#too clumsily written??

[loves4ge]

Hello, could you possibly write a Megumi x reader fic (or could be gojo x reader, idk, as you prefer), but the reader, in terms of personality and behaviour, is a bit like Megumi? Like rather quiet, serious and reserved, and has trouble expressing their emotions? And could the characters just be asexual please ? Anyway, I really like your work, it's always great and fun! Hope you have a nice day

"are you sure about this? you know it's bad luck." your mother says, worryingly. it's sweet how she cares but you don't believe in omens like those. these superstitions would get in the way of your comfort. megumi doesn't mind though. and neither do you.

"i'm sure. plenty of couples do private first looks. it'll make us feel better, alright? now, which room did you say he's in?" your mother sighs, a frown still etched on her face. still, she relents and points to a closed, brown door down the end of the hallway.

you kiss her cheek, smooth her eyebrows to erase the frown. you poke the corner of her lips to get to her to smile, turn and start moving.

you feel your heart growing heavier, nerves rattling as you try to calm your breathing. you don't think it's working. you're at the door too quick. would it be weird if you circled the area a couple of times before you came back? probably.

you raise your hand to knock, your knuckles softly knocking against the hard wood twice. there's a muffled "come in" and you twist the doorknob, swallowing your spit and hope your fears went down as well.

you open the door to see megumi turned around, with his back towards you. ah, his suit is a grey charcoal because you were adamant on him not wearing black.

his hair is styled perfectly even from the back and the emotions overwhelm you. though you're sure it doesn't translate across your face; you've always had a little bit of a poker face, almost always unintentionally.

"you can turn now," your voice is soft, steady as you stand behind him, hands clasping rosy-hued flowers. his turn is slow, dramatically so, until his gaze fixes on you.

for a minute, there's silence. you look into his eyes and he looks back. there's not a lot you can say. you want to, but it doesn't come out. you've never been very good at this affirmation thing.

but it's easier with megumi. it always is. he knows you; the thought brings a smile to your face and you set the bouquet on a nearby table.

"you're so gorgeous," he whispers, though his hands stay by his sides and you don't rush to hug him. it's nice to stare at him like this.

"i can't believe i'm going to be upstaged by the groom." he believes this to be wholly untrue, smiling at your words. you wish you could articulate the feeling you have right now.

you feel like you're fifteen again, seeing him for the first time when he did his hair spikier than what he does now. god, you loved his eyes, and they're staring at you right now, swirling with nothing but love and admiration.

your sentences are caught up in your throat, and your voice is scratchy. instead, you step closer, take his palm in your hands. tracing the lines; love, fate, career. you turn his hand gently, and bring it up to your mouth, softly brushing a kiss against his knuckles.

he warms. straightens his back. his free hand snakes across your waist to the small of your back and he pulls you close. the sudden movement makes you jump, dropping his hand.

he touches your forehead with his own; you're both warm.

"i know." you want to ask what he knows but you already know.

i love you. i would break the sun and the moon and the stars for you. i would cross an ocean, climb a mountain, venture a forest for you. my heart, my soul, my love. you are the reason i breathe, the reason i live, the reason i love.

[eatdrinkandburyme]

I was going to write a post about lego but then I got sidetracked by goblin market and I got lost once again in the horrors of the british empire

[zraloci-sharks]

I think Young Törless is one of those works of art that would be difficult to cleanly translate into a modern adaptation. Too many of its elements would just come off differently or would have to be changed entirely.

For example, there is the fact that teenagers are viewed much closer to children nowadays, which would make the Božena subplot much weirder in a modern context, especially with her gloating about how the teenage boys can't stop coming to her and all. You could say that this subplot could be cut, but I think that would impact the themes and pacing and all.

There's also the occasional reference to them smoking and drinking. You could remove that, it's not essential, but it would kinda change the vibes, haha

This is not me trying to be moralistic, I am aware that some modern teens still do all these things. What I'm trying to express here is, that they would make the characters and plot come off differently and give off a different feeling nowadays than the author probably intended in 1906. That's the puzzle with adaptations - you have the same pieces, and you have to somehow make them make sense in a new context, while keeping the general feeling.

There is also the fact that the world is much more connected nowadays. I feel like the book has this specific, closed off, quiet feeling. You really only get a few environments - the secret hideout, the school, nature around the school, the town, Božena's room. It's all slightly claustrophobic. Törless's whole existence is pretty monotone, and that really helps emphasise his inner life. This kind of atmosphere would be harder to achieve in a world where the internet exists.

Let's talk about my favorite guy - Beineberg (the crowd cheers). His whole deal is being into Asian, specifically Indian philosophy and building his whole way of thinking around it. In the book, India is described as this far away, mystical land, where all the enlightenment happens. Beineberg probably gets most of his information about it from books and his father. One thing I realized while re-reading the book recently is, that his whole take on the philosophy is pretty vague (I don't blame Robert Musil for this, I wouldn't want to do accurate, detailed research on eastern philosophy either). This makes sense, as, again, he gets his information from rather unobjective sources. He can't exactly go and Google "Indian philosophy basics and history".

Are you getting where I'm going with this? Basically, this obsession of his would, once again, come off differently in 2024, where you can instantly learn anything you want about these things. If he kept up this vagueness in a modern adaptation, he would come off a bit stupid and separated from the world around him (even more than he does in the original). Nowadays, Indian mysticism still exists of course, but it's not as usual for the average Western person to be interested in it. The mystery is gone, you can read all about it, it's just another religion you can choose if you want to.

Then there's Reiting. Oh boy, Reiting. His backstory, if you will, is wanting to be powerful and a part of future world conspiracies and revolutions. Now, I might be wrong about this, I'm not exactly a political scientist, but I feel like this dream is much less realistic in 2024. I just think things are much more organized and streamlined nowadays and it's not as easy to become powerful just by virtue of pure charisma (though maybe it wasn't possible in 1906 either. Maybe Reiting is even sillier than I thought). The best thing Reiting could do for his ambitions nowadays is get a law degree, line up a bunch of political internships and hope for the best.

So yeah, this is why I think a modern adaptation wouldn't really work or would come off weird. The best you could do is a reimagining or a deconstruction, or something like that. I would be hyped for any of those to be honest, because there literally hasn't been any new DJT content in 58 years.

Alright, that's all!

[an-ruraiocht]

90% of the time when i see reviews and posts saying "this book needed editing" i don't think the reader have any idea what editing actually entails. usually this is actually code for one of several "problems" with the book:

it's too long, or it's slower paced than this reader's preference. they believe "editing" would mean making it shorter

it has a heavily descriptive style, which the reader doesn't like. they believe "editing" means paring every sentence down to hemingway-style prose with no adverbs

it doesn't follow the very rigid "save the cat" style 3-act story structure, disrupting the reader's sense of narrative tension. an editor, they believe, would've made sure it did

there were a few typos or formatting errors, and they believe it's the editor's job to catch these (it's not, it's typically the proofreader and the typesetter who have responsibility for that kind of thing)

and finally, most often:

the author had different narrative priorities than the reader, who thinks an editor would have made the author change their priorities.

the thing is, there are actually issues with editors in trad publishing being overworked to the point where things aren't getting the thorough, thoughtful editing that they need to be the best version of themselves. there are plenty of badly-structured, poorly-researched, and clumsily written books out there. moreover copyediting is typically freelance and perhaps because of that, this is the area where i see the largest number of issues: continuity issues, grammar issues, factual errors etc that someone should've spotted and didn't.

but this is not typically what people's "this needed an editor" reviews are focusing on. most often it just means they didn't like the book and they've decided editing is an all-powerful force that would have transformed it into a book they liked. but that's not how it works. and disproportionately what this comment means is that the book doesn't match what current fashions have decided is The Correct Style to write in

"this book needed an editor" if it's traditionally published, it had one. like. by definition. it was an editor who bought the book. that doesn't mean the editor did a great job but they definitely existed. there were probably at least two (acquiring editor who does the dev edits; copyeditor who does copyedits), and the proofreader, and a bunch of other people besides.

also i think people think editors are the ones who like. implement the changes. but they don't. they give comments and recommendations and ask questions and the author is the one to act on them. the editor will not rewrite the book. they will not fix the problems themselves, they will highlight the problem and the author will figure out a fix for it, or they will decide they don't agree that it's a problem and leave it as it. and a lot of the sentence-level style stuff is entirely on the author so if they don't have an ear for the rhythm then nobody's going to fix that for them. editors do a lot less than people seem to imagine they do, tbh

anyway

for reference—

structural/developmental edits: is this chapter in the right place and does the plot make sense and is the characterisation consistent and effective

line edits: is this sentence in the right place and is it as stylish as it could be

copy edits: is this sentence grammatically correct and consistent/factually correct within the story/its world and do the spellings follow the publisher's stylesheet

proofreading: are there any typos in this sentence and was the formatting preserved correctly when it was typeset

[ohproserpine]

ii. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3

tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, unsettling & obsessive behavior, jealousy, possessiveness, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, unwanted advances (not by alastor), murder, graphic descriptions of injuries

As the days unfolded into weeks, Alastor remained true to his word. A routine soon formed between the two of you: he would make regular visits to the speakeasy, engage in polite conversations with Mimzy, and take his usual seat to enjoy your performance.

In time, Alastor's interactions with you grew more intimate. And one night, following the success of one of your busiest night and biggest show, he surprised you with a beautiful necklace. Pulling you into your dressing room, Alastor asked for permission to formally court you. Without hesitation, you agreed, and in a burst of affection, proceeded to kiss him within an inch of your life. 

Since then, Alastor had begun to take you on dates outside the speakeasy. He whisked you away to quaint diners, lively jazz joints, and even introduced you to his mother—a sweet woman who welcomed you with open arms.

Throughout your time together, not a single one of your performances escaped Alastor'. Why would they? For him, your shows were the very essence of color in his otherwise dull and monotonous existence. His devotion to you almost mirrored religious fervor as he attended each of your shows like an impassioned disciple in the dimly lit speakeasy pews.

Your voice became a spell, luring Alastor like a foolish sailor drawn to a siren's call. In those moments, the world faded away, and he followed the melody with an irresistible pull, captivated by thoughts of you, you, you.

Only you.

Tonight, however, was anything but ordinary.

Alastor, following his usual routine, occupied his customary spot at the pub, savoring his whiskey with slow sips from his glass. However, the comforting rhythm of the night, which he had grown used to, was broken when the band screeched to a halt, the shrill notes of the violin cutting through the air. Immediately, the pub erupted in a chorus of boos and shouts.

Alastor blinked, his smile turning strained as he noticed a man stumble onto the stage. It was clear that he was intoxicated, moving about as gracefully as a headless chicken, as he made his way towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

Noticing the commotion, Mimzy clicked her tongue, slammed her drink onto the counter, and swiftly rose to her feet. She rushed to the stage, the glitters on her vibrant dress catching the dim lights of the speakeasy.

