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#its like. supermarket stuff
boo-gutzz · 19 days
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Hey yall! So as of tomorrow I'm starting a new job (cringe) and man. Im both excited but not
Idk how it'll affect my art posting/regularity. I'll try my best to at least somewhat keep up with how I used to, but I'm also at a friend's place for 2 weeks bc its closer to work and I'll have to drive back and forth a lot by train between here, home and work and also have to care for my younger sisters. My schedule is also kind of terrible (I start at 6am so if I go to work from home, I have to get up at 3.30 bc its kinda far)
I'm trying my best tho promise. I have a few half done wips for reqs and I'll try to stay as active as I always was. Hopefully once I get adjusted to the new rhythm it won't b as hard
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ducktracy · 5 months
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reminder that if you're not watching Crayon Shin-chan then you are living a hollow and empty life. this is not edited. this ripped straight from the movie (Movie 8: Jungle That Invites the Storm, highly recommend for fellow Masaaki Yuasa lovers)
if you need further convincing: these monkeys run an animation sweatshop
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#i've made this disclaimer on another post but will again since i've seen a lot more of the movies now#the movies are VERY good and very enjoyable but unfortunately the first handful are bogged down by transphobic/homophobic/okama stereotypes#they kind of vary in their severity. Movie 5 i think is the biggest catalyst because it features the stereotyped characters the most#prominently. Movie 3 doesnt really have caricatures per se but saves a very backhanded reveal for the end#Movies 1 and 4 are a bit more tolerable if my memory is correct. Movie 2 i think is kind of comparable to Movie 5 with its caricatures#in that the characters have similar roles in both movies#i admittedly can't remember what caricatures there were in Movie 6 or 7. 7 i think barely had anything#RAMBLE RAMBLE BASICALLY: these jokes are within the first 7 movies or so 5 being the zenith then reducing down and down. by movie 8 it's sa#e#i give these disclaimers because these movies are all very enjoyable and i would not recommend them if i didnt think there wasnt any merit#o them. they are all very much worth watching. Movie 5 still has a lot of very enjoyable stuff in it (there's a showdown in a supermarket!!#but i just want to make sure that is clear and established since transparency is good to have and i dont want anyone's viewing experience t#be ruined because they weren't given the proper warning#if it's any consolation it's my understanding that even the directors hated doing the jokes#iirc Keiichi Hara really didn't like doing the jokes and i think had a talk with the mangaka Yoshito Usui and was like 'uh dude this is#gonna age horribly can we maybe not'#ironically Hara's first film is Movie 5. which is again the biggest offender#BUT! that is my spiel. my understanding is that it's contained to those 6 or 7 first movies and i think is strictly just a movie thing#so please do give these films a watch but just be mindful at the same time#if anyone needs recommendations my favorites have been movies 4 and 9 but i genuinely really enjoyed every one that i have seen#i've seen the first 11 and a half movies (need to finish 12) and movie 22. the worst i've felt about one is 'oh that was pretty good!'#each film has its own merit and is very very very much worth watching#22 was the first Shin-chan anything i watched and all my Shin-chan expert friends say 4 is a good introductory piece#in case that influences anything/makes it easier to break in#so. thus concludes my spiel#csc#vid
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lesbicosmos · 7 months
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i have a job interview tomorrow and im starting to stress LMAO
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rainc0at · 4 months
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I LOVE THIS FUCKIJG FILM SO MUCH EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS PERFECT
