gonna have to wait, I'm afraid - I need some help over here!” leaving you even more puzzled.

An hour or two goes by since you spoke with clarisse, and she’s consumed your thoughts entirely. You decided to speak to her at dinner and try to resolve whatever happened earlier.

“Clarisse, can we talk? Again..” you whispered, almost begging. “Kinda busy. We’ll talk later.” clarisse brushes you off to finish scraping her offerings into the fire. “Please clarisse. I need to speak to you. Just for a second.” you plead. “Two minutes. Two, that's it.” clarisse says, her eyes finally looking up from fire to the now very interesting sky. “Thank you.” You sigh and lead her away to a more secluded area as she had done with you. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. And they're not a joke to me. I'm just confused. What did you mean by relationship?” Clarisse replies by saying “what do you mean, what do i mean? We're dating, aren't we?” you take a pause, dumbfounded for the second time today. “Since when? Don't take this the wrong way but.. I don't remember you asking me to be your.. Um.. girlfriend.” your voice is wobbly and uncertain, you try your best to make your words seem kinder, as to not offend clarisse again. “Well, I guess I never asked but.. Oh.” Clarisse's words end as she parts her lips. She's realised her error. And so had you. You let out a breathy chuckle and say “maybe this time you should actually ask me.'' Clarisse looks at you with much more confidence now, her infamous sly grin back on her perfect face. “Maybe that would be best, sweet girl.”

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x you #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson books #pjo fanfic #pjo x reader #pjo fandom #clarisse la rue

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joelscurls · 1 year

Text

to the ends of the earth

pt ii of feel it in your bones | epilogue

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12k

summary: You spend the week of Spring Break in Austin with your long-distance-boyfriend Joel. As you settle into a comfortable routine together, questions regarding your future arise.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), fluff, angst (ik ik i’m sorry), smut, phone sex, masturbation (f, m), semi-public touching, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie, soft dom!Joel, hair pulling, tiniest bit of nipple play, implied oral (f receiving), brief mention of shower sex, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.)

a/n: i’m honestly so overwhelmed with all the positive feedback I got on part 1 - thank you all so much! there will be a part 3 in the form of a lil epilogue, so stay tuned for more of these two! as always, ty to @caffeinated-validation for giving this your eyes <3

Long distance sucks.

It’s been six months to the day since Homecoming Weekend, five since you and Joel put a label on things: “exclusive”. Not like you’d been talking to anyone else. Since Joel left Vermont that first time, he’d occupied your mind, made a home there, nestled deep between grooves of soft brain matter.

He’s been back a couple of times since. Quick weekend trips — much like the first one — just without the bad art and couch surfing. And each time he’s come and gone has been more painful than the last. More memories to reminisce on when you lay in bed alone. More words exchanged to drown in. You feel as if your heart has been ripped apart and stitched haphazardly back together every time he slips from your embrace.

The last time you’d seen him in person was New Year’s, when you’d rented a cabin in the Green Mountains, watched Joel react to his first snow, exchanged I love yous for the first time under falling flurries.

It feels now as if it were a lifetime ago.

It’s never enough — time, kisses, touches. It’s all so fleeting. You want, more than anything, to burrow into Joel’s chest and make a permanent residence there. To go with him where he goes, be with him where he is, always.

But you know you can’t — it’s not realistic. You have your life here, and Joel has his there. You remind yourself of this fact more times a day than you’d like to admit.

You will be with him again soon enough, though, and for the longest stint of time yet. An entire week in Texas, you and Joel.

The thought of it keeps you going in the leadup to spring break.

It’s the night before your flight, an early-morning departure from Burlington International Airport. You’ve waited until the last minute to pack, so here you are, hovering above your suitcase — which lays sprawled out on your bed — aimlessly throwing pairs of underwear and t-shirts into the main compartment.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. A much welcomed distraction.

And then you notice that it’s Joel calling.

Your heart skips a beat. You answer. Put it on speaker-phone.

“Hello?,” you purr, flopping down on the small empty space on the bed.

“Hi baby,” he drawls, his voice so sweet and saccharine it makes you melt. “All packed?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m ready.”

“Me too,” he says. “So ready. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” you parrot. “How was your day?”

He sighs. “Fine, I guess. Had a bunch’a loose ends to tie up at this site before Tommy takes over for the week. A lot’a back and forth on the phone, orderin’ shit.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I hope you won’t be stressed all week thinking about it.”

He hums, so deep it vibrates through the phone. It goes straight to your core. “Impossible, babygirl. Once I have you here, ‘m not gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout anything else.”

Your face heats. An unignorable pang of desire swells in your chest.

“Joel,” you say, desperation already coloring your voice.

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

Phone sex has become somewhat of a norm for you and Joel, that overwhelming need to be close to one another manifesting as desperate touches of your own fingers and half-coherent pleas through the speaker. It’s rare that a bedtime conversation between the two of you doesn’t end in panting down the line, telling each other goodnight through labored, satiated breaths.

Tonight, your need for him is bordering on carnal, carving into your skin like a sharp blade. You know you’ll have him tomorrow, and a number of days after that, but still, it feels so intangible, unreal. Like you can’t let yourself fully believe it until he’s in your arms.

And so you need him — right now — in any way you can have him.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

“Yes Joel — please.”

“Fuck babygirl,” he breathes. “Okay. Lemme take care’a you.”

You slip your fingers under the waistband of your sweatpants impatiently. You feel yourself through the thin fabric of your panties and, unsurprisingly, you’re soaked. It’s like you’ve been pavloved — like all you need is the sound of Joel’s voice, soft and deep like crushed velvet, and you’re gone — every single time.

“I’m so wet,” you mewl.

Joel groans on the other end. He sounds almost pained, like not being there to feel you, to taste you, is physically hurting him. If it is though, he covers it up well, snapping his attention back to you like a reflex.

“You still got your pants on?,” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Take ‘em off for me. And your panties.”

You do as he says, pulling your sweatpants and underwear down in one tug, letting them bunch at your ankles.

“They’re off,” you say.

“Good. Now touch yourself baby, go ahead.”

You shallowly dip two fingers into the pool of arousal that’s formed between your thighs. Then you glide slick digits over your aching clit, back and forth, a quiet whimper slipping from your mouth.

“‘ts it, darlin’,” he coos, “rub that pretty pussy for me.”

You pretend your fingers are his — bigger, rougher — as you increase the pressure you’re applying and begin to rub tight circles against your clit. The thought of your touches being his, instead, leaves you failing to swallow back a moan.

“Joel – ngh – it feels good.”

“‘Good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You keep going, your breaths becoming increasingly uneven, your hips inadvertently canting off the bed in an attempt to create more friction. You can sense that you’re dripping onto the duvet below you, staining it with your arousal. You’re way past caring at this point — you just need to cum.

You bring your other hand between your thighs, teasing your entrance. You sigh when you find how much wetter you’ve gotten in just a few minutes. You’re sure Joel must be able to hear the lewd slickslickslick of your fingers swirling against your sopping cunt — which he confirms when he curses under his breath.

“Fuck; that all for me, darlin’?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

“Gonna fuck yourself with your fingers for me? Cum all over ‘em, imaginin’ it’s my cock, instead?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Please, Joel, need your cock so bad.”

