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verstappenverse · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! How are you? Could i ask for a Max one shot where reader has some complications in the pregnancy like angst but with happy ending? Idk if you dont want to do topics like this sorry if Its bothers you. Love your stories. Thank you

In Every Beat

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After sudden pregnancy complications threatens everything you and Max cling to each other through the fear.

TW: Pregnancy Complications, Hurt/Comfort

2.6k words / Masterlist

It happens suddenly.

One minute you’re laughing on the sofa with Max, his hand gently resting over your rounded stomach, and the next a sharp pain slices through you so violently you can’t even breathe.

Your fingers dig into his arm, nails clutching like you’re drowning. “Max...” Your voice is barely a whisper.

He looks down and sees the terror on your face at the same moment you feel something warm and wet between your legs.

His eyes go wide. “Liebling…? What—”

You shift slightly, and that’s when he sees it. Blood.

A lot of it.

“Shit.” He’s on his feet in an instant, phone to his ear as he wraps you in his arms. “Stay with me, okay? Don’t move.”

You want to answer but everything feels blurry like your body has detached from your brain. The pain is sharp, constant, and fear claws its way up your spine with every second that passes. You think you say something, maybe his name, but it comes out wrong, slurred, or maybe not at all. Then everything tilts, the lights blur, and you’re gone for a moment.

You black out.

When you come to, the hospital is blindingly white, sterile, cold, and humming with fluorescent light that feels like it’s slicing through your skull. Everything smells like antiseptic and fear. It’s too bright, too quiet and too loud all at once.

Max hasn’t let go of your hand since the moment you arrived. Not even for a second. His grip is firm like he’s trying to anchor you both to something solid when everything around you is slipping out of control. You can feel the tension in his palm, the way his thumb keeps brushing over your knuckles as if that alone might be enough to keep you calm, or maybe to keep himself from unraveling.

When the doctor speaks calm and professional, the words don’t quite land. “There’s a risk of early labour, and we need to monitor for placental abruption.”

You hear it, you register it, but it doesn’t feel real. You’re not focused on the terminology, you’re focused on Max, on the way his jaw tightens, how he swallows hard but he hasn't said anything yet, how he keeps nodding like he’s absorbing every syllable even though his eyes are wide with panic. He’s trying so hard to stay composed, to be strong for you, but you know him too well. He’s terrified.

“Will… will the baby be okay?” you manage, your voice fragile and barely audible, as if speaking it aloud might shatter what little calm remains in the room.

The doctor gives you a look that you recognise instantly the kind trained professionals offer when they don’t have certainties to give. It’s a smile, but not the reassuring kind.

“We’re doing everything we can.”

Just like that the floor drops out from under you, there’s no ground, no gravity. Just a rush of fear so thick it settles in your throat making it hard to breathe.

You’re admitted immediately for monitoring, hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm, a fetal heart monitor strapped tight around your belly, the steady rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat echoing in the background like a ticking clock. Nurses come and go, adjusting wires and taking notes, but it all blurs together. You’re not really here. Not fully.

Max is. Max never leaves.

He cancels everything he can, media obligations, team meetings, his phone buzzes on the table, ignored, nothing matters but you. He sits by your bedside, fingers laced with yours, brushing your hair off your forehead, murmuring soft words in Dutch you’re too tired to try and translate. He looks exhausted, you think maybe more than yourself, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment the bleeding started and hasn’t exhaled since.

At one point a nurse speaks quietly to him. “You need to rest too Mr. Verstappen.”

He doesn’t even glance away from you. “I will,” he says, his voice low and resolute. “When she’s safe.”

And he means it. Every word.

The bleeding has stopped, the contractions have eased, and the monitors blink with steady rhythms that seem to reassure everyone else, but not Max. You’re both still tethered to the fear, unable to shake the quiet, gnawing panic that something could still go wrong. That the worst hasn’t passed, only paused, and underneath the fear lies something heavier.

The guilt.

It festers in the silence between check-ins and the slow hours of the night when the beeping of machines is the only sound in the room. It clings to you more tightly than the hospital blanket.

“I shouldn’t have done that stupid workout” you whisper on the third day, eyes fixed on the blank ceiling like it might offer some kind of answer, some kind of absolution. “I knew I was feeling off. I should’ve listened to my body.”

Your voice cracks with shame, so soft it’s almost a confession.

Max looks up from the chair he’s practically lived in for days, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy, his pupils dull with exhaustion. He blinks slowly, like he’s trying to make sense of what you just said. “Don’t do that.”

You keep going anyway, unable to stop yourself. “I should’ve been more careful.”

“Don’t,” he says again, firmer now, but his voice wavers. It splinters on the word, barely holding itself together.

He rises and crosses the small space between you, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed as if afraid even that might hurt you. Then he leans in, reaching for your face, his touch gentle despite the tremble in his fingers.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, locking eyes with you, like he needs you to hear it, really hear it. “This isn’t your fault.”

You try to believe him, but the tears are already slipping past your lashes, spilling silently down your cheeks. You hate this part, the crying, the breaking open in front of him. It makes you feel vulnerable in a way you can’t control, a way you resent, but Max doesn’t waver he just hold you, steady, warm, present.

“Don’t ever blame yourself schatje,” he whispers, thumb brushing away the tears as fast as they fall. “You’ve done everything right. You’ve been protecting our baby since the moment we found out.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours and for a moment the world narrows to just the two of you breath to breath, skin to skin. “If anything, I should’ve noticed something was off sooner,” he adds. “I should’ve seen it. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you while you look after our baby.”

You shake your head weakly against his. “Max…”

“No,” he says softly. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve been so brave through all of this. And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared, but we’re gonna get through this. You and me. Together.”

His voice trembles, and the words settle into your chest like a weight, heavy and warm, and full of promise.

You nod, though your heart still aches with doubt. You nod because he needs you to, because you want to believe him, because maybe if he keeps saying it you’ll start to believe it too.

The days drag.

Time becomes something elastic stretched out, slow and unbearable. The constant hum of machines, the sharp scent of antiseptic, the sterile brightness that never dims it all becomes background noise to your new reality.

Every beep of the monitor sends a jolt of fear down your spine. Every subtle dip or spike in the baby’s heart rate turns your stomach, your mind racing toward the worst-case scenario before the nurses even glance up. You live from scan to scan, heartbeat to heartbeat, afraid to blink in case something changes when you're not looking.

At night, when visiting hours technically end, Max refuses to leave. He argues with the staff until they give up, and even then he waits until the room is quiet before climbing into your narrow hospital bed. He wedges himself beside you, his arm curled protectively around your waist, careful not to disturb the wires and monitors, his breath warm against your neck as he whispers soft promises in the dark.

“I think I’ll drive slower,” he tells you one night, his voice half-muffled by your hair.

You let out a weak laugh, more air than sound. “You’d be miserable.”

“Not if I have you,” he murmurs. “Not if I have our baby. That’s all I need.”

It’s a comforting sentiment, even if you know the speed is part of him, something written into his DNA, impossible to quiet even for love. You squeeze his hand tighter, and for a moment, the fear eases, not completely, but enough to breathe.

Eventually the monitors calm, the baby's heart stays steady, the danger hasn’t fully passed, not yet, but the worst seems to be over. The doctors release you days later with a list of strict instructions and a warning to rest, completely and absolutely. No exertion. No stress. Minimal walking unless absolutely necessary.

Max transforms.

At home he becomes a man possessed, driven by a single mission: keeping you safe. He sets alarms on his phone to bring you liquids every hour, marks medication times in three separate apps, and writes your daily meals on the kitchen whiteboard. He checks your temperature, fluffs your pillows, adjusts your blanket, and panics every time you so much as shift in bed.

The first time you try to get up without calling for him, just to stretch your legs, he nearly loses his mind.

“Max, I’m pregnant not dying,” you say, exasperated, as you sit back on the bed with a wince.

He freezes at the edge of the room, shoulders tense, lips pressed into a hard line. “You almost did die,” he snaps louder than intended, and the silence that follows is immediate and sharp. You look up, surprised by the intensity in his voice, and that’s when you see it.

The fear is still there. Raw and unhealed. Flashing across his face before he can hide it again.

“Sorry I— sorry…I didn’t mean to snap… I thought I was going to lose both of you,” he says, quieter now, eyes glistening. “When you passed out, you didn’t see how much blood there was. You didn’t hear how quiet it got when the doctor walked in. I—” His voice breaks, and he looks away like he’s ashamed of it.

You reach for him instantly, holding your arms out until he gives in and crosses the room. You pull him down beside you, wrapping him in your embrace, guiding his head to your chest. His hands cling to your sides, his breathing shallow against your collarbone.

“You didn’t lose us,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair. “We’re still here, I’m here, our baby’s here.”

He nods into your skin, as if trying to make himself believe it.

“I love you,” he says, voice rough and fierce, muffled against your neck. “You and our baby, so fucking much it terrifies me.”

You hold him tighter, one hand settling over your stomach where the tiniest kick flutters beneath your palm a reminder, soft and sure, that you're still fighting.

All three of you.

When labor comes, it’s early, but not dangerously so. Thirty-five weeks. Still close enough to full term that the doctors speak calmly, reassuringly, though the tension in Max’s shoulders suggests otherwise. The last few weeks have been a delicate balance between fear and hope, and now that the moment is finally here it crashes over you both like a wave you weren’t fully ready to face.

The contractions come fast and hard, no gentle build-up, just sudden pain that knocks the air from your lungs. You just make it to the hospital before the nurses are wheeling you into a delivery room, Max’s hand clutching yours.

There’s panic in his voice, just under the surface, but he swallows it down like he knows you can’t afford to see it. Not when you’re already shaking, teeth clenched through each blinding wave of pain.

You cry through a contraction and your nails dig into Max’s hand, hard enough to leave marks. “I can’t—Max, I can’t—” The words fall from your lips in a sob, your whole body trembling.

“Yes you can,” he says quickly, voice tight, forehead damp with sweat. He looks like he’s running his own marathon beside you, eyes locked on your face like he’s willing you to stay with him. “You already survived worse, you’re stronger than this pain. You can do it, I know you can.”

Somehow, that’s enough.

Somehow through the tears and the fear and the raw, unbearable pain, you dig deep. You push. You cry.

And then…

A sound. Soft. Small. Startling.

Your baby lets out their first cry, and the room stills for just a second, as if time itself pauses to make space for that single, perfect moment.

Max breaks.

Completely and without warning.

Tears spill down his cheeks in heavy silence as he leans over you, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, again and again, like he can’t get close enough, like he’s trying to memorise every part of you all over again. “You did it,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “You did it schatje. You’re incredible.”

You can barely keep your eyes open. “I’m so tired,” you whisper, voice slurred, overwhelmed with exhaustion and relief.

He cradles your face in his palms like you’re the most fragile thing in the world, and then gently helps the nurse place your baby in your arms. They’re small so, so small, but warm and alive and squirming against your chest. You stare down at them in disbelief, your heart swelling, your body trembling with awe.

The baby’s face is scrunched, nose a little smushed, mouth puckering with every tiny breath.

“We made this,” you breathe, eyes wide, voice cracking.

Max is already beside you, arms wrapping around the two of you, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. “Yeah,” he says softly, reverently. “We really did.”

A week later, you’re finally home.

There are still hospital visits, follow-up appointments, moments of panic in the middle of the night when the baby cries too long or not at all. Your body is still healing, and the sleepless nights have taken their toll. You cry sometimes without knowing why. Max has learned to just hold you and ride out the wave with you.

One night Max finds you sitting on the living room couch dressed in an oversized hoodie, the baby curled up on your chest like they’ve always belonged there. You’re humming something soft and tuneless, your eyes half-closed, one hand rhythmically rubbing slow circles across your baby’s back.

He doesn’t speak right away just watches from the doorway, chest tightening with something that feels too big for words.

Then he crosses the room, crouching in front of you with a smile so full of love it aches.

He brushes a kiss to your temple. “You look like magic,” he murmurs, like it’s a secret.

You huff a tired laugh, resting your cheek softly against the baby’s head. “I feel like a zombie.”

“A very beautiful zombie,” he counters without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, he leans in and kisses you gently, grateful, and when he pulls back he rests a hand on your knee, his thumb moving in lazy circles.

“I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens again, but this time the tears that rise are happy ones. You close your eyes and whisper I love you because you do, because there’s no other word for what you feel, no other way to express the enormity of what you’ve built, what you’ve survived, what you’ve become together.

As the baby sighs against your chest, as Max rests his head beside yours, you sit there wrapped in warmth and the soft weight of this new life, because in every heartbeat, yours, his, your baby’s there’s the same love.

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reinreingoawayy · 5 months ago

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sae was super against the idea of having a pet cat. one, he thought they were mean, and two, he couldn’t stand the smell of their shit. so when he sees you holding a small black stray cat, both—you and the cat—drenched from the rain, he couldn’t help himself from shaking his head while he grabs towels for you and for the cat. he suggested bringing it to the animal shelter, which you disagreed right away as you tucked the poor cat into your arms as if he was going to snatch it from you and throw it to the nearest animal shelter.

he exhaled as he watch you give your full attention to the cat.

“so what are you gonna do about it now?” he asked.

“i don’t know—keep it?” you said, gently patting the towel on the cat’s body.

“but—”

“but i want to make sure you’re okay with it first,” you said.

“you know the answer,” he said with finality in his voice.

“can’t i change your mind? at all?”

sae looked away because he knows—he knows himself that he’d eventually give in to those pleading eyes. sae had always been this tough guy, but for some reason, the tough, hard to please, unchanging mind, becomes all too soft for you. it was almost like you had him in a spell that he couldn’t get through, not that he’d want to get through.

for him, what comes first is you. regardless of what he wants, it was always you first, and he was okay with it. seeing how your eyes would light up, the way you curl the corners of your lips when you’re happy was enough reason for him to put you first before anything else.

but having a pet cat was a different topic. he was very open about not wanting it. so, it was a challenge for you to persuade him. it only took a lot of pleases and promises and few bribes here and there before he finally exhaled with defeat. that was your cue that he was finally giving in.

“fine,” he said softly.

you beamed and almost jumped onto him for a hug.