#the casting is so good its oerfect they all do such good jobs iCAAAANNTT#roman and zsasz do SO WELL they creep me OUT its so GOOOOODODODO#“fuck fsmily! all due respect but fuck that!!!” all his. tantrums? how else would i word thst idk so. and like from the little bits we see#we learn so much about them. like idk shit avout them sorrt im a poser. but FUCKKXKCK its just so good#obviously margot robbie does incredibly. and cassandras actress! i know people have said they sorta dilute her character down which IS sad#esp bc i dont know anything about her either. but fuck#and the way it depicts gotham!!!!!!!!!! ive talked about this alot before and god its always sssoooooo#ITS JUST ALL SO GOOD. the humor THE WARDROBE. once again the causal lgbt rep. all the sexism stuff.#its just perfect its genuinely perfect#AGRGRHFHSJ I LOVE THIS FILM.#birds of prey#AND JUST THE WAY EVERYONE TALKS AND THE DELIVERY OF EVERYTHING. I DONT KNOW ITS JUST ALL. PERFECT.#also another mention to roman and zsasz. they do it SO. WELL. the changes in zsaszs voice AND JUST HIS GENERAL ATTITUDE. sionis and how wel#his actor does the quick switches. and again the delivery of ALL his lines. also special mention to his little spin at his first scene.#ALSO HIS AND ZSASZS LAUGHS ohmyod#and montoya does it all so well and inlove her voice and same with canary and i cant say much on them because its ALL so good that i cant#pinpoint it??????#ALSO THE HAIR TIE SCENE 💘💘💘💘💘#also forever thinking of roman and his thing with how people pronounce words. actually im sorta just always thinking about him and zsasz#zsaszmask hoffstrahm and now hannigram all live in my head. and another ship i wont say incase noah sees this. OH AND SUKEVE.#another mention to the soundtrack. oh. my. god.#another mention to how it depicts gotham. like you just see people living. in the daytime. hanging out living rhwir lives. and you see smal#businesses and a supermarket and a club and the graffiti and just somuch of the film being. in. the daytime. AND THE SKATING DERBY!#GOD i love this film so so so much can you tell#also why is all the content of my posts only ever in the tags. like okaaayy sure.#DINAHS SIDE EYE AT ROMAN AND ZSASZ WHEN THEYRE BEING EXTRA GAY I CANT DO THIS#am i gonna go and look at loads of zsaszmask content now. yes. dont judge.#also anti-big establishments moment (her robbing the store) and her promising to get sal the 75 cents. support small businesses#also bruce wayne mention theyrr always so funny#rain rambles
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mumintroll · 1 year
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my fav thing about going on holiday is going to foreign supermarkets tbh i find it so interesting to see how different things are
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cj-kenobi · 9 months
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okay okay i just went to a MILK VENDING MACHINE and found it very exciting so I'm here to tell yall about the experience because I loved it !! its a little shed in the middle of nowhere and u get a milk bottle (or bring your own!!) and then u put it in the machine and pick milk (or milkshake!!!! I got chocolate!) and it just dispenses fresh milk from the farm!! its super fucking good and if there's one near you you should totally go!!
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steelycunt · 1 year
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ridi.... steelycunt...... ridi my friend..... begging u to drop the fantasy slander.... fantasy has done so much for us don't talk about her like that .. pleasey please.....
im sawry my love...its just not my thing...to be fair though! in defense of your girl! it doesnt mean i dont enjoy any fantasy media..its just that generally its not the fantasy elements of the media that interest me...the dragons and magic and fantasy realms etc they dont do much for me the people are always the most interesting parts that is the bit i like to connect with..
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newtness532 · 2 years
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should i go to the supermarket?
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thecherrygod · 1 year
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...... i think i went all the way around and im pretty sure i know what my fursona would be if i had one help
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darktyrannomon · 2 years
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Oooowee I'm having some panics up in here at this fine 4am
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babyboybuckley · 2 years
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Alright team not gonna lie I just found out I can't really eat gluten so I am Not Vibing right now
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celestialprincesse · 8 months
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🖋🕊
Simon Riley with a GF who's life is scheduled down to the minute in a planner they take with them everywhere, without which they'd probably have a meltdown and forget how to exist.
The planner literally sits on their bedside table and gets attention in the morning before he does, grumbling about how his girlfriend is borderline neurotic and could just use her iPhone calendar to keep track of stuff.
"You know I don't like the calendar app layout!" She whines in response and makes him chuff out an amused laugh.
