#his ears are a little big but at least they look good from this angle

[toyphotography-and-crafts]

Coeurl Cid! 😼

Inspired by @dunderella's design ❣️

[princessbrunette]

sometimes, pogue!rafe had a funny way of showing pogue!puppy!reader that he cared. if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was when she was mean to herself.

you’d had a slight meltdown.

it was one of those days, you were overstimulated, irritated, stressed — which in your head was a direct consequence of being sassy and rude, something you prided yourself on never being. in all honesty, rafe had enough on his plate — as impatient and strict as he could be, a little bit of attitude from his girl was the least of his worries.

but to you it was a big deal.

the two of you had come home and you’d been a mess of tears, choking on your saliva, barely able to breathe at the fact you’d been ‘so rude’ to rafe all because of your own bad mood. he was confused, to say the least. standing infront of you wearing that dirty wifebeater after work, face screwed up in concern.

“kid, m’not bothered. stop the crying, alright — it’s— it’s not needed. no one’s mad at you.” he was going to move past you, let you calm yourself down because he figured if you’d been so overstimulated maybe you just needed space and quiet time, but as he goes to do so he hears you hurl an insult — not towards him but yourself.

“i’m bad. i’m stupid and i’m just bad.” you sob, which stops him in his tracks. not on his watch.

that’s how you end up in a mean mating press, letting your big strong boyfriend massage those bad feelings out from the inside. he was mad now, not because of this so called attitude you had, but because you had talked badly on yourself when you knew rafe didn’t approve of that.

you continue to cry, whining and wriggling in his firm grasp as he holds you still. “nah, nah quit runnin’ and repeat what i’m tellin’ you. look at me.” he grips your jaw, forcing you to blink your hazy, sore gaze up at him. “alright — c’mon. say it.” he pants.

“no!” your expression crumbles, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks. you’d feel like a fraud, you tell yourself. you don’t believe the good things he wants you to say about yourself. irritated with this response, his eyes flutter, licking his lips before he grips you, yanking you into a new position. now, your ass is lurched into the ear in doggy style and you stabilising yourself on shaky hands, pushing yourself up to come face to face with the mirror by the bed.

his lips are at your ear now, talking low and mean as he holds your jaw up so that you can’t look away, staring yourself and him down through the reflective glass.

“say it. say you’re my good girl.” he grits through his teeth, cock stretching back through your walls from this new angle making your lashes flutter at the sensation.

“i’m— ohh,” you moan, weak and feeble as you hold your sniffles back. your boyfriend gives your cheek a firm tap to open your eyes back up.

“come on baby, c’mon.”

“i’m your good girl, rafe.” you mewl, the words settling high in your stomach between your ribs, the area where guilt would reside.

as soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re back to lying on your back. this time, he’s holding your thighs up and driving into you— hitting deeper than he was before with a determination you only saw during sex. your lip wobbles as he pants above you, breathless. “yeah. you are. right? don’t— don’t wanna hear you talkin’ all that shit about being bad okay? you’re my good girl. you’re my good girl. you are my good girl.” he repeats, each repetition of the affirmation punctuated by a firm thrust, tip kissing your cervix with a painful pleasure that he knew would stick in your memory — not wanting you to forget what he was telling you.

maybe if he said it enough times, you’d believe it.

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

[i-amm-mj]

Breeding kink - smut to fluff

afabreader! x Katsuki Bakugo

⚠️ smut, breeding kink, dirty talk, creampie ⚠️

Katsuki doesn´t come from a big a family, so he doesn´t know where this craving for impregnate you with at least four of his kids is coming from. He woke up one day with you beside him, and saw your beautiful body sprawled on the mattress and he realized that you had awoken his most primal desires. He wanted to fuck you day and night until he got you pregnant; until he could see your belly all rounded and your breasts swelling and big from the milk that he was going to help you got out with his own mouth.

“That´s it, baby” he growled in your ear while pounding his dick in and out of your pussy “I´m gonna give you all of my cum and you´re gonna take it like the good girl you are, right?” You were so lost on the pleasure that the only thing you could do was dumbly nod.  

 “I´m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Going to give you as many kids as you want” he gulped hard when your walls pulsed around his dick “you´d like that, wouldn´t you?” you moaned. His sinful words and the way his hips moved against your own had your head spinning without a single coherent thought allowed to form.

“Yes, yes, please” you closed your eyes trying to enjoy the feeling starting to erupt in your lower belly.

“Please what?” He smirked while adjusting himself on the bed so he could lift your left ancle to his shoulder and have a better angle to that spot inside that had you curling your toes.

“Plea-please make me a mommy. I want your cum deep inside me” his breath hitched. Fucking hell, he loved when you responded to his dirty talk even with your mind all numb from the sex “Oh, fuck, I´m so close Kats, don´t stop” you said, and he inclined towards you to exchange a passionate kiss. It didn´t matter that it was all teeth and tongue because it was so fucking hot. You were fucking hot.

“Give it to me, gorgeous. Cum on my dick. Make a mess on me” He continued pounding into you so deliciously. You could feel every vein on his dick and the way it pulsed inside you wanting to explode right there.

“Cum with me, Kats. Please cum with me” you begged. A shiver went through his spine and his dick almost burst at the way your voice shook with every word.

“Fuck, I´m close too” he answered furrowing his brows, concentrating on the way your pussy sucked him in. You were so fucking wet that it slipped easily. He hissed.

“Right there. Right there” you cried out and Katsuki moved his thumb on your clit to amplify the sensations. That was all you needed to reach your peak. You moaned even harder and convulsed around his dick which made him cum at the same time. He spurted his cum in your pussy like he promised and then collapsed on top of you. You massaged his scalp, and he purred in contentment.

“I´m serious though” he murmured after giving your collarbones a light kiss.

“About what?” you asked a little confused.

“Knocking you up with my children” you giggled. He raised his head from your chest and pouted “What´s so funny idiot?”

“Aren´t we too young?”

“We´re 26”

“Exactly” you answered with a smile “Kids are a great responsibility and a very big investment.”  

“I´m hero number 5 right now, and in a few years I´ll be number 1 if fucking Deku doesn´t beat me to it, but even if I´m number 2 for the rest of my career I´m sure I can provide even a family of ten. And I´m sure you´ll get promoted sooner or later too because you´re the fucking best at what you do.” He stated.

“Ten!? Omg, didn´t you say four!?”

“Plans change” he smirked playfully. You laughed softly but wholeheartedly. Katsuki loved your laugh. He loved everything about you.

“We are not even married Kats,” you caressed his face with a smile on your face “my mother would never forgive me having a child outside marriage.”

He considered his words for a few seconds, and you tried to guess what was going on in that pretty but stubborn head of his. He then looked you in the eye and without doubt said “Let´s get married then. What are we waiting for?”

[perotovar]

baby, i'm-a want you — (ch 2) "session two"

gif by me

pairing: javier peña/joel miller rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 4.3k content: use of a plug, throat fucking, ass eating, lots of spit, gratuitous descriptions of cum, unprotected p in a, creampie, (safe) breathplay, background handjob, cock slapping, one (1) spank, joel's porn persona is a tad mean but it's nothing crazy, shy!joel, javi is a HUGE flirt, smoking, lmk if i missed anything! dividers: @saradika-graphics betas: @qveerthe0ry & @scenaaario (ily angels ♥)

series summary: javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where javier and joel are gay porn stars~

series masterlist | shoutout to this spanish dirty talk reference

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary ♥

“Fuck.”

Javier hadn’t had to prepare in a while. At least a few months. And the fact that he was doing this for Joel, of all men? He was harder than a fucking rock and he hadn’t even gotten the plug all the way in yet. Granted, he’d purposely chosen a smaller plug so he could still feel the stretch when Joel pushed that thick–

“Mierda,” he groaned, looking over his shoulder to see if he could get a better angle. The plug he chose was small, black, and a little thinner than he would normally go for. It’s been a while, so no matter what, there was a stretch but the lube certainly helped. When his hole finally sucked it in lewdly, he moaned, arching his back like a cat presenting himself to a mate. He grinned to himself and rested his head on his folded arms, ass in the open air of his apartment. 

He wished that his first major scene with Joel wasn’t a scene. He wanted to see if Joel was any different when the cameras weren’t on and he could just be himself. Every time he’s ever talked to Joel, he’d been quiet, with a heavy brow. Javier had been around the block once or twice and he could tell when someone didn’t like him. He’s not sure what he did to get on Joel’s bad side, but he hoped that tension added to the scene instead of making things awkward. And part of him liked the rift. It made Joel way more attractive to him, because Joel was probably the closest the site had to a bear, but not as big. Javier had always wanted to be fucked by one– 

Bzz. Bzz.

Cracking open an eye, Javier looked as his phone lit up next to him. He sighed and started rolling his hips side to side, slowly getting used to the feeling of being filled up again.

R u ready ?

“Who still texts like this, Jesus Christ,” he grumbled to himself. A slow trickle of sweat fell down the length of his back as he started typing a response.

Be there shortly, boss.

Javier rolled his eyes to himself. Max was always on his ass about being on time, but it never bothered him. They couldn’t start the shoot without him anyway. His cock throbbed between his legs, making him curl his fingers around his shaft. 

One quick wank couldn’t hurt right? 

Joel was panicking, to put it mildly. He showed up to the shoot way too fucking early and now he was rocking a semi in the hallway outside the room they’d be using. They, meaning him and Javier, because of course he hadn’t fully processed that that was still happening. He couldn’t get the image of Javier’s mouth around his cock, that mustache framing it so perfectly. Or his hole being stretched by Joel’s cock, or even–

“Hey, big guy.”

The words sounded like they were coming from down the hall and directly in his ear simultaneously. He slowly looked up to find Javier smirking down at him. Joel swallowed around a lump in his throat and cleared his throat awkwardly. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Javier looked really fucking good – when didn’t he – with a healthy glow and slightly tousled hair. Had he freshly cleaned up his mustache this morning?

“Joel?” Javier chuckled, a soft smile coloring his features.

Joel cleared his throat again and stood awkwardly. “S-sorry, uh, hey,” he mumbled, looking down at his boots before keeping his eyes off of Javier’s, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where ya been?” 

It was meant to be casual conversation, he swears, but he’d lowered his voice and it came out all gruff and accusatory and now he wants to hide in the broom closet. He knows this because the easy, relaxed look on Javier’s changed to one of confusion.

“Uh, preparing. Sorry, I know I was a little later than usual,” Javier exhaled. Guess he was right; Joel wasn’t the biggest fan of his. That’s fine, he was a professional and he could get his job done and go home. “See you in there, hombre.”

Joel blinked a couple times, looking at the empty area of the hallway where Javier was just standing. “W-wait,” he grunted, looking toward the room. Javier was digging into the pocket of the robe he was wearing and lighting up a cigarette, blowing the smoke away from the face of the assistant he was talking to.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Joel grumbled to himself and stepped inside.

Javier wasn’t opposed to an audience per se, but he wasn’t expecting one today either. “What are you cabrones doing here?” He smirked, looking at the faces of his coworkers. Not all of them were here, but Dieter, Shane, Dave, Marcus, Din, Steve, Cobb, and Jack were. Everyone was in various positions of comfort, some sitting and some standing or leaning. Except Dieter, who was sitting on Din’s lap comfortably, resting his head on the bulkier man’s shoulder. 

“Wanted to see the show, of course,” Dieter grinned, winking at him. Joel stepped onto the set and saw all the men. He gave Dieter a look, and Dieter responded with a softer smile as if to say, You got this.

Javier rolled his eyes and smiled. “Alright, whatever, you perverts.”

“Alright, people, let’s get this show on the road! We’ve got a longer one ahead of us and I’ve got a date tonight.”

Everyone froze and looked at Max like he grew a third eye. 

Max frowned. “It’s not that rare– Y’know what, fuck you guys. Joel, Javi, get into position,” he grumbled, sitting in his director’s seat.

Javier looked at Joel and snorted, untying his robe. He threw it to their audience like they were a bunch of fans, and laughed when Marcus caught it. Javier winked at him, making the slightly younger man’s cheeks flush.

Joel was doing his damndest not to bust a fucking nut right now because obviously Javier was naked. That was his fucking job. That was his fucking job, too.

“Joel,” Dieter whispered. Joel looked at him, a slightly panicked look on his face. Dieter motioned for Joel to come over to him, so the older man did. “What’s goin’ on, huh?” Dieter asked quietly. Joel looked at Din wearily, who just smiled politely. “Oh, he’s not gonna say anything,” Dieter smiled, leaning over to give Din a quick kiss.

“‘M just,” Joel sighed. “Think he thinks I don’ like him.”

“Why would he think that?” Dieter pouted. When Joel didn’t answer right away, Dieter furrowed his brows at him. “Did you do that grumbly thing you always do?”

Joel mumbled under his breath and looked down at his boots.

“Miller! Get in frame,” Max barked.

Joel sighed and ruffled Dieter’s hair a little. “Showtime.”

Javier felt like his throat was on fire, tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was having a hard time breathing. Joel’s cock felt so thick and hard inside his mouth and he was more turned on than he’d been in a long fucking time. 

“Yeah, shut ya up real good, huh?”

Javier moaned weakly, big brown eyes glassy as they looked up at Joel’s hard face. He choked every time the head of Joel’s cock hit the back of his throat but he couldn’t give a damn. This was probably the messiest head he’d ever given someone, slobber pouring out the sides of his mouth and down Joel’s shaft. 