“thank you!” you said again and again.

“but we must have conditions,” he said as you sat back to your seat, ready to listen to his conditions. there was a handful but you were more than willing to cooperate if that meant you could finally have a cat.

after bringing the cat to the veterinary clinic to make sure she was all good, you both went to a pet store to buy some stuff for the small cat. you were all giddy and excited as you survey each aisle, thinking and grabbing all the stuff you thought she might need while sae push the cart behind you.

“do you think this is excessive?” you asked sae.

he quickly shrugged his shoulders. “if you think it’s good for her, then go for it,” he replied, making your heart melt for a moment. you felt a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest that it almost made you tear up in front of the whole store.

after buying all the stuff, you went back home, played with the kitten while sae goes out for his usual football practice. if you don’t have work, you’d stay at home doing random stuff to fill up the boredom. he usually comes back before dinner time, if there’s intensive training, he comes back before midnight, and today is that day. when he comes back, it’s either you were already asleep or binge watching a series with your skincare on.

tonight, you decided to wait for him while you play with the kitten, but exhaustion came faster than sae and before you even know, you were knocked out on the couch with the ball of yarn on your hand. before you pass out, you could’ve sworn you heard the door unlocked but you drifted anyway.

sae sighed, watching you sound asleep on the couch. the blue ball of yarn was still on your hand and the small cat was laying beside you, perfectly loafed.

“hi there,” sae said, kneeling in front of you and the kitten. he felt stupid for greeting the animal, but when the kitten let out a small meow, he was taken aback.

“sorry if i acted that way earlier. truth is, i don’t really know how to take care of someone like you and i’m a little afraid that i might end up neglecting you, but don’t worry. your mom, right here…” he said, pointing at you, still sleeping.

“she’s gonna take good care of you and i will do my best to do my part as well. i’m sorry if i ever had you feel you were not welcome here. i just really don’t know what to react. it’s a me problem. you are definitely most welcome.”

he bit his lower lip as he tried to scratch the kitten’s back hesitantly, but when the kitten leaned on to his touch, he felt a slight relief.

“so how was your day with your mom? did you do anything fun?” he smiled.

“my practice was fine. it was tiring and almost felt redundant, but i love football so it’s fine. i hope you find what you love soon. i’d like to see it.”

“one last thing i have to tell, love your mom as much as i love her, okay? i hope you see how much of a wonderful person she is. she’s the best you could ever have,” he said before finally nudging your shoulders to wake you up.

“wake up, love,” he said in a very soft voice.

you hummed, pretending not to hear all of what he said just now.

“i love you, sae,” you whispered.

“you heard that, didn’t you?” he said.

“maybe?”

“i love you, too. now lemme get you to a proper bed.”

#rei’s home library #blue lock x reader #bllk #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x reader #sae itoshi #blue lock fic #bllk fluff

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firecrackerhh · 1 year ago

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Honestly the fact this fandom is so fucking gatekeepy is so fucking ironic. Like you would think a fandom for a show about redemption would be more willing to give people second chances, but I’ve seen Hazbin Twitter, some of you bitches take no fucking prisoners.

Like rules for thee but not for me. It’s fine if let’s say, a big hazbin account or Viv herself drew controversial/proship shit years ago or whatever, that’s totally fucking acceptable, but if anyone in the fandom draws that shit in the present day everyone acts like they committed fucking homicide.

I wonder, if Viv drew problematic shit like that in the present day, how many fans would defend her? Or would they drop her like a hot iron?

Hell, it seems the big hazbin accounts in general are allowed to be the most rancid toxic cunts in the fucking universe against others they don’t like, but god forbid a smaller account has shit to say about it or the bigger accounts fucking feel the need to quote tweet it opening them up to harassment.

I think if anything, this fandom should be gatekeeping against antis in any form, whether it come from a big account or not. I guess some people just refuse to see the irony.

Like don’t act like you’re somehow better than the anti Viv people when you do the same fucking shit they do. Just because you just so happen to like Viv’s stuff doesn’t make it acceptable to treat other fans like shit over stupid shit.

A show about redemption shouldn’t be having fans so willing to throw others under the bus for the tiniest shit. Hazbin Twitter is so full of shit.

Never mind the fucking ship discourse in general, Jesus Christ, does anyone in this fandom actually have any fun, or do they just want excuses to be fucking bullies towards people they deem acceptable to harass, because honestly some people on Hazbin Twitter make me fucking sick. Hypocrites and bullies the lot of them.

Makes me wonder how many fans were insecure fucking losers in high school and now they wanna act like Regina fucking George over objectively retarded online discourse. For the love of god please touch grass.

Never mind the fact that so many people in this fandom insist on engaging with Viv antis as if arguing with these fucking glue eaters is in any way going to change their mind. Why argue with these people when it’s obvious they have no intention of doing so? Why do people insist on continuing to talk about certain Viv antis, practically fucking stalking them, making them no better than the antis they bitch about? Do they not see the hypocrisy? Do they not care?

Just saying, cataloging every single little thing a Viv anti does is fucking weird dude. Even if they’re talking shit about you, why would you continue to voluntarily keep looking at their shit?

Like I know I’m probably the pot calling the kettle black here, but man, at least when I respond to an antis takes on my blog I leave it at that. I don’t usually feel the need to be like “here’s everything else wrong they’ve ever said!” In some huge ass thread. I don’t make specific blogs calling out any anti in particular or some shit. I don’t make a fucking google doc accusing them of shit that they didn’t do, or at least, I don’t act like the person being a freak towards me is actually capable of doing anything.

Like yes Chai is annoying, but screaming about a fly in your house won’t make it fucking leave. You don’t get rid of a scab by fucking touching it, if you give a child attention when they have a fucking tantrum, they will start to think that’s the only way they can get attention from you and do it more.

And honestly, pardon the hot take here, but constantly fucking accusing someone of being into actual children or animals just cuz they like loli or feral animal nsfw is fucking retarded.

Is it fucking weird? Frankly, yeah, imo. But is any of it real? Are they harming an actual person? Are they grooming children? Are they hurting any actual animals? If you have no actual evidence for either, then I’m sorry, maybe you should just shut the fuck up. It’s fine to be uncomfy about that shit, but accusing people of such things with no evidence beyond drawings honestly sounds fucking offensive to people who’ve suffered actual fucking abuse.

I don’t deny that there are those who use the proship label to hide their awful behavior or whatever, but man, antis are no fucking better. Do you have any idea how many stories I’ve seen of conservatives who bitch about the gays grooming children when they are also the same kinds of people who think child brides are acceptable in the modern era? Who cry about protecting children when they have little issue in abusing them, but they think it’s ok when they do it?

I say conservative and not antis cus as far as I’m concerned there’s no real difference between the two.

If you seriously believe that fiction affects reality that directly, if you really believe the same arguments as the “video games causes violence!” Type of conservatives, I’m just going to assume that something is wrong with you, that you are terribly emotionally immature, that you are just fucking projecting, cuz I’m sorry, but not everyone is as fucking stupid as you.

Frankly I wonder if there are studies on this shit, cognitive dissonance is an astounding phenomenon. It’s something antis are full of.

…damnit I gotta stop going on tangents lmao.

I just…Jesus Christ man, why is everyone in this fandom such an insufferable fucking jackass? Why is this fandom full of bullies? Why is everyone here such an insecure whiny fucking baby? Viv can’t even fucking make fat jokes or people complain, shit, I saw someone bitch about how Lucifer calling sinners psychopaths is fucking insensitive to people with ASPD, like cmon man by that logic you can say Alastor’s existence as a character is fucking offensive, should Alastor not exist then? They changed Alastor’s symbols to something else but some people still think it’s offensive, Mimzy being annoying to the other characters is apparently offensive towards fat people, as if her weight has anything to do with her personality.

I just don’t understand how a fandom based on a show about hell could be so fucking whiny, so goddamn insecure, so fucking sensitive, what the fuck are you people doing here!?!?! Frankly maybe we should be gatekeeping against whiny little fucking babies like you.

Just…fuck am I tired.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the only sane person in this fucking fandom. Tho if there are people who still like my posts, I guess I can’t be. Thank fuck for that I suppose.

Lmao I’m sorry for the tangents I’m just incapable of staying on topic, if you think this shit is hard to read, imagine what it’s like in my fucking head at all fucking times.

🔥🧨~Firecracker out~🔥🧨

#tis i the werebitch #lmao damn I can’t stay on topic for shit

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my-hyperfixation-stories · 2 months ago

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Lost In Your Eyes

Summary: Dean Winchester has the worlds most beautiful eyes. You find yourself trying to get a good look but Dean can’t hold still for one second so you make him. Needless to say he was confused yet a little turned on by your determination.

Warnings: Flirting, PnV, Oral Sex(f! Rec), unprotected sex, Switch!Dean, Dean being in love with Reader, heavy heavy eye contact, Dean Winchester(he’s definitely a warning), dirty talk. Lmk if I missed anything

The words of your computer managed to blend together. The crease between your brows was so deep it was starting to ache from the amount of tension lying beneath it. You and Dean had been researching for about an hour. Usually your study partner was Sammy (the one who actually gave a shit about what you were reading) but he had a few leads to follow up on. This left you and Dean alone in the motel to piece together the mysterious monster you were dealing with.

Except Dean has yet to look at a single document, and instead he’s been spouting off on random shows he’s been watching and mixing in flirtatious comments here and there. All the while stuffing his face with some pie you had picked up on your way back from the crime scene.

You find yourself massaging between your brows trying everything to release the tension building in your head. “You alright over there? Don’t tell me you’re worn out all ready, we just started.” Dean teased with his infamous grin. A deadpan expression crossed you face as you look up at him. “‘I..’ ‘I.’ There isn’t a ‘we’ Dean. You’ve been talking for the past hour or so while I’ve been nose deep in every source I can find.. if Sam wasn’t gone I would send you to the drug store to get me some ibuprofen..” You set the computer aside and stretch out your hunched over back. A few cracks sound out providing you a split second of relief before a throbbing sensation shoots through your head.

“Here since you’re clearly better at this than I am, I’ll walk over to the gas station across the street and see if I can find anything for you. That alright sweetheart?” For the most part he sounded concerned but the last part had a teasing undertone about it which sent your eyes rolling. The ache strengthened by the action sending your eyes shut. “Please.. I need something if I’m going to find more answers..” You groan, pushing against your temples to stimulate some relief. “I’ll be right back, don’t miss me too much!” He shot you a wink as he headed out. On his way out you noticed how the sun glistened over his eyes. You could’ve sworn you saw the most breathtaking shade of green radiate from them but it could be the agonizing pain in your head making you hallucinate.

You loved Dean to hell and back but shit was he annoying when it came down to researching. He almost never paid attention to the words and mostly listened to the key points you or Sam dug up. Nonetheless he was incredibly aware of when you needed a break. Which is why he was marching over to the gas station to find some medicine to kill the headache you have. When he got back he decided it was time for him to take over. Despite your displeasure he practically forced you down on the bed and snatched the laptop. He sat down beside you to read out some information that you had been desperately trying to find. Around an hour later your headache finally subsided.

You move your eyes to gaze up at Dean. He was propped up against the headboard staring intently at the device. His chin rested in between his fingers as he scanned the sources. The glow of the laptop brought out the same green hue in his eyes. The green flannel he was wearing seemed to make his eye color truly pop. And it was affecting you badly. Maybe it was the way he’d taken over for you, or how he was still occasionally rambling yet staying on topic. But his eyes really sealed the deal for you. You were completely infatuated by the view.

“Right.. so if we are dealing with one, then it says silver is effective in killing it.” He scrolls a little farther before your voice quietly calls his name. “Bullets preferably but blades also work.” He continues “Deann..” You call out again but his entire focus seemed to be on the screen. “Oh here it says-” you cut him off by grabbing his cheeks with one hand and forcing him to look at you. A confused look crosses his features before amusement arises. “What is this about it?..” He says muffled as his lips form a pout from the way you were holding his face. “Did I ever tell you I love your eyes?.. you really need to wear green more often.. it suits you..” You whisper but feel the heat beneath your fingers grow. You had managed to fluster THE Dean Winchester.

His hand reached up and lightly grabbed your wrist. “Oh sweetheart, I love it when you get so dominant.” A grin spreads throughout his face. The look makes you press your thighs together. “Oh really? Do you now?” You tease making him raise a brow. “Oh I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. From experience.” A smile finds your lips before you move to close the laptop on his lap. “I don’t know about you, but I for one want to take a little break from all those articles.. don’t you?” You didn’t give him time to answer before you move yourself to straddle his waist. A huff leaves his mouth as you add pressure to his hips. His hands find your waist as you settle yourself. “I could use a refresher..”

A satisfied look crosses your face while Dean goes to add in some cheeky remark. Before any words leave his lips, your head dips down and captures his lips with yours. A low groan escapes his throat as your hips roll against his.

It has been a hot minute since you and Dean had done anything intimate. It was hard when you constantly had Sam lingering or a case that was needing to be solved. But since you gathered all the information you could, nothing really needed to be done. Giving you the perfect opportunity to have your way with him.

You push away his unbuttoned flannel before running your hands underneath his shirt. The skin beneath your fingers tenses at the sudden coldness of your hands. He pulls back to take a breath but in the haziness of the kiss, your lips travel to his neck. “I affect you this much huh? My ego can’t handle this you know that?” He chuckles before letting his head fall back giving you more access to his neck.

He loved the warm feeling sprouting beneath your lips. When you pull away his hand travels up your back before settling on your nape. He pulls you down into another heated kiss. This one was full of pawing hands and desperate attempts to remove clothing.

He’d managed to remove your shirt leaving you in a fitted tank top and shorts. Next, you had worked on removing your shorts throwing them off to the side. Your hands find themself resting on his chest feeling the quick beat of his heart.

You lean down to his ear as you find the bottom of his shirt with your hands. “I want you looking at me the entire time.. right with those pretty eyes of yours.” The whispery tone finds Dean before you pull off his shirt. His necklace lays against his bare skin as he looks up at you. His breaths were heavy and his lips slightly part in shock.