“I know babygirl, I know.”

You push two fingers inside as deep as you can get them, crooking them against your walls until you find that spongy spot. You fuck yourself in time with the fingers rubbing your clit, your pace reflexively increasing when you start to feel that familiar warmth growing in your abdomen.

You feel it build, up up up — and then it falls, fading completely.

“Fuck,” you murmur.

You don’t relent. But again and again, even with the perfect amount of pressure applied to your clit and the fingers in your pussy curved just right, you find your orgasm just out of reach. You let out a frustrated whine, your movements stalling completely. You can’t get there, not like this, not alone.

“Joel,” you punch out, “need you to touch yourself. Need you to cum with me.”

He inhales a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fuck, sweetheart — okay.”

You hear a faint clink of his belt on the other side of the phone, followed by the telltale whir of a zipper. There’s rustling over the line. When you hear him sigh, you know his cock is in his hand. And then there’s a shift in his breathing, subtle, but enough that you pick up on it. Evidence that he’s started stroking himself.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Miss that perfect little cunt so bad, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you again. Gonna ruin you.”

You love when he talks to you like this — when he loses himself in it and his tongue works faster than his brain. You’d never imagined when you first met him, reserved, quiet Joel, that he could be so filthy.

“Tell me —“ you plead — “tell me how you’re gonna fuck me, Joel.”

“Fuck, gonna get you in my bed, burry my face between your legs until you’re beggin’ me to stop…”

“Shit,” you gasp, your fingers stuttering at his words.

“‘N then ’m gonna fill you up with this cock, make you go dumb on it, fuck you so good your eyes roll back in your head.”

You whimper. You know he’s not just all talk from experience, and the thought of him fulfilling all these promises so soon has you plummeting toward the brink. As long as he keeps going, keeps talking, you’re not going to last another minute.

“Gonna make you soak it, make you cum all over my fuckin’ cock. Fuck — swear ’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You feel your orgasm approaching again. But it’s not waning, not this time. You chase it, letting Joel’s words run on a loop in your head: gonna fill you up with this cock, gonna make you feel so good, bury my face between your legs until you’re beggin’, gonna make you go dumb on it, gonna make you feel so good, so good, so good…

“So close Joel,” you breathe. “So fucking close.”

“‘ts it, darlin’”, he says, his voice strained. “‘m right behind you — shit — let me hear you cum. Wanna — ahh — wanna hear you.”

That’s all it takes, just his encouragement, and you’re cumming so hard the room spins.

You can faintly register Joel talking you through it, able to make out a string of good girls through ringing ears. When you finally start to come down, you can tell he’s nearing his own climax, panting down the line as your own breaths begin to even.

“Please Joel,” you beg. “Please cum for me.”

He lets out a low growl, and then your name is spilling from the tip of his tongue, over and over again, in between strangled moans.

The line is quiet for a moment, apart from you and Joel’s shallow breathing.

“Fuck,” he says when he’s recovered from his orgasm, “how many hours til you get here?

You laugh. “I don’t know — too many.”

“Yeah, too many,” he agrees.

There’s another lull. You yawn exasperatedly, only now realizing how exhausted you are. An earth shattering orgasm will do that to you, you guess.

Joel chuckles on the other end.

“Go to bed, baby. It’ll make the time go faster.”

You sigh. You don’t want to hang up. Don’t want to be without him again. But he’s right. He usually is — though you’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, okay,” you acquiesce after a moment.

“I love you,” he hums.

“I love you too, Joel.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” he adds.

You smile. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, can’t see how ridiculously giddy he makes you.

“Me either,” you say. “Goodnight.”

“Night, darlin’.”

You’re still grinning like an idiot when you hang up the phone. You lay there for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, willing time to move faster.

Eventually you peel yourself off the bed and finish packing. You throw in some lacy bras you know Joel will love — if you end up wearing any real clothes this week, that is. Then you zip your suitcase shut, toss it onto the floor somewhere, and slip under the covers.

You flick your bedside lamp off with a sigh, and begin your attempt to coax sleep. You are tired, but you’re more excited.

When you finally do drift off — at some ungodly hour of the morning — you dream of Joel, of his large arms wrapped around you, his honeyed voice in your ear. Tomorrow, he whispers, again and again. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

You wake up the next morning with butterflies the size of baseballs in your stomach. You get to the airport unnecessarily early, make it through security in record time, and plant yourself down at your gate with a coffee in hand two hours before your scheduled departure.

Your body is practically vibrating in your seat, only partially due to the caffeine. Joel will no doubt still be asleep at this hour, so you shoot him a text to wake up to:

at the airport, all checked in. can’t wait to see you, cowboy <3

And then you send one to Sarah, who you know will be awake, her study-abroad trip to Cambodia meaning she’s probably studying or eating dinner right now.

On my way to see your dad; miss you! Can’t wait to hear all about your studies sometime soon :)

She almost immediately responds:

Yay! Miss you both so much! Yes, talk soon pls - lots to catch you up on. The professors here want me to stay forever (I won’t, dw, need to be able to bother you and my dad on a more regular basis).

You laugh to yourself.

Sarah had been thrilled when she’d found out about your relationship. Had been way too proud of herself for setting you up. When you’d learned she’d faked sick the night you met Joel at the art exhibition, you’d found yourself unable to feign disapproval. How could you care, really, when you’d ended the night straddling him, kissing him?

Not that you’d told her that, of course. She didn’t need to know every detail of that weekend.

It had been…interesting, to say the least, navigating a long-distance-something with the father of one of your students. But Sarah hadn’t pried, even when you’d suspected she wanted to. She’d let it bloom into something more, something real, before beginning to pester you with the questions: isn’t he the worst cook? do you think you guys will get married? can I be your maid of honor if you do?

To which you’d responded: yes (affectionately), I don’t know, and of course you can.

You’ll miss her this week, but another part of you — a more selfish part — is thrilled to have a week alone with Joel, without any distractions.

So thrilled, you can barely steady your shaking hands enough to plug your phone into the outlet under your seat.

You scroll mindlessly on social media as it charges until it’s time to board. Then you’re shuffling single-file down the aisle of the plane to your row, hauling your suitcase into the overhead, and taking your seat next to the window.

It’s your first flight of two, separated by a three-hour layover. You make it to Philadelphia in just over an hour, halfway through the cheesy 2000s rom-com you’d selected on the inflight entertainment screen. You make a mental note to finish it on the next leg.

You get lunch once you’ve tracked down your new gate — pay seventeen bucks for a soggy airport sandwich and a bag of chips that, upon opening, is mostly air. When you sit down to eat, you notice that Joel texted you back.

Got one foot out the front door already. Can’t wait to see you babygirl.

You can’t help the embarrassing smile that pulls across your face.

You re-read the text no less than ten times before you board your next flight — then once more for good measure just before you put your phone on airplane-mode and shove it in your sweatshirt pocket.

This is it, you think as the wheels lift off the ground and the clouds come closer into view. No more countdown. It’s here.

You have to refrain from sprinting off of the plane as soon as it’s landed in Austin.

You grab your suitcase from the overhead with reckless abandon, nearly knocking another piece of luggage out of the compartment and onto a passing flight attendant.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse.