She forgets her planner when they go to the supermarket, and therefore their shopping list and meal plan for the week and almost cries. He practically has to gentle parent her off the edge of a meltdown, muttering into her hair about that they can come back tomorrow and just get the essentials for today.
One day, when the planner is left on the kitchen table whilst she's in the shower, he has a root through to see what the big deal is, and is a little taken aback when he sees his own section in the colour-coding at the front.
Shopping
Events
Birthdays
Si
His section has everything from his deployment dates to where he's going with who, his favourite meals that she's made and the ones he hasn't enjoyed so much scratched out with a neat line through them. It has the songs he's mentioned he's liked and the things that set him off.
The planner isn't just for her, its for him, too. 🎀
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yandereend · 4 months
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Yandere nerd x gn reader x yandere pretty boy
TW : faked death, yandere stuff, i dunno bad things, reader is kinda delulu
Special thanks to -👠anon
Your dead.
He was devastated, you were his life, his saving grace, his entire existence.
It all started when you meet Jake in class. He was the kind of nerd everyone picked on. Tall but scrawny, his clothes were past down from his brothers, his hair overgrown and his acne scars didn’t make him any more appealing.
He felt like he had nothing in life. His family didn’t care for him, his parents even told him straight up at some point that he was a mistake. His grades were bad, i know shocker. Sadly he only appeared like a nerd. The only thing he had going on for him were yandere stories.
He was the type of guy to listen to the asmr, to read the stories, to write with character AI and hope to find the love of his life.
He often pondered during class if one of his classmates could be the one, or the guy on the bus, maybe the girl at the supermarket, a teacher, there was that guy with-
Class this is yn, be nice.
Its you, it was always you.
This is the moment he always dreamed of, your his darling.
The moment he saw you he knew it was over. He followed you in the halls, watched you every moment in school, he even signed up in the same classes as you.
And the best part about it all was you. You treated him so well, you never made fun of him, even in class you helped him with math. That must mean you love him, thanks darling.
He never had any type of real friends but this must be it. And next you will be his partner. He planned everything out, ask you out, then go to a restaurant and then to the cinema.
But then there was Dorian.
The biggest asshole in school his complete opposite. Pretty, rich, popular, charismatic and you new boyfriend.
Jake never stopped watching. He wanted to make sure Dorian didn’t mistreat you. He always wanted you to be safe…
So here he was at you’re funeral.
He cried harder than everyone else, standing out beside your family and friends who tried to stay put together. He was a mess and he felt anger knowing you never knew how much he loved you.
But where is Dorian ?
He knew Dorian shared feelings similar to his, that much was clear after all his stalking. So why didn’t anyone see your dead body and the person you were closest to was nowhere to be seen?
Jake was maybe not the smartest but far from the fool Dorian took him for.
He will find you and bring you to your actual home.
💛Thanks for reading let me know if you want more <3 requests are open and i hope you have a great day 💛
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imbecominggayer · 24 days
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How To Scare Your Readers (Mature Horror)
tw: mentions of murder and other horror media, its not specific or gorey but I just wanted to mention it
Today is one my hardest asks as it is a highly individual process to freaking out your audience with @differentnighttale asking: "How do you write horror, and how do you write it good nail biting and very unsettling type of horror."
Specifically, we are focusing on supernatural horror and dark fantasy. Due to the fact that there are numerous ways of scaring an audience, I'm going to focus on more diverse and interesting ways to freak out the readers. There are obvious tricks like "focus on the tactile senses" and stuff like that but let's cover something not as cliche!
Again, there are many ways to instill horror.
One: Combine Beauty And The Macabre
While this is a common trick seen in visual horror such as the works of Junji Ito or Midsommar, it's also an important and useful element in other beloved horror media.
This can be useful for a myriad of reasons.
The ability to combine the fantastical beauty of the scenery with death or the lovingly detailed imagery of a victimized body might be just the thing to elevate the scenery and visuals.
It also works to surprise your readers. If you are reading horror, you expect the murder and terror to appear in dark hospitals and obviously disgusting places. But what if the horror was in a cherry blossom field? In the church? In the character's childhood bedroom during the sunset?