Joel’s lines had instructed him to tell Javier to keep his hands to himself, so of course he obeyed. He dug the blunt nails of his fingers into his bare thighs so hard he was afraid that he’d break skin.

“Ain’t such a brat now that y’got a cock in your mouth, huh?” Joel sneered, tugging on Javier’s thick locks. Joel’s eyes were glued to Javier’s plump, swollen lips wrapped so tightly around his cock, that perfectly trimmed mustache framing them so beautifully. A full body shiver zipped down his spine when he saw the glossed over look in Javier’s eyes and tear tracks staining his cheeks. He shut his eyes in bliss and exhaled heavily as his hips moved of their own accord, his heavy balls slapping Javier’s chin lewdly.

Javier let out a low noise, his brows furrowing slightly. Joel looked down, worried he’d pushed too far, but saw that Javier was looking up at him with this fucking look in his eye. Even if Joel was technically in charge, at least in the script, he knew Javier had him hook, line, and sinker right now. And he thinks Javier knows that, too. 

Joel’s hips bucked at the twinkle in Javier’s eye, making Javier choke loudly. Slowly, Joel removed his cock from Javier’s swollen mouth. Loud, wet coughs left Javier’s lips, but he looked at Joel with a smirk on his face.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, old man,” Javier rasped, sweat dripping down his neck.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’ya?” Joel grumbled. His cock throbbed heavily between thick, muscled thighs and Javier couldn’t take his eyes off it. The twitching made his own cock weep at the sight. “S’what I thought,” Joel hummed, harshly gripping Javier’s hair again. He curled thick fingers around the base of his cock and lewdly slapped the head against Javier’s tear-stricken face. 

Javier’s entire body shivered at the demeaning act and he bit his lip, looking at the hard lines in Joel’s face, and at the gray streaks in Joel’s hair. He was easily one of the most menacingly beautiful men he’d ever seen. He kissed and licked and sucked down the shaft of Joel’s cock until he sucked one of his heavy balls into his mouth. He moaned happily around the sensitive skin and looked back up at Joel through his lashes.

“Fuck me,” Joel groaned, breaking character slightly. He couldn’t fucking help it. Not when Javier was looking at him like that.

Javier made an approving sound and lewdly popped the ball out of his mouth, kissing up Joel’s soft, hairy stomach. “That’s my line,” he improvised with a grin, and sucked a dark mark into Joel’s hip.

Joel almost smiled, but at the last moment, remembered they were in fact not alone and had a script to follow. He quickly hardened his eyes and gripped Javier’s arms and manhandled him until Javier was laying over the arm of the couch, cock trapped between his body and the scratchy fabric.

“That what y’want, huh?” Joel grunted, gripping Javier’s ass in a bear paw. “Want me t’fuck this little ass until ya can’t walk no more?”

Javier moaned and arched his back, pushing his ass further into Joel’s hand and tried to grind against his cock. He nodded as much as he could with Joel pulling on his hair like he was, throat bared and panting hard. Joel pressed on Javier’s sweaty back to keep him down, before using both hands to slowly spread his cheeks. He groaned at the puckered little hole, carefully covered in lube from his earlier preparation. Pressing there with the pad of his thumb, he smirked when Javier moaned weakly below him.

“P-please, Joel,” Javier breathed heavily. Javi didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice. He’d been built up too much and poked and prodded enough that he just needed something inside him already. “Please.”

“Hmm,” Joel hummed, pretending like he was thinking about it. He removed his hands from Javier to finally remove the t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. He could’ve sworn he heard someone from their little audience groan as his naked body was revealed, but he chose to ignore it, far too focused on the sight in front of him. “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” he grinned wickedly, his tone fake-sweet, and collected saliva in the back of his throat. He got down to his knees, thankful that the pillow there would be out of frame in the finished product. He spit directly onto Javi’s hole and gripped the small, plump cheeks in both hands. 

Javier gasped weakly, legs trembling under Joel’s ministrations. Joel was going to fucking kill him.

“Not yet, at least,” Joel mumbled, biting one of Javier’s cheeks before licking a thick stripe up from Javier’s taint to the top of his hole. A breathless huff left Javier’s lungs and his eyes rolled back at the feeling. “Y’mouth makes such pretty noises when ya ain’t runnin’ it,” was all the warning Javier had before Joel’s tongue pierced his hole and started fucking him in earnest.

Joel’s tongue was thick and wet and messy and he sucked loudly and slurped at a volume that should’ve been uncomfortable, but all Javier could do was moan and whimper, completely at Joel’s mercy. His eyebrows were downturned and his lips were parted in an obscene O, arms shaking as he held himself up on the couch. “Mm, fuck, J-Joel, I’m gonna fucking come, I’m–!” He was babbling and trembling and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He barely heard anything over the roaring in his ears.

“No, you’re not,” Joel grumbled between the lewd feast he was enjoying, landing a harsh smack! against one of Javier’s cheeks. “Don’t come until I say ya do.”

Javier groaned and bit his lip, his trapped cock weeping and throbbing between his legs. “Mierda,” he panted, hanging his head low between his shoulders. He tried grinding against the scratchy fabric of the couch for some kind of friction, but to no avail.

Joel grunted into Javier’s ass, convinced that he could stay here for hours if he was allowed. When he pulled his face away, his eyes latched onto the fluttering little hole in front of him and hummed in satisfaction. As he stood, his knees whined and creaked in protest and hopefully, if Max were nice to him for once, he’d edit the sounds out. 

Broad hands traveled up Javier’s heated skin, taking him all in as he panted heavily underneath the older man. He knew today would be good but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Maybe he should keep his distance from Joel more often, if this was the end result.

Joel was ecstatic on the inside, the memories of their first scene together coming back to him. He’d almost forgotten just how pliant and cat-like Javier could get if pushed enough. The sounds he made were like music to Joel’s ears, and he wished he could keep them in a bottle reserved just for himself. 

He gripped Javier’s sides and manhandled him again until Javier was on his knees on one of the cushions and facing the back of the couch, hands planted on the back. Joel spread Javier’s cheeks again and hummed at the way the younger man clenched on instinct. He left Javier in that position for a second while he went over to an assistant off camera and grabbed some lube, making quick work of getting his cock thoroughly coated. He held Javier’s side, right where his ribs were, with one hand and gripped his cock with the other, grinding his shaft between Javier’s cheeks. 

Javier cried out loud, electricity shooting through his body and settling as heat at the base of his spine. 

Joel grinned, tapping the head of his cock against Javier’s hole before slowly, agonizingly so, pushed the thick head inside him. The air left Javier’s lungs as he froze, the pressure and the weight of being so thoroughly stretched overwhelming him. He grunted as Joel’s hips sat flush against his ass, breathing heavily as his arms trembled against the back of the couch. Joel stroked Javier’s flanks, letting him adjust for only a moment before he pulled out until just the head was left inside and slammed back inside.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck...” Javier moaned, his back arching.

“Aww, you’re alright,” Joel smirked. He hovered over Javier’s body, nearly covering him entirely with how much bulk there was. He curled an arm over Javier’s right shoulder and gripped onto the younger man’s left pec to press Javier’s back into his chest. He kissed along Javier’s shoulder and up his neck until he nibbled on Javi’s earlobe, moaning lowly as the younger man clenched around his shaft. “Y’gonna be good? Gonna let me fuck ya?”

“Sí, coño– Please, Joel,” Javier whined, resting his head on Joel’s shoulder and panting into the open air. “Por favor damelo.”

So Joel did. Before either of them knew it, Joel was fucking into Javier in earnest, his hips slapping against Javier’s ass obscenely. Javier was making the neediest little sounds, chanting Joel’s name like a prayer. Javier’s cock was hard as a rock and lewdly slapping against his skin with every one of Joel’s harsh thrusts.

Joel hid his face in Javier’s neck, panting hotly against the younger man’s already damp skin. With his right arm already wrapped around Javier’s torso, he gripped at Javier’s hip with his left hand, fingers digging into the (surprisingly) soft skin. Javier didn’t have a whole lot of fat on his body, but there was enough to ripple every time Joel jackhammered into him.

“F-fuck,” he gulped, lips parted and eyes half lidded. The pressure was building low in his abdomen. He knew he was close. “J-Joel, I’m–” His mouth was as dry as the desert. “I’m gonna come, I–”

Joel growled. Literally. He bit Javier’s cheek and growled. “Not yet. Jus’ a li’l longer,” he panted. He moved his hand from Javier’s pec to his throat, and carefully, expertly, squeezed the sides. They’d talked about doing this with Max and both had consented to it. They knew how to do it right.

Slowly, as Javier’s air supply was marginally cut off, a wide smile grew on his face. His eyes shut and he was smiling, biting his lip. He felt so fucking good. He wanted to do this again and this time wasn’t even over yet.

Joel must have noticed because he chuckled next to Javier’s ear, hips never letting up once. “Yeah? Feel good, sweetheart?”

Javier nodded as much as he could, nails digging into the shitty couch and pulling hard.

“Good boy,” Joel rumbled, slowing down his hips, but not letting up on how hard he was thrusting. Javier’s breath hitched with every one of Joel’s slow, measured thrusts. Joel’s hand slid from Javier’s hip down to curl around the younger man’s cock. It was like someone had poured ice cold water over Javier’s head, because the pressure was just what he’d needed.

“S-sí, sí, please, p-please,” Javier gasped, a tear falling from his eye.

“Fuck, look at ya,” Joel marveled, slowly stroking Javier’s cock teasingly. “Pretty as a god damn picture, sweetheart.”

Javier opened his eyes as wide as he could and tried looking at Joel for the first time since he was on his knees. When their eyes locked, Javier could have sworn that there was a different man behind Joel’s baby browns. Perhaps that was the real Joel, and not whoever was on camera. Not whoever had been avoiding him for the better part of two years. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Want ya t’come for me,” Joel breathed hotly against his face. Javier shivered all over and nodded as much as he could with Joel’s bear paw of a hand around his throat. “Can ya do that, sweetheart? Come for me.”

Javier grunted as Joel picked up the pace of his hips again, but this time with his other hand tightly gripped around his shaft. Joel teased the head with his thumb just as he slammed directly into Javier’s prostate over and over.

Javier cried weakly, one more tear falling from his eye, and came hard. Thick, creamy spurts of cum painted the set’s couch as Javier trembled with his release.

Joel held him close, their sweaty bodies sticking together as Joel thrust one, two, three more times and followed Javier over the edge. He came with a low roar buried into Javier’s neck and cock twitching violently in Javier’s ass.

The set was dead silent save for Joel and Javier’s heavy breathing. Max kept the camera rolling, stunned into silence for once. 

Javier smiled to himself, eyes shut in bliss, and head resting on Joel’s shoulder. He clenched around Joel’s sensitive cock in little pulses. “Fuck me,” he croaked, voice wrecked.

Joel grunted at the overstimulation and gently held Javier’s hips as he slowly pulled out. Javier leaned forward against the back of the couch and pushed his ass out so the camera (and their audience) could see the thick cum trailing down his thighs. Joel’s hands rubbed Javier’s skin appreciatively at the sight, his cock giving one last valiant twitch.

“C-cut,” Max’s voice cracked, making him clear his throat. “Cut.”

In the corner, Dieter trembled and moaned weakly into Din’s neck as he came, Din’s thick fingers curled around his cock. 

Javier turned his head back to look at Joel with a satisfied smile on his face. “Mind gettin’ me a towel, guapo?”

Joel’s cheeks flushed, completely out of character again. “‘Course,” he mumbled, slowly standing to ask one of the assistants for a towel.

“Jesus Christ, boys,” Max chuckled.

Javier hummed in agreement.

“That was… That was somethin’ else, Jav,'' Steve said, impressed.

They were both outside, having their usual post-shoot cigarette together. No matter if they’d done a scene together or separately, they always kept up the tradition. This time, though, Javier thought he’d need several cigarettes. And a bath.

“Thank you,” Javier grinned, feeling lighter and more satisfied than he had in weeks. He could swear that the crick in his neck he’d woken up with was completely gone. Maybe there was some truth to Silva’s back pain disappearing after certain sessions.

“S’pose ya don’t gotta tell me, since I saw it myself, but was it like you thought it’d be?” Steve chuckled.

Javier snorted in response, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “And then some.”

Din smiled gently down at Dieter, giving him a slow, soft kiss. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

Dieter smiled wide and nodded giddily, getting on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Din’s neck one more time to give him another kiss. Joel could swear he saw hearts in his eyes. 

Once Dieter came back over to Joel, he had a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry, just had to say goodbye.”

Joel smiled softly. “Don’ worry yourself over it. Y’all are cute together.”

“You think?” Dieter beamed. “We had a scene the other day and we just haven’t stopped texting, and– Oh my god, this isn’t about me right now, I’m sorry.”

Joel chuckled and followed Dieter into the hallway so the cleaning crew could get to work. Dieter scratched at his beard as he looked at Joel: he seemed lighter, with a healthy glow radiating off of him.

“Well?”

Joel cleared his throat and dug his hands into his pockets, shrugging a little. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, old man! That was fucking hot! I came so hard!”

Joel laughed, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Thank you.”

“So? You gonna ask him out? Or at least apologize for earlier?”

“Yeah, I will. And uh… Yeah, I plan to,” Joel sighed, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t exactly know how I’m gonna do that, though…”

“Well, you better think of something quick!” Dieter whispered, pointing towards the end of the hall as Javier rounded the corner with Steve.

“Shit,” Joel whispered to himself. Dieter gave him a wink and thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction. 