She glares at you, unamused.

“I’m just…I’m meeting someone here,” you ramble. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Too excited.”

She nods. Pops her gum. “Mhm. Have a good day, ma’am. Thanks for flying with us.”

You keep your head down as you disembark.

It’d been a packed flight, and so you find yourself weaving through the crowd that’s gathered at the gate as you exit, around parents who have stopped to tie their kids’ shoes and solo travelers pausing to book their ride shares.

You check your phone as you walk, unwilling to waste even a fraction of a second. Find the directions buried in the text thread between you and Joel detailing how to get from your terminal to the passenger pickup area.

You follow them, suitcase rolling behind you as you trudge along, down a couple escalators and through a corridor.

You round one last corner — and then you see him, standing with his back to a pillar, hands anxiously fiddling at his sides.

Now you are sprinting.

Your suitcase is abandoned somewhere behind you as you run toward Joel. He doesn’t see you at first. You make it a few feet, shoes squeaking on tile, before his head snaps up and his eyes catch yours. And then he’s bounding forward, meeting you in the middle, your bodies colliding, hard.

He throws both arms around you, squeezes you so tightly you think your blood vessels may burst. You accept your fate willingly, breathing him in, letting your hands rove along his broad back.

He smells like pine and worn leather and Joel.

He feels like home.

He bruises a kiss in your hair, whispering against your scalp in disbelief: baby, you’re here.

You stand wrapped up together for a long moment, Joel rocking you back and forth as you catch your breath. Then you pull apart to look at each other.

Only then does it begin to sink in — Joel is right in front of you, touching you — and you’re about to spend a whole week together.

“C’mere,” he drawls, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing his lips into yours. It’s a slow kiss, punctuated by gentle strokes of his fingertips along your jaw. Your tongue rolls against his and your fingers anchor into his shirt collar. It simultaneously feels like it lasts forever and not nearly long enough.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your lips when you part. “Let’s go home, darlin.”

You grab your forgotten suitcase and pull it behind you with one hand, the other in Joel’s as you walk to his truck. It’s parked just outside, at the curb, hazard lights blinking.

“Was supposed to wait here for you,” he explains as he opens the passenger door, helping you in. He takes your suitcase, throws it onto the backseat like it weighs nothing.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you smile as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Felt like a rom-com — I liked it.”

“Yeah,” he says, turning his key in the ignition. His cheeks flush. “I liked it too.”

You stop for fast food on the way to Joel’s — Whataburger, naturally. They don’t have these in Vermont, so you try to savor your burger, but your long day of travel has you ravenous, so you wolf it down, ketchup smearing on the corners of your mouth between bites. Joel just laughs at you from the driver’s seat, piece of lettuce lodged between his front teeth.

You get it for him — fingernails prodding at his gums, but he lets you. Even sighs at the contact. When you flick the leaf off your fingertip, he pulls you in for a kiss, much softer than the one you shared in the airport, but dizzying, nonetheless. “Better?,” he whispers, and you’re not sure if he’s asking about his teeth or you, but both are true, so you hum affirmingly.

You sink back into your seat, adjusting your seatbelt where it’s tightened around your neck.

You feel full and drowsy as you throw your trash into the paper bag the food came in, tucking it by your feet.

You let your head rest against the window. The glass rattles against your skull as the truck begins to move, but you ignore it, too tired to care. And then you let your eyes shut — just to rest them — that’s all.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

You come to when you feel Joel at your side, trying to move you from the passenger seat.

“Baby,” you hear him say. Your eyes flutter open. He brings a hand up to your face, peeling stray strands of hair from where they’re stuck to your forehead and pushing them behind your ear.

“We’re home,” he drawls. “Let’s go inside, yeah?”

You nod groggily, still letting your eyes adjust to the daylight. You take in your surroundings: you’re parked in his driveway, his house right in front of you. Somehow, it’s just as you’d imagined it to be — big, sprawling porch at the front, meticulously kempt yard ornamented with a beautiful red oak tree. It’s so Texan, you think, so Joel.

He grabs your luggage from the truck. Then he helps you out, walks you with a large hand wrapped around your middle to the front door and into the house. Once inside, he sets your suitcase down.

And then he hugs you again, like he’s afraid to let you out of his embrace, lest you vaporize into thin air.

“Still tired? Wanna take a nap?,” he asks.

You yawn, right in his ear. He laughs; that’s enough of an answer.

“Alright,” he says. You follow him to his bedroom, too sleepy to argue. You pass through the kitchen and living room on the way. Through drooping eyes, you notice scattered pieces of Joel — the guitar leaning against its stand next to the couch, the pictures of him and Sarah lining the staircase. It makes your chest tighten, being here in his house, seeing the parts of him that he can’t bring with him when he visits you.

His room is the most him though — masculine and minimalist. A canvas with a ram painted on it hangs above his bed — a gift from someone, you assume. You can’t exactly imagine Joel strolling the aisles of Target, picking out artwork to hang in his house. There’s another photo of him and Sarah on his bedside table that must’ve been taken at her highschool graduation, cap adorning her head full of curls.

It makes you smile — all of it.

You lope over to the bed, climbing in when Joel pulls back the covers for you. He tucks you in with a kiss to your forehead. His duvet wafts his scent, when you pull it up to your face. You inhale it deeply. Commit it to memory.

“Wait,” you say as he turns to leave the room. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?”

He leans against the doorframe, wood creaking under his weight. “Well I don’t really nap, darlin’,” he admits. “You get some rest, I’ll just be doin’ some stuff around the house.”

“Please,” you say, sticking out your bottom lip at him. You watch as he thinks on it for a minute, then sighs in defeat.

“Okay, I’ll nap with you baby.”

He climbs in next to you. “Only for a little bit, though,” he mumbles, like he’s trying to convince himself.

His broad chest presses into your back. He drapes an arm over your side as you nuzzle into his embrace, so warm, so safe. He noses at your neck, leaving gentle kisses along your exposed shoulder. This, you think, is what heaven must feel like.

The sound of Joel’s breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up, the room is cast in shadows. It’s dusk, you realize, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. You roll over. Find that Joel is no longer next to you.

His side of the bed is still warm, you notice, so he must not have gotten up too long ago.

You clamber to your feet, ignoring the blood rushing to your head as you stumble out of his room. You make your way down the stairs, hand braced against the wall as you descend. The lights are on in the living room — a sign of life. But Joel isn’t there.

You wander into the kitchen. He’s not here either. Did he leave the house? You look around for a note, fish your phone out of your pocket to see if he texted you. But you have zero notifications and the dining table is empty, apart from a pair of salt & pepper shakers and a napkin holder.

You call out for him, to no avail. Stumped, you make your way to the door that leads to the garage, the only room you haven’t checked yet, and wedge it open.

To your surprise, you find Joel standing at the back of his truck, loading something into the bed. Upon further inspection, you see that it’s blankets.

Huh?

“Hey,” you announce, making your way down the small set of stairs. He whips around at the sound of your voice. The color in his face drains, like he’s just been caught in the act of something.

“Darlin’,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re up.”

You join him by the truck. Let him rest a heavy arm on your shoulder. You peer up at him with a quirked brow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Well, I uh, I had planned somethin’ for you. Not sure if you’re up for it?”