“Why, I oughta—" she began to seethe, as she stomped towards the stage, finger wagging in the air. “That’s the fifth time this week, Giovanni!”

"Ah, Mimzy! Jus' wanted to surprise my sweetheart," Giovanni slurred, his thick accent muddled as he clumsily leaned into you, head tucking into your neck.

Snap.

Alastor felt a visceral reaction, something within him snapping as the glass in his hand cracked under the strain of his grip. The fractured crevices dug into his skin, and golden liquor seeped out, mixing with crimson red blood.

As a regular performer at this pub, your popularity was unquestionable, and Alastor was not entirely pleased with the attention you garnered from other men. If given the opportunity, he would have you whisked away from this place. In his eyes, your voice was too lovely for a place like this. Your talent deserved a grander stage than the confines of this tacky establishment.

“Ahah,” you smiled awkwardly, shuffling away and shrugging the man's arms off of you. “Not your sweetheart, Giovanni…”

"Are you not happy to see me, carina?" Giovanni’s voice dropped to a whisper, his hand dropping to grip you by the waist. He leaned his face in closer, and you cringed. The man's breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were a bloodshot red. “Come on~ I came all the way to see you.”

“Ya' can go see and do whatevah the fuck you want with her after the show!” Mimzy scowled, stomping her heels onto the wooden flooring. “Can't have a moment of peace in here. Someone get him off my stage!”

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" Giovanni retorted, his anger bubbling over as he lashed out, kicking the microphone stand in Mimzy's direction. She barely dodged in time, the crash of the mic hitting the floor drowned out by the screeching feedback.

"Please. Just go," you pleaded, your patience wearing thin. "Why? Why do you always have to make a scene?"

"Ay, carina, don't get bratty with me. Let's talk in the back," Giovanni insisted, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he attempted to pull you off the stage. But before he could, Mimzy's guards intervened, forcefully yanking him away.

"Hey! Get ya' hands off'a me!"

Turning around, you rushed to get off the stage, but Giovanni somehow managed to break free and extended his hand, trying to grab onto you. Panic welled up within you as his hand reached out, but relief followed when he was abruptly stopped by none other than Alastor.

"Now, now," Alastor's voice had a lilt as he held onto Giovanni's wrist, but the venom woven into each word was unmistakable. His ever-present smile stretched wide, serving as a clear warning. "Causing a commotion isn't the best way to impress a lady."

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wring his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled and adjusted his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wriggle his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"Ha ha! Kind sir, when someone disrupts a delightful performance, it becomes everyone's business," Alastor laughed, the sound of it tinged with sarcasm.

"But I must commend you. My, that impromptu performance of yours was quite remarkable; you truly made a wonderful spectacle of yourself!" Alastor's grin widened, his mocking tone drawing out laughter from the crowd.

Then, Alastor bent down to meet Giovanni face to face, his amusement fading. 

“Though I think you've overstayed your welcome, no?” Alastor's grip tightened around Giovanni's wrist, the pressure leaving bruises in its wake, hues of purple, green, and blue blossoming beneath the skin.

Alastor's grin turned sharp. "You will leave. Now."

"F-Fuck are you gonna do if I don’t, aye?" Giovanni spat, attempting to maintain a façade of bravado despite the pain. He tore his hand away from Alastor's grip, cradling his wrist. "Ya' think you can tell me what to fucking do?!"

"Hmm. I would at least advise you to salvage whatever dignity you have left and leave. If you had even a dust of intelligence in that hollow head of yours, that would have been the first thing you'd have done," Alastor chuckled.

“Damn right. Ya ain't got no fuckin place in my establishment,” Mimzy scowled, snapping her fingers and gesturing towards the men surrounding Giovanni. “Take him away, boys!”

As Mimzy’s goons surrounded him again, Giovanni sneered, "This ain't over."

"Oh, my dear pal, I assure you, it is very much over. The lady has made her wishes very clear," Alastor grinned.

With a final snarl, Giovanni was forcibly led away from the scene, his protests fading into the background as Mimzy's guards escorted him out. Mimzy wasted no time, bustling backstage and barking orders to her staff to clean up and prepare the stage once more.

Alastor's charismatic facade returned as he turned to you, though a glint of irritation lingered in his eyes. "Apologies you had to see that, cher. Let's hope the rest of the evening proceeds much more smoothly."

"I hope so." With a sigh, your gaze shifted downward, and you spotted his injured hands. The glass he had broken earlier had left wounds all over his calloused palms — not deep, but enough to draw blood.

Concern etched across your face, and you gently touched Alastor's hands. The radio host, accustomed to your touch by now, allowed you to inspect the damage.

"You're hurt," you pointed out, caressing his skin.

Alastor met your gaze with a reassuring smile. "Ah, this is just a trifle. A mere inconvenience, I assure you! My, I've endured far worse during hunting, darling! This is hardly worth mentioning."

"But—" you began, only to be interrupted by his finger pushing against your red lips.

"Worry not, cher. I'll take care of it. There's no need to play nurse," he spoke with finality, as if this was a matter not open to further argument.

"Alright," You managed a small smile. "I am really sorry things turned out this way, Al. I didn't know Giovanni was going to show up again. He's always been like that for as long as I can remember. I told him to stop but he never does."

"No need for apologies. None of this fault is on you, darling. Though it does add a touch of excitement to otherwise mundane affairs, doesn't it?" Alastor chuckled heartily, though you sensed there was a bitter undertone to his laugh.

"Excitement? That man is a shitshow just waiting to happen," Mimzy returned and walked up to both of you, rolling her eyes. "And I thought I got rid of him for good..."

Suddenly, she leaned in with cosmetics in hand, deftly swiping lipstick across your lips and delicately brushing blush on your face. "Now come on, dollface, let's get you back to that stage."

You realize you're still on shift, but the thought of performing feels nearly impossible at the moment, especially with all this lingering adrenaline in your system. Admittedly, you're a bit shaken up, and all you want is to curl up by Alastor's side and savor the night with a drink in hand. 

"Oh, Mimzy…I'm not sure I can really perform right now, love. I feel…" you slowly trailed off, faltering under the weight of Mimzy's hardened gaze.

The blonde cooed out your name, her fingers gently wrapping around your arm, soothingly rubbing it up and down. "Dollface, you're not here to question; you're here to perform! Alastor here has been so kind to get rid of your little problem. Now, let's get back up on that stage and do what you're good at."

"Pardon?" Alastor snapped with a raised brow, his usually jovial tone replaced by a sharper edge. "Well, I don't mind in the least. In fact, I rather enjoyed putting that simpleton in his place. I'm sure your patrons can afford to wait, can't they? This poor dear is still shaking in her heels!"

But you intervened, mustering a smile and smoothing down the wrinkles on your dress while nervously tending to your hair. "Oh no, Al, it's alright. Mimzy's right. I can't just let one man ruin my entire night."

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, taking a moment to compose before adding, "Besides, the show must go on, right?"

Alastor paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied your nervous tics. The radio host silently appraised your form for a few more seconds before eventually giving in. "Hmm, very well. If that's what you wish."

"Thank you, Al," you whispered with a smile, tilting your head up to press a kiss against his cheek. Your lipstick had left an imprint on his bronze skin, but he made no move to wipe it off.

With a chuckle, Alastor leaned back into you and returned the gesture warmly. 

"I'll take care of everything, doll," he whispered, voice low, before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "He won't ever bother you again."

Confused, you blinked up at him with those bright eyes he loved so much. "How do you plan to do that, Al?" you asked, but he ignored you, staring at you with that unsettling look in his eyes again.

Alastor suddenly raised your hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with gentle pecks, causing your mind to blank and cheeks to go aflame. 

Tapping her foot impatiently, Mimzy's irritation grew as the display of affection lingered longer than she deemed appropriate. With a swift swat of her hand against the man's shoulder, she hissed at him. "That's enough outta you!"

Alastor smirked to himself and began walking back, seemingly satisfied with the subtle disturbance he had caused. He was such a bastard, but he was yours.

With a shake of your head and a smitten blush gracing your cheeks, you returned to the stage. The blinding spotlight enveloped you as Mimzy tossed the microphone back into your waiting hands. 

Meanwhile, Alastor reclined in his seat at the booth, his gaze fixed intently on you as you resumed your performance. The audience, having brushed off the brief interruption, eagerly redirected their focus to you.

Rabbit, rabbit! Won't you run away? Don't give the farmer all his fun today~ He'll get by without his rabbit pie. So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

As you neared the end of the song, Alastor joined the crowd's applause, rhythmically snapping his fingers together.

Wonderful, as always.

.

Snap.

The sudden, jarring sound shattered the stillness of the forest, followed by a shrill scream that seemed to shake the trees. Giovanni's hands instinctively shot down to his ankle, where his bone had twisted in a gruesome sight that sent bile rushing to his throat. However, he had no time to inspect the damages as a rustling bush caught his attention. Desperately, the man began crawling on the ground, doing his best to move farther away, dragging mud and dirt all over his body.

"Don't give the farmer his fun. Fun. Fun," emerging from thick shrubs, Alastor sang lowly as he continued his slow advance, relishing in the fear that emanated from his prey. He raised his hand, fingers idly tracing over the red mark on your lips, and if he focused hard enough, he could still feel the burn of your affections. "He'll get by without his rabbit pie."

The dense forest around them seemed to close in, casting eerie shadows as Alastor's menacing silhouette moved closer. Giovanni, now gasping for breath, cast terrified glances over his shoulder, desperately searching for an escape route.

"So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run," Alastor continued to trail after the man, his axe slung over his strong shoulders, a sinister grin etched on his lips.

Ah, it had been so long since he last pursued larger prey, opting for smaller catches like rabbits and squirrels lately. This, however, was a different kind of pursuit, and the thrill was delicious.

“It's rather unsavory to disrupt a live performance,” Alastor mused, gripping his axe and running his bandaged palm along the side of the blade. "Oh, the misery! Each performance interrupted, a masterpiece marred!"

“Though I suppose you redeemed yourself with your own impromptu circus show,” Alastor snickered, reaching down and seizing Giovanni’s sprained ankle, dragging the screaming man back toward him.

"Good show!" The radio host grinned as he pressed his feet against Giovanni's back to prevent him from escaping. Alastor raised the axe high, the glint of the blade reflecting the crazed gleam in his eyes.

"Now, let's see how this act ends."

With a practiced swing, he brought the blade down, chunks of flesh and blood spraying onto his clothing and skin from the impact. Alastor laughed as the light gradually faded from the man's eyes, his once-struggling arms and legs now falling limp.

“What a show!”