Javier had his regular clothes on again, and Joel couldn’t take his eyes off him, enamored with how well they fit him. He may have just been inside the man, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Hey, Joel,” Javier smiled awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure where they stood outside of working together, so he tried to keep it as casual as possible.

“H-hey, Javier,” Joel said hoarsely. He cleared his throat again.

“Y’know, you’re the only one that doesn’t call me Javi,” he said softly.

“Oh,” Joel furrowed his brow. “‘M sorry. My mama always taught me an’ my baby brother it was more polite that way.”

“You have a baby brother?” Javier smiled.

“Uh…” Joel gulped. “Y-yeah. Tommy.”

Javier hummed in response, an amused look crossing his features. He’s slowly figuring Joel out, he thinks. “He just as handsome as you? Bet he is,” he flirted.

The tips of Joel’s ears went pink and he laughed around an awkward cough. “Nah. Don’ cut his hair enough to be respectable.”

“Mm, more to pull then,” Javier smirked.

Joel made a face, not wanting to think of his brother like that. “L-listen, uh. ’m sorry ‘bout earlier. Wasn’t right talkin’ to ya like that,” he mumbled, unable to look Javier in the eye just yet.

Every bit of tension Javier felt left his body in an instant. “Thank you. I appreciate that, Joel.”

Joel nodded, a shy smile on his face. “‘S good,” he said awkwardly.

They were quiet for a few moments before Javier pulled out his pack of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips. “Well, you built up quite the appetite in me, so I’m gonna go–”

“Do you wanna go out sometime?” Joel blurted out. “N-now, maybe?”

Javier blinked a few times as a smile grew on his lips. “You’re asking me out? Gotta be honest, I thought you hated me, Joel.”

Joel snapped his eyes up at that, confusion all over his face. “What? No! I–” He sighed. “‘M no good at this,” he grumbled to himself. “’m sorry. Again.”

Javier chuckled and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “‘s alright. I’d love to.”

“Yeah?” Joel smiled, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. 

“Yeah, guapo. You already got dessert, but dinner sounds great.”

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x sidekick!reader | fluff, mutual pining, blatant flirting, bakugou calls reader darlin', bakugou is soft(ish) | cw: injury, mentions of alcohol, name calling (idiot), kisses kisses kisses

-bakugou tends to your injury, pining for you nearly as much as you do for him-

Your arm burns in waves, like kindling fire, the plain between your elbow and wrist a bramble of red and purple. It stings like a million tiny thorns pricking your skin.

"Why'd'cha get in the way, y'damn idiot!" Bakugou's words are fierce and his brow is drawn, but you see the way his cheeks flush. He's embarrassed, guilt-ridden though it's not his fault. Not really.

You were both too overzealous for your own goods, determined to land the final blow on the villains. But his quirk was bigger, more explosive, harder to stop when your hands inevitably collided. You're just lucky your arm took the brunt of it.

Still, you smile despite the pain and his frown deepens, "What? Hit y'r head too?"

You take a step forward, then two, crossing the threshold of your front door, reveling in the way his blush travels to his ears. "Did you come all the way here just to nag me?" There's a lilt of amusement in your voice, and he huffs, exasperation on his breath. "Or are you finally gonna give me that?"

You point to the bag dangling from his fingertips, pharmacy label half hidden by his baggy combat trousers. He's still in costume, mask pushed up over his wild, blonde hair, light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders.

He's a proper distraction from the pain at least.

His gaze falls to his own hand, as if he'd entirely forgotten. There's a palpable moment of hesitation, and then he grunts, knuckles clenching; he thrusts it against your chest.

"Did'cha sterilize it, at least?"

You're half listening, shuffling through the contents of the bag. "Mhm, rinsed it with water when I got home."

"Y'r hopeless, darlin'."

You shrug, "If a little burn could take me out, I wouldn't be much of a hero, now would I?"

He snorts, "If y'were such a good hero, you'd have dodged in the first place."

"You think?" You humor his attitude, heart swelling in your chest when you spot your favorite candy hidden beneath the ointments and bandages. You have half a mind to tease him about it. "Are you gonna help me put this on?"

His arms fold across his chest, half a scowl twisting his face. He leans back, tapping a heavy boot against the floorboards. "And why would I do that?"

He must think he's subtle but you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. There's worry in his brow, guilt, turmoil, anger directed at his own self.

You figured it would help alleviate his conscience, at least.

"That's fine. I'll get around to it eventually." You turn on your heel, adding a cheeky "probably" to accentuate the wave of your hand, nudge him into action. It works.

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue, suppress the laugh inching it's way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

Two big hands push you down by the shoulders, cushions folding beneath your thighs. Bakugou holds a palm out expectantly and you place your own atop his, reveling in the way his nose scrunches in frustration.

You don't miss the way he lets it linger—just for a moment—before finally swatting it away with a half-hearted flick of the wrist. "The ointment, idiot."

You relent, handing him the thin white tube. He spreads a stripe down his fingertips, seat dipping beside you; he extends his opposite hand. "Now your hand."

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours.

It's intimate, familiar.

It makes you want to break whatever this unspoken 'something' is that the two of you have fostered—this growing affection you're both too proud to admit that wears on you, leaves you yearning to lean just a little closer and finally concede.

Just like all those nights ago, when he got a little too drunk at the hero convention, quickly annoyed by the crowds and reporters, the loud, boasting heroes. His champagne glass was quickly emptied once more, grunting when he pushed back in his chair. You remember leaning closer, close enough to discretely ask if he was alright. His red hot stare followed, burned through your chest and down to your core, left you shifting restlessly in your seat.

The air was thick when he finally careened upward, swaying perilously as he took you by the wrist, led you up and out of the dining hall until it was just the two of you, alone in an empty corridor. You could still hear the echo of stranger's voices, but it didn't bother him, not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What about the party?"

"'S boring." He'd replied, fingers 'round your wrist, lingering on your pulse; he feels it stutter beneath his touch. "Y'scared?"

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper—but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him.

"No."

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times.

"Good."

You're so lost in thought that you miss the way skin meets skin, thin buffer of ointment between you, and it burns—his fingers against your aching forearm. Your cheeky smile twists into a grimace and you can almost taste his guilt.

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Y'r a hero, r'member."

You watch as he carefully applies the medicine, touch gentling each time you flinch until he's barely touching you at all.

"You've said that a lot today. 'Hero'." You muse. "It's usually sidekick this, sidekick that."

He shoots you a look before wiping the ointment from his fingers. "Y'r my sidekick."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning forward to rest your chin on your unattended hand. "And what's the difference?"

He could answer you honestly, if he wanted. You're capable, brave, strong in your own right—beautiful to boot. You're the best of the best; Bakugou would never settle for less after all. Not that he was going to admit that.

Instead his lips twist in amusement, curling, lopsided, askew; you realize you won't be getting a straight answer.

"Y'should know by now when t'stay out of my way, is the difference." He pulls a bandage as big as his fist from the bag, pressing one corner to the flat of your palm, working it up and around until it reaches your wrist, and further still. "Was perfectly capable of handlin' it on my own."

"Seemed like you had your hands full with the big guy," you quip back, rubbing your thumb absently over the scratchy bandage. "Was I supposed to watch while the other one pummeled you from behind?"

He quirks a brow, you're not sure if he's annoyed or amused. "Woulda been fine. How d'ya think I made it to the top twenty, 've practically got eyes on the back of my head."

"You sure? Think I recall a time or two you've been whacked upside the head."

His eyes stray for only a moment, simmering up at you beneath dark lashes. "Think we might need t'get y'r eyes checked, darlin', seems y'r seein' things."

"Guess I need a hearing test too, since I remember you being a total crybaby about it."

He centers the tips of his thumb and pointer just above your brow, fingertips bouncing off your forehead, a tepid flick! and he's resuming his handiwork.

"Hey!" you pout, rubbing the offended area with your unfettered hand. "I'm injured, you're supposed to be nice to me!"

"And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still.

You sigh, "Look at me." And he does, begrudgingly as it may be. "It's not your fault. I should have trusted you more. And you should have trusted me. We're both idiots so quit blaming yourself." You lightly flick his forehead in return; he doesn't flinch, eyes never leaving your own. "Finish the wrapping and we'll call it even, yeah?"

He grumbles something lost on you, stretching the last bit of fabric beneath your elbow and tucking it into itself. He turns your arm over in his palm, lightly, carefully inspecting it before leaning back against the cushions. You can feel his guilt dissipate, the stress in his shoulders slowly deflating.

"Y'hurt anywhere else?" His voice is low, quiet. He desperately hopes not.

You think for a moment, read his face, his body language, and then you're rubbing the space above your brow, faking a pout if only to lighten the mood. "Yeah, some brute bruised my forehead earlier, think it needs medical attention."

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing, brow tightening in discontent. "I'm being serious."

You struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. "So am I. What a devastating injury, I fear I won't live long." You dramatically throw yourself over his lap, knuckles laid flat over your brow. There's a conflicting look in his eye; you struggle to read it. "If only a big, handsome hero woul-"

You nearly miss the annoyed huff, the subtle roll of his eyes, too enamored in the way he encircles your wrist with one big hand, guides it to rest against his chest before leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

You're sure there's hearts in your eyes when he straightens his shoulders, hand still idle against his heartbeat; his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?"

You try and fail, miserably so, to hide the delight dancing in your chest and curling your toes. There's a grin splitting your cheeks when you sit up, face an inch from his own. "Mhm."

You can feel his breath, his hesitation, the slippery, fluttering feelings he's struggling to catch, and name, and put into words. He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you—again.

It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back.

He's up in a moment, fidgeting with his tank, his gloves, his mask, anything he can get his hands on. You sigh, pushing off the couch, taking one step, two, arms wrapping snug around his middle. "What're y'doin'?"

"Checking something."

"And what's that, hah?"

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you."

He croons his head to stare you down, if looks could kill, you'd be very very toasty right about now. Still you laugh, hide your smile in the shadow of his broad shoulders, tip toe around him when twists around to face you.

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own.

You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours.

And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three—possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?"

You stifle a laugh, keen up at him, hands absently against his chest. "Well what?"

"What d'ya mean 'well what'?!"

What ever self control you had wavers, the incredulous look in his eyes sending you over the edge until your devolving into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, hah?"

"'m sorry." The laughter rattles you, chest like a suitcase too small to pack away the joy that fills you, spills over the brim in fits of laughter. It's infectious; Bakugou grins.

Your hands cup his cheeks. "You're too cute not to tease."

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

You lean forward, bump your nose against his. "Mhm."

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed ya, twice. If y'didn't take the hint, that's on you."

You're smiling when you press your lips to his—quick, tepid, chaste, and over and over and over again.

He breaks away, eyes full of suspicion. "What was that for?"

"What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again.

He snorts, palm falling to the small of your back, big hand heavy on your skin. "Point taken."

He dips his head low, kisses you, soft and slow, fingers flexing against your shirt, dragging you closer when you move to pull back. "I like ya." His breath is hot against your mouth. "Always have."

[itsfairly]

A Little Tense // Nanami Kento x f!reader

word count: 3.1k

cw: f!reader, female anatomy, explicit language at the beginning, smut (very brief), fluff, established relationship, reader unable to hit the big O, nanami being a gentleman and setting the standard, petnames (sweetheart, good girl, love, angel) self-indulgent, not proofread.

summary: when having sex with your love leaves you more tense than relaxed, nanami decides to ease that tension in a different and much innocent way.

notes: tmi, you can guess about what. lets hope my motivation to write stays because i keep getting too many ideas and not enough energy.

liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!

You were wet, practically dripping onto the sheets with every thrust. The sounds of skin slapping every time his hips met yours filled the room, along with the wet squelches from your cunt as it relished the feeling of being completely full. Sex with Nanami was always amazing. He knew where and how to touch, when to make you wait and beg for him, and when to give in to you and spoil you completely so that every time your legs wrapped around his waist like this you could feel how your body tensed beyond its limits only to make said tension disappear soon after.

Tonight, you two have been at it for a while. Feeling his hands roam your body with his tongue lazily popped in and out of your pussy and your legs hooked on his shoulders one moment, and the next bouncing on his lap as the air was punched out of your lungs and earning sweet nothings from Nanami. You're not sure how long it has been and neither of you cared when your moans mixed together in sweet synchrony and each position felt better than the next as his attention shifted to different parts of your body—tongue swirling circles around your perked nipples with a satisfied hum as he looked up at you, hands squeezing your waist to guide your pace met with an "easy there, sweetheart," lips finding your neck to press the sweetest kisses followed by a quick playful bite, fingers rubbing over your folds but not going in just yet. His attention was entirely on you and how to wash your body over with pleasure no matter how long it took.

He was doing everything right, not just with his body, but also his voice. The sounds that left his lips were already heavenly, grunting as your body met his with every thrust and moaning every time you squeezed around him, but his words were just as good.

Good girl, keep moaning for me.

I can't wait, I want to feel you around me.

Fuck, need to make you feel good, love. I'll spend all night to make you feel good.

Despite your body being aroused like never before, your mind didn't seem to follow.

It was by no means Nanami's fault. He was following along what you both knew of your body. Trailing kisses on your neck and being extra attentive when he reached your soft spot by biting it gently, licking over the spot, and nibbling on it; keeping just the right angle of his hips against yours so that you could feel his curve hitting your G-spot, and of course, being ever so kind to moan and grunt loud enough for your ears to catch knowing the effect his voice has on you. But lately, your body and your mind didn't seem to connect. Even if the mood was just perfect, the dimmed light illuminating your bedroom and the way your bodies moved caused the bed to gently rock, no matter what position or move from him, it didn't seem to be doing it for you now. At least not to the point of orgasm.