You look back at the blankets in the truck bed. It’s not just blankets, you discover. There are pillows too, big ones, like the kinds you put on patio furniture, plus a small radio situated in the corner. And there’s a bag of chips leaned up against one of the pillows, next to a box of your favorite candy.

“A picnic… in your truck?”

He laughs. “Not quite. There’s a drive-in movie theater down the road. Thought we could go.”

Those butterflies from this morning suddenly return, swarming your insides at the realization — Joel planned a date for you.

It’s not that he isn’t normally romantic, because he is.

You recall one particular weekend he’d visited — he’d insisted on cooking dinner for you at your apartment, determined to make it perfect for you. He’d ended up burning the chicken and oversalting his sauce, but you hadn’t cared one bit — not when he’d gazed at you so adoringly across the candlelit table, one of your hands in his as he’d peppered each of your knuckles with kisses.

On another visit, he’d scouted one of the only nearby mountains you hadn’t hiked yet and climbed to the top with you — because the internet said this was the best spot to catch the sunset. You’d stood at the lookout, hand in hand, and shared your greatest dreams — yours to have your research published in a major publication, his to leave contracting behind and buy a sheep ranch. And when the sun had dipped behind the horizon, the sky bleeding vibrant pinks and oranges, he’d just looked at you.

So you know he’s romantic. Still though, you’re practically swooning at the scene in front of you.

“So, you wanna go?,” he asks. He scuffs his boot along the concrete floor, awkwardly. “It’s okay if you d-“

“Joel,” you say. “I wanna go.”

He smiles. Rolls the cover over the truck bed. Presses a kiss to your temple.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The sky is dark by the time you get to the drive-in. There are already quite a few cars in the dirt lot, parked in neat rows facing the giant movie screen that sits at the edge of a treeline. There’s a person directing traffic, a teenage boy, you guess, based on his stature, and he twirls his light-up batons in the rearview as Joel rounds the corner to the back row.

He backs into a spot at the far-left, car to your right parked a good ten feet away. And then he cuts the ignition with a quiet grunt, steps out, and makes his way over to your door to open it for you and help you down.

The pillows in the truck bed had jostled around a bit on the drive over, Joel finds when he unfurls the cover. So he adjusts them, making sure everything is just right. Then he unlatches the tailgate and helps you hoist yourself up, following closely behind you as you crawl toward the back.

Once he’s set the radio to the right channel, Joel sits with his back flush to the truck cab and spreads his legs, patting one of his thighs in invitation. He doesn’t need to ask twice — you immediately crawl between them, letting your head fall back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in him.

A satisfied hum escapes your lips. The realization hits you then that you hadn’t even asked what movie you were seeing. Not that you care much — it could be a documentary about grass, and you’d still have a good time, thanks to the company.

It’s some dystopian sci-fi thriller, you find, as the opening credits begin to roll, with a title you vaguely remember hearing in passing at some point.

And it’s good. You’re invested in the story by the end of the first act, curious to find out how the main character is going to save her love interest.

But then you lose interest, quickly, when you feel the white-hot touch of Joel’s fingers against your skin as he slips them under your shirt, inching down your stomach.

He halts when he gets to the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitches, lodged somewhere in your throat when he dips one finger under the denim. Your hips lift reflexively and he laughs lowly in your ear, prompting a shaky exhale to sputter out of you.

“Stay still, darlin,” he whispers, slipping another finger into your pants.

You try, you really try not to move, but he’s teasing you, his fingers moving the pace of molasses toward your core, where he hasn’t touched you in months. You feel like your entire body is going to combust if he doesn’t make contact with your clit in the next five seconds.

You whine, quiet enough that it’s muffled by the sounds of the movie echoing from the radio, but still too loud for Joel, apparently. He reaches his free hand out to turn the volume up, pushing the nob a few decibels higher.

He returns his attention to you. “You want this, babygirl?,” he asks, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear.

“Yes,” you whisper pleadingly. “Please touch me, Joel.” You feel his cock stiffen behind you, prodding your back.

“Okay,” he says. He pulls his hand out completely to unbutton your pants and unzip them halfway. Then he’s cupping your sex through your panties, letting his fingers brush over the wet spot that has already formed.

“Gotta be quiet then,” he purrs. “Can ya do that for me?”

You’re not sure you can, to be honest. He’s barely touching you and you already feel like you’ve lost all control over your body. Whatever it does, however you react — you have no say in the matter. Still, you’re not about to tell him that, risk him stopping, so you nod, furiously, your desperate face illuminated by the flashing light of an action sequence playing out on screen.

He dips two fingers into your underwear, immediately pressing them to your seam. He curses under his breath behind you, clearly pleased with how wet you are for him, with how easily he breaks you down. He brings them up to your clit, then, swiping back and forth, back and forth, his calloused touch forcing you to suppress a yelp. His fingers feel so rough compared to yours, so good. Breaths are pouring out of you in quick succession, your chest heaving with pleasure.

You’re briefly paranoid as Joel continues his ministrations that someone might see — but as you glance around the parking lot, you realize that you can’t see anyone else, just shadows in cars and on folding chairs, all focused on the movie in front of them. Slouched within the walls of Joel’s truck bed, it’s impossible for anyone to clock what’s happening.

So you let your body relax, melting into Joel behind you, your hands clinging onto his thighs to hold yourself steady. “‘ts it baby,” he says, your pliancy encouraging him to press his fingers down harder. “Always so good for me, huh?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, your voice still hushed.

“Yeah, you are” he agrees, rubbing your clit faster, more deliberately. He knows by now just how to touch you �� exactly how to bring you straight to the edge and send you toppling over. And it’s clear that time apart hasn’t affected this in the slightest, your abdomen already tensing, familiar coil tightening threateningly in your core.

You warn Joel with a squeal. His free hand flies up to your face, covering your mouth in an instant. Your eyes roll back instinctively at the lewdness of it, of him muffling you with his palm. You moan freely against it, teeth scraping the skin there as your orgasm grows nearer and nearer and nearer.

It hits you hard. You have to bite down on Joel’s hand to keep from screaming out as it scorches through you, heating every inch of your skin as it does. Your fingernails are digging into Joel’s legs so hard you think you may be drawing blood even through thick denim. He talks you through it, quietly, his utters of atta girl, look at you, ya cum so pretty for me baby keeping you tethered to reality.

When your breathing begins to even and the trembling in your thighs subsides, he removes his hand from your mouth and the other from your pants.

You gaze up at him through bleary eyes just as he brings the fingers that were pressed against your pussy straight to his mouth, sucking on them through a satisfied hum. He pulls them out slowly, and your body nearly buckles at the sight.

“Taste so sweet,” he whispers in your ear. “Always taste so goddamn sweet.”

Your head swims.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“We need to leave. Right now.”

He cocks his head at you, confused. “Are you alr-”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off. “But I need you to fuck me right now, and I don’t think we can do that here.”

You see his eyes darken, his jaw twitch.

“Yeah,” he says after a few seconds. “Let’s get out of here.”

Joel speeds the entire way home.

The hand he doesn’t have on the wheel grips your thigh, making you dizzy with desire by the time he pulls into the driveway. He lodges the passenger side door open so hard you’d think there was an emergency (maybe needing to fuck your significant other after months of not seeing them in person does constitute as an emergency, though — who’s to say?).