His green orbs follow you, not once leaving. “The things you do to me..” He says breathlessly earning a scoff from you accompanied by a pleased smile. “What about the things you’ll do for me?..” He watches your gaze trail his body before reaching where your bodies touch. Your hand moves gently up his body before stopping at his chin. Your finger graze along his bottom lip. “Put these to use for me?.. if you really want to help me relieve some tension.” A look of hunger consumes his expression. His eyes look up at you half lidded before he begins trail your figure. Stopping when we sees the wet patch between your thighs.

A groan leaves his lips as he closes his eyes. When he opens them he looks back up to you. “I’ll do anything that makes you happy..” He says ready to do anything you please. A smile finds your lips before you move off of him. He swiftly swaps positions with you so he can kiss down your body. “You’re so beautiful..” His lips press against the skin peaking out from beneath your tank. Your hands raise letting him know you want it off. He puts his hands under the tank top finally pulling it off.

His eyes find your chest before lowering his head to press a hungry kiss against your breast. He lightly sucks the delicate skin leaving a mark behind. He goes to give attention to the next one but an unexpected groan leaves his lips as you lightly pull back his hair to make him look up at you. “Eyes. on. me. pretty boy.. I want to see those eyes.” This time when he lowers his head to kiss your other breast his eyes stay directly on yours. He watches your features change with each movement he makes. His favorite part might be the way your breath falters when he lightly sucks on yours skin.

He lets his hand find your panty line. His fingers loop along the side. He moves them along the outer edge before pushing them to the side. He lets one finger run along your folds feeling the wetness that coats his fingers. “All for me?.. It’s very flattering” You playfully roll your eyes. “You gonna do something about it or just sit there lookin pretty?” Your voice was laced with a seductive tone only making the tent in Dean’s pants grow. He begrudgingly leaves your breast venturing further down. “Is this where you want me? Right here sweetheart?” You shoot him a warning look reminding him that you’re the one making the calls this time.

“Soaking fucking wet.. just for me..” He says to no one in particular. His mind racing as his eyes stay on yours. When you go to make another comment, his finger dips inside of you. A moan leaves your lips at the unexpected penetration. “Fuck Dean..” You let out a shuddered breath. His thumb moves to rub against your clothed clit. The texture leaves a shot of pleasure up your body. “Like that?.. Oh baby i know you do.” You shoot him and angry look but in return his mouth dips down to lick between your folds. His eyes stay glued to yours. “This is what you wanted? For me to devour you? Am I doing it right? Or was it like this?” He takes off your panties and lightly sucks your clit letting a moan escape your lips. “There it is.” He chuckles before returning to lick between your folds.

A groan leaves his lips sending vibrations through you. “You’re such a fucking tease” You gasp out as your legs squirm. His free hand grips your thigh pushing it to the side. “Be good for me and I’ll be good for you.. keep these spread.” His words make your heart beat quicken. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Dean Winchester was between your thighs telling you that he will be good for you, while looking up at you with his fucking beautiful ass eyes. That was enough to push another moan through your lips. “Oh you like that? When I talk all sweet to you? You like feeling like a good girl don’t you?” He laughs before moving your legs up over his shoulders. This gives him closer access to what he desires most.

His tongues dips into you before he turns into a man starved. By this point moans were practically flowing from your lips. “Fuck Dean!..” You groan as your eyes press shut. “Ah ah, I look at you, you have to look at me.” He says pulling your attention back down to him. “I fucking hate you.” Your moans quickly disprove your words. You feel his shitty grin against you. He feels the way you squirm beneath him letting him know your close. While his tongues dips into tortures your hole he lets his fingers rub against your clit. The pleasure only seems to build along with the pressure in your lower stomach. “Fuck Dean just like that.. fuck!” You moan out before everything seems to snap. “Shit! Fuck..” You moan out as your orgasm overcomes you.

Sinful sounds escape Dean’s lips as he cleans up the mess. “So filthy.. so messy making me clean up for you.” He clicks his tongue but you’re too caught up in your emotions to respond. He moves back up so he’s hovering above you. His necklace hangs from his neck falling between the valley of your breast. “You gonna let me treat you good now? Or are you still feeling demanding? Your choice princess.” He waits for a response only for you to flip around ontop of him.

His brows raise caught off guard before your hand pushes against his chest to keep him down. “I still have a few things in mind.” You say checking out his flustered state. A pink hue seems to cover his heated face. “Oh yeah?.. mind telling me what that is?.” He raises a brow. You let out a sweet smile before leaning forward. “Take your pants off and I’ll show you..” You move to the side to give him room. With a satisfied look he undoes his belt and pushes off the jeans. They fall to the ground with a clank. “What’s the plan?” He puts his hands behind his head as you move back above him. Your hand reaches down grabbing his length. Slowly pumping it to spread his precum down it.

“I’m going to ride your dick until all you can remember is my name.” The filthy words escape your mouth going straight to his length. “Fuck you know how to charm a man.” He huffs out a chuckle before a low moan leaves his lips. You lowered yourself onto him. Both of your moans meld together. You move along half of his dick giving yourself some time to adjust to the full length. Eventually you bottom out letting his hips touch yours.

Your hand reaches down to hold yourself steady. It finds its place on his pubic bone sending all sorts of feelings through Dean. His eyes couldn’t help but take it the full sight. The way you were bouncing yourself on the length of his dick. The looks of pleasure tainting your expressions. The way your lips part to let out moans. God he loved you. Everything infront of him was perfection. Down to the imperfections. Somehow you made everything work, and turned it ten times sexier. A groan leaves his lips as he feels you tighten against him.

“Look me in the fucking eyes Dean.. those eyes are what started this.. keep them focused.” You demand with moans occasionally cutting you off. Eventually you shift into rocking your hips against his to stimulate any sort of pleasure. Your legs were growing weak. You knew if you gave up Dean would tease you relentlessly. “Y/n.. shit!” He moans out as you shift positions. Now your body is pressed against his as your lower half slaps against his. The sound was filthy. He couldn’t focus on anything but the way your breast pressed against his chest. The skin sticks together from the heat radiating from your bodies.

As your eyes move back to meet his, you have the urge to press your lips against his, so you do. The other kisses didn’t compare to this. This one was full of lust and passion. Both of your tongues clashed together needing to feel everything about each other. Your moans mush together against each other’s mouths. Your hips move faster trying everything in your power to push through. Pain fills your thighs from the constant movement making you falter. Your moans only increase into desperation.

Dean seemed to clock this immediately because before you know it he is pounding up into you. His arms lock around your waist keeping you steady as he thrusts up relentlessly. “Fuck Dean! Holy shit! Please please please I’m almost there!” You whine out as grunts fill his mouth. Both of your eyes have completely shut as pleasure consumes you. His pace doesn’t change once. “I fucking love you.. I love you so goddamn much..” He grumbles out as he feels himself coming undone. Your heart swells from the intimacy of the situation but your thoughts are cut off by the band snapping inside of you. Upon feeling this Dean is quick to follow. Loud tortured moans escape your lips as the two of you move to work through your orgasms. Soon enough the only thing that fills the air is both of you gasping for air.

Dean takes a moment before pulling out of you. Your body lays against his having no energy to move. “Shit.. I think that was the hottest thing we have ever done..” Dean announces pulling a laugh from your lips. “No shit..” The two of you finally catch your breath before you move off of him. You tuck yourself against his side letting him wrap an arm around you. “So.. what was the thing with my eyes about? That’s never been a thing before.” He asks as embarrassment engulfs you. “I don’t know.. you were walking out the door earlier and.. I guess the sun hit you just right and your eyes looked like the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen..”

Suddenly you pull back and look directly at him. “You better not let any of that get to your head!” You warn him making him genuinely laugh in return. “Ok ok!” He playfully puts his hands up as his eyes follow yours. “They are like.. the perfect shade of green.. speaking of.. we need to buy you more green shirts, it really makes the color pop.” You admit making his smile grow. “So you’re saying if I wear more green then you’ll do more stuff like that? Done deal right there.” You playfully hit his chest before slumping back down onto the bed. “We should definitely get dressed before Sam gets back. It’s bad enough that the motel is going to smell like absolute filthy sex when he gets back, might as well spare him the visual.” You announce and as if on cue that sound of the impala fades in.

Thank you to everyone who took time to read this! Dean Winchester has been clouding my thoughts as of recently and I just need to let it all out somewhere. I hope you find this just as entertaining as I did. If I missed any warnings or anything is misspelled please let me know and I’ll work to fix it. THANK YOU AGAINNN!!! ❤️

#x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural smut #smut

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littlemissrbf · 2 months ago

Text

Summer Lovin’

Robert “Bob” Floyd x Fem!Reader

Y’all I am so late to the Bob Floyd hype train but I can’t stop thinking about giving him the full SoCal experience (Also is Bob actually from Montana or is that just a widely accepted hc ?)

(No use of y/n, fem!reader, reader is a SoCal native, language, for the purpose of this fic Bob is from Montana, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, I think this is gonna end up being a multi-part fic)

(Note: okay I made a lot of changes again because turns out, my memory is kinda shit and I completely forgot to add the parts with Maverick and the Rooster piano scene)

Part 1 [Word Count: 3.6k]

Next Chapter - Masterlist

Meeting a man like Robert Floyd had to be a moment of pure fucking luck.

The drive down to San Diego was a complete bitch. You were on your way to Naval Base Point Loma for your uncle’s retirement ceremony and of course, when you got there, you were stuck at the main gate because of your lack of military ID or spouse card. You needed your uncle to basically confirm that you are family and let you in. You grabbed your phone off its stand and snickered to yourself at the contact name from when he had this ridiculous mustache that he refused to shave

“Hey siri, call Wannabe Tom Selleck.”

After a few rings, he picked up,

“Ohh guess who finally decided to show up. Lemme guess, you need me to come buzz you in?”

“Yep.”

“Well what’s the magic word?”

You let out a groan and tried again,

“Can you please come get me, I’ve been driving for two hours and I feel like if I don’t stretch my legs in the next five minutes I’m gonna lose it.”

“Relax kiddo, I’m on my way.”

The ceremony started promptly at one and was over by two, your uncle spent the next hour showing your family around the base then you took family photos on the beach for a bit. At dinner, your relatives gave you the interrogation of a lifetime: asking about your school, work, and relationships. The last topic had you flustered as it had been a while since you’d actually dated anyone. Sure, you had some flings here and there, but nothing actually serious or worth bringing home to meet your family.

“You really ought to find yourself a military man just like your aunt, that way you only have to deal with him for about half the year, and you’d get the whole house to yourself while he’s away.”

Laughter erupted around the table, and your uncle smiled over his glass before speaking,

“Well that’s the case for about 20 years or so, then he retires and you’re stuck with him and his loud-ass snoring forever.” He lazily threw his arm around his wife, who rolled her eyes and smiled.

You reached out to hold her hand and asked, “Seriously Auntie, how have you put up with him for this long?"

She gave your fingers a squeeze and replied, “Well sweetie, he’s the love of my life, and I just have to remind myself of that sometimes. Especially when I’m thinking of smothering him with my pillow.”

The sound of laughter bounced around the restaurant, and you laughed along too, but your mind was still stuck on the idea of 'finding yourself a military man'. Of course, you wanted to find a good man to settle down with but it wasn’t that simple, it felt like literally every part of dating was a struggle for you, even meeting people was hard. And then there was the other thought, if you were to be with a navy/army/whatever guy who was deployed half of the year, is that something you could realistically handle. You'd never been in a long-distance relationship and you've heard the stories about military spouses who's partners cheat while away. Or what if he's perfect and you love him and everything is great- and then he gets stationed in another state. Then you would have to choose between staying close to your family or moving to stay close to him. Your uncle must have noticed you spacing out, or maybe he saw the way your eyebrows furrowed a bit as you pondered the hypothetical relationship with a military man. He took a piece of his napkin, rolled it between his fingers, and flicked it at you from the palm of his hand. It hit you right between your brows and you turned to him with a (greatly exaggerated) open-mouth face of shock, with a hand over your chest 'clutching your pearls'.

He threw his head back as he laughed at you,

“Geez Louise kiddo you’ve gotta lighten up a bit, maybe live a little.”

You scoffed “Gee thanks for the advice, any more suggestions on how to ‘live a little’ old man?”

Before he could respond to your sarcasm with his usual quips or a clever joke, a brilliant idea hit him like a brick, and you swore you could actually see the little lightbulb appear over his head.

“We’re going to the beach.”

The “beach” in question was actually a military-access beach on the north part of Coronado Island called “Breakers Beach”. Since it was a part of Naval Air Station North Island, it was only available to military personnel and their guests. You had given your keys to your aunt, who was ready to go home after a day in heels and her second glass of wine, so your uncle drove the two of you in his truck. Turns out, your little field trip to the “beach” was actually a little field trip to a bar called the “Hard Deck”.

You’d heard about it before in one of your uncle's stories, about two years back, he was arm-wrestling another officer at the bar when a man at the other end accidentally knocked over a drink. The wet counter caused his elbow to slip, he lost the match and got stuck paying for his buddy’s tab. Of course, he then grabbed the man from the end of the bar and dragged him outside by his collar (at least he had the "decency" to take him outside before bashing his face in). Turns out, the man was a Rear Admiral and the head of some program for fighter pilots, so maybe bashing his face in was not a good idea and probably would’ve resulted in a lifelong ban from the bar. They apologized, shook hands, and then did some shots together.

Your uncle pulled up to the gate with his ID ready, the man in the booth took it and looked your way, and you handed over your driver's license. He looked between the two of you and asked for your "relation?" Before you got the chance to respond, your uncle smiled at the man and clapped his hand on your shoulder like he was showing off a new car at the dealership,

“Oh, this young lady right here is my beautiful niece who just so happens to be single.”

Then he fucking winked at the officer and brought his elbow up in a “nudge-nudge” gesture.

You felt your heart stop. The son of a bitch was actively trying to get you a man.

“Oh my god please no” you begged with your face now buried in your palms, but he was still going at it with the poor guy who just stood there dumbfounded.

“I’m just saying if you’re single and she’s single-”

You cut him off, “Sir, I am so sorry please ignore him.” But he just couldn't shut the fuck up,

“See? Look how polite she is, son I’m telling you this is honest to God girlfriend material right here!”