You didn't know it was wrong and it was making you more frustrated and tense, the opposite of what you wanted right now. You have tried many positions for one night and neither of them has brought you past the edge, making you more impatient in a way that wasn't even from how good you felt—it was from how awful it felt being so close to the edge but not quite there yet, over and over again.

Soon, your thoughts take you away from the current moment, stuck trying to figure out what was being so difficult right now, and Nanami picks up on that. Deciding that enough was enough, his hips press against yours one more time and tries to catch his breath as he looks down on you.

"We should stop."

You snap out of your thoughts with his voice, breathy and raspy, from what you assume was exhaustion. You don't blame him, after all, he's been focusing on coming up with whatever would make you feel as good as you were making him feel, all those efforts amounting to practically nothing and making you feel guilty when his voice sounds firm in his decision.

"No," you placed your hands on his arms, looking up at him with a frown, easily read as frustration. Just not at him. "Kento, I can-"

"I don't enjoy it if you don't. I'm not going to continue just for me," he says sternly as he cuts you off, his eyes looking at you warmly as he breathes heavily. He wouldn't be selfish like that.

Yet, the way his words came out made it easy for you to put more guilt on yourself, feeling like you were depriving him of an obvious need his body craved. "I can't just let you not get off just because I can't, especially when we've been going at it for a while."

"Hey, it's okay," he says softly, shifting his weight to his arm and bringing his other hand to your cheek to caress it. "You don't have to feel like you need to compensate me. These things happen and you would've done the same for me, why can't I do it for you?"

You sigh, throwing your head down on the mattress. You felt awful. Even if he was trying to assure you that it was no problem to stop, you didn't like the fact that one, you couldn't get yourself to orgasm no matter how much you tried to concentrate, and two, that prevented him from orgasm. He was very patient this whole time and it felt like your body and mind weren't cooperating.

"I'm sorry," you breathed out, that frustrated frown still present on your face.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart."

"It feels like it. It's not like it didn't feel good, it's just..." God, it felt so embarrassing to express this. You felt the center of her chest heat up, mentally beating yourself up as a tear or two filled your eyes. Why on Earth were you crying just because you couldn't cum? "...fuck, I couldn't get there, Kento."

Nanami softened at your frustration, slowly pulling out and laying down on the bed next to you. His hand stayed on your cheek, thumb carefully wiping under your eyes. He could see how being pent up and edged over and over again against your will was making your frustration grow, which in turn prevented you from releasing any kind of tension. It was a weird cycle—you wanted to cum but couldn't, making your body more and more pent-up and tense, which made you frustrated, and then it was back to step one.

Nanami stays quiet, none of the words in his head sounded right. He worried that anything he would say would just upset you further and make you feel embarrassed or insecure about your body. Instead, he brings you closer to him, his arms carefully pulling you towards his bare chest to then caress his hands down your back. You needed comfort, ease your mind off things. Your tears told him the severity of your feelings at the moment, every single one valid in his eyes and understanding your frustration. What was supposed to be an explosion of euphoria turned into a cocktail of emotions directed towards yourself, it wasn't fair to you and it hurt him to see you like this in this situation.

You sighed, nuzzling your head against his arms as you looked away from his eyes. You could feel your eyebrows knitted together, but you couldn't feel how your jaw tensed as you gritted your teeth against each other or the way you were closing yourself off by taking as little space as possible. It felt stupid, trying to find the reason why your body just wasn't feeling like feeling pleasure, circling back to your cycle, your mood, if you were stressed, anything that would explain what was going on. But as much as you wrecked your mind over it, no answer felt right and it made things more frustrated. No answers meant no way to solve things.

Taking in these little sighs, Nanami knew you needed to relieve this tension some other way. So he reverts back to the small things.

"Get on your stomach, love." He said softly, slipping his arm from beneath your head as he lifted himself to kneel on the bed.

"We already tried that, Kento." You answered in a mumble.

"Not for that, I want to help you another way."

You looked up at him from your side, meeting his patient eyes as he waited for you to do as he asked. To be honest, you just wanted to get back into your clothes and call it a day, hoping that your body would get over whatever it was going through by the next time you two got horny. But then again, he didn't seem to be overthinking or mad about the situation like you were and was pushing aside the fact that his body was just starting to soften, immediately shutting down any possibility for sex tonight for good. You didn't know what he was planning, so with a raise of an eyebrow, you turned on the bed to lay on your stomach as your elbows propped you up to look back at him intrigued.

Without skipping a beat, his hands find your shoulders, fingers pressing against that tender spot close to your neck and rubbing in circles. It was tense, to no one's surprise, making him sigh and making you groan quietly. His fingers slowly slide outwards against your skin, sometimes changing circular motions to knead your muscles up and down.

You wanted to tell him he didn't need to be doing this considering he already went above and beyond before to help you orgasm, but you already knew he would just brush it off and continue. Besides, it felt nice. Your body was sore, pent-up, and you were frustrated. A massage didn't sound too bad, even better when he was being really gentle with his hands and applying just the right pressure.

"Does that feel good?" He asked softly, his head turning to you when you groan.

You hum with a nod, letting your arms rest completely on the bed and using them as a pillow, letting Nanami pamper you a bit. You know he said you didn't need to make it up to him in any way, and though he was right, you wanted to. He was doing too much for the little you did.

But he didn't see it that way.

"You know, sex isn't the only way I want to make love to you." He started, his hands sliding down your sides until he reached your lower back, using his thumbs to rub over in circles. "And I don't want sex to be the only way we get intimate and release some tension."

"I love how you look at me with those pretty eyes, begging me for more and moaning my name with my hands all over you. But I also love seeing you feel confident, comfortable, and loved. How you relax whenever we are together, how you seek me just because you feel like it, how we bounce off each other even if it means keeping me on my toes...that's why I can't enjoy it if you don't. Because it doesn't feel like you are here with me—and I want to be with you whenever I can. So if sex isn't enjoyable, I will just show you my love in other ways."

Nanami chuckles, hands still rubbing at your waist and hips as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. You turned your head to the side, still resting it on top of your arms, to reveal how vulnerable his words hit you. He made it sound as if pleasure came second when having sex, making you feel a bit silly for not thinking about it in that way and preoccupying yourself with your climax first. Not that he would blame you for that, of course, since he also prioritized your pleasure first out of love for you. Still, it did take some guilt off your shoulders, both figuratively and literally now that he worked through some knots, knowing that his earlier words came out of a caring place rather than a pity one. It was stupid to ever think he would ever intentionally try to make you feel guilty over something you had no control over, and it made you feel a bit better about your sudden condition.

"Thank you, love." You breathed out, placing a hand on this knee and rubbing your thumb over it. Words weren't being your friends right now with everything you were feeling even if things were starting to clear up, but you still wanted to show him how much it meant for him to say and do so much at a moment's notice. It might be small, but you hoped it was enough.

Your small touch was met with a hum, his eyes looking down at your hand on him briefly before smiling down at you. He was glad to see that familiar look in your eyes, the one which you look back at him when his feelings dawned on you once more after God knows how many times he has seen it before. Seeing you soften up and seek him in the most subtle ways that, in his eyes, were the ones that showed your feelings the best. He was seeing you feel loved, just like he wanted you to feel right now.

"Back, please." He instructed gently, hands rubbing up your hips to the sides of your breasts. A quick and innocent touch before you actually turned.

You smiled softly, lifting your head from your arms and using your elbow to roll on your back like he asked. Though it was starting to feel a bit cold, you didn't really feel like putting back some clothes on. You still wanted to feel his hands directly on your skin, especially now that your legs were feeling sore after how tensed they were a couple of minutes ago.

As if he read your mind, he took one of your legs, placing it on his shoulder before giving your ankle a soft kiss. He hummed, his hands kneading down your legs starting with your calf. Thumbs worked through your muscles, earning a soft groan from you as you looked up at him. There was something sensual from the moment, unsurprising considering the two of you decided to remain bare to each other and your leg stretched out to rest on his shoulder, but also with how slow and thorough he was being.

Rather than the usual sudden and unraveling pleasure from an orgasm, this kind of touch felt like a crescendo. His hands touched your skin and applied pressure in the places he felt you tense, getting closer and closer to the most intimate parts of you but not letting things escalate further than a simple massage. It was calm and delicate, taking time to build up before he even pressed against you. It wasn't overwhelming, it didn't dumb you down or force your thoughts out of you, it nourished them by redirecting them into how your body felt. As Nanami lowered your leg to the mattress to raise the other and work his way up to your calf, it was as if you could feel the parts rather than just the whole of your body, aware of each tension and knot that had built up over time and surrounding to his rhythmic and soothing strokes. Pressure came and left like waves at the shore, feeling the way your body slowly relaxed and brought the relief you were seeking.

Nanami wasn't looking to break you down with pleasure tonight. He was looking to build you up until you felt greater than the sum of the parts, parts he loved each and immensely.

"You're being really quiet, am I making you fall asleep?" Nanami chuckled, bringing his hands down to your things where they met your hips before caressing them up to the soles of your feet.

"Would you stop if I did fall asleep?" You teased, raising yourself up with your elbows as you grinned at him.

"Not unless you asked me to."

You giggled, feeling all that clutter in your mind leave with each minute, focusing on his hands and occasionally kisses he left over your skin. You relaxed your body further, releasing the tension you unconsciously held on other parts of your body as you noticed them.

You took the opportunity to look at his face, admiring his attention to you and how much he has done already for you on this night alone. He didn't complain once tonight. Not when you asked for a different position, not when he stopped, not when this night turned into something different. Instead, he was caring and selfless, looking out for you and doing it because he wanted to—no, insisted on making you feel good some other way. He was so...

"You're perfect," you breathed out, your thoughts escaping your mind before you could react. But when you do, you bring your leg down from his shoulder and sit up, bringing a hand to his cheek and caressing it. "I love how you love me."

Nanami softened at your words, a bit taken back at your sudden affection but he wouldn't have it any other way. Keeping his eyes on you, he wasn't able to say his own thoughts before you continued yours.

"I love you, Kento. You made me feel better about tonight."

Nanami hummed, brushing away the strands of hair that covered your beautiful face. There she was, his angel. All pampered, taken care of, and present. There you were. He kissed your hairline, pressing his lips a bit more before he pulled away.

"And I will make sure I keep doing that. I can't have my love feeling all tense, not even a little bit."

He smiled at you, running his hands down your arms pulling you closer and planting a kiss behind your ear, "I love loving you, I love how you love me, and above all, I absolutely adore you."

Your heart swelled, bringing this warmth all over your body from your chest. A warmth that felt intimate, but didn't make you feel aroused. It made you feel cozy, confident, loved. You wouldn't trade that.

As you take his hands off your arms and into yours, squeezing them tightly as you pepper his face with kisses, Nanami chuckles and allows you to focus on him for a moment like he has on you. Maybe he would have to massage you more often if it meant feeling your lips on every inch of his face, a much special massage if you ask him.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 11: seeing double

Totally not what this prompt meant, but I don’t care lol. I do care that I keep making Wild cry though, sorry buddy 😬

No clue if anyone cares anymore, but this has some brief age of calamity spoilers in it. Just a heads up.

Warnings: broken bone, discussed past character death

Ao3 link

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild had two thoughts as he went plunging through the portal, the others’ frantic cries in his ears:

One, that hopefully Legend wouldn’t give him too smug of an ‘I told you so’ the next time he saw him, since Wild had entirely forgone his advice to stay away from Dark Link and was now plunging rapidly through the air. And two, well, at least I’m going to fall into the water down there.

Which he promptly did with an explosive splash.

It wasn’t so high up that he was badly hurt, but Wild was still thrown for a loop, and found himself crashing down a river with little sense of which way was up.

Water got in his mouth and he spluttered, trying to spit it out and also get his head above the surface so he could breathe. The current was fast here though, and Wild couldn’t do much except flail around like a drunk Zora.

Wait, could Zora get drunk?

He actually had no clue.

The current got suddenly faster, and Wild breathed in some water as he got smacked against the rocks, coughing and hacking as he struggled to get any air. He managed a wet gasp when his head briefly poked up, but then he was pulled under again.

Air wasn’t the only thing Wild had gotten when he went up though— he’d also gotten a sight of the river up ahead. And at the sight of the waterfall rapidly approaching, his struggles grew even more frantic.

I need to reach shore, he thought as he continued to cough and claw his way to the river’s edge in a panic. I need to reach shore now, I need air I need—

The angle of the water shifted, and Wild was shot out of the waterfall, the rapid change in direction making his head spin.

He found himself in open air, water still in his lungs, and he clumsily grabbed for his paraglider as the lake below rapidly approached. Wild managed to snap it open just in time, but he didn’t manage a good grip on the handle.

His arm slipped, and Wild slammed into the sand near the shore, a choked yell escaping him as pain blazed up his shoulder.

All he could do was cough up water for a minute and catch his breath, trying not to wrench his shoulder more. Something was broken in there; he wasn’t sure if it was his shoulder itself or his arm or collarbone, but it hurt. He could barely move without his whole arm lighting up in agony, and hoped blearily that none of the others had suffered the same fate as him.

Then he heard a splash behind him, and his stomach sank.

Had one of the others fallen in the portal already? Or was it something else? That hadn’t sounded big enough to be a splash from something falling from the waterfall, but then again, he could be wrong.