[bombuni]

yeah that kitty hybrid san fic drove me insane. so, i’m here to ask for a little request…

sub!hybrid!wooyoung and sub!hybrid!reader being left at home together and needy so they’re trying to please each other clumsily but then owner!ateez come back to find them like that. you can decide what kinda hybrids they are, and what goes down when they come back :3

little accidents

summary: Hongjoong and Seonghwa make a mistake in trusting their two kitties to be left alone. genre/pairing: owner!matz x kitty!fem!reader x kitty!wooyoung, smut wc: 1.8k warnings: SMUT MDNI, degradation, meandom!seonghwa, hongjoong less so, mommy kink, leash kink, humiliation kink, creampies, breeding kink, reader is in heat, background seonghwa x hongjoong bom note: anon i love u for this request and i’m so sorry i made u wait for so long. also hope u don’t mind that i made this matz instead of ot8! pls enjoy<3

It’s hard to push Wooyoung off of you, his stubborn lips persistently pulling quiet moans out of you. He’s trying to tug your shorts off, but Seonghwa’s voice is in the back of your head at every harsh tug Wooyoung gives. You know that once you start you won’t be able to stop. You’d rather remain in the good graces of your mommy today, his furrowed brows and tiny frown apparent on his elegant face before he left.

Seonghwa knows you’re in heat. Hongjoong, ever the sweetheart he is, is uneducated in the fact that you two should be separated at this time. However, they both have responsibilities and jobs to attend to. He thinks you’re well-behaved enough to resist your primal urges, at least until he can get home to take care of you. Seonghwa never realized moving in with his boyfriend would be so stressful.

A soft whine builds in the back of your throat as Wooyoung licks the skin along your neck, the coldness of his drool greeting you when he moves to kiss along your jawline. He sees every tic your body gives, remembering every little thing so he has you weakening faster. His tail wraps around your calf as you let yourself be pushed back onto the bed-your mommy’s bed-the furry, black thing sending waves of tingles throughout your body.

Wooyoung won’t let you catch your breath, “Come on. I know you’re in heat. You just-you gotta let me help,” Wooyoung has never been around another hybrid in heat before. He’s surprised to find it written on you so clearly, desperation etched into your features. He can’t help it when his hands move on their own as he watches you hold your insides as if you’re in some sort of pain, holding back all of his urge to claim you.

You try to crawl away, the control he has over you with just his body and voice too overwhelming. The patterned blanket under you reminds you of your mommy, and you flip your body over to try to crawl upwards. You don’t get very far as Wooyoung drops all of his body weight on top of your back, his hard ready cock pressing against your pussy. The feeling of it makes you whine, Wooyoung taking advantage of the position and dragging himself over you repeatedly.

He holds your neck like he’s preparing to bite you, but he takes a whiff and closes his eyes, “You smell so ready for dick, kitty.”

His voice is shaky, like he’s barely holding back. His grip on you is bruising, the hand on your hip holding you in place under him. His veiny hand holds your jaw up, forcing you to look him in the eyes every time his leaking cockhead makes your shorts wetter with every deliberate drag. You’re entranced by his twitching ears and swishing tail.

“But mommy said-“

He shushes you with an open-mouthed, wet kiss, “They don’t have to know. I’m just helping you,”

You’re losing to the desire in you, the primal need to just be bred, “Woo, I need it so bad.”

Whatever desperation was in Wooyoung unleashes with your admission. He practically envelops you with himself as his hands come down to your tits, quickly finding their way under your tank top and over your sensitive nipples. He plays with them, flicking you over and over until you keen and part from his lips. There’s really no escape from Wooyoung because even if you stop kissing him to catch your breath, he latches onto whatever part of your warm skin he can find.

One of his hands slides between you and the bed, into your panties. He groans at how drenched you are, pussy begging to just be filled and bred. He plays with your folds, teasing and spreading your slick over yourself. Wooyoung gathers it all on his fingers, bringing his hand up to his lips and sucking every digit clean. He closes his eyes in bliss at the taste, truly enjoying how your pussy is leaking, creaming, and begging for him.

He leans back into your ear, now hurriedly trying to pull your shorts off, “I’m gonna fill you up, kitty. Can I?”

“Y-yes, please, just fill me up, Woo-“

He shudders at your words, finally getting your shorts off. There’s no time to waste as he messily pulls his cock out of his sweatpants, not bothering to slip out of them fully. He just needs to feel you wrapped around his cock. He plunges into you, quickly and deeply. Wooyoung fully melts into you, possibly forever consumed by the feeling of your tight hole now. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust before he hungrily starts thrusting his hips, growling into your ears everytime he feels you clench.

The way he fucks you is desperate and raw, one goal set in his mind. To fill you with so much cum you’re spilling and only babbling about all of the kittens he’s going to give you. Just the vision of his cum trickling out of your sweet hole has him stopping, shuddering in place to try to make this last at least a little longer.

You feel him pausing but you’re way too overheated and desperate to be filled to give him a break now, “P-please, Woo, can you cum inside me? I can take all of it, please-“

That’s all it takes for him to plunge deep inside of you, his canines piercing your shoulder as his body shakes and jolts with every sputter of cum entering you.

A tiny part of you is soothed now, but there’s still a burning sensation that lingers everywhere in your body. The uncomfortable feeling starts in your gut and unravels all over you. You turn to pant and whine to Wooyoung for more, but you find he’s gone from atop you. Hongjoong and Seonghwa stand next to the bedside, Hongjoong holding Wooyoung back by the scruff as he hisses and scratches at him. By the looks on their faces, you’re certainly in trouble.

-

Hongjoong fucks you relentlessly. He groans into your ear, dick smearing Wooyoung’s cum and your slick all over. His breath is hot against your cheek as he leans over your back and invades your space. He smirks at Wooyoung when you let out a sweet, needy whine as he grinds his hips into yours as deep as he can.

Wooyoung’s shaking with need. He can’t do anything but watch as his cum is fucked out of your pussy by Hongjoong. He’d claim you again if it weren’t Seonghwa-who holds him back by his collar. His fist wraps around the leather tightly, tugging him back every time Wooyoung tries to make a move towards you.

Seonghwa’s usual sweet demeanor is gone and replaced by a demanding one, “The both of you are so fucking naughty,”

You turn to Seonghwa, teary-eyed as Hongjoong keeps drilling you into the bed, “S-sorry, mommy,”

Your voice shakes against Hongjoong’s thrusts. He picks your head up by the back of your head and Wooyoung watches as your back arches against Hongjoong’s cock. He fucks you savagely, reaching deep inside you with his member until you can feel it in your throat. The position has you yowling and clenching down onto Hongjoong, who hisses as his hips stutter in their thrusts.

You look so broken and pitiful and Seonghwa fucking loves it. There’s slick and cum running down your legs, tears streaming down your eyes, and your tiny hands hold the bedsheets tight under your palms. His breathing turns ragged, his fist tightening impossibly more against Wooyoung’s collar.

Hongjoong brings a hand down to your clit, pulling you in until your back hits his chest, “I see why Youngie can’t stay away from this pussy,”

You let out a shaky breath as you turn into putty under his hands. He rubs circles onto you, playing with your wetness as he keeps grinding you onto his cock. His other hand fondles your tit, tweaking the sensitive bud. It’s all too much, too good, too fast.

Seonghwa lets out a sharp, mocking laugh as he watches you break, “This is what happens to bad girls who don’t listen to their mommy, sweetheart,”

There’s another rush of wetness that comes from your hole and Hongjoong chuckles, “Think she liked that,”

Hongjoong lifts you by your hips now, moving you so that you face Wooyoung as he sets you atop him. You blush with all the attention, but Hongjoong’s cock doesn’t let you think. He holds you by your sides, tight and hard enough to leave welts, as he bounces you on his cock. You feel it everywhere, your entire body warm and on the brink of explosion as he perfectly fills your gummy walls.

Hongjoong feels you on that brink, “Cum on my dick, baby, then I’ll give you all the kittens you want,”

The thought of his cum swirling inside you, marking you and filling you finally sends that tingle of electricity all through you. You shake on top of Hongjoong, who follows suit and pulls you to his pelvis. He groans and stutters as your pussy tightens and sucks the cum out of him.

Wooyoung is whining and rock hard, to the point that it hurts. You’re so sweaty and cute on top of Hongjoong, freshly fucked out but Wooyoung still wants to fuck you fill of his kittens. Seonghwa isn’t any better off, but he tsk’s and pulls on Wooyoung’s collar when he feels him start to get antsy.

Hongjoong sends a sick, cocky smirk towards Wooyoung. He smells trouble, but he doesn’t expect Hongjoong to spread your pussy lips for him. The pearlescent liquid shines between your folds as Hongjoong pulls out of you and Wooyoung all but collapses. Your hole is utterly and completely stuffed, claimed by Hongjoong and he feels his entire body on fire.

Seonghwa moves him until he’s right in front of your leaking pussy, forcing him to his knees. He sends a mean, intimidating look to Wooyoung. It’s demeaning and embarrassing the way he follows his commands so easily, but he just can’t help it.

He raises an eyebrow at Wooyoung, “Well? Clean up the mess you made, you pervert.”

He doesn’t think twice. You’re still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm you just had, but Wooyoung’s wet tongue against you wakes you up again. Your hips grind against his lips as he licks a stripe along your folds, cleaning off the essence of Hongjoong. Seonghwa’s cold hands against his neck spur him on.

Wooyoung sucks on your clit, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud and causing an intense warmth to gather in your gut. You can’t stop moving against his face as he slurps you up, the vibrations of his moans against you just amplifying the sensation. He lets you go with a pop before moving down to your entrance, hands forcing your legs open as he works you open. He doesn’t mind the taste of Hongjoong’s dick or your slick, just as long as he gets to taste you.

Seonghwa’s cocky smirk shines down on you, commanding your attention, “My perfect kitty.”

[specshroom]

A Mischievous Fairy

˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹

When a humble farmer decided to live on the outskirts of town right next to the forest he did not expect to make friends with a small temperamental creature from the forest.

It was a pretty good deal you had going on, you help his plants grow with fairy magic and he gives you a safe warm place to sleep and home cooked meals. Most days are spent with you doing your best to annoy the poor farmer as he tries to remind himself that you're the reason his produce sells for such high prices.

You fly around his head making little jingle noises and he tries to ignore you and go on with his work. You steal little things like spoons, screwdrivers, pencils and put them in places he can't reach like on top of the cabinets and shelves. When you get mad at him you grow weeds in his crops until he apologizes or gives you a gift to your liking. Despite this the farmer has grown to truly enjoy your company...for the most part.

His loneliness is getting to him and he's tried to have company over but it's kind of hard to explain to guests why there's a little, scantily clad fairy staring daggers at them the whole time. It definitely ruins the mood as he tries to convince them you won't bite (you will and you have).

One day the farmer comes home from town looking more excited than usual. You plop yourself on his head as he walks around his little cottage.

As he sorts through all the items he bought you get impatient and decide he's not paying enough attention to you. You fly right in front of his face and pose for him, showing off the new outfit you made out of flower petals in his garden.