Finally, the poor man spoke up,

“I uh- already have a girlfriend sir.” he gave a little shrug as he handed back your IDs and opened the gate.

Your uncle didn't miss a beat.

“Well in that case, son, you just dodged a bullet cause she’s actually a handful, you have a good night.” he said with a grin, then slowly pulled through the gate.

You waited until you were out of earshot,

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

After a few minutes of driving in complete silence, you made it to the bar and he pulled into a spot. Realizing that your uncle was about to go boyfriend hunting for you in a bar full of Naval officers you pulled down the sun visor’s mirror to check your face and hair. You had dressed up and done a bit more makeup than usual because it was his damn retirement ceremony and you knew your family was going to take pictures. You picked one of your nice dresses, a blue short-sleeved one that cut off just above your knees and was perfect for the warm weather, you wore some ankle boots with a small heel and a purse to match. You had no idea if you were overdressed or underdressed, and honestly, you don’t really know which is worse. Your uncle had changed out of his dress whites before dinner and now he wore just jeans and a polo shirt, so between the two of you, you definitely looked overdressed.

Your uncle made his way over to you as you hopped out of the truck, and put both hands on your shoulders,

"Here's the game plan kiddo, we're gonna go in there, get some drinks, and have a good time. I don't wanna hear any complaining. You're gonna go put yourself out there and meet some guys and get their numbers. And if anyone starts giving you trouble, I'll take care of it."

You looked up at him, nodded, and gave a small smile. Despite all the jokes and embarrassing moments from the day, it was nice to know that he cared and would protect you no matter what.

You sighed and turned towards the bar, thinking 'fuck it, I've got this'

Dear lord, you did not 'got this'. You did not 'got this' at all. The bar was completely full of patrons and it wasn't even six yet, and it was loud. All the conversations, the multiple pool games going on, and the music playing in the background layered on top of each other.

Your uncle agreed to stay with you for a bit while you worked up the nerves to go out on your own, you sat together at the corner of the bar facing towards each other. Your uncle strategically sat down so that he was facing the TVs, and you were facing the other end of the bar where the pool tables were. There was a group around one of the tables, all in their khaki uniforms, there were about ten or twelve of them in total, but a smaller group of five stood closer to the table chatting. A woman at the center caught your eye immediately, she was shorter than the men around her, but she carried herself with no less confidence. She was talking to two men standing together, probably good friends, and another two stood next to her, probably her friends.

Your uncle turned around to follow your gaze, then turned around once he saw the group you had been watching

"Someone's interested, alright which one of 'em is it?"

"Calm down, I was just trying to figure out what their uniforms are for."

"They're probably pilots."

"How can you tell?"

"Bunch of little nerds, just look at the one with the glasses over there."

You raised an eyebrow, there were about ten faces you skimmed over and absolutely none of them had glasses.

"On a stool, to the right. Look but don't be obvious."

You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze past your uncle to look for the "little nerd" and sure enough, there he was. He was sitting on a stool with a cup of peanuts, watching the conversation in front of him. His hair was sandy blonde and styled nicely, he wore the same uniform as the rest of the group, and he had some huge fucking glasses which would've been ridiculous had he not been so good-looking. He's pretty cute- but of course, it's the one your uncle makes fun of that would catch your eye, you smiled as you thought to yourself.

Then he turned, and suddenly he was looking straight at you.

You immediately looked down, startled by the sudden eye contact, after a beat you looked up to see if he had turned away yet. He didn't. When he caught you staring a second time, a small smile crept up on his lips, and raised his hand to give a little wave. Damn it he's cute. You smiled back, but instead of waving back you looked down again in embarrassment and started fiddling with your hair. Your uncle did not miss the interaction,

"Seriously, him?"

"Dude stop he's gonna hear you."

"I mean, you do you kiddo but he's probably only gonna ever want to talk about Star Wars, and video games, and books."

"I like those things."

You peeked over and sure enough, he was looking too.

"You like 'em little nerds."

"Okay stop saying 'little' and 'nerds' you old man or I'm gonna start introducing you as my grandpa."

"Ya know what, just for that you're on your own, I'll be over there watching the game and you're gonna go socialize."

He grabbed his beer and slid off his barstool, giving your shoulder two taps as a 'good luck' before making his way over to a booth near the TVs where he joined a group of patrons he recognized.

When you turned again to see if the man with the glasses was still looking he was now talking to the group of pilots around him. You watched as he stood up from his chair, took the cue that was being handed to him by the woman from earlier, and began to set up a game of 9-ball for the group. You were a bit disappointed that his focus was on something else but relieved that you didn't have to immediately go and strike up a conversation, you wanted to prepare a little.

The sharp sound of a bell ringing snapped you out of your thoughts, and suddenly everyone was cheering and thanking this man sitting at the other side of the bar. You have no idea what the hell that was about but before you could question it, the woman behind the bar was looking straight at you,

"Can I get you something to drink hun?"

You looked down at your empty glass, considered a second drink, then thought better of it. If you were actually gonna go talk to Mr. Glasses it was not gonna be while inebriated. You smiled back at her and asked shyly,

"Could I actually get something without alcohol?"

"Of course, sweetie. I can get you water, soda, or maybe a Shirley Temple."

You hadn't had one of those since you were a kid. It's ginger ale with some grenadine and maybe a cherry, nothing special, but the nostalgia hits you like a truck.

"Can I get a Shirley Temple please?"

"Sure thing, hun. It's on the old man's tab"

You laughed thinking she'd overheard your conversation, calling your uncle an "old man", then you noticed as she gave a cold look towards a man sitting at the other end of the bar. So that's what the bell means.

You thanked her before turning again towards the pool tables to see if Mr. Glasses was playing but instead, a tall blonde man held the cue and Mr. Glasses was off to the side next to another pilot with a buzzcut. The second you locked eyes again you smiled quickly, so you didn't seem rude, and then turned away.

'Every time I look at him he's looking at me.' you smile to yourself as the lady comes back with your drink. She's absolutely gorgeous, piercing blue eyes and a pretty smile, and the way she calls you "sweetie" and "hun" makes your cheeks heat up. You introduce yourself, shaking her hand and she introduces herself as 'Penny'. She asks what brings you to Breakers Beach and you tell her about your uncle's retirement and how he brought you here to basically find yourself a husband. She chuckles at this and tells you to 'be careful with those aviators' before shooting another glare at the man on the other side of the bar.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs, "It's a long story."

Then she rips a long receipt from the machine, and winks.

"Watch this," she says, with a devilish grin plastered on her face and she walked back over to the aviator that had pissed her off so much, that she'd warn you to stay away from them altogether.

Someone had pulled the plug on the music and the sound of groans and complaints filled the silence, you saw a tall man wearing sunglasses and an aloha shirt make his way over to a piano and sit. He had the same kind of ridiculous mustache that you'd picked on your uncle for but somehow this dude pulled it off. He started playing when the sound of the bell filled your ears again, this time more aggressively. The patrons cheer and start chanting "overboard" and three of the pilots from earlier make their way over to the man, two grabbing each of his arms and the third picking him up by his legs. They carried him to the door as Penny shouted after him, "It was great to see you, Pete!" When the men made it to the door they literally threw him "overboard" out of the bar, you hoped that maybe the sand cushioned his fall.

When you turned back to the pool tables Mr. Glasses and everyone else had vanished, you scanned the bar and found them huddled around Mr. Mustache on the piano who began to play a song from that old movie "Jamboree". Damn it that man could sing, and play. The whole bar lit up, everyone singing and dancing along to the music, and you just watched from the bar, as if you were glued to your seat. You steal another glance at Mr. Glasses as he sang along, when you locked eyes you began to copy his little dance of bouncing his shoulders up and down, he tilts his head and a huge, boyish grin spreads on his face.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted with howls and applause, and Mr. Mustache began to do this funky little victory dance as the whole bar chanted the word "Rooster" over and over again. Mr. Mustache is apparently Mr. Rooster now.

The crowd begins to trickle back to their tables and you notice the group of pilots that had previously staked their claim on the pool tables now decided to make their way toward the bar for some more drinks. But Mr. Glasses decided to stay at the pool tables, he picked up the cues and began cleaning up a bit. You feel a little tug on your heartstrings, he must be awkward, he has to be. You had hoped he'd come up to you at the bar and strike up a conversation, you're pretty sure any other man would have by now with the number of times he's caught you stealing glances at him.

You thought back to your uncle's little pep talk, looking through the crowd you could see him chatting with a group of people, all of them smiling and laughing with each other. He was right, you're on your own this time and it's time to stop worrying and go live a little.

"Fuck it" you thought, you're just gonna walk up to him and introduce yourself then try to have a good conversation and hopefully get his number. If it goes well, great! And if it doesn't, then at least you know that you tried. You gather up the last bits of courage you can muster and you finish the last few sips of your drink. You wave a quick goodbye to Penny, slip off your seat, and start walking over to finally go meet Mr. Glasses.

He looks genuinely surprised when he notices you make your way over to him, when you're a few feet apart you manage to get out a small "Hi" which comes out way higher than you intended. Before you can introduce yourself, his eyes light up as he asks,

"Oh did you want to play?"

He smiles and extends one of the cues to you. You couldn't help the little sound of confusion that slipped out of your mouth,

"Huh?"

"Well, I noticed you look over a few times and I thought that maybe you just really wanted to play billiards."

"Oh"

Oh? Are you fucking kidding me- you'd just spent the last hour stealing glances and blushing at this guy from across the room, and he thinks it's because you just 'really wanted to play pool?!' You literally haven't played pool in years but now that he offered it would be too awkward for the both of you if you declined. But it's too late to turn back now, you decide that making yourself look like a fool in front of him is a price you're willing to pay if it means you can actually get to know him.

You smile sweetly as you take the cue from him, softly brushing his fingers with your own, and you introduce yourself.

"Oh I'm Bob. Bob Floyd."

"Bob?"

"It's uh- short for Robert."

"Robert Floyd" you repeated.

You thought for a second, then tried your luck,

"Would you mind if I called you Robbie?" you asked, tilting your head.

"No, not at all." he shook his head and a pink blush spread to the tips of his ears. He looked down and fixed his glasses with nervous fingers before looking back up at you. "I don't mind."

You smiled as you had your own little lightbulb moment.

"Tell you what Robbie, let's play 9-ball and whoever loses has to buy the winner a drink."

He stared at you for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open, then he swallowed and looked down quickly to pick up the cue chalk. He met your eyes again (oh god he has gorgeous eyes) and he smiled, confidently now, and replied

"You're on."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's Note: oh this is already wayyy longer than I had planned. I've never really written a fic before and I kinda just use the dividers when I don't know how to move from scene to scene. Let me know if you have any writing tips or suggestions! - update: I just went in with a whole bunch of edits to fix the grammar and dialogue + added some scenes to make the fic a bit closer to the movie scene)

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd #fanfic #lewis pullman #top gun fanfiction #top gun

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makoodles · 1 year ago

Text

ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

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reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good.

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron.

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to—

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight.

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left.

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless.

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress.

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed.

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly.

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead.

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back.

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face.

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together.

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give.

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him.

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed.

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had.

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp.

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him.

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again.

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest.

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good.

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical.

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him.

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you.

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face.

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone.

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible.

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive.

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized.

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth.

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold.

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer.

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips.

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that.

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you.

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated.

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up.

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up.

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

#why was it so hard to find a cute pic of him with no big fuckin union jack splashed across him #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod smut #cod fic #kyle gaz garrick

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noemilivv · 1 year ago

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What the…

HAZBIN HOTEL CAST are like as …

PARTNERS !! (and before that!)

Includes: Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Alastor, Sir Pentious, Husker, Niffty, Lucifer Morningstar, Adam, Lute

Warnings: Swearing, S1 spoilers, sexual references, mentions of abuse, mentions of Valentino, messy, barely proofread

Also side note, if this is highly enjoyed, I will do a Part 2 with more characters!

Charlie Morningstar

Crush!Charlie is a bit obvious. Not TOO obvious, but maybe if you squint hard enough…

Crush!Charlie has a tendency to show extra attention to you, especially if you’re a resident at the Hotel who’s trying to go up to Heaven.

Example: You’re the first person she asks if they need help, invite for a group activity, etc

Despite the fact that Crush!Charlie is really eager to confess her feelings, she truly does find value in getting to know you as a friend first.

She believes that it has its perks, which it does.

Crush!Charlie enjoys getting to know your hobbies, interests, past, strengths, all of it.

But as you are going off on your usual yap sesh about your face topic …

Crush!Charlie can’t help but peck you on the cheek, you’re cheeks just look so squishy and cute!

You’re stunned… You would’ve never thought that.. Charlie? Likes you? Pffff… Ain’t no way!

Crush!Charlie scrambles to explain to you her genuine feelings, and how she’s wanted to be with you for a long time, and scrambles again to ask you if you feel the same.

Now it’s your turn to shut someone up with a kiss.

You give her a drawn out peck on the lips, not too short, but not too long. Just enough to satisfy.

And yes, you do feel the same.

Now GF!Charlie is totally stoked! But she’s also a bit scared of the shoes she has to fill.

GF!Charlie decides to give you a little candy bouquet (that she made!)! Honestly it’s the cutest frickin thing, it has little chocolates and lollipops like AAA get me a Charlie!

GF!Charlie decides to introduce you to her dad, sure you guys have crossed paths a few times, but like, formally this time.

At first Lucifer is intimidated by you (not that he’d admit that), similar to the rivalry he had with Alastor.

But after awhile, he warms up to you, at the end of the day he loves his daughter, and he sees that you do to. So long as you treat Charlie good and you like rubber ducks, he’s chill with you :)

GF!Charlie’s love language is gift giving and physical touch!