“There, look!”

The voice sounded familiar, but Wild couldn’t place it over the sound of the water behind him and the blood rushing in his ears. He tried to raise himself up, and pain tore across his senses, and for a minute all he could focus on was the fire ripping through his shoulder.

“—know who he is? He looks just like—”

“—in the water, don’t—”

Two voices floated around his head as the fire eased, and Wild took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. His hair had fallen in his face, and between that and his blurry vision he couldn’t see much, especially through the damp strands. Unless he moved again, but that seemed like a bad idea.

Wild groaned, blinking to try and get the hair away from his eyes, but he barely succeeded. His wet hair slipped to the side, but all he could make out were two blobs, silhouetted by the sun shining behind them.

Then he heard a soft gasp, and the sound of a weapon being drawn.

“How is this—”

“This has trap written all over it,” a different voice than the first interrupted, soft, but sharp. Cold steel nudged Wild’s chin, and he stiffened. “Don’t go near him.”

The other voice made a worried noise as Wild weakly coughed. “I don’t think he would have fallen down a waterfall on purpose and hurt himself like this if that were true.”

“It could still be a trick.”

“I know... but we won’t get any answers if he’s too dazed to speak.”

Wild heard a huff, then the sound of footsteps padding towards him in a familiar way. A hand settled over his shoulder, and Wild groaned again, a soothing noise coming from the voice.

“Hold on just a moment.”

Then a feeling like that of a gentle stream swept over his shoulder, quiet and small, but carrying the mighty power of water along with it. Wild automatically relaxed, sinking into the bubbly feeling. A blue light flickered in his vision, healing his shoulder in a familiar way, and Wild relaxed even further before he abruptly stiffened again.

Wait...

The smooth magic trickled into his middle, down to where his lungs were still burning from the water he’d inhaled. It soothed the ache, and though Wild still felt exhausted, he could tell his shoulder had been completely fixed as well. Even the various scrapes and bruises from the fight before the river had been healed.

Which meant...

The bubbly rush of magic faded away, Wild’s vision fully cleared, and his stomach dropped out.

Red scales. Yellow eyes. A petite figure covered in scales that were smooth and shiny in the sunlight, and healing magic that was fading from slender hands.

“M... Mipha?” Wild choked out.

The Zora woman (it couldn’t be Mipha, it couldn’t—) gave him a concerned look, but before Wild could do or say anything further, the steel was back at his neck.

Wild stilled, and followed the blade resting at his neck up to the person holding it. His already fast heartbeat tripled, and he choked for a second time.

The person holding a blade at his throat was himself.

His double’s hair was much shorter, pulled back into a neat ponytail, and instead of the champion’s tunic he was wearing the Zora armor Wild had received. His eyes were steely as he watched Wild, but the most shocking thing about him was the fact that the right side of his face was entirely smooth.

He didn’t have a single one of the scars that had killed Wild.

I’m unconscious. I’m dreaming. I hit my head on a rock and I’m hallucinating—

“Explain yourself. Who are you?” his double demanded, not appearing to notice how Wild’s world was caving in on itself. Wild stared, and coughed once, still feeling tired from his fight with the river, and just... unable to process this. What could he even say?

What was going on?

“I asked you a question, who are you? What are you doing in Zora’s Domain?” his double repeated, voice even sharper.

Mipha sucked in a worried breath as she stared at Wild, and touched the double’s arm. “Oh no, did... did a little guardian bring you?” she asked, and Wild stared at her, her words jumbling in his head as he stared.

Mipha.

Mipha.

Mipha was alive here. Wild was alive here, and missing his scars, and wearing the Zora armor that Mipha had crafted to give to him as a—

“Wh... who are you?” Wild whispered, throat suddenly dry as bone. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just a mistake, a strange coincidence, but he— he had to know. He had to know.

“We asked you first,” Link’s double replied suspiciously, and Mipha set a hand on his shoulder.

“Link, he was just injured and half-drowned, I believe he’s confused. If he were here to kill us, he already would have tried,” she said pointedly, studying Wild with an intent look. “I think he looks too much like you to be a coincidence.”

“It could still be a trick. A Yiga or something,” his double said suspiciously. Wild didn’t blame him. That did sound like something the Yiga would do.

“But why add the scars and long hair?” Mipha countered, and the double looked frustrated.

“To confuse us, I’m sure there’s a motive. He’s probably here for you, you know you’re—”

“If you say “at risk” again Link, I will set Sidon on you,” Mipha said with a little huff, and turned back towards Wild with a kind-if-cautious look. “My apologies. I am Princess Mipha of the Zora, and this is my husband, Link.”

The words were like a slap, even though Wild knew they were coming.

Husband. Mipha. Zora armor.

Husband.

Link.

Wild would have fallen over backwards if he’d been upright in any way, and he stared between Mipha and his double, wondering if he was about to be sick.

They all knew the portals were transporting them through time. Wild had been a part of Time and Wind’s discussion on fractured timelines, and they all knew that there were splits and sections where the history of Hyrule didn’t make sense.

But this...

Was this a timeline where Wild hadn’t failed?

Mipha’s face grew more worried the longer Wild stared at them without speaking, and even his double started to look a little concerned.

“Did I miss an injury?” Mipha asked, scooting closer again, and Wild froze as she approached.

“No, no you got— you got everything,” Wild choked out. He felt perfectly healthy apart from being tired and his falling-apart mental state, just like if he’d used Mipha’s grace. Even though he hadn’t used it in nearly a year because the champions were finally at rest and they’d passed on and Mipha—

Wild lurched to his feet, using a rock for support, and immediately the other Link’s blade was raised again.

“Stay where you are,” he said sharply, and Wild stumbled backwards towards the water. His double’s face grew fierce and he leapt around him and blocked him off from the river. “I said stay where you are! We’ve told you who we are, now tell us your identity or I will treat you as a threat.”

Wild stilled, and swallowed. He might as well explain.

“I’m... well, Link,” he began, and the other Link didn’t move. “You... probably figured that out. I... I don’t know how I got here— I mean, I do, but it wasn’t on purpose, I-I... I don’t know what you mean about a guardian, but one didn’t bring me here.”

Wild looked at Mipha again, and swallowed thickly, his eyes stinging.

“This isn’t a trap. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not here to hurt you,” he croaked, and the other Link pulled his sword back just a hair. “I— my companions and I are traveling through time, but... I think something went wrong,” he finished in a whisper.

We’ve never had anything like this happen with the portals before.

Did the Shadow do this?

“Time travel...” Mipha said thoughtfully, and exchanged a loaded look with the other Link.

His face had creased further, but in a different way, and he finally pulled the sword away from Wild’s neck. He kept it at the ready though, and watched Wild intensely.

“How did you get here?” he asked again, a little less accusatory and a little more curious.

Wild exhaled. “It’s a long story... but it was through a portal,” he said, deciding he would just... ignore what was going on for now. It was that or completely freak out, and he wanted to know more before passing out due to shock. “My group is hunting a Shadow, one ripping holes in time. We’re trying to stop him.”

“So no Terrako then?” Link questioned, and Wild shook his head in confusion.

“No? No... Terrako. Just portals that sometimes spew powerful monsters.”

Link and Mipha both stiffened.

“These monsters, do they have darkened blood?” Mipha asked, and Wild nodded. “Oh my. We’ve seen some up in the highlands, remember that moblin, Link?”

Link grimaced. “Yes. What a disaster. We assumed it was just leftover magic from Astor or something of that nature, not... time travel related. Bazz is still recovering.” He paused for a second, then his eyes went wide and he whipped his head back towards Link. “You said you came through a portal that expels these monsters?”

“Yeah, from upriver somewhere,” Wild nodded. “But it’s not sending out monsters right now. I fell through it, then fell right in the river.”

Link frowned. “So no monsters were coming out when you went through?”

“No, they were all on the other side, my group was fighting their leader. But I don’t know—”

“Papa?”

Link froze, and Mipha looked worried as Wild turned around towards where the voice had come from.

A young, orangey colored Zora was poking his head up from the water, and he looked between Wild and Link, a wide look on his face.

“Papa?” he repeated in a curious voice, and Wild stared, studying the little Zora’s features.

“Stay in the water, Ty,” Link said seriously, and the Zora hesitated, eyes darting between Mipha and Link and Wild. Then he hopped out and scurried over to stand next to Mipha. He hid behind her leg and watched Wild with large blue eyes, and Wild began to shake, recognizing them as his own.

Oh Hylia, haven’t you put me through enough?

Mipha put a hand on Ty’s arm, and he continued to watch Wild, his expression concerned as he studied his face.

“Papa... hurt?” he said worriedly, and Link shifted around so he was standing beside him, and placed a hand on his head.

“No, I’m not hurt,” Link reassured, and Ty switched to clinging to his leg instead, still staring at Wild. His orange scales shone brightly in the sunshine, like the last rays of light before the sun set.

“Wh... who is...?” Wild choked out, and Mipha gave him a look that was as conflicted as he felt.

“This is our son. Tyde,” she explained gently, like she knew the words would hurt.

They did, hitting Wild like a laser, and he felt a mixture of longing and wonder and grief so intense he was nearly sick.

Tyde was small, and as he shifted around the other Link’s leg, Wild saw that his left arm was shorter than it should be, the fins the wrong size. He had Wild— Link’s eyes, and his frame was proportioned more like a Hylian, but he had golden-orange and white scales all along his body, and had the Zora tail on the back of his head.

All in all, he was exactly what Wild would expect a child of his and Mipha’s to look like.

A tear fell down Wild’s cheek without his permission, and he sank back down to his knees, overwhelmed. He was married here. He had a child here.

This was what would have happened if he hadn’t failed?

This was how much Mipha had loved him?

Wild began to shake, and barely even noticed as Mipha approached and knelt beside him, so lost was he in his own mind.

“You’re from the world the older Sidon came from, aren’t you,” Mipha said quietly, and Wild shakily raised his head to look at her. “I... doubt he remembered in order to tell you. Zelda theorized they all wouldn’t recall anything from their time here.”

Wild gave a small shake of his head, and Mipha sighed.

“It’s complicated I’m afraid, but we’ve dealt with time travel before,” she explained. “And me and Sidon, we... we talked a little, about things. He said that in his time the champions were slain, and that you nearly were along with us. But you were placed in a sleep for one hundred years in order to heal, and then you saved the princess.”

Wild nodded mutely, and Mipha’s face turned further grieved. She carefully reached forward, and Link couldn’t help his flinch as her cool palm rested on his cheek, right over his scars.

The other Link behind Mipha had gone white, his sword finally lowered. Tyde tugged at his pant leg, and Link wordlessly picked him up, holding him tightly to his chest as he locked gazes with Wild.

Wild could only imagine what was going through his head.

Mipha wiped the tear off Wild’s cheek then withdrew her hand, giving him the same smile that he barely remembered from a hundred years ago. It almost made Wild fully break down, but he choked back his tears. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to comfort him.

“I’ll h-have to hear about this adventure Sidon had,” he said, managing not to make his voice sound too watery. “Sounds like it w-was something.”

“It was,” Mipha said quietly. “He always spoke so highly of you.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but Wild’s double spoke up then, Tyde still nestled up to his chest.

“In your world, we... lost?” he asked in a quiet voice, and Wild swallowed thickly.

“We... did. I failed,” he whispered, not looking at Mipha. “The champions... our weapons turned against us. Overwhelmed us. I only survived because of a Sheikah invention that took a hundred years to work so I could fix my failure. So many died...”

He took in a shuddering breath, and looked at Mipha and his double again, their child still watching him intently.

“But you won here. You did it, you won—”

Wild’s voice choked off, and he barely noticed Tyde tug on his father’s sleeve, trying to get his attention. He did notice when Tyde pointed at Wild though, his brow scrunched up.

“Hurt,” he said with another tug, and for some reason that one small word made Wild lose the rest of his composure.

Suddenly it was too much, the sight of himself holding his and Mipha’s child, Mipha herself sitting beside him, her hand on her husband’s arm. It was a family Wild never had, never would have, and the fact that there was a timeline somewhere where Wild hadn’t failed them, where they had the opportunity to exist, it was just—

A small sob escaped him, and he pulled back, his shaking starting up again. Before he could bolt though, Tyde suddenly squirmed out of his father’s arms and padded over to Wild. Wild froze as he put a tiny hand on his arm, and when Wild looked down at him, he ran his hand up and down for a moment before nodding.

“Better,” he declared, then scampered back to Wild’s double.

Wild could only stare, tears dripping down his cheeks as Tyde climbed back into his father’s arms.

“He’s seen me heal before, he thinks he can too,” Mipha explained with a faint smile. “He does that whenever anyone cries, he thinks they’re hurt.”

A thick laugh burst from Wild’s throat, and he smiled shakily through the tears only running faster down his face. Tyde kept watching him, and Link swallowed back the gigantic lump in his throat in order to speak.

“Thanks,” he managed through his tears, and Tyde gave him a shy smile before hiding his face in Link’s chest.

Wild breathed out shakily, shuddering with a sob he tried not to let escape, and Mipha and his double stayed quiet as they let him cry, Tyde quietly watching them all. Mipha put her hand on his arm at one point, and Wild only cried harder, wishing he could remember her more, wishing she hadn’t died, wishing he didn’t even know what.

He merely cried, and Mipha let him, a different version of himself watching in pale-faced silence.

That was where Wolfie found them barely a quarter hour later, Wild’s eyes red as he quietly explained more about the infected monsters, Mipha and his double asking worried questions about what was going on, Tyde resting against his knee.