It follows the perversion of the familiar. Most people internalize certain environments are seperated from society which might assist you if you are going for that specific type of horror. BUT! If you have horror in the supermarket, in the coziest little cottage, in the beauty.
TWO: Focus On A Specific Brand Of Horror
This is especially important for horror that is based off of pop culture spooks such as ghosts, ghouls, witches, zombies, and werewolfs.
Doing some research into why these monsters have survived in the public mind and what exactly is frightening abou them can influence your settings, characters, and horror.
There is horror about isolation.
There is horror about losing yourself.
There is horror about the female body.
There is horror about puberty.
There is horror about gender dysphoria.
There is horror about everything.
Decide what is the core fear you are proding at.
THREE: Be Ambiguous
Readers are comforted by linear stories with a beginning, clearly laid out morality, and a clear cut ending which provides either a happy ending or a sad ending.
Messing up any one of these things can lead to your story haunting the minds of your audience for a long time.
Midsommar is constantly debated about over if the ending is happy or sad.
Joker(2019), a thriller but not a horror, is infamous for it's amazing usage of hallucination and delusion to tell a non-linear story with a confusing ending.
Leaving the ending, villain, characters, or plot ambiguous and not clearly detailed might elevate your horror :)
FOUR: Use Your Own Fears
When you write about what scares you, that natural fear tends to radiate into your writing more naturally :)
This fear can be a lot of things from the specific phobia of bugs to the fear of being mistreated by a loved one.
Conclusion:
I hope I gave you some interesting advice that you haven't heard before @differentnighttale
p.s: at what point does something become "Mature"? I did mention "murder" throughout my post somewhat frequently but I never went into specific detail so I can't tell if it's "Mature" or not?
If it is mature and I mislabeled it then I can edit it to be "Mature"
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driaswrld · 11 months
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city boys! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
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wc : 1.4k
summary : you go grocery shopping with satoru and suguru and they're just idiots tbvh (gn! reader)
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : i have shamelessly brought my calculator to a kfc drive thru and yes i do it at the grocery store bcus i have dyscalculia math sucks don't @ me. also i have so much satosugu brainrot i can't breathe. yay to the satoru themed era of the blog :))
other : this can be read as platonic or poly just however you wanna see it! (like three curse words i think - mentions of cunnilingus) I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT U THINK
current casette : city boys - burna boy
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There’s something about summer that makes Satoru and Suguru hang off your shoulders more than they ought to. In the most mundane situations too.
“—and it’s not even that serious!” Satoru groans, dragging his feet on the floor, reluctantly marching behind where you’re pushing the trolley. “Who cares what kind of curry it is? Curry is curry.” He reasons with a huff.
Suguru nudges you in the middle of the supermarket aisle from time to time, pointing out things you usually buy, brands you usually prefer over most, and you grab whatever you find remotely necessary and toss in the cart, both of you collectively ignoring Satoru’s whines.
“C’monnn… Listen to me!”
You pick up a can of diced pineapple and look at Suguru. “Nah, that one’s too sour,” he murmurs and you put it back instantly. Afterall, Suguru’s the best taste tester you could ever ask for. Satoru just scarfs down everything in a forty mile radius.
“The design on the can was pretty though, ‘s a shame.” You sigh.
Satoru’s groans fall on deaf ears.
You turn a corner and head into the fruit aisle. Suguru’s eyes flick to something over your head and his steps falter for a moment. While you’re pushing the trolley ahead, a soft smack! noise comes from behind you and before you can turn your head—
“No! I wanted the other one—”
“This one’s better—”
You ignore them, albeit barely with all the commotion both boys are causing in the supermarket. Leaning over an array of cherries on display, you hum to yourself, carefully picking the pretty ones to add to the cart, perusing at the other assortment of fruit and if even possible, Satoru and Suguru’s bickering gets louder.
“That tastes like shit—” “You look like shit—”
“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”
“You eat pussy with that mouth?”