On one hand, she loves giving gifts, it’s very soothing for her to go out and find something to give you, or coming up with an idea to make something for you, it takes her mind off of things

But at the other end of the scale, she loves receiving physical touch, she kinda freezes when she does because it’s so much to her but at the same time she enjoys it dearly! Even something as simple as rubbing her hand with your thumb while handling hands, long hugs, or hand kisses send her into a spiral haha

At the end of the day, GF!Charlie loves you a ton and honestly is just happy to be there loving you lol

Vaggie

When Crush!Vaggie realizes she has a crush on you, it’s a bit of an ‘Oh Shit’ moment, y’know?

Due to her secret, and the fact that she has a bit of trust issues, they just don’t go hand-in-hand with love.

Crush!Vaggie is a bit dependent on you to make the first move, but that doesn’t mean she won’t, but she needs you to throw a few jabs first.

The more her crush on you stays and the more she doesn’t do about it, the more it starts to bug her

Crush!Vaggie decides one day she doesn’t know how much more of the subtle flirting and eye contact from across the room she can take, cause deep down, she has a gut feeling you like her too.

So, Crush!Vaggie decides she’s going to confess.

When it comes down to it, obviously you feel the same, and she really wants to make an impact right away!

Now GF!Vaggie decides to plan a little surprise for you, a date!

GF!Vaggie decides to just take you out to the back of the hotel and you two lay down and look at the night sky (as I’m not sure if there’s stars in Hell tbh.)

You two sit there and talk, it gets vulnerable for a bit, slowly but surely starting to break down eachothers walls… But not for too long before one of you is like “NOPE, too much emotions for one day!” haha

At the end of the day, GF!Vaggie, isn’t perfect at this whole girlfriend thing, but for you? She’ll sure as hell try.

Angel Dust

Like Vaggie, Crush!Angel is tempted to “NOPE” out, after falling into Val’s trap, he’s hesitant to try again.

But soon enough Charlie shows him that opening up got her an amazing girlfriend, so he decides, hey, might as well right?

Crush!Angel goes out of his way to obnoxiously flirt with you, but you thought this was normal behavior, as he does it with basically everyone at the hotel.

Crush!Angel thinks it’ll take time, but you’ll catch on, and well… not exactly…

One day, Crush!Angel comes back from a long shoot, and he pulls a good, classic flirt on you, and poof! Right over your head!

And he doesn’t know what got in him, maybe the alcohol, maybe Valentino, maybe the buildup stress, who’s knows, but he snaps…

Crush!Angel proceeds to go off about how he’s always flirting with you and how he just doesn’t get how you’re so blind that you just can’t see it!?

And you start to laugh, which at first makes him more mad.

“Well how was I supposed to know if you flirt with everyone here? I thought it was normal!”

And with that, you walk away, leaving him bamboozled.

The night goes on as normal, you head up to your hotel room, and just as you’re about to turn lights out you hear a knock on your door and a voice from the outside.

“So do you wanna fuck me too, or no?”

The next day, you and Crush!Angel have a talk over a drink or two, and decide, not only do you two wanna fuck, you also want to date!

Now BF!Angel is a bit nervous, but don’t fret! He has that feeling in his stomach that makes him want to grin like he’s never grinned before.

BF!Angel’s love languages are quality time and words of affirmations, considering all that Val can do to him in a day, he doesn’t love being touched without consent, but that doesn’t mean touch is off limits by any means! Just ask and he’ll give it to you!

And for quality time, you and BF!Angel don’t really go out for dates, considering how fans (and Val) are, also considering the fact that he just wants a break from life.

Instead, you two usually just spend time in eachothers hotel rooms, binge shows, give eachother makeovers, play dress up, just being the kids you never got the opportunity to be.

And once he sees that Fat Nuggets likes you, he knows you’re the one.

Alastor

When Crush!Alastor first realizes he has feelings for you, he makes a mental note and goes on with his day.

He doesn’t really understand the point in fussing about it like most do, but then again, he’s not most people.

Crush!Alastor does thoroughly enjoy spending time with you though, he likes to just sorta keep you around.

He sticks up for you, if somebody gives you a problem, it will be handled, even if it’s a bit sadistic, he will do it everytime.

Crush!Alastor doesn’t feel the need to confess directly, but if you ask him how he feels about it, he won’t deny his feelings towards you!

So whenever Crush!Alastor becomes BF!Alastor, he does lay down some ground rules, as a relationship with him, will not be the same as a relationship with others.

BF!Alastor is a gentleman, no doubt. He opens any door that you may come across (car, building, whatever), he asks for consent before doing anything — however intimate it may be, and he does buy you flowers.

But, that does not mean BF!Alastor is perfect, he’s not the most physically affectionate, unless he initiates it himself, and he’s not great with feelings.

If you’re upset, he tries to stay away, not because he doesn’t care, but because most of the time he’ll keep his upbeat energy and act like nothings wrong in attempts to cheer you up — but sometimes that’s just not what you need.

But, BF!Alastor kicks in eventually, and turns on some calming music, turns his radio affect down in volume so the sound doesn’t overwhelm you, and give you a nice, long hug as you two sway around the room.

By far, BF!Alastor’s love language is acts of service and quality time.

BF!Alastor honestly adores spending time with you, you’ve made him feel more alive than he has in years, and he follows you around like a puppy, but he makes it look like you following him around rather than the other way.

And he’ll always do things for you, even if he doesn’t understand them. If they make you happy, he might as well get started on doing them, because he can’t go awhile without seeing your darling face and your beautiful smile.

Sir Pentious

Crush!Pentious is… very… obvious.

But you don’t say anything, cause he’s adorkable.

You watch day after day out of pure adoration as Crush!Pentious tumbled over his words and changes his mind as he tried to make a move, and you loved every second of it.

This went on for awhile, and you started to notice his little quirks, which only made you fall for him more.

Eventually, one day after Crush!Pentious had tried to subtly say that he liked you, you decided to do him a favor.

“Pen.”

“I like you too.”

“I- UHM- WELL- YOU’RE- I- UHM-”

Yeah maybe that didn’t go how you thought it would…

Well in more ways than one, cause Crush!Pentious became BF!Pentious that day!

BF!Pentious was really nervous, he finally had you! But he didn’t wanna lose you cause he did something stupid either… He had to make the perfect move!

So he ended up asking Charlie to ask you a bunch of relationship related questions, and ending up deciding on your dream date with your favorite flowers. Basic, but gets the job done right?

BF!Pentious’ love languages are gift giving and physical touch. Like please cuddle him. He’ll get pouty if you don’t notice. So just notice already!!

BF!Pentious, like Charlie, loves making you gifts! He uses his knowledge from war machines to make something homemade and honestly it’s just the sweetest thing!

Is he perfect? Yes. But for this let’s say no. Does he try? Also yes!

Husker

Crush!Husk can’t even remember the last time he had a crush, but he’s chill with it.

Crush!Husk never planned on officially confessing to you, he just was going with the flow, ya know?

You start talking to him and realize maybe you like him too, but it wasn’t thought about much more than that.

It’s not until Angel asks you, “So are ya fucking or no..?”

And it makes you think, no, but you wouldn’t mind if that were arranged.

So one night, while you’re drunk and talking to Crush!Husk, you say… “Y-Ya knOW! We- We should HAHAH get together! HEHEHEH!” “Talk to me when you’re sober, you’re not making a stupid decision, I won’t let ya.”

And somehow, someway, you remembered that in the morning. So with a headache from your hangover, you go up to Husk’s bar and sit down, “What are we?” “Whatever you want us to be.”

From then on, Crush!Husk became BF!Husk!!

BF!Husk always made sure to look out for you. He’s the ‘defend you in public, correct you in private’ kinda guy.

BF!Husk is big on words of affirmation and acts of service.

He won’t hesitate to tell you how much he loves and cares for you whenever you need it, he’s a very honest guy, but he also loves doing little things to show that he cares.

‘Oh, I did the dishes for you.’ or ‘I cleaned your room.’ or ‘I folded your laundry.’ are things you hear daily.

Niffty

Crush!Niffty is another one that’s very obvious, and quite frankly, she doesn’t care.

Crush!Niffty has been open to you about her feelings since day one, and you make sure she knows you feel the same way.

So basically instantly, she becomes GF!Niffty.

GF!Niffty loves physical touch and acts of service.

She loves cleaning for you, and showing you all her accomplishments. But she also loves hugging you, kissing you, just being next to you is enough.

Life isn’t much different versus life with Crush!Niffty but you love it regardless, and you wouldn’t trade either life for anything.

Lucifer Morningstar

Crush!Lucifer doesn’t really have that shock of realizing he likes you, cause he always has and has always known.

You were the one person who was there after Lilith, even if it was only platonic back then, you were still there.

Crush!Lucifer REALLY likes you and considering how long he’s liked you (literal years) he decides to just man up and say it.

Unsurprisingly, you feel the same way and you two start dating.

BF!Lucifer doesn’t want to lose you like how he lost Charlie and Lilith, so he’s very certain that he gives you everything he thinks you derserve.

BF!Lucifer is a big jumble of all the love languages at once because of this. But I think he leans towards physical touch and words of affirmation.

BF!Lucifer is constantly in need of reassurance as he feels like he’s not enough due to his depression, and also hugs, because y’know, hugs help.

If you have a good relationship with Charlie, which you should, like cmon, he’s ecstatic! And sometimes he needs your help with parenting cause he really wants to try his best for you, and her.

Adam

Adam and you started off just fucking for fun, and fucking for fun turned into, friends, friends turned into- woah… it turned into a crush…

Crush!Adam is fucking clueless, he’s not good with this stuff, just guitar solos (FUCK YEAAHH).

During Charlie’s meeting with Heaven, he slips you a note…

Hey hot babe,

wanna do more than just fuck? (date)

And my God, you better accept because THAT is ART.

BF!Adam is far from perfect, but damn close. He really cares. But his main love languages are quality time and physical touch.

I mean cmon, he’s not great with his words, he can’t do much other than fight, he’s ass at giving gifts (he tried to give you a dildo once). So it’s really the only thing he’s good at, he can sit there, and touch you. That’s about all he knows how to do!

At the end of the day, BF!Adam really tries his best, he loves you, after all :)

Lute

Considering the fact you’re Lute’s boss, she spends a lot of time with you.

And because of that, she starts to develop feelings.

Crush!Lute realizes she has a crush on you almost immediately, although she hesitates to tell you, due to how much you guys are together and her job.

But after awhile, she has a bit of a ‘screw it’ moment.

And boom! She turns into GF!Lute.

GF!Lute is a whole new version of the person you had gotten to know. Her wild side comes out, unlike her normal stoic side. (Example: “RIP VAGGIES CUNT MOUTH OUT ‘ER ASS!!!”)

Also side note, GF!Lute is committed as fuckkk. Once she’s there, she’s there for good, cause she loves you!

— END.

Hello! This is my first Hazbin post! I haven’t written for these characters in a solid year so I hope it’s alright! As I said up top, if this gets a lot of love, then I’ll do a part two (Which will include Cherri and the Vees to name a few~) ! Also don’t mind my Lute bias lmao, she’s my fav, she’s so hatable but idgaf and I love her vibe lmao! I’m hyperfixating on Hazbin since the first season just came out lmao! So please send requests! Love ya :)

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vibelladonna · 4 months ago

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✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here we go again—since my most popular fanfic just happens to be about kinks, I might as well keep feeding the masses, right?

Kinks, round two, featuring the second-best guys, really the first-best guys in my opinion in the TKATB fandom. You know, the ones everyone secretly (or not-so-secretly) wants to romance but, unfortunately, the game just refuses to let us have.

Boo hoo. Tragic. Heartbreaking.

We’re out here, thirsting over a handful of drawings and barely-there dialogue, while the game just sits there like, "Nah, you get scraps at best." Like, oh, cool, thanks. Totally what I asked for. Not like I wanted actual interactions or anything.

Nope, just gonna sit here, simping in silence.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

You know the drill—I blended a bit of canon with my headcanons for Geo and Hyugo. Kept it to just four kinks to keep things short and spicy, then topped it off with a little sweet treat at the end.

Hope you enjoy! [ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting off, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Hyugo.

Geo fans? They love a strong, silent, towering wall of a man who could probably carry all their groceries in one trip and still have a free hand. He’s dependable, steady, and intimidating in a hot way. But when it comes to suggestive content, some struggle to picture it—he’s asexual, after all.

As an asexual writer myself, I get it… and yes, I just called myself out. No excuses.

Hyugo fans, though? Y’all are wild. He’s a short shit menace, runs on sugar, and has the energy of a raccoon that found an energy drink. Cute? Absolutely. Safe? Questionable. There’s something about that playful, borderline-chaotic vibe that makes him irresistible—like a gremlin you can’t help but love.

Ngl Hyugo deadass scares me compared to Geo.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Naturally, I have to start with my husband—Geo, aka Subaru Oogami. Now, let’s be real, if I actually called him that to his face, he’d hit me with the nastiest side-eye known to mankind. But do I care? Absolutely not. I play too much.

Geo is mysterious, sure, but let’s not act like he’s some enigma wrapped in a riddle. He’s smart, tall, and built like a damn fortress, and yeah, no one in their right mind wants to be on his bad side. But honestly? I cannot take him seriously. Like, okay, sir, you’re glaring at me—what now? You gonna keep staring? Blink twice if you need help.

Honestly, it’s more fun to make it a game at this point.

His style, like my guy stays rocking ripped black jeans, what appears to be fishnet tights (??), a dark purple hoodie, and underneath that baggy hoodie, I thought he was wearing some kind of undershirt.

But no. You know what it is? A tight, white workout shirt. I had to double-check, and yeah, that’s definitely a compression shirt. Why does he layer like this? I don’t know. Maybe he’s secretly a gym bro. Maybe he just likes the aesthetic. Either way, I support him.

Alright, onto the real question: Can you see Geo as kinky?

Uhhhhhh... no? But also, maybe? Listen, most asexuals know about the freakiest topics known to humankind (we do our research, don’t ask why).

That’s the reason why I headcanon him into some non-sexual bondage thing.

But Geo himself? He’s not out here scheming, plotting, or forcing anything—he’s more of a “handle things on his own” kind of guy. That said, if you offer or if he really wants to show appreciation for you... yeah, he’s got a bit of a freak in him. Not the overwhelming kind—just enough to keep things interesting. He’s calculated about it, never too much, always just enough to leave you wondering.