And nine Links became ten.

[al-the-remix]

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 4: hobbies and dates

a dirt biking date for @bucktommypositivityweek day four! 🏍

(Something, something, I have a lot of feelings about Buck finally having someone who trusts him to be himself, even when he's reckless and impulsive. It's an important facet of the Evan Buckley Experience. Anyway, this only sort of brushes the surface of that.)

So maybe taking Evan out on the trails had been a little self-serving…but Tommy had always been a sucker for a man straddling a dirt bike. In his experience, all men looked better with a little mud on them. It was one of those fixations that had started early, sinking its teeth into his lizard-brain like a dog and refusing to be shaken off.  

And maybe he hadn’t been prepared for just how good Evan would look, all adrenalin-flushed and wind-chafed, his curls unglued from their standard gel and plastered to his forehead with helmet-sweat. Unlike some of his previous boyfriends, Evan actually knew how to ride a motorcycle; the competence was both incredibly hot and had presented its own issues...

Road biking and dirt biking weren’t the same, but Evan’s eyes had gotten big and dish-saucer like when he’d seen the bikes hanging from the ceiling in Tommy's garage. Not long after he had been hovering over Tommy’s shoulder as Tommy had showed him maps of off road trails on his iPad, pointing out the ones he had thought looked nice.

“That one,” Evan had said, indicating a trail marked Difficult. “It’s got a great look out.”

Tommy had raised a brow. “Are you sure you don’t want to take it easy for your first time?”

Evan had snorted out a laugh in his ear. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Right, I forgot who I was talking to…” he’d teased and Evan had elbowed him playfully. “Alright, Bud Ekins, advanced it is.”

In his experience Evan Buckley wasn’t a man who needed training wheels or kid gloves; and watching him tear away on one of Tommy’s bikes onto the forest trail was just another, very literal instance of Evan revving the gas and leaving Tommy in the dust. It was thrilling on some level. It had been a long time since Tommy felt challenged in a relationship in positive ways, he hadn’t realized till meeting Evan how stuck in a rut (ha) his dating life had been for a while now. 

It was all going very smoothly until it wasn’t. It only took a split second for Evan’s bike to spin out and disappear into a ditch. Tommy swore, pulling into a sliding stop. 

“Wait! Wait, don’t move!” he called, jogging over to where Evan lay flat on his back, looking a little stunned. At least all his limbs were laying at the correct angles. 

He slid down the bank on his heels, coming to kneel at Evan’ side. “Did you land on a rock or anything?” He ripped his gloves back to feel around Evan’s neck.

“I’m fine,” he groaned as he reached for his helmet. “You wrapped me up in enough protective gear you could FedEx me cross country.”

“Well, you’re a very important package,” Tommy quipped, finally allowing Evan to sit up.

Evan rolled his eyes huffing out a laugh. He didn’t look too banged up, but Tommy still felt compelled to ask: “How does your head feel? We should go to the hospital if you think you could have a concussion.”

“Do you really want to spend the rest of our day off in the ER?” Evan challenged.

“I’d be more than happy to, if needed.”

Evan’s eyes skated down and away as he visibly swallowed. “Seriously, I’ve broken enough bones and sprained enough joints to recognize it when it happens. I’m good.”

Tommy didn’t exactly feel great about that, but he wasn’t about to force Evan to do anything he didn’t want to. He knew his body well. 

“And you’d let me know if you did?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Tommy said, giving Evan a hand pulling his bike back out of the ditch. “You think you can get yourself back? I can give you a ride and get the bike out later if you want.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Evan said, tightening his neck guard back up. 

“We’ll go slow.”

When they made it back to the parking lot Tommy got Evan situated on the tailgate of his truck and went to forage for his first aid kit buried under other junk in the backseat footwell. 

Evan was peeling his chest protector off with a grimace when Tommy returned. “I don’t think I had enough skin showing to get any scraps, mostly what’s bruised is my ego,” Evan said, a little sheepishly as Tommy settled in between his knees. 

“Let me check for my own peace of mind.”

He helped peel the long sleeve over Evan’s head, who sat surprisingly patiently as Tommy gave him the once over. His skin was flushed and a little bruised but all together nothing too serious, and maybe Tommy lingered just a little longer than necessary, running his hands up along Evan's arms and over the broad curve of his shoulders. 

“Ah, I see, this was just an excuse to feel me up the whole time,” Evan drawled when he realized what Tommy was up to.

“You caught me,” Tommy said, slipping deeper between Evan’s legs. 

Admittedly Evan had been correct, and he’d be sore and stiff tomorrow, but no worse off. The only broken skin was a small scrape on his arm where his sleeve had rolled up, and Tommy took his time dressing it even though it wasn’t bleeding. 

“You know, Maddie used to do this for me all the time,” Evan said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them. “I was always getting myself into some kind of predicament.”

Tommy hummed. “No wonder she's such a good nurse, she had a good patient to practice on.”

“I’m not sure she’d agree,” Evan said, his laugh edging on self-concious. 

“I think she would,” Tommy said and pressed a kiss to the bandaid for good measure. “There, as good as new.”

“Well, I still feel a little embarrassed,” Evan admitted as he hopped off the tailgate with a groan and hobbled around so he could lean himself against the side of the truck. “It's way harder to put the moves on you with a limp.”

“I wasn't aware I was being wooed,” Tommy said as he began setting up the ramp.

“You're always being wooed, trust me,” Evan drawlled, gaze skating the length of Tommy’s body as he pushed the first bike up into the bed.

Tommy paused, catching Evan’s eyes where he stood, looking down at him. He knew with Evan his life would never be boring, but instead of being intimidating, the prospect was a comforting one. He knew that he’d never have to worry about where Evan was coming from or if he wanted Tommy as badly as Tommy wanted him. Evan, who was intense and passionate and sincere, someone Tommy could get into trouble with and he knew would still be at his side when they had to dig their way back out. 

He trusted Evan to be himself: one of the strongest people Tommy knew.

 “I do,” Tommy said, with more weight in his words than he was really intending. "Trust you.

Evan’s expression turned a bit startled, then softened. “Thank you.”

[lanadelnegan]

season 9/10 Negan smut where reader and him are fuck buddies (negan is kinda catching feelings tho) and reader sucks him off in his cell 😫

Lip Gloss

S10/11 Negan x Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, oral (m receiving)

"There's my girl." Negan grins at you from the dim light of his cell as you appear from the top of the stairs.

"I'm not your girl, Negan."

"Not yet." He stands up, making his way towards me. When he gets close enough, he grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me closer to him until I'm flush against the cold bars.

My lips crash against his and I moan into his mouth. He just finished lunch earlier and the taste of a sweet apple still lingers on his tongue. It's been a little over a week since we last touched and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't given myself an orgasm every night to the thought of him. But it doesn't compare to how he makes me feel. I've never had a man touch me the way Negan does and I can't help but coming back for more.

"I'm gonna need you on your knees, y/n. Now."

I drop to my knees in front of him without hesitation and find myself eye-level with the large bulge in his pants. I quickly unzip him and pull out his semi-hard cock before giving it a few strokes. It grows to full length in my hand and I lick his tip teasingly.

"Keep teasing me and see where that gets you, baby." He grins down at me.

I take a moment to admire him before taking him into my mouth. I want to enjoy this as much as he will. I caress his heavy balls in my hand and bite my lip at the sight of his prominent veins spread throughout his cock.

I glance up at him before lifting his cock and stroking my tongue across his balls, taking one into my mouth and lightly sucking.

He watches me proudly, his eyes blown with lust. "Holyyy shit, look at you, my dirty girl."

"Not your girl, Negan." I remind him while licking my tongue up his shaft.

He reaches down to tuck some hair behind me ear and rubs his thumb lovingly across my cheek. "Keep telling yourself that, doll."

His tip is red, throbbing, and dripping with precum. I hold his cock in my hand and guide the tip across my upper and lower lip like I'm applying lip gloss.

"Goddamn, y/n. That is one hell of a sight."

My precum coated lips allow his dick to slide past them with ease and I don't stop until I feel the tip of him touch the back of my throat. He's so big that my hand still completely fits around the part that I can't fit in my mouth. And he's so fucking thick that it's hard to get my mouth comfortably around him, but I make it work because all I want to do right now is make this man feel good.

I close my lips around him and moan with him still in the back of my throat before pulling back slightly. I begin to suck him at a steady pace and his loud moans fill the empty room around us.

His fingers grip my hair roughly as he pushes my head further on his cock, making my eyes fill with tears. I jerk my head back and take a deep breath.

"What's wrong, darlin'? You were doing So. Good." He laughs, guiding my head back towards him.

I take him in my mouth again and suck harder and faster.

"Oh, Fuck, doll. You're gonna make me fucking cum." His breathing grows erratic. "You want it down your throat, baby?"

I nod my head desperately, sucking him like I need his cum to survive.

He lets out a few more loud, raspy moans before angling my head upwards by tugging on the back of my hair.

"I want to watch you swallow my fucking load, baby. You ready?"

His hip thrusts stop abruptly as he lets out a deep, animalistic groan. "Ah, FUCK. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck, baby."

With each "fuck" he says - warm, salty liquid shoots from his tip, filling my mouth completely. I savor the taste of him for a moment before swallowing it down and moaning with satisfaction.

At least I know I'd never die of thirst if we ever get lost together. I could drink his cum and be just fine.

He pulls me back up by my chin and I lean forward to kiss him, letting him taste his juices on my tongue.

"Mmm, baby. We taste So. Good. together."

I glare at him. "It's not happening, Negan. Stop trying to make this something it's not."

"No worries, darlin'." He smirks against my lips. "I've got all the time in the world."

Thank you for the request! Hope you like it. <3

xoxo

[annebd]

Was in the mood for some subby bottom Daniel. Or dommy top Max? At least one of the two, for sure. This is a v quick one. Hope y’all enjoy!

Daniel threw his arms up over his head, grabbing at the headboard with one hand, while the other flopped over his face. He whined low in this throat as Max moved above him, thrusting into him at a languid pace that Daniel was sure was intended specifically to drive him insane.

He was on his back in the middle of the hotel bed, ass resting on Max’s lap and thighs flung wide around him. He felt open, exposed, every place where their skin touched a live wire crackling between them. He wanted to hide away, from Max, from himself. He turned his head further into the arm resting across his eyes, biting at his biceps to stifle the moans that he couldn’t help slipping free.

“No, Daniel,” Max scolded gently. He reached up and pulled Daniel’s arm down and away from his head. “If you cover your face then I, of course, can’t see how beautiful you look like this. And,” he paused to aim a particularly vicious thrust directly at Daniel’s prostate. Daniel squealed, the sound petering off to another low whine as Max continued, “I can’t hear all of these lovely sounds that you are making when I fuck you.”

“Fuck, Max,” Daniel groaned. “You’re killing me here.”

Max leaned in and sucked a gentle kiss into the dip of Daniel’s throat, continuing to fuck into him as he did so. Steady as a damn metronome. He grabbed Daniel’s hand and pushed it down in between them. “Like this. Put your hand here instead. Then it will feel very nice when I’m inside you.”

Daniel’s thumb rested at the very base of his cock, the rest of his fingers curling around and down. At the insistent press of Max’s hand guiding his, Daniel let his fingertips stroke gently at his rim, where Max was stretching him wide. Max’s cock wasn’t as big as Daniel’s, a little shorter, but thick. He always needed to be opened properly before Max could fuck him good and hard. Max was happy to oblige. If given half a chance, he’d spend hours opening Daniel up on his tongue, then his fingers, until he could slid in with barely a hint of resistance.

“Does that feel good, Daniel? Do you like it?”

Daniel could only nod, his head bobbing against the pillow beneath him.

“You’re not being very good for me today, Daniel. You’re not giving me your words, and you’re not letting me look at your beautiful face properly.” Max stilled, balls deep inside Daniel, and ground his hips in a tight circle. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”

Daniel gasped, and his entire body tensed at once. He felt a wave of heat shoot through him, and his cock jumped against his stomach, shooting a jet of precome that made him think- for a moment- that he’d come without even realizing it. Fuck. Yeah, he wanted to be good for Max. He nodded again, a quick shake of his head. “Yeah,” he managed to force out.

“Say it for me. Out loud. Tell me how it feels.” Max had slowed his pace. He was still moving steadily, but with longer, deeper thrusts; the kind that had Daniel’s eyes rolling back, made him feel like his teeth were rattling in his head.

“Fuck, baby. It’s good; it feels good. Please!” Daniel wasn’t sure what he was begging for, but it seemed right. He wanted to be good for Max, whatever that meant in the moment.

Max smiled at him, satisfied. He leaned down, pressed his lips to Daniel’s ear and whispered “good boy.”

Sitting back up, he pulled Daniel further up onto his lap and then leaned forward, nearly folding Daniel in half. From this angle, he was in the perfect position for his cock to slide directly across Daniel’s prostate on each thrust.

“Fuck fuck fuck, Max, please!” Daniel cried. He grabbed for his cock and began to stroke himself firmly, knowing he was moments away from coming hard.

A few more thrusts, and he was there, shooting over his stomach, a drop of come landing delicately across his collarbone. All of the tension that had built up in him over the evening dissipated between heartbeats, and he flopped back, his entire body tingling pleasantly. He reached up to stroke a hand down Max’s chest. “You, too, Maxy. Come on. Come for me.”

Max reached down to kiss Daniel firmly as, hips stuttering, he came inside him.