"Not right now, Tiny."

The farmer rolls his eyes and gently shoos you away with his hand, focusing back onto his apparently very interesting haul from the market. The very rude gesture gets you all fired up and you're in his face again this time with your hands on your hips and an angry expression. The farmer sighs and gently cradles your tiny body in his hands.

"Look, I'm busy. Alright?"

He walks over to the windowsill and gently plops you down onto the little pincushion he set aside for you. You sit there with your arms crossed, glaring at him as he puts away his items.

While you're sulking you notice a little bottle of purple liquid poking out of the farmers front pocket. You quietly flutter over and sneakily inch the tiny thing out of his pocket.

"Hey!"

The farmer tries to stop you but you're much faster than him and fly up, out of his reach. The glass bottle is a little bigger than you're torso and when you inspect it the label says "Growth serum"

You let out quite a dramatic gasp and look down at the farmer, betrayal written all over your face.

"Now Tiny, don't jump to conclu-"

The farmer starts but is interrupted by a very angry fairy yelling things he doesn't understand right in his face. All he can hear is jingles but he's sure he's getting severely cussed at. He understands why, you helped this man grow his crops bigger and better than ever and now you think he wants to replace you for some stupid, probably overpriced serum?

You angrily throw the bottle to the ground and the farmer dives down to clumsily catch it before it smashes onto the floor.

As you feel tears fall down your hot cheeks, you flutter back to your windowsill and sit with your head between your knees.

"Hey, don't cry now."

The farmer sheepishly leans against the windowsill next to you.

"I promise, it's not for the plants. You already help me out so much with that and I appreciate it a lot. I don't need anything else."

You peak your head out from your arms and look at him skeptically.

He holds his hand out to you and you hesitantly flutter onto his palm, enjoying the warmth of his touch despite the cold wetness of your cheeks.

"Truth is, it's lonely for me out here... and I know you get lonely too."

You scoff at him. Obviously, the whole reason you were upset in the first place was because he was ignoring you.

"I uh... I got this for you. So we could....uh well only if you want to, I mean... I don't know."

You stare at him dumbfounded as he fumbles his words, you've never seen the farmer like this before.

You shoot up to hug his cheek, jingling in excitement. You give him tiny kisses and he laughs at the ticklish feeling. You float to the counter in front of him and bounce on your heels waiting for him.

"Alright, alright."

He chuckles at your stark change in mood and uncaps the tiny bottle of magic liquid. You brace yourself as he carefully lets one single drop fall onto your little head.

Nothing happens for a moment but before you could feel disappointed the world blurs and you're suddenly face to face with your farmer.

He stares down at where you sit on his counter, now perfectly human sized. Your cute dress didn't survive the quick transition but you don't seem to mind as you jump the poor farmer.

You grab his face and kiss him deeply. Finally feeling his lips on yours makes your wings flutter and your heart sing as you lock your legs around him to pull his body closer.

"Alright, slow down."

He says through kisses and huffed laughs as you kiss all over his face and neck.

"Now why don't you let me show you how much I appreciate you."

He mumbles in a sultry tone, bringing his hands down to grip your ass and grind your hips into him.

He laughs at the way your wings violently flutter and takes that as eager agreement.

˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹

[star2fishmeg]

luke‘s so cute, I wanna give him a private concert. just imagine him laying on the bed, admiring you while you are dancing and singing around the room☺️

He's grinning the entire time, leaning up against his headboard one night, watching you sing your current favourite song like no one's watching as you dramatically undress yourself. Not in a sexy strip tease way (although he still finds it sexy), but in a way that has you clumsily pulling your top over your head, waving it around briefly before launching it at him like a basketball before returning to twirling around as you sing the chorus.

He tosses the top aside, sinking back into his pillows, resting both hands behind his head, eyes watching you mesmerised, if you looked close enough you may have seen his heart shaped pupils. You wiggle out of your jeans with a wavering voice as you sang, eventually resorting to just kicking them off as you point to him, singing the verse to him as if you've written the song for and about him.

His favourite moment of your performance is when you start twirling your underwear-clad hips, unclasp your bra and let it slide off your arms, giving him a wink before throwing it at him and pulling his t-shirt over your head. Luke licks his lips catching your bra before it smacks him in the face, hooking it onto the corner of his headboard. You, with the knowledge of his fond liking, shake your hips as you make your way to his bathroom, disappearing into the en-suite and he's curious, you've seduced him enough for him to leave the bed and lean against the doorframe in that way that guys do that's far too sexy for their own good with his arms big arms over his bare chest. You're still trying to sing while cleansing your face, pulling strange faces, which you would have been embarrassed by a year ago, that bring a blooming warmth to his chest and he can't help but let his eyes rake over your body with a smirk, melting at how you move your ass to the tune of the song that's rolling off your tongue. He feels like the luckiest man alive, his pretty girlfriend singing to him before she's curling up with him.

Even when your waist suddenly becomes warm, encased in Luke's arms as his lips trail sweet kisses on your shoulder, you continue singing to him, the lyrics losing their flow with pauses between them as you try to concentrate on clearing away the mess you've made.

"Keep singing, beautiful," he murmurs in a deep voice, "want you to sing me to sleep."

And so, you do, taking him by his hands and guiding him back into the bedroom, letting him twirl you before gently lifting you onto the mattress, thriving in showing off his strength and how easy it is for him to handle you and crawling under the covers. You, gradually softening your voice, pull him on top of your chest, turning the lamp off and stroke his curls until he drifts off.

[peeweekey]

8:05 | SAM

word count: 3.2k

summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.

tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol

a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!

it’s cold.

the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.

you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.

meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.

the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.

well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.

you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.

you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.

there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.

walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.

he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.

though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.

you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.

sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.

you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”

a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.

“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”

your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.

your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).

“you don’t wanna?”

“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”

sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.

he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!

you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”

sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”

you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.

“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”

sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.

how endearing.

you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.

annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.

your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.

his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.

“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”

you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”

he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”

“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”

“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”

“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”

your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.

you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.

sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—

“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”

you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.

“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”

“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”

you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”

sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.

“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.

this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.

and his mother is calling him.

“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”

you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.

though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.

there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.

though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.

“what are you two doing here?”

“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”

sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”

you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.

“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”

you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.

thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.

“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”

sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.

“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”

the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”

“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”

“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”

“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”

“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.

the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.

“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”

and embarrassing.

“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”

“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.

“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”

sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.

“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”

your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”

he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.

“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”

that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.

and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.

you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.

sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.

“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”

you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”

sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.

he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”

“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”

“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”

you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.

“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”

“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.

you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.

your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.

his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.

you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.

sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.

you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.

but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.

disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.

“oh shit.”

the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.

“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.

he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.

abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.

your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.

you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.

outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)

still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.

you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).

you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.

not when you feel so warm.

a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Caracalla in a relationship - sfw/nsfw

Caracalla x younger!reader

warning : smutish (not too graphic), cuddling, kissing, tiny comfort, Caracalla is his own tiny warning

info : Caracalla as sweet as he is is a double-edged sword on the one hand gentle and playful on the other obsessive and possessive now i hope you enjoy reading ;) There will be also one with an older!reader

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SFW

°From the moment it became clear that he and his brother needed an heir, Caracalla also had to choose a wife, a bride from the surrounding areas, one that made the most political sense. Even though his interests lay elsewhere and he had gotten into arguments with his brother, even in his lucid moments he had to realize that Geta was right, ,,Then help me find my wife, brother” he had asked him, let go of Dundus and knew that even his madness could not last forever, that in the moments when he was in charge, he had to take responsibility, as awful as it may seem.

A responsibility he searched through for weeks, from mosaic pictures to written letters to the day they had parties organized and invited all the princesses and daughters who had royal blood to show, ,,We've been sitting here for hours now, are you even paying attention?” he hardly noticed his brother's question. Hours had passed since the party and everything still seemed to have made no progress until the blue eyes found something furry in the crowd, rising wordlessly the blond walked through the crowd with a curious look. Ignoring the guests, almost shoving them aside, he found himself in the room with her, pretty and delicate, a look of joy and on her lap a tiger cub, ,,What's his name?” Caracalla wanted to know and knelt down to her.

°With this question, two animals and coins flowing, the emperor had apparently found his wife. Although only a little younger, this seemed to suit the emperor more, the joy and energy he had during his fits seemed to be well controlled by his wife, ,,Sometimes he's a playful, brutal child just to be my husband again, but I love him just the way he is, believe me Geta,” she assured her brother-in-law. She knew how important his brother was to Geta and tried to fulfill this role as best she could, starting with the morning make-up, which usually ended in a laughing embrace and Caracalla giving her a kiss on the cheek.

°Especially the cuddling and the short kisses seemed to calm Caracalla down when something didn't go the way he wanted it to. Whether it was during a defeat in the Colosseum, at a party when the music wasn't right or even when Dundus didn't listen to him, ,,We'll manage, I promise," she always said and her hand slid to his, her smile lighting him up before he gave her a short but heartfelt kiss, giggling when his make-up stuck to her skin only to wipe it away somewhat clumsily with his toga. But as long as he smiled and she had him, they would manage any of his fits together.

°His hand wouldn't leave hers, no matter if it was at breakfast, where they often played with the food and fed Dundus, which Geta let pass with a small smile. ,,I have a surprise today at the Coloseum,” Caracalla said, sharing her joy and curiosity as they entered the Coloseum together, the inhabitants celebrating the empress and sharing her love of animal fights. A fight in which she clung to Caracalla who clung to her as they let tigers into the ring, ,,You will win my pretty cats!” she shouted and not only Caracalla but also the spectators joined in as the feline predators attacked the gladiators. There were little surprises of new collars for her pet or she gave Caracalla a little new dress for Dundus it was a level on which the two got along by day as well as by night...

NSFW

°They loved each other that was out of the question, above all the how, when and where was something that set Caracalla apart from his brother. As much as he lost himself in his mind, lost himself too much in the madness, the more he needed his wife with him, on him and above all in his bedchamber. When torches illuminate the two of them, Caracalla not only wants to be entertained, he also wants to enjoy earthly pleasures together with his wife. With sweet grapes and a little wine, which is all just a little hesitation of the big picture before his hands lay on her and the first thing he does is to undress her, ,,You're even more beautiful without it!" he chuckled and looked at her body in front of him as if spellbound.

°Even though she was only a little younger than him, he took his role and especially his power seriously on nights like this, ,,Trust your emperor, it'll be fun,” he promised before kissing his way down her body, even though there was always a smile on his lips, there was a look of lust in his eyes, a silent desire for her and no one else. She was his and not his brother's, she was his alone and no one else's, a thing he made clear to her with every kiss that turned into a little bite, every little bite marring her skin and turning him on more and more when he saw what he had done to her.