You strain your head forward as an old lady strolls past, her eyes a little wide and eyebrows knitted with a look of utter shock and you shrink. With a stiff, humorless giggle you turn your back to her, suddenly finding a bunch of grapes oddly interesting.
Embarrassing.
And when you breathe a breath of relief as the old lady passes by, Satoru swings his arm over your shoulder, pouting. “Suguru’s a dumbass—” He’s cut off by a smack to the back of his head, and despite yourself you can’t help but laugh a little.
“Will you two just behave and,” you shift out of Satoru’s hold to take the mini package of ridiculously sweet m&m infused rice krispies he has in his other hand.
You toss it into the cart. “—help me pick some stuff for my fruit salad?” Satoru shrugs with a sigh, he hates shopping. It’s so boring—
You laugh and pull up the list you typed up on your phone : Raspberries, check. Kiwi, check. Watermelon, check. Grapes…
“What else do you need?” Suguru asks, and he sidesteps Satoru, leaning casually on the trolley, one foot pushing it forward and backward as you look through the fruits. “Grapes—” you murmur, suddenly feeling indecisive as you look through the different bunches. Green or Purple. Purple or Green.
Satoru pushes his sunglasses down to the curve of his nose. “Green, ‘s prettier,” he says and you turn to grab a bunch of the green grapes as Suguru straightens his body, pretending to look over your shoulder as he sneakily drops a package of plain marshmallow rice krispies into the cart. “Yeah, green would make it look way more appealing, wouldn’t it?” You whisper to yourself.
“I saw that—” Satoru begins to say.
“Purple’s better, healthier than the green ones.” Suguru says with a straight face. Behind your back he flips Satoru off.
You shrug your shoulders and grab a small bunch of both. If anything, it’ll be shared well between you and Shoko in the bentos you make. Hopefully she appreciates the struggle.
Sliding your phone unlocked, you glance at the list again as you step off. Grapes, check. Suguru pushes the trolley, following close behind you as Satoru trudges behind him. “Wait—” You halt immediately, and Suguru has to steer the trolley left so he doesn’t run into you, but Satoru steps on the back of Suguru's shoes, and looks away with a bashful whistle.
“Other aisle, we need to turn around.” You say, sliding your phone back into your back pocket. Canned Pineapples. You forgot you put back the last one. “How many damn aisles are there?” Satoru mumbles as you turn and make a beeline for the next corner, going back where the three of you came. Suguru chuckles.
Kneeling, you grab the canned pineapples opposite to the ones Suguru said were sour. Hopefully that much distance in the store is enough of a difference between the two brands.
You check the list one more time. Pineapples, check.
“Right, that should be it.” You mumble and both boys internally celebrate — well, Satoru makes a show of letting out a long dramatic sigh of relief while Suguru nods.
Taking a look into the cart, Satoru pettily moves his package of rice krispies on the other side of the cart, away from Suguru’s and when Suguru looks at him incredulously, he sticks a tongue out, “Your flavor’s trash.”
Suguru rolls his eyes and is about to push the trolley forward to run him over when he sees you pull out a scientific calculator from your tote.
A scientific calculator. The same one you use for school. “The fu—” Satoru is about to say, and Suguru glances at him, both of them trying to at least read each other’s minds about what the hell is going on.
You however, are so hyper focused on your little task, pushing the buttons of your calculator, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Satoru and Suguru watch you for all of two minutes. One minute spent with expressions morphing from confused, to even more confused, to utterly amused. The second minute spent snickering quietly and snapping silent pictures for the groupchat.
“Huh, I went over a little.” You hum and though they haven’t wiped the sheer amusement off their faces, they both find themselves intrigued. “By how much?” Suguru asks, quickly sending off the pictures to the groupchat.
“Seven hundred yen.” You reply as you step forward to peer into the cart, willing and ready to discard one unnecessary item to drop the price.
Three of your phones chime. Satoru checks his own notification.