He unbuckles your seatbelt for you, barely letting your feet hit the pavement before his lips are on you and he’s slamming the truck door shut, caging you against it. It feels like he’s everywhere all at once, his tongue sliding along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You’re panting by the time he pulls back, begging him in not so many words to bring you inside and pound you into the mattress.

It must take you five whole minutes to get from the front door to his room. Joel’s hand is splayed across the globe of your ass as you walk. He stops you every ten feet to spin your around and kiss you again, sucking on your tongue, needy moans slipping from his parted lips. His shirt has been discarded by the time you get to the stairs, and your hands greedily take in every inch of skin they can reach as you make your way up step by agonizing step.

When you finally make it upstairs, he backs you through the threshold, straight to his bed. You tumble down onto the mattress in a heap, mouths melding together in desperation as he reaches a hand behind you, under your shirt, and unclasps your bra. You help him out, reaching up your sleeve to tug down one strap, then shifting your weight to pull down the other. When you move, he follows you, not letting his mouth part from yours a second sooner than it needs to.

He tugs the bra the rest of the way off your body and pulls your shirt up over your chest, revealing your bare breasts. Only then does he unlatch his lips from yours so that he can admire you.

“More gorgeous every time I see you,” he mutters, rolling one of your nipples between two fingers until it hardens under his touch. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. He leans down, lathing his flat tongue over the sensitive peak, eliciting a heady moan from you.

“Joel,” you cry beneath him, a hand coming up to his shoulder. You push against him lightly.

And he gets it — as much as he loves teasing, now is not the time. You’ve been teased enough by the miles between you and him. So he pulls back. Lets you roll him over. You straddle him, bracing your hands on his chest and experimentally roll your hips. You immediately feel his hard cock straining against his jeans underneath you.

You reach between your bodies then, prying open his button and yanking the zipper down. Then your hand is in his pants, tracing the outline of his heavy cock where it bulges under cotton.

You lean down and press a kiss to his clothed length. He hisses through his teeth.

“Baby,” he groans, hand coming down to tilt your chin up towards his face. “Another time. I need to be inside you. Right now.”

You don’t argue. He sits up. Shuffles back to the headboard, bringing you with him. He pulls your shirt the rest of the way off, over your head. And then he’s helping you slip out of your jeans and panties so that you’re completely naked atop him.

He pulls you in for another bruising kiss as he tugs his pants and boxers down, just enough to free his leaking cock. He strokes it languidly, smearing pre-cum from the tip down his length. You’re already impatient by the time he’s lining himself up with your entrance, so much so that you have to refrain from taking him all the way down in one go. You use your better judgment, sinking onto him slowly, until you’re flush with his pelvis, the hair at his base tickling your inner thighs.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing labored as you adjust to the size of him. You’ve missed the sweet, burning stretch of him, the fullness you feel when he’s inside you, like you’re complete, whole. You’re pretty sure you could stay like this forever, make a home here on his throbbing cock.

When the sting dissipates, you begin to move, rocking on top of him. He grabs onto your hips, steadying you, his eyes blinking half-open to take you in.

“Fuck,” he rasps as you set a steady pace, his cock disappearing from you, then filling you to the brim again and again. “‘ts it baby, take my fuckin’ cock; ridin’ it so good.”

His hips snap up, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. You wrap your hands around his neck reflexively, digging your nails into his shoulders, indenting crescent moons in the muscle there as he ruts against your g-spot. Your face falls against his chest, your muffled pleas for Joel to fuck you harder, harder, right there barely coherent.

He gets the message regardless.

He pulls you down onto his cock, essentially spearing you on it. You think he must be bruising your cervix, the way his thick head is repeatedly bumping it, but you don’t care. You need every inch of him, need to take everything he has to give you; it feels as essential as the air being punched out of your chest right now.

He’s fucking up into you so brutally that you find yourself delirious, eyes rolling back in your head for the second time tonight. You can’t even find the strength to warn him of your rapidly approaching orgasm, your body going limp in his grasp. He doesn’t need you to, though — he can tell just by the way you squeeze him that you’re close.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?,” he growls, hitting that spongy spot over and over and over.

“Uh — ahhh — uh-huh,” you moan weakly into his skin. Your fingers loosen at his neck, too weak to hold onto him any longer.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head off of his chest and holding it up so that you’re looking him in the eye.

His gaze is lascivious, almost carnal, like going without you for so long has him ready to swallow you whole.

“Look at me,” he spits, “look at me when you cum.”

You nod wearily. You want to give him that, want to give him anything he asks of you. But you’re not sure if you can, not when your eyelids feel like boulders on your face.

“C-can’t Joel,” you manage through moans as they fall shut again.

“Nuh-uh,” he snaps, yanking at your roots. Your eyes fly open at the intrusion.

“You can do it baby, c’mon. Missed these pretty eyes so much — wanna see ‘em.”

You can only imagine how absolutely fucked-out you must look, using every last ounce of energy in your body to keep from slipping again. Your eyes glaze over slightly as he gives a particularly rough thrust, and you feel yourself skyrocket to the edge.

You feel like putty in his hands — and maybe you are. You’d let him mold you to whatever shape he pleased right about now, when he’s making you feel this good.

“There ya go,” Joel coos, bringing his thumb to your clit. He lazily swipes it once — twice — and you begin to fall apart in his arms.

It’s almost violent, your second orgasm of the night. It rips through you, your body thrashing on top of Joel’s, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he continues pounding into you. It feels different too, something more intense lingering, the threat of it just behind your walls.

And then he hits that spot again, the one that makes you see stars, and you’re gushing around him. Your release splatters out onto the duvet below you, soaking it. If Joel notices, he doesn’t care.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans.

Your eyes adjust as you come to. You take in Joel’s, charcoal black and blown-out with lust. You feel shy, almost, which you know is ridiculous given he’s still inside you. But even so, the way he looks at you, like you’re the most desirable thing he’s ever seen — it makes your cheeks heat.

He flips you over onto your back in one swift movement, slipping from you momentarily as he helps you to wrap your shaky legs around him. Presses a gentle kiss to your trembling ankle as he does. And then he’s burying himself in you again, right to the hilt, his pace slowing as he nears the edge.

“Please baby,” you cry. “Please cum inside. Need to feel you.”

Your body feels boneless under Joel’s weight, like he’s fucked near everything out of you. And now you need him to feel good, to take whatever he needs from you, whatever you have left to give.

“Fuck,” he grunts. His hips stall abruptly. He spills into you, deep moans pulling from the back of his throat. You dig your heels into the meat of his ass, dragging him closer, forcing him so deep he paints your cervix.

He pulls out with a hiss, his length softening against your mound as he lifts himself up on his elbows to kiss you. It’s a meager kiss, both of you still too out of breath to deepen it, but it soothes you, along with the soft graze of his thumb over your ribs.

You hold each other for a while, in no rush to move from this moment. You’re pretty sure you drift off more than once, awoken each time by the vibration of his gentle hums against your neck. When you finally do move, it’s not far, just up the bed and under the covers. And then his arms are right back where they were, around you, pulling you tightly to him.