°Caracalla is someone who needs entertainment, whether it's new games in the coloseum or new methods in the bedroom, everything that amuses the blond needs to be played out. He won't stop in the bedroom either, demanding to try it out rather than responding to his wife, ,,You'll look beautiful with the rope like my prey,” he announced, holding out the rope and showing her the parchments with various pictures and instructions. Whether of ropes his blue eyes looked fascinated as her body was wrapped with it, as the marks remained on her skin and he kissed her, knowing that he could always push her a little further because in the end he was still the Emperor of Rome and she his wife.

°Up to daggers and blood, he would try anything. Watching the blade press against her naked body a little harder and harder, watching her skin break slightly as her hips pushed harder against hers, “Beautiful!“ he groaned and her whimpers were drowned in his licking as he experienced his coloseum tears, the desire finally soothing, finally feeling the blood on his hands as he stroked the wounds, as he bit her and heard her sweet sounds, it was like music to his ears, the best concert, the best entertainment his beloved wife could give him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @qardasngan , @somepallings , @songbirdmunson , @sweeteststing

[bbystark]

♡ hate needing you ♡

logan howlette (wolverine) x reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: you have daddy issues, logan just has issues. together you make quite the toxic combination. based on this request by @v3lv3tf0x

⚠︎ smut, including oral, p in v, etc. unhealthy relationship, very very very minor dubcon. angst :(

a/n: girl i haven't written smut in forever, i was in front of my computer for two hours sweatin. won't be proofreading since it's almost 5k words and mommy is tired. eat it up!!!!

You and Logan are in a dangerous cycle. You know he barely even tolerates you, probably only likes you for the release he gets, both literally and figuratively. You’re not any better, clinging onto him for attention, seeking his validation to soothe your insecurities. You don’t even get much from him, and that’s exactly the thing that made it so dangerous for you. He dangles just enough in front of you to reel you in, only to shove you back just out of arm's reach. 

Neither of you really realize it. At the surface you’re both aware you have a fair share of issues, things that you should really be working on as individuals. In the beginning of your toxic little dance Logan wanted nothing to do with it, and you similarly knew it was a dangerous path to head down. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

It all really started the first moment you laid eyes on him. You were recruited by Charles, another traumatized mutant that could make a difference. You met Logan weeks after you’d moved into the mansion, coming back in the middle of the night smelling like whiskey and cigars. That alone had heat rising to your cheeks. You were in the kitchen in a cute pajama set, shorts riding up as you lounged on a chair and satisfied your midnight craving. When he walked into the kitchen doorway, massive shoulders making the frame seem small, you suddenly had a very different midnight craving. He was half glaring at you, still tipsy and angsty from his all-day bender. It sent a thrill through you, like you were being reprimanded. You felt the sudden need to be in his good graces, to replace his glare with a smile.  

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked while moving to the refrigerator and digging through the freezer. He pulls out a frost covered bottle of whiskey. 

“I’m y/n,” you watch as he sits across the table from you, chair protesting his weight. “y/n y/l/n. I started a few weeks ago.” 

He gives you a look, opening the bottle with his teeth and spitting the cork somewhere. You couldn’t help but stare. He takes it the wrong way in his hazy state, eyes connecting with yours as he takes several pulls from the bottle. 

“Got a staring problem? If you wanted some you coulda just asked bub.” He leans over the table, clumsily pouring a shot into your empty water cup. You blush a little, feeling silly as you take the cup and swirl the liquid around. It’s not at all what you wanted, but you felt like you had to impress him for some reason. 

He watched as you took a drink, eyebrows bunched together as you willed yourself not to spit it back into the cup. You coughed a little after it finally went down, wincing at the heat coating your throat. “That was disgusting.” 

He threw his head back and laughed. It’s deep and rich and suddenly you’re laughing too. “Shoulda known you couldn’t handle it, little thing like you in those cute little pjs. Doesn’t exactly scream whiskey lover.” 

You gave him a shy smile, and Logan tried very hard not to smile back, opting to take another swig of his “disgusting” whiskey instead. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Logan.” 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

The next morning Logan had woken up with a headache he knew would be gone within the next 15 minutes. He briefly recalls making it home, meeting you on his quest for more liquor. He’s almost embarrassed when he remembers he had laughed with you, even flirted a little. He had no interest in anything serious, not even a friend. He didn’t need one. 

He leaves his room in search of coffee and breakfast, almost startled when he saw you a few doors down. You happened to be leaving too, having an early training session. He can’t help but let his eyes wander, taking in your much too tight and very girly workout attire. He clears his throat when he finds he’s been looking at your ass a little too long, and you whip around. 

“Oh! Logan, hi. I didn’t see you there.” You notice he’s in the same clothes as last night. “Looks like we’re neighbors.” 

“Looks like it.” He’s not smiling, sober and more guarded than he was the night before. “Cute clothes.” 

He means it in a patronizing way, reverting back to his unpleasant demeanor. You don’t take it like that though, and everything in him is telling him to walk away when he sees pink dusting your cheeks. 

“Thanks Logan,” you’re beaming. “I’m running late so I should go, but I’ll see you around?” 

He doesn’t answer as you turn away and walk towards the gym. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

It’s like that for weeks. You never have any substantial conversations, only running into each other for short moments where you give him twirls to show off your latest outfit or ask if he likes how you did your hair that day. Sometimes he snaps at you, says your braids look like a rats nest or your top is too bright. Other times he gives you small hums of appreciation, a quick “looks good”. You thrive for the validation, and he doesn’t notice that you’ve slowly stopped wearing the things that garner a sour reaction from him. 

He thinks you look pretty in everything, really, but he can’t stop himself from trying to put up a wall between you two, cutting off whatever ideas you have about being with him. He never goes too far, knows you take most of his insults as teasing, maybe even flirting. 

However, after a few weeks of your little back and forth he does take it too far. He’s a little too tipsy and a little too desperate, and when he knocks on your door, you answer a little too fast. You’re in a big tshirt and fuzzy socks, looking so fucking soft and innocent as you peer up at him. “Logan? Everything all right?” 

No, it wasn’t. He was drunk and angry about a lot of things, as usual. He desperately craved to not be angry, even if just for a second. He wanted something sweet and soft to bury himself into. That’s why he was here. He wasn’t dumb, even if you really didn’t know much about each other, he knew you had a crush. Knew you would say yes to whatever he asks. He feels bad that he’s here, but not enough to stop himself. 

“Logan?” His nostrils are flaring and he hasn’t moved an inch since you opened the door. You’re beginning to get nervous. Before you can process it, he’s crossed the space separating you in one large step and pulled you into him. You almost slam into his body, your hands landing on his chest. He weaves a hand into your hair on the back of your head and pulls, your mouth opening in shock. He uses it as an opportunity to lower his head to yours, looking into your eyes before smashing his lips to yours. 

It’s almost painful, the way he kisses you. But it’s also full of desperation and messy and neither of you can get enough. His tongue licks at your teeth and you surprise him by taking it in, sucking it gently. A low groan echoes in his chest, and you realize you’re throbbing already. He pulls away slightly, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip and slowly releasing. You open your eyes, getting a glimpse at his dark pupils before he promptly spins you around, one hand on your shoulder and one on your hip. He puts slight pressure on your shoulder, and you get the memo, slowly leaning forward until your front is flush with your mattress, your arms curled up on either side of you. 

The position is vulnerable, and you find yourself pressing your thighs together and squirming in nervousness. He hasn’t said a single word to you, and you’re already dripping, feeling almost uncomfortably moist in your panties. You meet his eyes, shivering when his hands start exploring the pudgy skin of your thighs. The eye contact is too much, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

You couldn’t believe you were here; you had fantasized about it plenty of times but now it was happening and it all felt so fast and yet not fast enough. The last thing you expected was him making the first move, you still weren’t convinced the man even like you. Yet here you were, bent over for him. 

  He pulls your shirt up and past your ass, an appreciative mumble falling from his lips when he discovers you’re only in panties. You can feel his callouses gently scrape your skin as he puts his hands on your ass, gently massaging. He takes his time, all other thoughts outside of fucking you slowly becoming silent. This is what he wanted, what he needed. A simple distraction. He spreads your cheeks lightly, and you clench around nothing when you feel a puff of air on your clothed folds. 

Logan’s cock is already half hard and twitching at the sight of you. Hell, he was chubbed the second he started kissing you. He chalks that up to his dry streak and not because it’s you he was kissing. Sweet little you, who’s ruined her panties, and he hasn’t even really acknowledged you. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears you whine and shift your hips closer to his face. “Please Logan. Want you.” You’re looking at him from the mattress, face flushed and lips puffy from his biting. You looked fucked out and all he’s done is kiss you. The thought spurs him on as moans lowly. He tears your panties from your hips, the sting of the fabric biting into skin almost too much in your needy state. They give easily, and his hands are back on your ass, spreading you open for him once again. This time he sees all of you, pretty folds glistening in the low light of your room and your clit uncomfortably swollen. 

It’s a sight Logan will remember for a long time. “Jesus love, all this for me huh?” 

Of course it was for him. You’d do anything he’d ask. Or didn’t ask, for christ sakes you were naked for him after the first kiss and no prior discussion. You didn’t care. Too lost in the high of what was to come. 

You give him a whimper, you were going to break if he didn’t give you some type of stimulation soon. “All for you Logan, always, please just touch me, fuck me, anything you want just- please- do something.” Your desperation paired with the arch in your back as you search for friction has him throwing all decorum out of the window. 

He licks from your clit to your dripping hole, nose dragging through the velvet wetness you’ve produced. He groans as he wraps his tongue around your clit and sucks for a few moments before returning to lapping at your folds. Your mind almost goes blank, tingles erupting throughout your body. One of your hands reach behind you blindly, trying to find some part of him to touch, keep you grounded. He notices and grabs your wrist, briefly pulling away from your sloppy cunt to grab your other wrist roughly, holding both in one hand as he continues eating you out like he’s starving. 

You whimper at the constrictions he’s put you under, fists opening and closing in time with your toes curling as he pushes you to your peak. Your hips start to move on their own accord, and he finds himself chasing your wetness with every jerk of your hips. He growls when you twitch away a tad too much. “Be a good girl and stay still.” 

You freeze immediately, and somehow even more blood rushes to your already puffy pussy. Good girl. You would be, you promised yourself. You’d be a good girl for him. 

He pats your ass at your obedience, fingers slowly finding a pace on your clit. You want to writhe around and give yourself more friction, but you don’t, you want Logan to see that you’re being good and listening. You feel two fingers drag through your folds and moan when he begins slowly pressing them into your warm walls. You can feel his knuckles catch and you let out a curse as his fingers curl and bump that special spot that makes you go cross-eyed. 