[Gojo Fanclub]
Nanaminn <3 : who added me to this???
Nanaminn <3 : delete my number gojo.
“Bet it’s the curry.” Satoru mumbles absentmindedly, typing at his phone screen. “The curry’s like—” he pauses, shoves his phone in his hoodie pocket and counts silently on his fingers. “A thousand yen or something — they must’ve put the god of curry in there or something.”
“It’s not the curry,” you reason scouring the cart for any discrepancies. And there’s quite a few of them. Including but not limited to some Sakura tarts, sour candies, an extra package of rice krispies—
“The curry powder we picked is five hundred yen, it’s not the curry.” Suguru shrugs, and Satoru leans against one of the shelves of seasoning, letting out a quiet sneeze.
“Bless you— I need to recheck these.” The calculator comes out again as you murmur to yourself, the click clacking of the buttons drowning out your own thoughts.
“I’m just saying— maybe it was the rice krispie Suguru snuck into the cart—” Satoru mumbles, all while he bends his body at the end of the aisle, reaching blindly around to the shelves on the other side.
“You put one in, I was only balancing the trolley weight.” Suguru interrupts, and he turns his head away when you look up from your calculator at him accusingly.
“See?” Satoru grins, almost victoriously as he grasps a package of baumkuchen, wheeling his hand back as he sidesteps Suguru, moving to slide the pastry into the trolley. “Who knows what else’ll just drop into the cart?” And your calculator is forgotten as you snatch the pastry from Satoru’s hand. “Nothing else is dropping into the cart—”
But something else catches your attention as you’re about to scold him.
Two bright green bags, hidden at the bottom of the cart, stuffed under the packaging of Sakura tarts.
“Who the hell put Kenpi chips in here?”
Satoru and Suguru both freeze, and suddenly their accusing fingers are pointed at each other. But instead of scolding them like they expect—
“Should’ve at least put one for me.”
You're never going to the grocery store with them again.
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Bonus :
“Satoru’s paying for the extra snacks—”
“Not fair! Suguru shouldn’t get to just stuff his face—”
“Only two of those snacks are mine. Two. Out of ten.”
A notification sounds on the three of your phones.
[Gojo Fanclub]
Nanaminn <3 : is that my calculator that you borrowed???
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@todorokies gets the privilege tag cs i told knives ab this first😭
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ccrites · 6 months
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chokehold
listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him
(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)
.
The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.
It was predictable, really.
A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.
Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.
No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 
You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.
The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.
At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.
It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).
The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.
You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.
Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.
He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.
There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 
Yet this man.
Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…
You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.
You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.
You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.
You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.
No, a chest.
Fuck.
“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.
Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.
Double fuck.
“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.
He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.
“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?
You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.
He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.
“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”
You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?
“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”
You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.
His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.
He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.
“Whenever yer ready, hen.”
You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-
The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.
You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”
It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.
“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.
He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.
Deep breath in– hold it…
Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.
You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.
“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”
He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.
“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)
You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.
+++
The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 
He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.
“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.
(It’s not a date, you dumbass)
“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.
Wait, what?
His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”
“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.
Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.
“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”
He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.
“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”
He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.
“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”
You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.
You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 
Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.
“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”
He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–
The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.
His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.
“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”
“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”
“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.
“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.
“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.
Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 
Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.
And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.
“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”
“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”
But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”
A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.
You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.
In the end, you’re the one that pleads.
“Johnny, please.”
Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.
The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.
It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.
“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”
He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”
He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.
“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.
His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.
He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.
“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”
“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”
You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”
It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.
You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.
You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.
“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.
“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”
With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.
You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.
“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”
“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 
“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.
That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.
Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?
You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.
After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.
“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.
“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.
Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 
You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 
He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.
“Ye’ with me, bun?”
“Mmhm.”
“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.
“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.
“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.
“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”
He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.
You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.
“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.
“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”
Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.
“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.
“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”
You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”
One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.
Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.
It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.
You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.
“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.
You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.
He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.
“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”
“Next time, huh?”
He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.
“Next time.”
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