He falls asleep before you, snoring quietly at the crown of your head. You try to wiggle from his grasp, move to the other side of the bed, but even in his sleep, he’s acutely aware of your presence. He just grips you harder, nuzzles his head deeper into your hair. You’ve never felt more content being stuck somewhere.

You slip under again eventually. You’re pretty sure you dream of nothing — no need for your brain to conjure up anything more than what you already have.

The following morning, you wake up with Joel’s tongue between your legs. He nibbles at your inner thigh, waiting for you to give him the go ahead to continue. And then he makes you cum twice on his mouth before you even eat breakfast.

He doesn’t let you get up for that, either. He brings you hot coffee in a Texas Longhorns mug and a plate of toast, slathered with butter and grape jelly, and doesn’t complain when you get crumbs on the sheets.

You’re satiated and caffeinated before you even start your day — which Joel has planned out to a t.

He brings you to his favorite spot for lunch, a BBQ place by the river, and acts smug when you tell him these are the best ribs I’ve ever had in my life. Then you go home, take a shower — together, of course — and you rinse shampoo out of your hair with his cock nestled comfortably inside you.

He fucks you with your hands braced against the shower wall until you’re screaming, the echoes bouncing off of tile, and then you get back in bed, laze around in your towels until dinnertime.

Joel orders takeout — sushi for you, lo mein and teriyaki beef for him. You sprawl out on the couch as you eat, your feet in his lap and the calming buzz of the tv on in the background.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a long time.

You easily fall into a routine over the course of the week: wake up, fuck, eat breakfast in bed, fuck, get up around noon, shower, eat lunch, grade papers while Joel cleans up or does yardwork, eat dinner, fuck, go to sleep.

You almost forget that this isn’t permanent, that you’re going to have to get on a plane and go home soon, that this isn’t your home, here with Joel. That is, until Friday night, over dinner — when Joel abruptly pulls you back down to earth.

You’re finishing your pasta, spooning the last remnants of sauce into your mouth. Some western flashes across the tv — Joel’s choice, and as you put your bowl down on the coffee table and snuggle up to him, he sighs.

“This has gotta be the best vacation of my life — or, staycation, I guess.” He says it innocently enough. Still, you feel jolted. Vacation, you repeat in your head until your brain catches up with reality. You feel smothered, suddenly, warm, like your whole body is an ore about to be smelted. You extricate yourself from Joel’s arms and settle on the other side of the couch.

“Just hot,” you lie. “Sorry.”

“‘ts alright,” he murmurs, unphased, eyes glued to the tv.

He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way your breathing picks up when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. But why should he? There’s no reason for you to be freaking out.

Except there is.

Because the thought of leaving in a couple days, leaving behind Joel and this routine, not seeing him again for several more months, and even then, only having a weekend, or if you’re lucky, a week with him – it’s making you spiral.

You lock yourself in the bathroom. Close the lid to the toilet. When you sit down, your head falls into your hands, heaving breaths warming the skin of your palms uncomfortably. I can’t do this, you think. I can’t keep doing this.

You love Joel — you do, more than anything. And you can’t begin to imagine living without him. But you also can’t help but wonder, elbows digging into your knees, how this has become your life — all the leaving.

Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach. You feel nauseous.

You get up. Splash cold water on your face. Curse your reflection, all sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks. So stupid. This is why you didn’t want to get into another relationship. The pain, the pain, the unbearable pain.

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

There’s a clanging on the other side of the door — Joel clearing your dishes from dinner — an act of domesticity that plunges the dagger deeper into your bleeding heart.

You wipe your cheeks with your shirt sleeve. Huff at how pathetic you feel.

It’s so stupid, so silly, crying in Joel’s bathroom when he’s right outside, right there waiting for you. Even still, you can’t seem to shake the dread that hangs over you like a storm cloud when you make your way back into the living room with dried eyes, back into his arms.

You hope, silently, that it’ll go away with a good night’s sleep. That this is just a minor breakdown, a hormonal thing, maybe, and you’ll feel better in the morning.

It doesn’t, it’s not — and you don’t.

Joel can tell something is wrong the moment he hands you your morning coffee. You’d slept in today, legs tangled under the sheets, trepidation still clawing its way up your throat. You’d been quiet, had only hummed in response when he’d told you good morning.

That, he hadn’t noticed. But when he passes you the mug, steam billowing from the mouth, he detects the way you won’t look at him, your mumbled thank you.

You catch the way he steps back with a dejected hmph, and rounds the bed to climb in next to you.

You feel awful.

The mattress springs creak as he settles, balancing his full mug in one hand, laying the other over yours where it sits on top of the duvet, resting on your covered leg.

“Y’alright?,” he asks, even though you know he knows the answer. It’s why you don’t lie, shake your head. Your eyes flick up to his as a frown sets under his nose.

You downplay it. “I’m fine, really. It’s just — I — I’m sad that today’s our last full day. I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“Don’t have to go,” he drawls, drawing light circles over your skin with his index finger.

And you know he means it — know he’d let you move in with him in a heartbeat. But you also know you can’t. Can’t leave behind the life you worked so hard to make in Vermont.

“I wish,” you sigh, taking a cautious sip of your coffee.

“Well…d’you wanna do somethin’ today? Go into the city? I know we haven’t done much’a anything this week.” He smirks. And just for a moment, the look on his face — that dopey smile and those sweet cinnamon eyes — makes you forget about the darkness fogging your mind.

“We can do touristy stuff,” he continues. “Do anythin’ you want. To take your mind off things. Make the most of the day, ya know?”

His brows are raised as he anticipates your response. He’s so eager to do whatever it takes for you to be happy, and that makes your chest clench. More than you want to protect your own heart, you want to appease him. He deserves that, at the very least.

So you say yes, let’s do it; show me around Austin.

The cracks in your heart deepen when he nearly jumps out of bed in excitement.

Joel is a great tour guide, for what it’s worth.

He brings you to his favorite hiking trail in the city. It runs along a lake, the water busy with kayakers and paddle boarders.

The sky above is overcast. A sliver of sun cuts through the clouds, casting your forehead in a light sheen of sweat as you walk.

Every single passerby waves at you or says hello, all in the same singsong twang. Joel waves back, grunts a greeting. It throws you off, how nice everyone is here. You’ve grown used to New England, with its temperamental weather and even more temperamental people.

“Busy,” you note when another group passes you.

“Mhm,” Joel hums. Wraps a sweaty arm around you, pulling you into his side. It’s awkward to walk like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Sarah used to love this place. We’d come all the time when she was little.”

You lean into his embrace. Nuzzle your face into the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I know you must’ve missed her this week. Is this the first spring break she hasn’t been home?”

“Yeah,” Joel’s other hand rests at the back of his neck, fingers absently working at a knot in the muscle there. “Gotta get used to it though, I guess, with her stayin’ north after school is over and all.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” you admit. “When did she decide?”

He sighs so deep you can almost feel it in your own chest.

“Couple weeks ago,” he says. “Guess she got some unofficial job offer for after she graduates, from this research institute in Boston. She’s all excited about it.”

You know Joel is proud. He’s always proud of Sarah. How could he not be? But you also know his heart is breaking right now, the long-established plans for Sarah to come home to Texas, to come home to him after finishing undergrad, suddenly squashed.