Logan is enraptured as he watches your hole flutter around his fingers, feeling a primal need to replace it with his cock. He curls his fingers over and over, watching your face as you whimper and moan into your sheets. His name falls from your lips, and he knows you're close. He pulls away then, your hips fall onto the bed, your knees wobbling. You’re about to protest until you see him reaching for his buckle, hastily pulling his belt from the loops then unzipping his fly. He shoves his pants down just enough to pull his cock out, hard and leaking. He gives himself a few pumps, squeezing at the base. You push yourself up, supporting yourself on your forearms as he puts one knee on the bed, leaning over you. 

You get a better view of him from here, tip a soft red and pretty veins swollen with need. You almost want to reach out and take over for him. He uses his free hand to grab your chin, pulling your face to look at him. “You ready for me princess?” 

You can only nod in response, teeth chewing on your lip nervously. His hand moves to wrap gently around your throat, hunching over to kiss you once more. Your neck strains as you try to kiss him impossibly deeper, craving the way he tasted. He’s the one who ends the kiss again, and you numbly wish you could just sit here and kiss him for hours. He pats your cheek smiling down at you. “Good girl.” 

He moves off the bed, grabbing your hips and manhandling you into an upright position again. You feel even more wetness leak from you at how effortless he can move you around. You gasp when his tip drags through your folds, head catching on your clit. He does this a few times while gathering your wrists into his hands once more, using his other to begin pressing his aching cock into your warm walls. The tip pops in, and you feel yourself clench, hard. He lets out a loud moan. 

“Fuck darlin, gonna strangle the damn thing.” You only moan in return and he smirks, using his hands that hold your wrists as leverage, pulling you back to sink onto his cock even further. 

You close your eyes at the stretch, the pain being just enough to blur into mind numbing pleasure and fullness. His hips are flush to yours now, and he presses himself into your ass even more, addicted to the feeling of being balls deep inside you. He pulls out slowly, before snapping his hips forward. Your whole body moves with the force, and he tightens the grip he has on your wrists. He sets an unrelenting pace, your moans almost drowned out by his grunts and occasional shouts of curses. 

You can feel every inch of him, adjusted to his size and clenching around him every time his balls slapped your clit. He releases your wrists in favor of grabbing your hips, slamming into them with a ferocity that you would feel in the morning. You’re far too turned on to care at the moment. 

“Fuck Logan, just like that, I’m close, please-” He silences you with a slap to your ass, mind going blank with need when he sees red blooming across the soft skin. You clench harder this time. He’s grunting with every hard thrust he makes. “C’mon good girl, give it to me.” 

That’s all it takes, your limbs go numb as your orgasm washes over you, euphoria blooming from your stomach and spreading to your fingertips. Logan roars as he finishes, hearing your name fall from his lips like it’s the only word you’ve ever known. He likes hearing your moans more than he would like to admit. 

His thrusts gradually slow, before coming to a stop, still twitching inside you as you go through the aftershocks. You catch your breath, panting and suddenly feeling very humid. He slips out of you carefully, almost tempted for round 2 when he catches a glimpse of his spend leaking from you. His head is starting to clear a little, and he realizes he’s put himself in an awkward position. 

You’re smiling up at him, pupils still blown and hair messy. He finds himself not knowing what to say to you. So, he doesn’t say anything, just pulls his pants up and goes to your bathroom, coming back out with a rag. He tosses it to you. You clean yourself up, also feeling slightly awkward. He’s sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you. 

“Do you wanna like, cuddle, maybe?” 

He gives you a look and you almost wish you hadn’t asked. He rolls his eyes and stands; you think he’s going to leave until he’s pulling back your duvet and jerking his head towards you. You comply immediately, feeling giddy. Logan knows he should leave. Not give you any more mixed signals than he already has. But the guilt is starting to wiggle back into his brain, and he can’t say no. 

He’s in jeans, and above the covers, but you’re comfortable regardless. Your head is on his chest, fingers playing with the edge of his shirt. You don’t say much to each other, but silently you’re happier than you have been in a long time. He came and seeked you out, fucked you good and hard, and now he’s (almost) cuddling you after. You’re over the moon. You fall asleep on his chest, satisfied and tired. 

He leaves almost immediately after your eyes close. You wake up the next morning feeling hollow. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Logan is afraid that night was like an invitation for more to you. The following weeks you’re stuck to him like glue, finding whatever room he’s in and sitting with him. “Accidentally” making too much dinner and forcing him to share a meal with you. You still ask him stupid questions, “do you like my nails?”, “look at my form, isn’t it better than last week?”, “do these shoes look dumb?”. 

It’s getting on his nerves. However, he does figure out the best way to get you to shut up is to get you on your knees with his cock down your throat.

Logan has shoved all guilt deep down, rationalizing his shitty behavior with the logic that you’re both using each other. It’s what he tells himself when he finds himself at your door multiple times a week half hard and in need of release. 

Then, once again, Logan takes it too far. He comes back from a mission with the X-men, already on edge after a disagreement with Scott. All he wants is to take off for a week with his motorcycle and drink so much his body will have to regenerate a whole new liver from scratch. He almost runs into you, too busy storming to his stash of whiskey to bother being aware of his surroundings. He instinctively grabs your arm to keep you from falling back, steadying you before letting go. 

“Logan! You’re back!” Your eager voice is too much for him right now. “I finally finished the book I stole from you, I really liked it! I was about to eat lunch if you want me to make you something and maybe we can talk-” 

“No.” Logan is glaring at you. 

“What?” 

“I said no kid. You’re up my ass 24/7, can’t even settle in after a mission without you finding me and being fucking annoying.” He’s snarling at you, face inches from yours and using his height to intimidate. It works, and you shrink into yourself.

“Logan I’m sorr-”

“Save it, your desperate little attempts at getting my approval are pathetic. Almost makes me feel sorry for you. Leave me the fuck out of it, I don’t want anything to do with you. You got that?” He doesn’t let you answer, pushing it out of his mind when he sees your eyes sparkle with tears. He continues stomping down the hall. 

You watch as he leaves, shocked tears making their way down your cheeks. You had no idea you had pushed things too far with Logan. Wasn’t he the one just a few short weeks ago pounding on your door and then pounding you without as much as a hello? You knew he would get irritated with you, make snippy comments and roll his eyes at you constantly. But without fail he’d always come back and make it up with a sweet smile the next day. This time was different. There was no teasing, no hint of affection hidden behind the insult. This time he was serious. 

He didn’t want you around. You feel the pressure of a panic attack coming on, putting a hand on your chest and pressing hard to try to hold it together. You knew this would happen. You put all your eggs into one basket and now you’re screwed. You didn’t mean to pin so much of your self worth onto Logan, but it was hard not to when a simple compliment from him had your confidence higher than it had ever been your entire life. Even the insults were addicting, deluding yourself into believing he wouldn’t tease you so much if part of him didn’t enjoy having you around. 

You feel stupid, and angry, angry that you once again put your trust into a man who didn’t care for it. Part of you wants to run after him, scream, cry, kiss him, anything to get him to see how he hurt you, get him to come back. You scoff at yourself. Fat chance. If he didn’t want you around, then you wouldn’t be around. 

Your panic has subsided for the moment, but you make your way to your room, feeling like a good cry in the comfort of your own space might help the pit in your stomach. Hours later, cried out and nursing a massive headache, you realize it didn’t help at all.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Logan hasn’t seen you in days. He tries not to think about it. He knows he snapped a little too hard, said some things he didn’t completely mean, but he figured you’d be over it now. That you’d stop pouting and find him, asking if he liked some stupid skirt or hair clip. He hates that he misses your little fashion shows. He caves, and eventually begrudgingly asks Scott if she’s seen you. 

“Y/n? Yeah I saw her a few hours ago getting food. Why? Finally figure out she’s avoiding you?” 

Logan bristles at that. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

Scott continues, pressing his luck. “Yeah, right. I don’t know what you said this time, but maybe next time you should be a man and let her down easy, or better yet, don’t lead her on in the first place. She’s hurt man, and that’s on you. Leave it alone for once.” 

Logan is dangerously close to starting a fight, claws inching out of his knuckles. Scott decided he’s made his point, and leaves without giving Logan a second glance. He has half a mind to follow the fucker, but he stays put. 

Scott thought that him saying something would be helpful, he didn’t know you all that well but from what Jean has told him, Logan has a way of leaving the worst kinds of marks on people. He figured if you wouldn’t stand up to Logan, maybe he could advocate on your behalf.

He doesn’t know that, if anything, Logan wants to deny the truth even harder now that Scott decided to act like he knew everything. He wants to believe the opposite of what Scott told him. You weren’t upset, you were just busy. He wasn’t leading you on, you knew what you were signing up for. What the fuck did Scott know? 

Leave it alone.

He should, he really should. For your sake. You might be overbearing and too excited at times, but you don’t deserve the way he treats you. He wishes he could do it, treat you right and be there for you. But he can’t, and there’s no use imagining it. There’s a mile-thick concrete wall around his perimeter, designed to keep him from experiencing the person he loves ripped away from him. He can’t go through that again. 

He wants to though; it makes him sick when he realizes. At some point between hours of animalistic sex and your soft smiles he had lost a little piece of himself to you.

 He goes into a blind rage, punching the wall behind him and slicing anything within arm's reach. He’s angry at himself for not walking away the first day he met you, for being drunk and stupid and making your first experience with him too pleasant. He could’ve ignored you, never even learned your name and kept it that way. But he didn’t. 

He doesn’t want to admit that he really was the one who started all of this.

Rather than take any responsibility or process his feelings, he finds himself marching to your room, footsteps heavy and rhythmic. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy again, doesn’t want to be angry at Scott or himself or the world. So, he’s back where he started, outside your door. 

You open it timidly, eyes dim and hair not put up like usual. You look depressed. You are depressed, not that you would tell him that. You feel numb as you stare up at him, having a good idea of why he was here. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into a hug. He lifts you slightly, walking you over to your bed and sitting down carefully, bringing you onto his lap. Your muscles are tense, he’s never hugged you before, it feels weirdly intimate. You can’t bring yourself to push him away. 

“M’sorry. M’so so sorry.” He whispers into your hair, smoothing the baby hairs sticking up with a gentle hand. You lose it when he kisses your forehead with more tenderness than you'd ever experienced. You’re softly crying, grasping onto his shirt and shoving your face into his chest. 

You don’t want to keep doing this over and over. You want to feel okay without Logan around, you don’t want to need him. Unfortunately, as he’s kissing his way down your neck and mumbling “Let me make it better, at least for a little while,” you don’t have it in you to break the cycle today.

[princessbrunette]

when sarah and john b had decided they wanted to recruit you to join their relationship, there were a few subtle steps they had planned to take.