✑ Hella Vanilla (Soft Dom Baby!)

Now for Geo preferences!

Look, I’m really trying my best not to write Geo too close to Crowe, but let’s be honest—they’re both vanilla. The difference? Geo is vanilla with a capital V. Crowe at least has some experience, while Geo?

He’s new to all this.

Like, be nice to him, he’s still figuring things out. That being said, don’t think for a second that Geo’s gonna let you take full control. Oh no, he’s independent. You can tell him how you want to be touched, how you like to be held, but he’s stubborn—he wants to learn on his own and figure out the best way to please you himself. Trial and error, but make it hot.

Soft Dom Energy. That’s Geo. He can be broody, moody, and mad at everything, but when it comes to you, this is the only time he lets himself be vulnerable. He’s surprisingly affectionate, and during an intense make-out session?

You will not be able to breathe.

This man is obsessed with littering kisses all over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize you with his mouth. And let me tell you, do not try to push him away. I mean, you can try, but the second he’s out of breath, looking at you with those intense-ass eyes, he’s pulling you right back in.

It’s almost desperate, like he physically needs you. And when you’re on his lap, instead of taking it further, this man will deadass just stare at you, call you pretty, rest his head on your chest, and hug you. Like sir??? That’s illegal???

This is why Geo is the definition of a Soft Dom. It’s not about control—it’s about connection. He doesn’t just want to do things to you, he wants to make sure you feel everything. His dominance is all about guidance, care, and making sure you know just how much he worships you.

And don’t get it twisted—just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he’s weak.

He still has control. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he takes his time. Yeah, he can be mean, a little asshole-ish sometimes, but listen… poor Geo just has trust issues. Deep-seated daddy issues, confirmed by Fantasia herself.

As for kinks? Light bondage, teasing, and lots of sensual play. Everything with him is slow and intentional because it’s not just physical—it’s emotional.

He gets in your head before he ever gets in your bed.

✑ Body Worship / Size

Geo is the kind of man who doesn’t need to say how much he loves you—he’ll show you instead. And when it comes to you? Yeah, he’s obsessed.

He’s 100% into body worship. All shapes. All sizes. Every single inch of you. Geo doesn’t just admire you; he memorizes you. Every dip, every curve, every little detail that makes you you—he knows it.

It’s in the way he touches you, his fingers dragging slowly over your skin like he’s mapping out something sacred. It’s in the way he kisses you, lingering at the places you don’t even think twice about—your shoulder, your wrists, the space behind your ear—just because he can.

And the most insane part? This is all before he even considers taking it further. Sex isn’t even on his mind at this point. He just wants you close.

Also, Geo absolutely has a size kink, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

The man is huge. Tall, broad, and built like he was specifically designed to make everyone feel tiny in comparison. And if you happen to be taller or close to his height? I’m so sorry, but that does not save you.

Geo will find a way to make you feel small—whether it’s the way he looms over you, stepping just a little too close so you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, or how he deliberately slows his movements, reminding you just how much bigger and stronger he is.

And let me tell you—he eats that shit up.

Not in an obvious way, though. Geo isn’t Crowe; he’s not gonna outright tease you about it. But the moment he catches on how do you react?

Oh, he leans into it.

Casually backing you into a counter like he just happened to move that way, dropping his voice a little lower when he speaks, making you hyper-aware of just how much space he takes up.

And then—the worst part?

When you say something to him, he doesn’t just answer like a normal person. No. Geo has to lean down, real slow, get right in your space, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable before letting out a low, amused “Mm?”

Sir. Sir. You heard me the first time.

And he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The little shift of his lips, the faintest smirk in his eyes—he gets a kick out of watching you react. He won’t admit it, but he definitely enjoys making you flustered.

Now, about his strength. Because Geo isn’t just big—he’s ridiculously strong. And instead of being normal about it, he’s just out here carrying you whenever he feels like it.

This man is a Great Dane in human form. Yes, I get why people compare him to a cat—he’s broody, standoffish, and acts like he doesn’t care. But the second he’s comfortable around you? Boom. Massive, clingy, overgrown puppy. A whole 6’2” worth of muscle that has zero concept of personal space.

Like picture this: You’re in the kitchen, minding your business, when suddenly—boom. A wall of man is right behind you, hands casually gripping your hips, chin resting on top of your head. "What you doing in here?"

Sir. SIR. You nearly throw the spatula. You didn’t even hear him come in, and now he’s just standing there, pressed against you like your own personal shadow. And the worst part? He does this constantly.

Geo will randomly sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder—unbothered. He’s not even trying to start anything; he just likes being close to you. Like some big, scary-looking human-weighted blanket with zero boundaries.

And honestly? He thinks it’s cute.

(It is cute, but we are not feeding his ego.)

Now, let’s discuss his obsession with carrying you. Because Geo will carry you. And no, not just when it’s "necessary." This man will find any excuse to pick you up.

Can’t reach something? He lifts you. Feeling lazy? Over his shoulder, you go.

Trying to argue with him? Congratulations. You have been physically removed from the conversation. He doesn’t even struggle.

"Geo, PUT ME DOWN."

You could be fighting for your life, yelling at him to put you down, and he’s just walking away, completely unbothered.

"Nah." And the worst part? He’s lowkey smirking.

This man is carrying you like you weigh absolutely nothing, while you’re over here kicking your feet in protest—and he is loving every second of it. I swear to God, you’re his weakness.

Right, let’s talk about Geo’s weaknesses.

Because for all his composure, all his brooding, mysterious, cold-hearted bastard energy, the man is insanely sensitive. His chest? His stomach?

Absolute weak spots.

You don’t even have to try hard—just a light brush of your fingers along his torso, and suddenly, boom. His breath hitches, his muscles tense, and his whole body betrays him. And oh, he hates that.

Geo, who prides himself on being unshakable, unreadable, completely in control, and yet? A simple touch has him slipping. Just for a second—but it’s enough. Enough for you to see it. That momentary flicker in his expression, the way his brows furrow like he’s fighting off a reaction.

Geo is not immune. And if you really want to break him? Focus on his chest. And since he is an asshole that also means that he is petty.

Like what you’ll do to him he will absolutely do it right back at you in the unexpected moment so— that’s how he ended up becoming obsessed with your body because you simply just could not stop touching him which I don’t blame you so.

Like doesn’t even matter even why, he’s obsessed—no possessive… of your body like he would never tell you what to wear personally, but he would definitely like to keep it for his eyes view, depending on what you’re wearing.

Trust me on this like he doesn’t even need therapy as long as that you’re exist, and that’s enough. There is not a single session where his hands aren’t on you in some way. And the worst part?

Half the time, he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

It’s absentminded.

Resting his palm over your chest while cuddling? Check. Idly tracing patterns against your skin while zoning out? Check. Acting like a human-weighted blanket with grabby hands? Double check.

But when is he aware of it? Oh, he’s shameless.

Like I know, I’m rambling at this point. I’m supposed to be talking about kinks but like let me ramble—please after all the researching I have done for his character???

Also, Geo is so touch-starved, it’s almost pitiful.

This man hates people. Hates when they fawn over him. Hates when they get too close. He keeps his distance, keeps himself cold, and it works. It suits him. Until you come along and absolutely ruin him.

Because now? He notices everything.

You, brushing your hand against his? Feels like a goddamn brand. He’ll be scrubbing the memory from his brain while on his morning run, furious that it’s still there.

You, touching him even casually? Oh, he’s doomed.

And of course, because Geo is the worst, his response is to be even more of an asshole to you. His usual indifference turns cutting. His words get sharper, his tone a little meaner—we love a toxic man. I’m lying. But does that stop him from wanting you? No.

Geo wants his hands on you. Constantly.

Kissing, touching, staring—he’s got to feel you under his fingers. And the best part? He doesn’t even bother to pretendlike it’s anything other than pure obsession.

You ask him, “Why are you so obsessed with touching me?” And he gives you that look. The one that says, “How dare you ask something so stupid.” The one that could reduce you to ash if it were any more intense.

His face is unreadable, as if you’ve just asked him why the sky is blue or why pizza is delicious. And then, with all the seriousness in the world, he mutters in that tone of his, “Feels nice.”

Like it’s a universal truth—as if you were the crazy one for not getting it. Duh. Yeah, he's intimidating. Yeah, he's moody. Yeah, he gives off serious "I’m a brick wall with emotional issues" vibes. But when it comes to you?

Oh, he’s a whole different kind of animal.

He’s a soft, body-worshipping, touch-starved menace who refuses to let you out of his grip. Ever. And you know what? It’s kind of cute, in an incredibly irritating way. He’s like a big, clingy puppy with a very dangerous bite.

And when it comes to sex? Forget it. Geo’s not just here to do the bare minimum. No, no. He’s going to make sure you feel every single second of it.

Geo? He’s slow. He’s deliberate. He’s the kind of guy who’s in no rush because he wants to savor it.

The way your body clenches around him, the way your breath catches when he pushes deeper. The way your lips stretch to fit him and your little hands look like they could barely wrap around his.

Every single tiny detail drives him absolutely insane, and he’s not going to rush through any of it.

He’s going to take his sweet time.

And Geo’s Version of Aftercare: Affectionately Rude

Listen, if you’re expecting Geo to be the type to light candles, whisper sweet nothings, or pull you into a warm, cozy embrace post-intimacy, I have some unfortunate news for you. That is not happening. Not in this lifetime, not in the next.

Soft blankets? No.

Gentle forehead kisses? Absolutely not.

Deep emotional talks? He’d rather perish.

But!—and this is important—he’s not about to treat you like some random one-night stand either. He might be an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole.

So what does Geo’s version of aftercare look like?

Step 1: The Bossy Bathroom Break

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s already on it. “Go to the bathroom.”

If you protest, he doesn’t argue—he just picks you up like a damn sack of flour and drops you off there himself. “I’m not carrying your ass to the ER for an infection. Move.”

Step 2: The No-Nonsense Cleanup

When you get back, he’s already waiting—arms crossed, tossing you a towel like it’s a mandatory post-battle debriefing. “Here. Clean yourself up.”

Oh, you’re tired? Sore? Struggling to move? Tough luck. Geo isn’t about to baby you, but if he sees you wobbling, he’ll just exhale through his nose, snatch the towel back, and do it himself. And of course, he won’t say why—he’ll just grumble under his breath like it’s some massive inconvenience, but his hands?

Ridiculously gentle.

Step 3: The Hoodie Toss

Cleanup done? Great. Now brace yourself, because a hoodie is coming straight for your face. “Get dressed.” No further explanation.

You’re putting on his clothes, and that’s final.

Step 4: The Food Situation

Geo’s not completely heartless—let’s get that straight. He knows you’re probably starving after he just ruined the living shit out of you, so he’ll either begrudgingly make you something himself—while fucking complaining the entire time or order takeout like a responsible adult.

And listen, I’m willing to bet that he’s shirtless while he’s doing this. Not for your benefit, of course—no, Geo doesn’t do things just to be nice. It’s probably because he’s too lazy to put a shirt back on after throwing his hoodie at you earlier.

But hey, I’m not complaining. NEITHER OF YOU

Just… be careful. You might think you’re sneaky, watching him from the bed, enjoying the view as he moves around, all toned arms and broad shoulders. But trust me—he will catch you staring.

And when he does? That knowing scoff of his will be downright insufferable.

“Like what you see? Take a picture, simp."

And just like that, any last bit of dignity you had left?

Gone.

Step 5: The Accidental Softness

But here’s where it gets interesting.

At some point, you notice it. The way his hands—big, warm, and calloused from years of archery—start slowly running over your sides. Not in a calculated way, not in an obvious way. Just absentmindedly. Like he’s not even thinking about it, just feeling.

And for all his gruffness, there’s something about the way he touches you that feels different. Like he’s grounding himself. Like, without even realizing it, he’s making sure you’re still there.

His fingers trace over your skin, gentle but firm, almost possessive. As if he’s silently reminding himself, Yeah. This happened. You’re mine. You’re still here.

And the moment you point it out?

Oh, he snaps out of it so fast. LIKE DUDE STOP RUINING THE MOMENT!!

You’re forced to sit on the living room, couch, waiting for Geo begrudgingly ordered or what he cock on the couch because—God forbid do not eat in this man’s bed he will curse you out, which I don’t blame him. I hate people eating in my bed, too.

When you pause, squinting at him.

“The hell are you looking at?” he mutters, catching your stare.

“You were touching me.”

Geo barely reacts, just raising an eyebrow. “…And?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “So you do care.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to argue. Instead, he exhales sharply, shoving your food container or plate closer to you.

“Eat your damn food.” But here’s the theme as he’s looking away. You can tell the redness on his pale face so you definitely did something.

Classic Geo. Affection? Accidental. Care? Hidden under layers of attitude. But at the end of the day, he’s not letting you go.

And what’s the best part of all this?

He’s not letting you go anytime soon.

✑ Bondage (my fav…)

Y’all knew this was coming. I mean, how could I not talk about Geo and bondage? It’s honestly one of my favorites, and you’re about to see why.

Geo? He’s the type to be meticulous about it. We’re talking intricately tying your wrists and ankles—none of that rushed stuff.

He’s all about making sure the ropes are perfect, each knot tight and precise, just the right amount of pressure on your skin. The way the ropes caress your body as he pulls them snug—there’s something almost artistic about it.

He’s not just tying you up; he’s painting you with every knot and twist, his hands slow and deliberate as they move over your skin.

And then, when he's done, Geo doesn’t rush it. Oh no, he stands over you for a few moments, just watching. And he’s not watching with concern or any weird sense of urgency. Nah. He’s watching you squirm—studying you, as if he’s seeing how you react to being bound in his ropes, how you shift and struggle.

He loves seeing how the ropes hold you in place, watching how you can’t move the way you want, like you’re completely at his mercy.

His eyes—those unreadable, sharp eyes—never leave you, and in that moment, it’s like everything is just about you. The way you tug at the restraints, the way your body shifts trying to find some freedom, the soft little gasps as you move.

And he’s loving every single second of it.