After a moment to catch his breath, Max pulled out and reached for the towel he’d stashed on the nightstand before they’d gotten started. He gave each of them a quick wipe down and then flopped back down on the bed next to Daniel. He rolled over onto his side, swinging an arm and a leg over Daniel and snuggling in.

“Was that okay?” Max asked.

Daniel smiled. “More than okay. That was spectacular. Splendiferous. Stupendous.”

Max beamed back at him, the effect slightly tempered as a huge yawn broke through the grin. “I don’t think all of those are even words. But I’m glad you liked it. We can again tomorrow. I want you to fuck me like this, too.”

Daniel laughed, but pulled Max in tighter in towards him. “Insatiable,” he teased. Tomorrow couldn’t come quickly enough.

[muselin]

Hi Muse! what are your thoughts on sleepy sex with monstax for the wildcards? Shownu is just so warm n safe to me, and I'd love to wake up next to him. And im curious about joking around and being really lovey with minhyuk or Jooheon.

in you take this request, thank you in advance!

Monsta X Sleepy Morning Sex Wildcards

Who: Monsta X x reader

What: smut 🔞⛔️ morning sex, mild somnophilia (implied), implied consent in context of established relationships, g.n reader, reader has breasts and a vagina

_____________________________________

Shownu

"I'm hornyyyy," you whined at him, nudging him with your elbow.

"I'm not stopping you, I'm just really tired," Hyunwoo mumbled into his pillow.

"So are you saying that I can just help myself?"

If he had cracked open his eyes he would have seen your cheeky smile.

"Go to town, baby."

You saw the corners of his lips, puffy from sleep, curl up above the line where his face was smushed into his pillow.

He didn't help you, teasing you in his own way as he knew how big he was and how hard to maneuver for you. But you succeeded in pushing him onto his back and ducked under the sheets, a deep hum bubbling up from him a second later when he felt your tongue on his cock as it was already hard and a little sensitive the way it could be in the morning. You were impatient, sucking him briefly before you re-emerged from the covers, letting them pool around your hips as you sat astride Hyunwoo's lap and guided his stiff length into you.

He opened his eyes then, a louder groan reverberating in your chest. He watched you work your hips on him, his hands caressing your skin unhirriedly. Your pace quickened and you thrust down on him harder, your own moans rising in pitch as he pressed right against the spot you needed him most. One of his hands moved to lace his fingers with yours while the other went to your clit, making your trip to a morning orgasm that much shorter and making Hyunwoo smile sleepily at how you sounded more desperate by the minute.

"Oh fuck, almost--" you panted but in that moment strong hands gripped your shoulders and brought your body flush against Hyunwoo's chest. Fingers snaked into your hair and brought your face down for him to kiss you hungrily, driving deep into you from below.

Minhyuk

The feeling of something hard poking insistently at your behind coupled with sweltering heat woke you from your deep sleep.

"Really?" You groaned, "can't you wait a little?"

"But you promised!" Minhyuk whined in your ear, his husky voice tickling at your neck.

"Promised what?"

"That we'd do it at least three more times before I had to leave. We're two behind," he stated, grinding his morning wood against your ass for emphasis.

"We have all day, please just let me sleep," you mumbled and tried to pull away from him to escape his heat. You expected more complaining but the silence went on a little too long which was usually not a good sign.

"Min?" You turned to find him propped on his side, looking at you.

"You're gonna make me lose to Changkyun?"

You shoved Minhyuk back with a yelp.

"That's what this is about?? Not because you're going to miss me??"

Laughter filled your bedroom even as Minhyuk grabbed you and made you straddle him. "Well, it's also because I actually really, really want to be inside you," he looked up at you through heavy lashes, his erection pressing into you from below and his grip tightening on your arms.

You met his gaze as you bit your lip and pulled down the sheet separating your naked bodies. You placed his cock right in between the lips of your pussy which was quickly getting slicker with the promise of at least two more rounds in bed with him. You felt him throb against you and you angled your hips, making the head of his cock catch against your opening.

"How long are you going to tease me," he challenged.

"As long as it takes for you to say you're sorry for turning this into a silly competition--fuck!!"

Before you could even finish your sentence Minhyuk had sat up, grabbed your waist and pulled you down hard, forcing you to split open around his hard length.

"Sorry..."

Kihyun

The light touch of fingers on your cheek woke you from your light morning dozing. Your eyelashes fluttered lightly, heavy eyelids lifting to see depths of dark brown looking back at you. Kihyun smiled at you as he continued stroking your cheek.

"What?" You questioned, your own little smile curving up the corners of your lips.

"Nothing..." Kihyun's eyes fell away from yours bashfully, trailing over the bare lines of your shoulders and lower to where the sheets covered your chest. You knew that look but said nothing, waiting excitedly for what you hoped would be the start of one of Kihyun's indulgent morning sessions with you. He looked up at you with a question in his eyes and when you merely smiled, his head tucked under your chin for him to start placing kisses over your neck. Your heart was already racing and his hands hadn't even reached their favoured places, one reaching down between your legs and one over your nipple.

You felt his lips curve up against your neck at the shuddering breath you took in when his fingers slipped inside you, finding you wet already, sensitive from last night. It was so easy, so easy for him to tuck an arm under your leg and bring his hips up, filling you up slowly, his pretty eyes squeezing shut at the feel of you around him and your broken moan in his ears.

Hyungwon

You felt so safe and warm caged in Hyungwon's arms, his even breathing against your back contributing to the comfortable bubble you snoozed in. However, the bubble also included his hips plastered to your backside, long legs twined with yours, and for a good half an hour now he'd been shifting in his sleep slightly, his hard length poking in between your cheeks. You knew he was asleep as his breathing never once broke its rhythm, but you were getting increasingly hotter and needier despite the early hour.

You pushed your hips back against him but only made it worse for yourself, granting yourself friction against your bare core and longing for Hyungwon to wake up already and just fill you. But you knew he hated being woken up early. Eventually, you were so wet that your juices started sliding down onto his cock as you had both gone to bed in the nude.

His breathing shifted.

"Fuck, how are you so wet," his sleepy voice rasped against your shoulder.

"Please..." you mumbled, pushing back against him and your gut twisted when you felt him sneak a hand down to guide his length to line up with you from behind. You both groaned deep at the feeling of him slipping inside you to the hilt.

"Good morning," Hyungwon breathed into your neck as he started pressing into you, littering your neck with kisses.

Jooheon

"What the hell is that," you jolted awake due to an odd sensation on your shoulder. It felt oddly soft, squishy but somehow familiar. You sat up in bed to the sight of Jooheon, his face adorably pleading and his rosebud lips puckered up into a circle.

"Were those your lips?"

He nodded cutely, eyes as round as the shape his lips were making.

"What is it, honey?"

He still didn't speak, but gestured with his head down towards his crotch. He was naked, sitting on his heels and the problem was fairly obvious.

"Oh that looks like a... hard one, honey," you could hardly keep from chuckling. "Did you need help with that," you asked as you leaned forward, crawling over the bed towards him. You were naked as well, the sheets rolling off of your body as you made your way towards him and you didn't miss how his eyes lost their playful wide roundness and turned into something darker, roaming over the lines of your body.

Jooheon leaned back expectantly, his erection jutting upwards, and his lips dropped open slightly the closer your face got to his "problem".

You looked up at him before you stuck your tongue out to lave over the smooth, engorged head of his cock. Without much more preamble you opened up and took as much of him as you could, causing a melodic moan to drop from Jooheon's pretty lips. You sucked him in deep, bobbing up and down on his length and he hunched over you, a hand reaching up to the back of your head to steady you. He didn't need to press down, you were swallowing him down just fine without any prompting. Your tongue rolling under the crown of his cock had Jooheon's eyes rolling back and his hips canting forward, his moans now louder and peppered with hisses.

"Fuck, baby...."

I.M.

Sleeping with Changkyun's hand on your butt or between your thighs was commonplace but he was no sleepwalker. The maddening motions over your clit were from an at least half-awake, horny version of him. As you roused slowly, limbs too heavy to push away or more into him, you heard slick sounds that told you just how wet he'd got you already before you'd even woken up.

"Mmmmm..."

You weren't sure if that was a moan of pleasure or a groan from being woken up so early that bubbled up in your throat but Changkyun chuckled anyway, fingers slipping lower to part your folds.

"You don't have to do anything but just lie back, let me do this."

You felt perfectly content to be taken care of and you were pliant in his hands as they manoeuvred you onto your back. Warm, eager lips trailed over the inside of your thighs and you tipped your head back into your pillow once they reached your clit. The smooth glide of Changkyun's tongue followed and he separated your folds with the tip, pressing into your clit with slow, unhurried pressure. The moans that left your mouth turned pornographic even as your voice was still heavy with sleep, and turned even louder when Changkyun's fingers followed, slipping into you and reminding you of the delicious lingering soreness he'd left you with from last night.

[jaylienpotter]

Part 2 of Let them be | 1k words

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Let boys wear skirts

James had started a protest against the school rules not allowing females to wear trousers. How? By breaking the dress code. Of course Sirius was going to follow up and also put on a skirt. His brother Reggie desperately needed to change uniforms.

What he wasn't expecting was how it felt. The fabric was nice and it was much more freeing, refreshing. But there was something else. He felt different. He felt pretty. I mean, he was always gorgeous. But not like this. He was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, turning to see the skirt from different angles. He put his long black strands behind his ears and smiled. Sirius didn't know what it meant. He wasn't like Regulus. He wasn't trans. He liked being a bloke. He never felt discomfort with his body. The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry I'm going!" Taking the towel and his pajamas, he opened the door to a Moony in a skirt. Obviously they had all agreed to it but he just looked so awkward and cute, with high socks to hide the scars. But Remus would look good in anything. At least in Padfoot's eyes.

Lupin didn't budge when the bathroom got free. He stared, looked his friend up and down.

"What?" Did he look bad? Did he wear the skirt upside down? Did he just look ridiculous with his hair like that, which made him look even more feminine?

"I- uh- nothing, I just… It suits you." Was Moony blushing? Did Sirius only have to wear a skirt to catch his crush's attention this whole time?

"You think?" Pads did a little twirl. The skirt was a little short but what did he care?

"Yeah. You look… Pretty."

"Thanks. I kind of like it, actually…"

"I see. Uh Pads, can I use the toilet?" Sirius stepped aside and ever so slightly glanced at the boy's arse. Lupin looked a lot more modest. It made sense with his 'problem', as well as anxiety and low self confidence in general. Black didn't expect him to follow the protest. The four of them were in, though. Even Wormtail. Lily's skirt was slightly tight but he said it was fine since it was for a good cause. He could use a spell to largen it but none of them had mastered those yet. They'd end up making a skirt big enough for the squid.

There were whistles from the Gryffindor table as soon as he walked in for breakfast. Mckinnon was hyping her friend as usual.

"Look at her!" She was joking, of course. But it hit Sirius. He felt a knot in his (her?) stomach. Why did he like that? He was fine with male pronouns, never had a problem. Still didn't. Shrugging it off, the drama queen paraded to the table, followed by an anxious werewolf.

"Don't worry Moons. If anyone looks I'll just be flagrant and get the attention off you."

"Thanks Pads." He smiled, his cheeks still slightly tainted. Perhaps he was too hot from the high socks and long sleeves in the hot weather?

"Good morning, lads! How are we feeling? I see Padfoot is confident, great. Wormy is getting used to it. Moony, you good, mate?" Potter was such a mum. People would think that Remus being the most sensible out of the four, he would have the responsible, more parent-like role. To be quite frank, he didn't give a shit. If his friends made a fool of themselves he'd laugh. Prick. Hot prick, though.

"Yeah." He looked to his left and back at Prongs. "I'm okay."

The day went as expected, they got detention quite soon, the first class was thankfully History of Magic and their ghost of a teacher didn't even know he was dead, let alone what his students were wearing. They received plenty of comments. Some cheering, mostly from girls, some were snarky, and some of the students called them girls, which Black didn't seem to mind at all. And of course, there were lots of stares.

The Marauders walked together everywhere, to be stronger and avoid being attacked. James was incredible, swagging around the castle with his head held high.

"Hey, Prongs? Can I ask you something?" It wasn't until they were in their pajamas that Sirius gained the courage to talk about it.

"Of course."

"How did you feel wearing a skirt? Were you uncomfortable? Did you like it?"

"Well…" Potter twisted his mouth to the side, as he always did when thinking. "It was fine, I suppose. I wouldn't say I liked it, I wouldn't choose to wear one. But for the cause it didn't bother me."

"Hm." Pads's gaze was distant. He had time to figure it out, they were going to keep wearing skirts until a teacher heard their complaints. At least Sirius and James were.

The next day, Marlene joined the protest, borrowing Sirius's trousers that were oversized for her. The lads had gone downstairs and she was in their dorm with Black, getting ready. They had no problem changing in front of each other since both were gay.

"You seem to be enjoying the skirt." That tone meant she was onto something. The fucker could always read Sirius. Even better than James, at times.

"Yeah… I suppose so. Makes me feel pretty."

"Just pretty or more like a girl?" Bloody hell, she had figured it out even before Sirius.

"I'm not sure…" Marlene put on her tie, done getting ready.

"Do you want to borrow my makeup? It might help." Pads turned around nervously yet excitedly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah mate. You also have to repaint your nails, they're all chipped. Wait here, I'll get my stuff."

"Thanks Marls…" She winked and left, coming back a few minutes later.