𐙚₊˚⊹♡

they saw your potential. they knew perhaps you weren’t the most overtly sexual in nature, but they also knew they could change that. sex was like cake, you could never just eat one spoonful of it. all they had to do, was pique your interest — not just in sex, but in sex with them specifically.

baby steps. you ask sarah to send her the videos she took of you guys from the party the night before, and she ‘accidentally’ includes a video of her and john b fucking she’d taken on her phone the same day. of course she acted bashful, apologising profusely for the mistake and acting incredibly grateful when you’d told her there was no problem and that you’d delete it.

‘yk i wouldn’t even really care if you watched it tbh. i trust you. its only me and john b anyway… 🤷🏼‍♀️💕’

— she’d text you after a moments passed. curiosity of course got the better of you, a shaky, clammy finger pressing the play button as you nervously bite your nail, glancing at the door and turning the volume way down as precaution as if someone were to catch you. the focus seemed to be on sarah, grinding her hips to ride the brunette boy, soft tits bouncing as he lazily smacks her ass and encourages her to keep riding. she seemed to be putting in the work, john b merely used as a vessel for pleasure, a dildo with a voice box— and something about that had you shamefully heating up. sure, your knowledge on sex was fairly limited — but what you did know through movies and tv shows was that guys were usually too prideful to let the girl do the work, yet therefore caring less for her pleasure. the two of them seemed… open. different.

the text of apparent permission sarah had sent you only made you feel the slightest bit less guilty when you snuck your hand down the waistband of your panties and humped clumsily at your palm as you hit replay.

the blonde cameron had facetimed you suddenly and out of the blue seven minutes later. you yanked your hand out your pants like there’d be a way for her to see you before you’d accepted the call and you swallow thickly, brain too frazzled to think before hitting the green button. she was smiling, laying on her bed in that white tank top that hugged her tits, the same tits from the video and accentuated her golden, barbie tan. you try and be normal about it. she’s just your friend after all.

“hey, what are you doing right now?”

you blink at her, the way she’s smiling at you — before checking yourself out in the small box in the corner. you look all heated and askew, chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths. fuck.

you told her you were watching a movie and then excused yourself not even two minutes later, overcome with embarrassment and the feeling of being caught. sarah rolls over once the call ends, smirking to john b who was reclined on her bed with a hand behind his head, scrolling through his own phone.

“she was totally getting herself off.” she purs matter-of-factly. the brunette boys eyes light up a little as he glances over, brows shifting upwards.

“yeah? how’d you know?”

“she had it written all over her face.”

the two of them got greedy, with the whole introducing you to the idea of being chronically horny thing. without even really speaking about it, they figured the more they normalised this kind of behaviour in the group dynamic, the more likely you were to feel comfortable enough to let them hit. jj maybank was sexual in nature to the knowledge of anyone who had the pleasure of having a conversation with him longer than five minutes. he was sure to make it easy and perhaps bridge the gap, they just needed their in.

by that point, you’d started to catch on anyway.

the four of you sit in a small uneven circle on the floor of the chateau, drinking on a friday night. at first you’re a little confused — you were so sure sarah had been hinting at something with you, herself and john b for a while now — but as you sat beside jj on the floor, his arm rested casually behind you, rubbing casual circles on your waist you perhaps started to question whether or not you’d made that up, and really they were just trying to be friendly so they could set you up with their friend.

as soon as the words ‘truth or dare’ leave john b’s mouth with a knowing, yet trusting and warm grin — you knew it was bound to take a turn. with this group, it always did. everything was about sex, whether you were doing it or talking about it or pretending to do it infront of eachother, it was some kind of secret obsession that you could feel yourself feeding into without knowing. a lamb being brought in to be sacrificed, a group of secretly perverted individuals itching to get your sweet, cranberry blood on their hands.

sarah speaks your name when you foolishly pick dare, worried if you had picked truth they’d make you recount all the things you’d hadn’t done. she leans across the circle to you on her hands and knees so her face is right in front of yours, breath in your face, ass in john b’s.

“i want you… to show me how you’d ride a dick.”

“what?”

she pushes back, reaching behind her on the couch and fetching the throw pillow, placing it in the centre of the circle with a mischievous grin. the pillow it long, firm and rectangular — the comfiest of its kind to nap on during the day whilst the group discuss whatever mishap they were planning on getting into that week.

“aw now we’re talkin’” jj gets comfortable, sitting back a little with a jokey grin. nothing about their tone was out of the ordinary, which what made you feel so comfortable.

“i don’t understand?” you smile, tilting your head like a lost puppy which only made you appear more delicious as their prey.

“straddle the pillow… and show us what you’d do if you were to ride an actual, real dick.” sarah explains kindly, even pulling your hand so you would shuffle forward on your knees to the centre of the small circle.

“look, we know you haven’t done that before— no shame in it,” john b shrugs one shoulder understandingly with an air of casualness which calmed you. “but a dares a dare and hey, maybe you could learn something right now.”

“i been told i’mma pretty good teacher too, so—” jj starts casually in his amused drawl, but is cut short pretty quickly by the sarah snapping her head towards him, her tone more curt and snappy.

“jj.” she scolds quickly and he shuts up, but as quickly as she changed her tone, she was back to smiling back at you encouragingly. she didn’t want jj to take it too far with the pervy jokes and send you running. their plan was perfectly crafted, and they didn’t need him ruining it. john b’s eyes linger on the blonde. nothing malicious about it, perhaps a warning though — because jj presses his lips together and moves his glance back to you with a thick swallow.

all in this time, you had decided to take another long swig of your drink before straddling the pillow. the group cheer, the fun and jokey atmosphere back in full swing as you cover your face, giggling into your hands.

your skirt stretches over your upper thighs at the position, and you shuffle — ensuring you’re sat comfortable on the throw cushion. perhaps the alcohol had lowered your guard, because without much thought — you wince, the material catching over your clit. you were sensitive, assumably from ovulation and as you try to get into a comfortable position, your face falls, realising you may be too sensitive to partake.

“uhm,” you clear your throat as the playful jeering dies down.

“go ahead. fulfil your dare.” sarah chuckles, leaning back against the couch behind her.

“i can’t.” you whisper, smile slipping off your face. the couples hearts drop a few millimetres in their chest, thinking perhaps they’d made you uncomfortable and soiled the whole thing. the blonde girls eyebrows furrow, leaning forward and scooching to sit directly infront of you.

“why? are you okay? i’m— i’m sorry—”

“no i’m okay,” you let out an airy laugh that relieves everyone. “maybe i’m just drunk but i’m a little sensitive… don’t think i can sit n’hump this pillow without…” you trail off, your shame sending heat to your cheeks and behind your ears. john b raises his eyebrows slowly in expectation.

“without…?”

you clench your thighs around the pillow, mortified, looking down at it before back up at him with puppy dog eyes and your teeth tucked over your bottom lip all sheepish. made him wanna finger you until you cried.

luckily, sarah’s face lights up with slow realisation, mouth forming an ‘o’ and eyes widening.

“without cumming?” she cooes before swivelling around to look at both boys, laughing in adoration. “aww, you’re sensitive! i didn’t even… know that was a thing!” she beams, and the boys follow, teeth glinting in the low light like hungry hyenas in a cave.

you loosen up a little, shoulders visibly relaxing and you giggle. “yeah… s’just quite a… firm pillow. pressing me in all types of places.” you shrug, girlishly.

“are you seeeeeeriously tellin’ me, that you can’t move back and forth just a little?” jj chuckles, dumbfounded from behind you and you peer shyly over your shoulder with a humble shrug. you wasn’t sure if they were to be making fun of you, but for some odd reason — based off vibes alone, your sensitivity felt like something to be proud of amongst the group. jj licks his lips.

when you turn back, sarah’s in your face again, her warm hands on your knees. she seems comfortable, so you relax into her touch. you notice john b watching the interaction before locking eyes with you and sipping out his beer bottle.

“okay well, a dares a dare, but if you really need someone to help you out…” she giggles, hands sliding up to your hips before she begins to forcefully tug you back and forth — leaving you no choice but to let her make you hump this pillow infront of everyone.

your hands fly to her shoulders to stabilise yourself, sucking in a shaky and unsure gasp as the seams in the fabric repeatedly catch over your clit through your thin panties. the music playing out the speaker seems to get louder, or maybe the blood is just pumping in your ears as the boys let out little encouraging cheers as they chuckle and continue to drink.

sarah tilts her head, hot breath on your jaw as she lowers her voice to something quiet and seductive for just you to hear, her hands now grabbing handfuls of your ass to pull you along. “there you go, keep riding it. just like me in that video, right?” she croons, and your brows furrow — unable to stop the pornographic moan from leaving you.

embarrassed at the delighted reactions, you hide your face in sarah’s neck, hot and disorientated from the pleasure, hearing her amused chuckle close up. “its just us, nothing at all to be embarrassed about.” she shrugs against you. “can’t run from the dare, sweetie. jj, you wanna come up behind her and give her a hand?” she asks, and before you can lift your head — her hands have slid up your top, squeezing at your tits.

your hips aren’t left alone for long though, as jj straddles the long pillow right behind you and grips your hips, tugging them back and forth with a boyish roughness that had the fabric scraping against you in a new way. you whimper uncontrollably, feeling the blondes stiff crotch thumping against your backside each time he yanked you back.

“yeah-he-heahh, that’s the stuff. don’t tell me i never do anythin’ for ya babydoll. teachin’ you the valuable lesson of gettin’ off right now.” he drawls in your ear, his body heat making your back arch.

amidst this, john b carries the same cool and collected energy. he leans against the couch as he keeps his eyes on yours, taking another sip of his beer before reaching out and taking your hand in his to gently soothe over your knuckles when you announce in a panic that they were going to make you cum.

“thaaaats it,” he hums, voice bassy and delicious enough to make you hold onto every word, thighs clenching painfully. “riiiiide it out.”

something about his nonchalance made you believe it was perhaps his idea, and not sarah’s like you previously believed.

[joelsrose]

Honeyed Heat

This might be my favourite piece I’ve written so far eee, legit 7k words of tension with no outbreak daddy Joel xx enjoyyyyy

Summary: After a pool party to celebrate your final exam, you and Joel, your best friend's dad, find yourselves tangled in a simmering attraction, where stolen glances turn into something neither of you can deny 🍒

The sun hung heavy in the sky, casting a golden warmth over the campus as you and Sarah stepped out of your final exam. The weight of the past weeks—the endless nights buried beneath textbooks, and the absurd amount of caffeine that had fueled your late-night cramming—seemed to melt away with each step. The promise of summer stretched out before you like an open road, brimming with the allure of freedom and long, lazy days that felt like they would never end.

Sarah had become your anchor in this whirlwind year, a steady presence when everything else felt uncertain. The connection between the two of you had been instant, seamless, as if you'd known each other far longer than a year. She was the kind of friend who slipped into your life effortlessly, like she’d always belonged. And with Sarah came her dad, Joel—Joel. The man who was impossible to ignore.