He’s a tallllll guy, so the way you’re all tied up beneath him just makes him feel even bigger, like you’re trapped in his world, and there's no escape. And don’t even get me started on the way he’s so smug about it. He knows exactly how much control he has, and he’s not shy about relishing in it.

And just when you think he’s about to do something, he’ll pause—making you wait. Because if there’s one thing Geo loves more than anything, it’s the anticipation. That long, drawn-out pause before he decides to make his next move.

Oh—oh my god, let’s talk about sensory deprivation—because Geo has a bit of a thing for that. And guess what? It goes hand-in-hand with his extensive love of tying you up.

Geo’s collection of soft rope, however his silk ribbons is practically a work of art. Seriously. He’s got them all—every color you can imagine. But his favorites? Dark purple, black, and maybe a bit of red for that extra flair.

You know the red ribbon that always be in his hair? 🤭

You know, the same ribbons he uses to tie his hair? Yeah, those ones. But here’s the thing: those same ribbons are going to be used to tie YOU up.

It’s almost like a twisted little fashion show, except this time, you’re his model.

Add little more fun ask him take pictures of you, I’m sure he’s willing to comply. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be hesitant at first, but trust me it’s a fair trade.

He loves the way the silk glides through his fingers as he ties you up, each knot like a little secret, a personal touch only he knows. And then, once you're tied up and helpless, that's when the fun begins.

Again, he’s all about the build-up.

He’ll take his time, letting the anticipation hang thick in the air, like you both know what's coming but he’s not in any rush. He might even brush a finger over your skin just enough to tease you, before pulling away like he’s got all the time in the world.

He does. He always does.

And once you're all tied up, there’s this weird moment where everything is heightened. Without sight, without sound, every little thing Geo does to you feels more intense.

You can feel the air shift when he moves, the heat of his body close by but never enough. You hear the slightest sound, and your entire body tenses, wondering what he’s going to do next.

Then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he’s there, his fingers brushing over the silk ribbons, admiring how they look against your skin.

And that? That’s when he smirks HE DOES IT WHEN HIS BOBY IS FACING AWAY FROM YOU. Because he knows exactly how much this is driving you wild, and he’s not even close to done.

And trust me, you’ll be squirming in more ways than one.

✑ Katoptronophilia

Let’s talk about Katoptronophilia, or as it’s commonly known, mirror sex.

Oh yeah, Geo is totally into it, he have to be, and honestly?

I’m shocked you didn’t see this coming. The man is a walking contradiction of brooding intensity and twisted fascination with aesthetics, and mirrors?

I’m not saying that he see himself as perfect, but he definitely wants to keep up his clean appearance.

Well, they’re his perfect tool for both.

Geo? He has mirrors everywhere in his place. It’s almost a little excessive, honestly, but then again, it makes sense. He’s constantly checking his reflection, especially after those private workouts.

MAYBE a few flexes here, a few glances there—just to make sure his ‘I’m too cool to smile’ vibe is intact, right? But here's the twist: it’s not just about his reflection anymore.

Geo loves watching you in front of a mirror. He’s not obsessed with his own reflection, oh no. He’s captivated by you—your movements, your expressions.

He loves it when you catch yourself in the mirror, when you get distracted by the way your body looks. It’s like you’ve given him an excuse to slip in behind you, without a single word.

Imagine this, theses are my delusions: You’re putting on a simple gloss, just trying to get ready for the day, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

But then… you feel him.

Geo’s presence is like a shadow that makes the air a little thicker. He stands there, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, but you’re too focused on your lips to notice. He watches as you press the gloss on, lips glistening, your reflection sparkling under the light.

And then, the moment you don’t expect it, his hands are on your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes trace the mirror. His voice is a low, teasing murmur, almost playful: “You look good. You know that, right?”

You think he’s just commenting on your outfit. Oh no.

Geo’s temptation? To mess it up.

That’s right, his eyes flick down to your lips, and the only thing stopping him from ruining that glossy shine is his overwhelming urge to keep you distracted. His lips are close to yours, and he can practically taste the anticipation, his hands tightening around you just enough to remind you he’s there.

It’s like he gets a kick out of making you aware of the fact that he’s behind you, studying your reflection. And maybe just a little bit more into watching you lose control of that mirror.

For example, It was one of those rare, lazy days where neither of you had any pressing work to do, and Geo was not thrilled about it. The man is built to be active, always on the move, constantly lifting or running or pushing himself to the limit. But today? He was stuck at a slower pace, and honestly?

He was grumbling about it.

You, on the other hand, were doing your best to get him to actually relax—something he hates with a passion, but deep down, he knew he needed it. So, with a few gentle suggestions, you managed to convince him to settle down on the couch. But knowing Geo, it didn’t take long for things to take a turn.

There you were, sitting in his lap, your back against his broad chest as his face buried into your shoulder. He was mumbling into your skin, the low hum of his voice sending shivers down your spine as his arms wrapped tightly around you.

He was trying, trying so hard to be calm, but the proximity, the way your body moved just slightly under his hands—it made it harder for him to focus.

The thing was, Geo couldn’t stay still for long.

Not when you were close.

So, as you shifted in his lap, trying to get more comfortable, he couldn't help but tighten his grip, pulling you just a little closer. His face pressed deeper into your neck, the weight of his body felt warm and heavy, his breath ghosting along your skin.

"Stop squirming," he mumbled against your ear, though there was an edge to his voice—one that made it clear he wasn’t as relaxed as he let on. His fingers began to trace over your sides, gradually finding their way lower, guiding your movements with soft but firm pressure.

And then, you noticed it—right in front of you two, the full-length mirror.

It was like the universe had set it up just for this moment. You caught a glimpse of yourself, your body moving against his, his fingers rubbing in time with your shifts. The reflection only made it worse—made you more aware of the fact that every tiny movement of your body, every little gasp or twitch, was being mirrored, amplified, observed.

Geo was watching you carefully, studying your reflection as much as he was focused on how you were guiding him. He could see your fingers fidgeting on top of his hands, guiding him where to rub your clothed pussy, where to touch—each motion becoming more deliberate as you tried to maintain some semblance of control.

“Geo, please…” you breathed, unable to help the way your own body responded, shifting to meet his touch. Geo’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking between your reflection and your face, watching as you squirmed in his arms.

There was something electric about this—something that pushed all his patience to the limit, something he couldn’t ignore. His hand moved again, more firmly now, following your lead as you guided him, your body responding to every slow, deliberate movement.

The way the mirror captured everything—the way your body arched against his, the quiet moans slipping from your lips, the way your eyes locked with his in the reflection as you both lost track of time—it was almost like you were both trapped in a moment, caught between the pleasure of the present and the art of watching you unfold.

Geo might’ve been the one leading the way, but you were the one showing him just how much control you had, even in a moment like this.

Now watching his bare cock lined up on your stomach as you sat on his lap, reaching way past your belly button, talking about just how small you are compared to him, and wondering how he’s gonna make it fit.

As the minutes ticked by, the air in the room thickened, almost like it was holding its breath. The only sounds were the soft rhythmic movement of your bodies pressing together, and the small, breathless noises that escaped you as you rode him.

Geo watched you with those predatory eyes, his grip tightening around your waist as you squirmed above him, just enough to drive him insane. He was nothing if not patient—insufferably patient, in fact—and he knew exactly how to draw this out. Every movement you made, every quiet whimper that slipped past your lips, only served to fuel his sick little plan.

He wasn’t going to let you win. Not yet.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you felt the heat of his breath on your neck, each exhale making your skin prickle with anticipation.

But you couldn’t hold back anymore, could you?

You were close, so close to the point where you needed him to take control, to make it stop. You were whimpering now, clinging to him, begging for him to take over.

Geo’s lips sighed into that knowing look. He could hear it in your voice—how you were unraveling on his cock. He keeps you close until his abdomen is drenched in your slick, chuckling under his breath when you whine.

And he loved it. His thumbs traced slow circles over the plush flesh of your waist, the pressure light but deliberate.

Every time you tried to hold back a mewl, he'd hum in response—low, condescending, almost amused by your desperation.

"Giving up already?" he’d tease, his voice like velvet, coated in that dangerous edge of satisfaction. "Pathetic."

But the truth was, Geo was bone-tired.

Not in the sense that he was worn out, but in the way that only you could fill the void for him. He didn’t need anything but you, right there, straddling him, your body pressed against his. His face buried into your neck, savoring the warmth of your skin, the sweet, familiar scent of you that drove him wild. It wasn’t about control anymore.

It was about feeling you, grounding himself in the sensation of being with you, connected in the most primal way.

And still, even when you were frozen, not moving an inch—your body so deeply connected to his—he felt it. The pressure, the way you clung to him, the way it was making both of you dizzy. It was too much.

You were too tight, too perfect, too intoxicating.

And then, just when you thought it was too much to bear, when you were on the edge, your mind fogged with lust, Geo pulled away.

Just a little. Enough to make you ache. Enough to make your whole body tremble in frustration. You could feel the absence of him like a physical pull, and your breath hitched. The tease was unbearable.

He wasn’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot. Geo enjoyed watching you suffer, toying with you, letting you think he was finally going to let you have your release. And then, when you were this close—he'd pull away again, dragging out the torment.

Just enough to send you spiraling into your own frustration.

And that? That was when he felt alive—pressing himself up away from the mattress, just enough to lift you off the bed too with ease. He doesn’t waste time, picking you up like you're weightless and pulling you flush against his chest, your arms snaking around his neck and your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

You’re not going anywhere—not that you’d want to.

And that’s when he goes to town, fucking into you with a brutal, relentless pace. Every thrust is calculated, every movement intentional, as he watches the mess you're making in the mirror.

You can see everything—the way you squirm, the way your lips part in breathless pleasure, the way your body trembles against him. And just when you think you can’t take anymore, he’s there—pushing you further, harder, faster. You sink your nails into his shoulders as he held you close, the sting of your grip only making him press into you deeper.

Geo doesn’t just push you back onto the mattress—he somewhat shoves you, forcing you to feel the weight of his strength as he pins you down.

There’s no hesitation, no softness, just raw, unrelenting dominance. His hand presses firmly against your stomach, palm splayed out possessively, applying just enough pressure to remind you exactly how deep he is.

And then, because he’s an absolute menace, he leans down, voice a low, mocking drawl right against your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with condescension. “Taking me so well… like you were made for this.”

He watches your reaction with that signature smirk—half amusement, half arrogance—because he knows he’s wrecking you. And when you’re struggling to respond, barely holding yourself together?

Geo just chuckles, pressing down on your stomach a little harder.

“C’mon,” he taunts, voice dark and teasing. “Where’d all that attitude go? You were talking plenty of shit earlier.”

Oh my god, am I actually into degrading?

Then, that beautiful moment when you cry out his name, torn between wanting him to keep going or begging him to stop. It feels so damn good you can't decide.

Your body shakes and trembles, not sure whether it’s from the pleasure or the overwhelming sensation of being so completely consumed by him.

You tell him you’re in control this time.

You insist you’ll fuck him this time—you’re going to win.

But deep down, you know how it ends every single time. No matter how much you try to convince him, Geo always wins.

Who wouldn't want a man like that, who knows exactly how to leave you breathless, on the edge of losing yourself?

And frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here’s sweet baby boy Hyugo—Hyugo Sugimoto !Honestly, writing him is lowkey a challenge, especially compared to someone like Geo, but since I have a soft spot for the brothers more than the main leads (yes, even with all their complex personalities), I’m doing it for y’all.

But anyway, let’s talk about Hyugo.

He’s literally the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, hands down. Even though his outfits are on the simple side, his youthful energy just makes him glow.

He’s got this oval-shaped face, a bit baby-faced, and his sky-blue eyes are sparkling with that innocent charm. His lips are thin, but there's this softness about him that makes you want to believe he's just the nicest guy ever.

But, and here’s the thing—don’t let that sweet face fool you.

We all know the cutest, most innocent-looking ones can hide some serious secrets, right? They say looks can be deceiving, and trust me, with Hyugo, that’s an understatement.

So, the big question—can you see Hyugo as kinky?

For me? Hell yeah, absolutely.

For others? Maybe they think he’s just sweet and harmless, but I’m not taking any chances. After the stuff he pulls in the game? Nah, I’m not falling for that "good boy" act. That man’s got layers, and some of them are not nearly as innocent as they seem.

I mean, let’s be real, the guy knows how to get exactly what he wants without ever breaking a sweat.

✑ Switch (Sub side…)

Now, let’s dive into baby boy Hyugo's preferences, shall we?

Just like his best buddy Sol, Hyugo is a switch—and when I say switch, I mean capital S to the H—A. SWITCH. No questions asked.

Now, imagine my surprise when I learned he used to be a virgin, and the dude did it with a man?

Yeah, he's a switch.

I have no idea who's doing the bending (or maybe that’s the whole point, right?), but I’m calling it like I see it. Hyugo can take both roles and absolutely slay in either of them.

Meanwhile, Sol's out here second-guessing every text he sends, wondering if he's being too much or not enough, texting wrong men for validation. We love him, but come on, bro. Hyugo, on the other hand, is living his best life.

Like, imagine this: Hyugo, all giggly and kicking his feet, waiting for you to reply to his sweet dinner invitation text. You send back a “Can’t wait!” and he’s over the moon, practically bouncing off the walls. He’s so happy you’re with him, it’s honestly the cutest thing ever.

And when you’re together? Oh, he holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He’s got that combination of shock and glee—like he can’t believe you’re actually here with him.

You’re tugged into his side with every step, and he’s showering you with little kisses on your temple, just so happy to have you close.

Like, Hyugo is a sweetheart, but don’t let that fool you. Beneath that cute, giggling exterior is a switch who knows exactly what he wants—and trust me, he’s not afraid to get it.

Hyugo? Yeah, the moment that door to your apartment clicks shut behind him, he’s a completely different person.

All that sweet, baby-faced charm? Gone.

He transforms into someone much wilder, more needy. It’s like the minute he's in private with you, he’s letting down all his defenses.

And yeah, most of the time, Hyugo’s a sub. He’s got that soft, touch-starved side that craves affection and care. He wants you to baby him, in the way only you can—gentle, but with that touch that makes him feel seen and wanted. You can tell he's a little starved for it, much like his brother Geo.