And then there’s you — leaving too — again.

The thought of hurting Joel is overbearing, more so than the thought of hurting yourself. He doesn’t deserve to be so far away from the woman he’s in a relationship with when his own daughter is already out of reach.

You feel selfish, suddenly.

It plagues your mind for the rest of the day — when you go to a diner after the hike and split a strawberry milkshake the size of your head with Joel — and still, later, when you wander hand-in-hand into a tacky gift shop.

You try your best to ignore the ache in your chest as you scan the store.

The back wall is stacked top to bottom with cowboy boots of varying colors and styles. There are cowboy hats too, displayed on a long table.

Joel picks up an oversized straw hat, resting it on the top of his head with a laugh. “Looks ridiculous, right?”

“Somehow, no,” you say. And it’s the truth. You think he’s the only person who could put that thing on and look hot in it.

He grabs another hat off of the table, a more traditional one — brown leather with a braided band wrapped around the base of the crown. You let him affix it on your head. He steps back to get a good look at you and nods.

“Looks good. Looks sexy,” he amends.

“Yeah?” You dip your head in faux greeting, fingers pressed into the front corner of the brim.

He scans over you then, his eyes darkening. It looks like he’s pondering something, the corner of his mouth curving.

“What?”

He steps closer. Leans down to whisper in your ear. “Think we should get ‘em. Wear ‘em later.”

Your breath pulls. The thought of Joel wearing that and nothing but that underneath you is enough to make you forget your quandaries, temporarily.

“Yeah,” you respond way too quickly. “Let’s get them, Cowboy.”

You watch his entire body tense at the nickname. And then he’s yanking the hat off of you, bringing both to the register in a hurry.

The house is dark when you get home, bag of Greek takeout in hand.

Joel flicks a light on in the entrance. You squint reflexively, your eyes adjusting as you set the food down on the coffee table in the living room. Joel brings your new hats upstairs, then joins you on the couch. You pull out two styrofoam containers, passing the one with Joel’s name scribbled on it to him and leaning back with yours in your lap.

“‘m starvin,” he mumbles as he cracks his open, squeezes a wedge of lemon over his rice.

You eat quickly, something else clearly on both of your minds as you shovel falafel into your mouths. You even forget to turn the tv on.

When you’re done, you insist you’ll clean up, bringing the trash into the kitchen as Joel disappears upstairs. Once everything is tidied, you re-situate yourself on the couch.

He returns a few minutes later — shirtless, that ridiculous cowboy hat fastened on his head, dark jeans sitting low on his hips. He’s holding your hat in his left hand.

There’s a dull throbbing between your legs. He starts across the room, toward you.

“Joel-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, bracketing you against the cushions, his hat bumping into your head. He pulls it off immediately, like if it’s going to interfere in any way, it’s not worth it. It falls onto the floor somewhere behind him.

Joel pulls at the fabric of your shirt. Your back arches, allowing him to pull it up and off before tossing it aside. His mouth moves from yours, trailing lower, lower, and settling at the column of your throat. He sucks a bruise there, the contact sending your hips bucking off the couch, the need for him to touch you already borderline painful.

And then that voice returns, the one that’s been screaming in your head since last night.

This’ll be the last time for a while. Maybe forever. Last time he touches you like this, kisses you like this. Don’t think about it — don’t. Just enjoy it. Just-

“Joel,” you pant. He stops immediately. Pulls back.

“What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Tears well in your eyes, blur your vision. You can barely make out the look of concern plastered across Joel’s face as he kneels down in front of you and grips both of your shoulders.

When you speak, your voice comes out shaky. “No, it’s not — I just.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What? What is it darlin’?,” he tries, massaging tense muscle under his palms.

You hadn’t wanted him to see you like this. You feel embarrassed that he has to comfort you like you’re a child who’s just had a nightmare, and not a grown woman with a PhD. You groan. Catch your breath.

“Fuck. I’m fine,” you try. Joel clearly isn’t buying it. He quirks a brow at you.

“C’mon baby, talk to me. I wanna help, whatever it is. Let me in — please”

And you want to, you do, it’s just — you don’t know how to even explain how you’re feeling.

“This is all so hard,” you start. Joel nods. He wants you to continue. “This whole — situation,” you try. “Being long-distance. It’s just — being here for a whole week and waking up together every morning, having coffee, watching tv at night, like a — fuck — like a real couple — and now I have to go back to normal?”

His face falls.

“Real couple? Is this not real to you?”

“It is real,” you sob. “It’s too real. That’s why it hurts so fucking much. I just, I can’t —”

“Can’t what?” His voice is quiet. Low.

“Can’t do this. Can’t handle the pain. And it must be hurting you too, Joel. Between me and Sarah—”

“I’m fine,” he barks, suddenly jumping to his feet. He takes a deep breath. “This isn’t about Sarah. This is about us. Do you not want this? Me?”

Your hands tremble in your lap. “Of course I want you, Joel,” you sniff. “I want you more than anything. But-”

“But not like this. This is too hard.”

You nod weakly.

He sighs.

“You know you can move here — stay with me.”

You do know. He’s said it so many times before. But you’ve worked way too hard to pack up and start over, to give up your professorship after only three years with the blind hope that you’ll land a new position in Austin. And now you’re mad — infuriated, almost, that he keeps suggesting it.

You scoff. “You know I can’t just give up my life, Joel.”

“So what, you’re just gonna give up on us, instead?” His voice is strained.

“I’m not giving up,” you clip, defensively.

“Certainly doesn’t sound like you’re tryin’.”

He stares at the ceiling. You watch as his eyes mist, his concentration palpable as he wills the tears not to fall. Your anger dissipates into guilt.

This is exactly what you’d feared — breaking his heart. It’s like you can see it fracturing, chipping at the edges.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “I don’t — I don’t know. I just can’t.”

His face contorts. A single tear slips down his cheek, which he wipes away quickly with the back of his hand. “Fuck,” he curses.

You stand from the couch, begin to move cautiously toward him. “Joel, I-”

“Don’t,” he snaps. Throws his hands up defensively. And then he’s turning, heading up the stairs, leaving you standing there in the middle of the living room with a ringing in your ears.

When you climb into bed twenty minutes later, he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You fly home the next day. Joel doesn’t say anything on the drive to the airport.

Once there, he pulls over to the curb at the drop-off and puts the car in park. You’re not sure what to do — should you kiss him? Tell him you love him? Because you do, so fucking much. You’re just — not sure if he wants to hear that right now.

He makes the decision for you, cradling your face as he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. He lets his forehead fall to yours with a sigh, and then he pulls back.

He doesn’t open your door for you, though. Doesn’t grab your bags from the back when you clamber down from the passenger seat.

It’s as if he’s saying: I love you, but I’m going to give you space.

You pry open the back door. Pull out your suitcase and rest your new cowboy hat over the handle. You almost wish now that he hadn’t gotten it for you. It’ll just serve as another reminder of everything you’ve left behind once your home.

“Text me,” he offers once your things are all gathered on the curb. “Let me know when you board, when you’re home safe.”

“Yeah,” you nod. Search his eyes for something. Some indicator that he’s okay. But he’s stoic, his lips set in a straight line. “I will. Promise.”