"I also brought a small mirror. Sit, we're having a beauty session." It was funny. Marlene wasn't that feminine. She didn't wear makeup all that often and when she did, it was more of a rock punk look with smudged black eyes. It wasn't anything like Evans or Mary, which were a lot more elegant and traditional.

"You don't want to eat first?"

"I'd rather get you all prepped up to see people's faces when you show up all girly."

And the faces did not disappoint. Black and Mckinnon walked into the Great Hall with wrapped arms. She had her hair in a messy bun, her shirt not fully buttoned up with her tie loose, the trousers covering her feet and a bit of a black smudged eyeshadow. Sirius, on the other hand, wore the skirt from the previous day, which was slightly short but still covered up everything, the shirt also not buttoned up all the way as per usual, and the red and gold tie undone, sitting on his shoulders. Some black nail polish and winged eyeliner, too. He couldn't deny it, it felt pretty good.

The best face was Remus's, who literally dropped his toast. The pink cheeks were definitely not from the weather. It sparked a little hope in Padfoot, that maybe his dreams of being with his best friend would come true. However, Moony would probably forget about it as soon as the protest ended.

It took a while until that happened. Pads and Prongs wore skirts for around two weeks (and some of the girls wore pants - Marlene, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, Pandora), eventually Reg felt comfortable enough to join, he had never felt so good at Hogwarts.

Mcgonagall was the one who spoke up about it, saying it was getting ridiculously out of hand and that she saw no problem with girls wearing trousers 'But for the love of Merlin, boys, put on some trousers'.

Dumbledore agreed to change the rules, as the protest was distracting the students' focus during classes. Fully aware the Gryffindors weren't going to back down.

Regulus was ecstatic and thanked all of them. Sirius was happy for his brother but he was going to miss the skirt. In this journey of self discovery, he had come to the conclusion that he felt both masculine and feminine, some days more than others. All the pronouns felt right, but he did prefer being called pretty over handsome. Maybe Sirius would be able to wear a skirt again someday. Until then, makeup was the only way of expression. He would also miss Moony's glances, he ought to come up with a new way to lure the Gryffindor boy.

[paradiseismine]

Finn Wolfhard Headcanons

Pairing: Finn Wolfhard x f!reader

Warnings: a bit of fluff + lots of smut (but mostly soft smut, cause Finn is a gentleman)

Love note from Nina: I’ve just started this side blog due to the recent lack of new Finn smut content on here. Basically, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Requests are open and I’ll write for all of Finn’s characters (and Finn himself, duh), except for Richie. I hope you all like it, I can also take constructive criticism quite well (English is not my first language) :) anyways:

Fluff

- Finn Wolfhard was definitely born in the wrong era: you couldn’t believe that one of gen Z’s most prominent stars would simply love to show off some old timey chivalry.

- Whenever he’s going to drive you somewhere, he always gets out of his car, walks around it and opens the car door for you. When you reach the destination of each drive, he does the same thing, but also offers his hand to help you stand up.

- If he takes you to a restaurant, he’s also going to pull up your chair so you can sit - and, for God’s sake, you’re not even touching that bill. It’s always his treat. He just wants to make his girl happy, and you must let him, of course.

- Despite fame and all it includes, Finn is not hesitant in holding your hand or having his arm around your waist in public - as long as you’re okay with it. He loves to show you off, he’s so proud to have you as his girlfriend. Everyone around you must know that.

- Being a rising star, your schedules don’t always match perfectly, so he’s bound to spend a few weeks away every once in a while to film/direct something. That being said, one of his main love languages is gift giving: he loves to bring you little presents from all his work trips - mostly small dainty jewelry, beautifully knitted sweaters and well, basically anything that made him think of you while he was away.

Smut

- Whenever he gets back from a work trip, you already know what to expect: being showered in gifts and physical touch. He missed you a lot and you must know how much he did.

- Neck kisses are a must. Finn knows the exact spot that makes your knees buckle, and he’s not afraid to use that knowledge in his favor.

- There’s usually lots of whispering in your ear about how much he missed you, how good you smell, how smooth and perfect your skin is. Your earlobes are also getting plenty of nibbles and gentle sucking. He’s all about those pretty moans he gets out of your lips.

- When it comes to taking clothes off, Finn is always subtle and delicate. His fingers lightly trace your dress’ thin straps and pull them down slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him if you want - but you’re always as hungry for him as he is for you.

- Each little piece of newly exposed skin gets its round of kisses and gentle touching. Finn worships your body and your soul more than anything else in the world. He wants you to know how much he appreciates you, he wants to make you feel safe in his arms at all times.

- When the time comes, Finn loves to eat your pussy. He loves the smell, the taste, the texture, everything. The way you shiver under his touch, hissing and squirming, always gets him hard in a split second. His big warm hands know their way both around and inside you: the perfect speed, pressure and angle. That boy is sure to make you cum and suck off his own fingers afterwards - you taste so good he can’t get enough.

- Finn’s a gentleman, of course, so he takes the “ladies first” thing quite seriously. If you haven’t already cum at least three times, your pussy is not soaking wet and you’re not begging him to enter you, you’re not ready for him yet. He takes his sweet time driving you crazy before claiming you.

- As he lines up with your sweet entrance, he always always always looks you in the eye and asks, his voice faint with lust “may I?” As desperate as he is to get engulfed by your delicious cunt, he still finds consent to be the hottest thing ever - and so do you.

- After he gets a verbal response (‘cause I swear that boy can be such a tease if you simply moan), he usually starts off gently, letting your body adjust to both his length and girth. His dick is so thick it still needs some patience and adjusting, even after all this time you’ve been together.

- He keeps his thrusts at a slow pace until you’re satisfied. Then, and only then, he speeds up and allows himself to release. Finn absolutely loves to spill into you, filling you up with warm ropes of his cum. You’re his and only his, and somehow, he feels as if cumming inside you is a way to show you that. To show you that he owns you.

- After you two come down from your highs, it’s all cuddles and pillow talk. Finn is mostly a big spoon, but won’t mind being a little spoon if you want him to.

- In the end, all he wants is to have you in his arms as long as possible, savoring the peace and the warmth he gets from feeling your heartbeat and your body touching his. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

[tired-biscuit]

Hello Biscuit 💛 it’s the same anon who’s bugged you about Obito a couple of times recently back again! Thinking about a reader who didn’t even realize she has a raging size kink until she’s in bed with Obito for the first time 😩

18+ fem!reader // cw: size kink

oh goodness, now i'm thinking that a sweet man like obi wouldn't even realize what exactly the size difference would be doing to you either.

i can just picture him quirking a confused brow at the way literal hearts form in your eyes the moment he tops you and presses you into the bed with the help of his weight. your legs are propped on top of his shoulders, bent at an angle that allows him to go so deep inside your wet warmth that it causes a blush to tint his handsome, scarred face a bright red.

he can see everything, and the mewlish little noises you keep letting out during it only make the heat travel further down his burly body; all until you swear that even his neck and chest are flushing a faint pink. he's just so flustered and cute despite being a grown man, it's to die for.

and speaking of death, you might just experience a little version of it from the way he draws his hips back slowly and pushes them right back in even slower, now. the spot where you connect is warm, hot, sticky, dripping wet. you're so attracted to him - to his immense size - that you've turned embarrassingly soaked. just the sight of his broad shoulders, his strong arms, the scars, makes your pussy flutter around his thickness. you can't help it.

and the best part of it is that he looks so mean but he fucks you so gentle. he's all messy kisses, hesitant strokes of tongue, unsure grunts and coincidental manhandling. you've been making love for so long that his midnight hair is all mussed up; there are beads of sweat sliding down his temples and jawline, and yet he still doesn't seem to be planning on stopping anytime soon.

his left hand wraps around your thigh as he readjusts to find more stability on his knees. the headboard of the bed keeps slamming against the wall as he pounds away purely on instinct and what feels good. you're already so close, but the moment he leans in and presses his other hand against your chest so that he can feel your heartbeat dance underneath his calloused fingertips; you're ready to go absolutely feral. like an animal. like an untamed beast.

and how couldn't you? his palm is so wide that it nearly covers both of your tits entirely. just the way he clumsily swipes his thumb over one nipple - if it's done on purpose or on accident, you're not sure - makes you clench. makes you hold onto him so tightly that he feels the need to hiss as he grits his teeth and tries to relish the oh, so sinfully delightful tightness without fully giving into it at the same time.

a muscle twitches in his cheek when he feels your cunt start sucking him in, clearly aiming to milk him completely dry. he swears that he's had a couple of more pumps in him, honest to god, but as he listens to the whine you let out and watches the way your fingers dig into the pillow as you throw your head back in absolute whorish bliss, is enough to make him cum on the spot.

you look absolutely dazed. fucked stupid without reason, it seems.

or at least that's what he thinks.

"fuck...! obi, you're s-so fuckin' big." your eyes squeeze shut and your upper lip quivers when he slams into you to the hilt and keeps himself there with the single, innocent purpose of keeping himself in-check. tears slide down your cheeks with the action but you don't wipe them away.

"oh, god- goddamn... sweetheart." he's just trying not to spill his load too soon, but he's balls deep in and the moan you let out after he accidentally bullies your fucking womb is shrill and piercing; it hurts his ears. makes his heart race and causes his sharingan to come out and play even if he doesn't want it to join this particular game.

the sounds of your intimacy grow louder and a ring of milky arousal gathers at the base of his dick the moment your gaze lands on the deep red that now swirls inside the eye that he doesn't keep hidden underneath the eyepatch. the shade almost glows in the dark and you clamp onto him like a vice in response, even tighter than before - if that is even humanly possible.

"i'm big?" he grits out finally when you make eye contact, his voice hoarse and terribly strained. you're so out of it that you don't even realize that what he's asking you is a genuine question.

poor man. he truly doesn't understand that his fat cock is splitting you into two and is almost becoming too much to bear with each passing second of ruthless, albeit loving, pounding. that he's so big and thick that he makes your entire body writhe, squirm, arch in desperate attempts to accommodate him properly. that he makes you sweat and cry and drool and leak warm slick. that he makes the muscles in your thighs burn from the way you have to keep your legs wide open at all times, just so that he can properly fit in-between.

even your belly throbs, now that he's inside.

"yeah... s'big... stretch me out real good," your voice wobbles and you can't offer anything else as you take his hand with both of yours and slip it between your legs. feeling the friction, your toes immediately curl; feet bumping against the sides of his head when you press his thumb against your clit and guide him into starting a slow circling motion that makes your entire body feel like it's been set on fire.

the button of nerves feels so small and delicate underneath his touch. good lord, for a man so scatterbrained and sometimes outright ditzy; he's good at following instructions when you finally get him to set his mind on it.

just like he's good at making you feel like he's fucked his way right up to your goddamn throat from how big he is.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Braius Doomseed spicy headcannons

Author's Note: So the horny brainrot continues. The hot minotaur is prancing around in my head, tempting me to write so much smut about him. 🥴

Pairings: Braius x male reader

First of all; he's a switch and vers. No question there

His role largely depends on his partner(s) and mood though

I also think Braius would be down to try a lot of different kinks at least once. He's definitely interested in experimenting and exploring

As far as what's in his pants… I can't get the idea of Braius with a horse cock out of my head 😳

Just fuckin massive down there

Gods help you if you decide you want to take the whole thing in any of your holes–

This, of course, means that he can cum A LOT at once. Like, we're talking buckets of cum here

Really lives up to the name DoomSEED *ba-dum tss*

Braius could easily glaze you like a donut, or pump you full until you're bloated with his cum-

Anyways that's enough before I get worked up

Loves loves loooves when you grab his horns while he's sucking you off/eating you out 🩶

I definitely feel like he's the king of aftercare. Regardless of what his role or position is, he's so loving and wants to make sure you feel taken care of too <3

As a dom………

Braius can be such a sweet dom. Yeah, he can definitely be mean and torture you with pleasure, but he'll whisper such disgustingly sweet things into your ears while he does that~

The kind of dom that will stroke you far past the point of overstimulation while he tells you how good you are for cumming again 😵‍💫

He'll use his large hands to keep you in place, pinning them so that you have no choice but to accept his teasing~

The minotaur has much experience under his belt, and he's going to use all of it to turn you into a shuddering, shivering, sweaty, exhausted, whimpering, moaning mess

As a top………

…You are a brave soul for taking his cock 🫡

Whichever hole he uses is going to be quite sore after he's done with you

But it's totally worth it, because Braius is so good at hitting juuust the right spot at juuust the right angle at juuust the right speed

He also makes sure to pay attention to how you react to everything. He takes it all into consideration as he pounds your little holes

Even without his cock stretching you, his fingers are so big that those alone would fill you up

As a sub………

He can be yuor angle 😇 or yuor devl 😈

Sometimes Braius is an obedient slut for you. Obeying his dom(s) like a good boy

Sometimes Braius is a cheeky lil slut who will practically beg for a punishment

Either way, you're both going to have a good time

The minotaur also loves it when you have him kneel at your feet. You caress his pretty face, complimenting him as you tug on his hair

If you spit in his mouth, Braius will gladly swallow it and thank you for it ��

As a bottom………

I fully believe Braius would look so adorable while he's being railed 🖤

His deep, gutteral moans as you rearrange his guts, his jaw slack and eyes glazed over while his ass is filled 🥴

Once again, looooves having his horns used like handlebars while you're taking him from behind

Begs for you to cum inside every single time. Braius just adores feeling full of your seed, and feeling it drip out and slide down his thick thighs

I was supposed to add more to this but it's just been sitting in my drafts for so long… here, Braius smut be upon ye 🫴