However Hyugo knows how to hold it back a little more, unlike his best buddy Sol. No offense to Sol, but he’s just a tad more... obvious about it, right?

Anyway, Hyugo? It’s like a delicate balance of needing you while still holding on to his cool exterior until it all comes crashing down.

Now, don’t get me wrong, like I said Hyugo loves when you baby him.

He may not openly admit it, but the way his eyes soften when you shower him with attention? Yeah, it’s more than enough evidence. He might even have a little bit of a thing for being pampered and cared for, but I won’t dive into that—not my cup of tea. Mommy kink.

But that doesn’t mean his desires stop there. Oh no, once you’ve got him behind closed doors, the sweetness can turn into something else entirely.

Because let me tell you something—Hyugo does NOT do slow and sensual. The second he hears anything remotely related to sex, it’s like flipping a switch. He’ll be pounding into you like it’s the last time you two will ever touch, and he’s not exactly taking his time. There’s an urgency there, like he’s starving for you in the most primal way.

And your breasts? Forget about it.

You cannot keep him off of them. He’s all over them, kissing, sucking, mouthing at them like they’re the best thing in the world. Hyugo’s hands are never far away, especially when they’re roaming, taking every chance to squeeze, kiss, or just touch whatever he can get his hands on.

But here’s the thing: he loves being told what to do. He thrives on direction, on being guided, and the more you tease him, the more he wants.

Deny him just a little, though?

Oh, that’s when he gets even more worked up. Being denied? It’s like a whole new level of arousal for him, something about the frustration only makes him more desperate.

Hyugo’s a mess in the best way—he craves attention, craves being controlled, and craves all of you. So when you finally give in and take control, he’s lost to the feeling, ready for whatever comes next.

And trust me, you will feel it.

✑ Semi-public (My lord…)

Hyugo? Baby, he’s got a serious thrill-seeking side, and it shows.

The boy is daring, and when he wants you, he doesn’t waste time hiding it. You think he’s just a sweet, baby-faced guy? Think again. He’s into semi-public situations, and he thrives off the danger of it. No place is off-limits for him, even the college roof—the place he loves to hang out at when he needs some space, away from the rules and prying eyes.

But with you? He doesn’t care about the risk.

When he’s on that the college roof, staring out at the world, there’s a fire in his eyes, and the second he gets you alone, the rules don’t matter. He wants you ‘right there’, right then, and you can bet he’s not shy about it.

The thrill of being seen, even just for a second, turns him on more than anything. He wants the world to know you're his, and he’ll do anything to get a taste of that danger. The whole atmosphere is thick with anticipation, the tension between you so palpable that it almost crackles.

And when it comes to foreplay?

Don’t even get me started on how obsessed he is with dry-humping. The second the two of you are close, it’s like an instinctual need for friction. You can feel the heat building as he presses into you, his body grinding and frotting against yours.

There’s no subtlety here—he’s desperate for that contact, desperate to feel your body move against his. Every little roll of his hips, every grind, is a game of inches as he gets closer and closer to losing control. He’s completely lost in the sensation, like he can’t get enough.

And then, when he can’t stand it anymore, when that desperation peaks and you’ve been teasing him just enough—he rips your clothes off. Right then. Right there. It’s not even about taking his time anymore; it’s all about the raw need. He’s done holding back, and in that moment, all that matters is the frantic urgency to have you, to touch you.

There’s no question in his mind—he needs you now.

Like that boy will get off any way he can if it means getting that release. And it’s not even about subtlety, he just needs to do it.

Now, for a fun little twist: He’s definitely into pegging. I’m not saying he’s screaming for it every minute of the day, but when the right time comes, he’s all about it. There’s just something about it that turns him on in a way nothing else can. He will beg you to fuck his tight little asshole until he makes a mess.

But honestly, that’s Hyugo—always a little more complicated than you might think.

And when it comes to moaning? That boy whines and moans like a fucking bitch when you’re going at him. It’s like every little sensation sends him spiraling into this blissed-out mess. He just can’t help it, and you’ll quickly learn that his whimpering is one of the sexiest sounds in the world.

But don’t get it twisted—he loves being treated right.

He loves that softness, that attention.

But there’s a part of him that wants to be pushed a little, taken advantage of in a way that leaves him desperate. You can take your frustrations out on him, just a little. He won’t break. He might even love it more than you expect.

When it comes to degradation, Hyugo’s not into anything too harsh, but call him your slut? Oh, you’re speaking his language now.

That little spark in his eye will light up every time you remind him who he belongs to. He won’t admit it, but he loves being labeled that way, that submissive title making him feel just a little bit more desperate, a little more needed. So yeah, don’t be fooled by the baby-faced charm—Hyugo is a lot more than he lets on.

Treat him right, give him what he craves, and you’ll be surprised at just how wild he gets when you push his buttons.

✑ Overstimulation

And then there’s overstimulation.

Sometimes, it’s not even intentional, but it’s inevitable with Hyugo. You feel so damn good above him, your body responding to every touch, every thrust. He’s chasing that high, pulling you closer to the edge again and again until your body can’t take it.

And Hyugo’s a man who knows what he wants and may ur may not beg for it, and he loves when you take control, especially when it comes to pulling his soft hair.

The way his breath hitches whenever your fingers tangle in his hair—that’s his weakness. He’s yours, every inch of him, and he’s not shy about showing it. Each time you yank his hair, you can hear the shameless moans slip from his lips.

It drives him crazy, his body reacting to every tug, and it only fuels the fire between you two. He’s not just giving—he’s taking, fully immersed in the feeling, and you can tell by the way his tongue works at your trembling walls.

And let me tell you, this man is all about cunnilingus.

There’s nothing soft or shy about it; Hyugo’s a big eater, and he’s hungry for you. When his lips press to your pussy, it’s like he’s starving, devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in days. His arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

He licks, sucks, and nibbles with a feverish intensity, working his way through every inch of you, as if he’ll die if he doesn't get every drop.

Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, his tongue relentless, but you can’t stop the heat it builds. You’ll squirm and tug at his hair, urging him on, and he just pulls you closer, deeper into the sensation.

Hyugo’s eye contact is deadly. When he wants you, he’s not looking away. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head, forcing you to look at him. He demands that you keep your eyes on him, guiding you with his fiery gaze.

Those eyes of his? Thoes soft eyes turns Intense. Piercing. He’s studying every little thing about you—the way your pupils dilate with desire, the flutter of your lashes as he pushes you further, deeper.

The intensity of his gaze makes it all feel so much more real. He doesn’t need to say a word; his eyes speak louder than anything.

You’re a shaking mess in his arms, your muscles aching, your mind overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you. But that’s the thing about him—he won’t stop.

He doesn’t care about your begging, about how much you can take; he wants to see you lose yourself, to feel you break into a thousand pieces in his arms.

And when you finally do, he’s yours.

Completely, utterly yours.

✑ Role play

Oh, baby boy is all about the roleplay.

And no, let me clear that up right now, he's not into anything dangerous or dark—no gunplay, no assassin fantasies (he never even brings up his questionable word side to you, thank you very much).

But when it comes to the playful stuff? Oh, he’s all in. His absolute favorite? Cops and robbers. But here’s the twist—he loves being the one arrested.

There’s something about you in charge, giving him that commanding look, your fingers brushing over the cuffs, the way you look him up and down like you’re about to throw him in the back of your car that drives him wild.

Humiliation? Oh, Hyugo lives for it. You can see it in his eyes when the teasing starts, the way his entire demeanor shifts—there’s a naughty little spark that lights up in his gaze whenever you call him out.

You both know the game, and you’re always more than happy to play along.

It starts simple enough, just a teasing glance or a casual remark. But the more you push him, the more he wants to be pushed. You lower your voice, your hand brushing over his thigh as you lean in, whispering in his ear, “Such a good little whore for me, huh? You can’t get enough of it, can you?��

His breath hitches, a flicker of a smirk crossing his face as he tries to hold it together. But, oh, you know better. The words trip over his tongue as he fumbles, his voice dropping a little—just enough for you to hear the hesitation, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to keep under wraps.

“W-wait, I didn’t… I didn’t say—” His words stutter, barely escaping, and you can already see the flush rising in his cheeks. The little twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him, and the smug grin you're wearing only deepens.

Gotcha.

“Oh, but you’re looking so cute right now, all flustered. It’s adorable how easily you fold under just a few words.” You can’t help but tease, watching him squirm under your touch. His cheeks are flushed, his breath uneven, and his eyes are flickering, darting away, trying to avoid the weight of your gaze.

But you won’t let him escape.

You never do.

He tries to play it off, shifting uncomfortably, biting his lip as he avoids looking you directly in the eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you, to make it stop, but he can’t. Not yet.

“You know,” you continue, letting the silence stretch before adding, “you look so cute when you try to act like you’re not loving every second of this. You’re my slutty little toy, and you know it, don’t you?”

The words sink in, and you watch his entire body tense. His throat works as if he’s about to protest, but all that comes out is a frustrated little moan. “S-stop… I’m not—”

“You’re not?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow, “Then why are you blushing so much? Why do you look like you’re about to come just from me saying those words?”

He stammers, unable to form any coherent argument, his voice cracking with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t… you can’t—”

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “It’s okay, Hyugo. I know you’re mine. You’re just too cute when you try to act like you’re not my little slut. You’ll never be able to hide that from me.”

And with that, his face burns even brighter, his attempts at deflecting your words turning into soft, desperate whimpers. It’s game over for him, and he knows it. His body betrays him every single time.

You can’t help but love watching him squirm under the weight of your teasing, his mouth opening, but no words coming out as he struggles to keep his composure.

This game? You’re always the winner. And Hyugo?

Well, he’s always more than happy to play.

✑ Cheirophilia

Hear me out—Cheirophilia.

Oh, Hyugo? That boy lives for touch. He’s naturally affectionate, always finding little excuses to run his fingers along your skin, tracing lazy circles on your palm, interlocking fingers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek like he just hasto be touching you at all times.

So let’s be real—he’s got a thing for hands.

And not just in the oh, I like holding hands kind of way. No, no, this man will obsess over your hands. The shape of them, the way your fingers move, the strength of your grip. He notices everything.

How your nails look when they drag across his back, how soft your palms feel when you cup his face, how effortlessly your fingers wrap around his throat when you push him down and remind him exactly who he belongs to.

Hyugo melts when you play with his hands, too. Run your fingers along the lines of his palms? He shudders. Press a kiss to his knuckles? He’s giggling like a schoolgirl. Lace your fingers with his and tighten your grip just slightly? He’s already giving you those fuck-me eyes.

And don’t even get him started on watching you use your hands. The way you gesture when you talk, the way your fingers curl when you beckon him closer—he’s hanging onto every movement, completely entranced.

If he’s sitting across from you, he’ll grab your hand mid-conversation just to absentmindedly play with your fingers, pressing them to his lips like it’s second nature.

But in the bedroom? Oh, baby, you’re in trouble.

Hyugo adores watching your hands work on him. Gripping his hair, clawing at his back, holding him down—he’s watching every single twitch of your fingers with rapt attention.

He lives for the moment when your hands tremble just slightly from the pleasure, when you grip the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white, when your fingers sink into his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something while he ruins you.

And let’s be real, he loves having your hands around his throat. Not too rough, just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, his pulse racing under your fingertips. He’ll grin at you, eyes dark with mischief, voice breathy as he teases, “Tighter, please. You know I can take it.”

And you already know Hyugo’s got stamina for days.

He’s insatiable, always riled up and ready to go again before you’ve even caught your breath. One round isn’t enough—hell, two barely cuts it. If he’s spent one session melting under your touch, panting and begging for more, then the next?

Oh, he’s flipping the script, pinning you down, and making sure you remember exactly who he is.

And he takes his time with it.

Who’s spreading you apart, just fucking staring until you’re squirming?

Hyugo.

"No, pretty girl, let me look." His hands hold you still, thumbs pressing against your trembling thighs, watching with those hungry, sky-blue eyes—eyes that burn with amusement and desire as you try to close your legs.

But he won’t let you. Not until he’s had his fill, memorizing how ruined you already are before he even touches you properly.

Then, when you whimper his name, he just grins. "There she is." And then he’s diving in, suckling, licking, dragging his tongue over every inch like he’s starving.

Who’s got the nastiest mouth on him when your thighs are tossed over his shoulders, his cock pounding into you, relentless?

Hyugo.

"Hear how good you takin’ me, honey?" His voice is deep, ragged, lips curling into that cocky little smirk when he feels you tighten around him.

"Tryin’ to squeeze every last drop outta me, huh? Greedy thing." His fingers dig into your hips, holding you down, making you feel every inch of him, and he’s watching you—eyes locked onto the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your hands grasp at the sheets, at him.

And let’s be honest, who’s absolutely wrecked the moment he feels your walls start to flutter around him?

Hyugo.

"Fuck—lemme inside one more time, yeah? Will ya let me, beautiful, please?" His breath is hot against your neck, lips brushing against your ear as he pleads, as he begs.

"Wanna have me leaking outta you for days, please—" His body trembles, overwhelmed and desperate, rutting into you with everything he has left. And when you finally give in, whispering his name, he shatters.

And afterward? He’s all clingy and cuddly, wrapping himself around you, arms locked tight like he never wants to let go. He buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses against your skin, murmuring, "Was I good for you? Made you feel good, yeah?"—and the way he says it, voice soft, needy, full of quiet vulnerability, makes your heart ache.

But oh, when he’s the one pushing your buttons?

That’s when the real game begins.

Hyugo lives for a power play. He’ll push and push, teasing you with every filthy little comment, every smug remark slipping from his lips, knowing exactly how to make you crack.

The more you try to act unaffected, the harder he digs in. Hands wandering, lips ghosting over your skin, voice dropping into something slow and deliberate, thick with amusement.

"Aww, what’s the matter, babe? Tryna act all composed? Cute—" His fingers lace with yours, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, all innocent, but his grin says otherwise.

"But you know I see right through you, don’t you?" His lips brush against your ear, and he laughs when he feels the shiver that runs down your spine.

You pretend you don’t care.

But Hyugo? He knows better.

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