His mouth opens, like he wants to add something else. But whatever he’s thinking, he decides against saying out loud. Instead he just tells you safe travels, and then he’s pulling the passenger side door closed from the inside.

You stand unmoving. As his truck disappears down the roadway and out of view, a list of all the things you should’ve said rolls through your brain like the end credits of a film.

You send Joel a message when you get home. Let him know you got in safe. You don’t call, like you normally would, because that’s not what he’d asked of you.

Then you climb straight into bed, still in your clothes, and let the tears consume you. You wallow in them for what feels like hours, the natural light in your bedroom gradually sinking into the floorboards. You welcome the nightfall, the way the darkness soothes the pounding in your head, the way it feels like nothing.

Morning comes before Joel responds. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, the time on your phone reading 11:09, and the notification from him just below it nearly jolts you:

Okay. Thanks.

No love you, no miss you.

You curse under your breath.

Why did you have to say anything? Why did you have to ruin this?

The pain of possibly losing Joel for good makes the pain of long distance feel like a papercut. All you want is to go back in time, take back everything you said, tell Joel you love him a million-and-one times. Anything to undo this.

You fleetingly consider quitting your job, handing in your resignation letter the second you get to campus tomorrow. You’ll take your unpacked suitcase and head right back to the airport.

You don’t let the temptation win. But it lingers, sits at the top of your chest like a threat. Like if he asks one more time — you’ll do it.

He doesn’t, though. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything — which you should’ve expected — but it still stings. You hadn’t broken up, not technically, so you’re stuck in this weird limbo, one in which neither of you wants to talk about what happened in Austin.

Instead, you text each other once a day or so — weird, surface-level messages, ones you’d send to an acquaintance, not someone who literally knows you inside and out.

Finally above 60°, you say, on Monday morning, attached to a screenshot of your weather app.

Your walk to campus must’ve been nice today, he replies.

And the next day:

Guy at the job site today was talking about that show you like.

Parks & Rec?!

Yeah, that one.

It’s barely enough to keep you going, to keep you sane. You feel pitiful, looking forward to Joel’s text-of-the-day like it’s a re-up of your drug of choice. Better than heroin, you tell yourself.

Two weeks pass with no phone calls and minimal messages. It’s 5:45 pm on a rainy Tuesday when you sit at your dining room table with a pile of papers to grade in front of you, some low-fi playlist on in the background, unable to focus.

Because Joel hasn’t texted you all day.

Usually he’d send something by now. And it’s not like you hadn’t texted him — in fact, you’d double-texted, one message sent this morning about how you burned your tongue on your coffee, and another after your final class of the day when you’d seen he still hadn’t responded:

Busy day?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the gears in your mind whirring as you debate whether or not to send the words punctuated by a flickering cursor on your screen:

Can I call you later?

He’ll probably say no. Or worse, continue to ignore you. Maybe this is it — maybe weeks of dancing around residual tension have driven him to call it quits. He’ll block you, and then you’ll never hear from him again.

The thought has bile rising up your throat.

You close out of the app and put your phone down before stalking over to the living room, letting yourself fall stomach-first onto the couch. You stuff your face into a throw pillow and scream.

You almost don’t hear it over your muffled yells — the rapping at your front door.

You still, lifting your head from the pillow. Listening intently. It comes again — rapraprap.

Ugh, you groan, lifting yourself onto your elbows, then your feet. You pull your cardigan tighter over your front. Drag your feet across the hardwood to the entranceway, wondering who the fuck could be at your door on a Tuesday evening, unannounced.

Is it the property manager?, you speculate as you reach the door. Was there an issue with my rent?

Your fingers wind around the handle apprehensively. You peer through the peephole and your heart plummets into your stomach.

Because Joel is standing right outside your apartment.

You wonder if you’re seeing things. If you’ve gone full-on hysterical. But it’s him, it’s unmistakably him — in his favorite flannel and his workwear jacket, which is smattered in rain spots. His gaze is trained on the floor by his feet and his hands are fidgeting at his sides — just like the first time you met him.

You throw the door open. Joel’s eyes shoot up. For a long moment, you just stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something — do something.

When your breath pulls, he rushes forward and crashes his lips into yours. He backs you into your apartment, letting the door slam shut behind you.

You barely hear it, still registering that Joel is here, he’s here and he’s kissing the hell out of you. And just minutes ago, you’d been sulking on your couch, convinced it was over between you two.

You feel dizzy. You pull back, only because you fear if you don’t, you’ll literally topple over. Joel’s breathing is heavy — it matches yours.

“What are you — fuck — what are you doing here, Joel?”

“I need to talk to you,” he pants.

“Could’ve called,” you say, as if there’s any universe in which you’d prefer that.

You lead him to the living room. Fall back onto the couch. He sits down next to you, taking both of your hands in his. You get a good look at him for the first time since he’d barreled into your apartment, and he looks wrecked.

“Are you okay?,” you ask.

His response isn’t much of an answer. “’m selling my house.”

Your head spins. “You — what?”

“Listed it last week,” he says. “Already got a couple offers.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Okay.”

“‘m gonna move up here.”

Oh.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of your chest. You’re — speechless.

“I put an offer on a place,” he continues. “‘ts a ranch with some land. Room for sheep. I’m sellin’ my half of the business to Tommy. Leavin’ Texas.”

He exhales. His eyes search yours with tangible desperation. “Say somethin’.”

“I — fuck, Joel,” you breathe. “You’re — when? How?”

“Found the place a couple days ago. ‘ts about thirty minutes Southeast of here. Just went and saw it in person. Sent my offer letter before I came here.”

“Right,” you nod. “But Joel, you can’t just leave-”

“Sure I can,” he interrupts. “Nothin’ there for me anymore. Not Sarah, not you.”

A beat passes. And then he adds:

“I can’t lose you.”

Your heart swells in your chest as you imagine Joel this past week, making all of these plans to rectify the distance between you, to be sure he doesn’t lose you. And still — you’re not sure if you deserve it after the way you hurt him.

“You — you still want me, even after what I said?”

“Darlin’,” he says, in that honey-sweet drawl. “I love you. There’s nothin’ you could do to make me not want you. You were right. This isn’t feasible. We can’t do this forever.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “I just — you’re sure you want this?”

“I want you,” he says plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — like nothing else matters. “And you need to be here. So it’s a no-brainer”

The rain picks up outside. It patters against the windows.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he says. “I’ll retract my offer. Go back to Texas.”

“I do Joel — want you here more than anything, love you more than anything. But-”

“Good.” He cups your face in his hands. You stare into his eyes, your future.

“It’s settled, then,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. “I’m movin’ to Vermont.”

“This is crazy,” you laugh. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you more,” he beams. “No gettin’ rid of me now.”

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Cowboy.”

end notes: ty again for reading! pls consider reblogging and leaving a comment if you liked it <3

tagging everyone who expressed interest in reading a part 2 (lmk if you don't want to be included going forward): @anoverwhelmingdin, @joelalorian, @lol-im-done, @bensonispunk, @sereindreams, @survivingandenduring, @stevie75, @vee-bees-blog, @brittmb115, @casssiopeia, @bbyanarchist, @janaispunk, @barbellpedro

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