Joel was handsome in a way that made your breath falter—rugged, without even realizing it, as though he was entirely unaware of the effect he had on people. He never seemed to notice the way women’s eyes followed him when he walked into a coffee shop or strolled through the aisles of a grocery store. Nor did he seem to pick up on the poorly concealed attempts at flirting, the smiles that lingered a little too long or the shy glances sent his way. His brown eyes held a quiet depth, layers of softness and vulnerability beneath the roughness of his exterior. His hair, touched with silver at the temples, seemed to beckon for the gentle sweep of your fingers, an irresistible invitation to trace the soft strands.

There was something about Joel—something in the way he made you feel seen, cared for, without needing to say much at all. It was in the little things: picking you and Sarah up from parties when you’d had one too many, standing patiently by the car as you clumsily climbed in. Or the way he’d cook for you during late-night study sessions, his quiet presence filling the house with a warmth that matched the scent of the home-cooked meals drifting from the kitchen. He never asked if you were cold, just silently draped his worn sweatshirt over your shoulders when the evening air grew cool, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of him. Joel wasn’t a man of many words, but in every small gesture, he spoke volumes—showing his care through actions, through the way he was always there, quietly watching over the people he held close.

There were days when you couldn’t help but linger, the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck pulling into the driveway sending a flutter of butterflies through your chest. His t-shirt would cling to the muscles of his chest and arms, sun-kissed and glistening with sweat from the heat of the day. The patchy scruff of his beard would catch the late afternoon light, making you notice the soft, worn edges of a man who had worked hard his entire life. His toolbox—always slung low on his hip—was like an extension of him. And sometimes, just sometimes, he’d glance at you from across the room, his deep brown eyes meeting yours for a beat too long, a fleeting moment where the world seemed to slow.

You knew it wasn’t right to think of him this way—Joel was Sarah’s dad, after all. But that didn’t stop the way your pulse quickened whenever he called you darlin' or sweetheart, his deep Texan drawl wrapping around the words like a caress, making them sound far too intimate. It made you wonder if he knew—if he could sense the way his presence affected you, the way your heart raced every time he spoke your name.

And at night, when everything was still, when the world felt suspended in silence, you would lie awake thinking of him. Of his hands—rough and calloused, capable yet tender. Of the way they’d feel tracing across your skin. You thought of his lips—soft and pink, almost out of place against the ruggedness of his exterior. You wondered how they’d taste, how they’d press against yours with that same quiet intensity he carried in everything he did. You could almost smell him, the scent of sweat and earth clinging to the nape of his neck, a mix of leather and something unmistakably Joel.

And even though you knew you shouldn’t—couldn’t—allow yourself to feel these things, the yearning lingered, like an ember glowing quietly, refusing to die out. It was almost embarrassing how many nights you’d woken up breathless from dreams of him, your body heated and aching with desire, more times than you cared to admit.

Because Joel wasn’t just someone you looked at. He was someone you felt—in every stolen glance, in every quiet moment that stretched just a second too long, in every breath you shared when the world fell still around you.

•••

“We did it!” Sarah squealed, her laughter ringing through the air as she twirled in the sunlight, arms thrown wide like she could capture the weightless freedom you both suddenly felt. Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts, grounding you back to the moment. “Now we can finally celebrate,” she grinned, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of the pool party she'd been planning for days.

You laughed with her, feeling the same giddy relief bubbling up inside. “What should I bring?”

"Just grab some drinks on your way over. Dad’s already got the grill going," she said with a grin. The thought of Joel doing something so simple, so domestic as standing over a grill, caught you off guard. It was the casualness of it—the ease with which he did such everyday things—that sent an unexpected warmth rushing to your cheeks.

After a quick stop at the store, you stood in Sarah’s driveway, arms laden with clinking bottles and cans. The coolness of the drinks pressed into your skin, condensation leaving wet patches on your bare arms and stomach. But the weight you carried wasn’t only from the bottles. You’d chosen to dress a little bolder today, wearing your favorite red bikini beneath a pair of low-slung shorts, the button teasingly undone at the top. The sun bathed you in a soft, golden glow, warming your skin, but it was the thought of seeing Joel again that made your heart flutter, that made your stomach twist with a different kind of heat.

The bottles were heavier than you expected, digging into your hands as you struggled to balance them. With a sigh, you shifted your phone between your ear and shoulder, dialing Sarah. “Hey, I’m outside. A little help?” you laughed, breathless from the weight of the bags.

"Be right there!" Sarah's voice crackled through the speaker, the lively sounds of laughter and music spilling through in the background.

You adjusted the bags again, trying to hold on just a little longer. But just as you were about to set everything down, the front door creaked open. And there he was—Joel.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him, the world slowing to a crawl as he stepped out onto the porch. He looked like he belonged in the golden light, the late afternoon sun casting a halo around him, emphasizing the hard lines of his frame. His worn t-shirt stretched tight across his broad chest, clinging to the defined muscles beneath, while his faded jeans sat low on his hips, revealing a hint of tan skin where the fabric lifted, the waistband of his underwear just barely visible. His dark hair was tousled, as if he’d run his hand through it, and his eyes—God, those eyes. They swept over you slowly, taking in every inch of your appearance in a way that made your skin tingle, lingering just a moment too long on the bikini peeking out from beneath your shorts.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. The air between you shifted, warm and thick, heavy with something unspoken and impossible to ignore. And in that fleeting glance, it wasn’t the summer sun that heated your skin—it was Joel’s gaze, intense and unwavering, that sent a slow, simmering heat through you, making your heart stumble in its rhythm.

“Hey, darlin’,” Joel’s voice wrapped around you like silk, smooth and low, his Southern drawl turning the greeting into something far more intimate than it had any right to be. He leaned casually against the doorframe, a playful smile tugged at his lips as his eyes drifted over you, lingering just a heartbeat too long over your chest. You shifted slightly, suddenly feeling shy under the heat of his gaze, your confidence faltering for just a moment as his eyes stayed fixed on you.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d show up,” he added, the corners of his mouth lifting a little higher, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

The casual way he said it, like he’d been waiting just for you, made your throat tighten, breath catching in a way that felt impossible to hide. “Hi, Joel,” you managed, though your voice came out softer than you’d planned, betraying the sudden rush of nerves. The bags in your arms suddenly felt heavier, as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. You shifted them, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way his mere presence seemed to pull you in, wrapping around you like the summer heat—heavy and consuming.

A knowing smile curved his lips, his eyes glinting with a kind of playful understanding that sent your stomach into a free fall. “Looks like you could use some help,” he said, stepping closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of him—woodsy and clean, mixed with the faintest trace of sweat—filling the air between you. The sun glistened on his skin, the moisture at the nape of his neck catching the light. His voice was light, teasing, but beneath it was something else,“You didn’t have to carry all that by yourself, sweetheart.”

The way sweetheart rolled off his lips was almost too much, the weight of that single word sending a flush creeping across your cheeks. You told yourself it shouldn’t affect you this way—it was Texas, after all, where sweetheart was practically a part of the local dialect. But you couldn’t shake the nagging realization that whenever Sarah's other friends came around, they were never on the receiving end of the same tender pet names. That was just for you. And the fact didn’t go unnoticed.

You let out a soft laugh, though the nervous edge in your voice was hard to hide. “I thought I could handle it,” you said, but the slight tremor in your words gave you away. His eyes, so piercing and unrelenting, felt like they saw right through you, leaving you feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on your skin.

"Well, I could let you keep struggling," Joel teased, his eyes glinting with that familiar, easy charm. “But I’d rather help. Seems like you’ve earned a break after all that hard work.”

A fresh wave of heat rose to your cheeks, his words slipping past the cracks in your composure and leaving you momentarily flustered. “Wow, Mr. Miller, to the rescue,” you shot back, trying to match his teasing, though your voice softened despite yourself. The rhythm of your heartbeat hadn't settled.

Joel chuckled, a low, rich sound that made something inside you flutter. His hand lingered on yours for just a moment too long, the touch warm and deliberate before he shifted the bags onto his arm with effortless ease. That brief contact, the feel of his skin against yours, sent a shiver racing through you, leaving you a little breathless.

"Anything for you," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, the playful tone still there but now tinged with something more. His lopsided grin appeared—the one that never failed to make your insides twist in the most deliciously confusing way. The words seemed casual enough, but the way his eyes stayed locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze, told you there was something deeper behind them, something unspoken.

You followed him inside, watching as he carried the bags with ease, his old t-shirt clinging to the broad expanse of his back, the fabric stretching over every hard line of muscle. The urge to run your fingers along his back, to trace every dip and curve, flared up inside you, leaving you slightly breathless. The familiar warmth of the house embraced you, the smell of grilled food wafting in from the backyard, but it did little to steady your racing pulse. The memory of his brief touch still lingered, refusing to fade, a constant reminder of the tension between you.

You set the bags down on the counter, the clinking of glass bottles filling the space between you as Joel leaned casually against the counter, palms pressed into the surface, his eyes never leaving yours.

“So, how’d the exam go?” he asked, his voice lower now, softer, as though the world had melted away and it was just the two of you in that moment. His question was simple, but the way he asked it—the way he stared so deeply into your eyes—made it feel like it carried far more weight than it should have.

You exhaled, trying to ease the tension that coiled tight in your chest. “Went well, I think,” you replied, “We stayed up all night cramming, so I’m just glad it’s over.”

Joel nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his gaze never wavering. “I’m sure you did great. You always do,” he said, his voice steady, filled with that quiet certainty that made your heart skip. “You’re a smart girl.”

For a moment, his hands tensed, his fingers pressing into the counter as if he was holding himself back—holding back something he didn’t dare give into. The sight sent a jolt of heat through you, your heart stuttering at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was as affected by this moment as you were.

The warmth of his words wrapped around you, comforting and sweet, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to bask in it. A soft smile played at your lips, the warmth in your chest spreading. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft, vulnerable in a way that made the moment feel fragile, like it could shatter at any second.

For a heartbeat, the space between you felt charged with something more—something electric, heavy, a pull that neither of you could deny. Joel’s hand lingered on the countertop, his body angling just a little closer to yours, and for that brief moment, it felt like the world around you both had disappeared, leaving only the thick, palpable tension. His gaze held yours, unblinking, intense, and in that silent exchange, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too—the quiet pull, the way every second seemed to stretch, both too long and not long enough.

“Well, I should probably get outside, say hi to Sarah before she wonders where I went,” you said, your voice breaking the thick tension in the air. It had grown too intense, too charged, and you needed to step away before the heat of the moment swallowed you whole.

Joel nodded, leaning back from the counter, but his eyes stayed on you for a second longer than they should have. “Oh, yeah, of course,” he replied, his tone casual, but there was an edge in his voice, something restrained and unspoken.

You turned toward the door to the backyard, but his voice followed you, softer, more intimate. “Hey, before you go… you want me to make you a drink? I know you don’t like beer.”

The fact that he remembered—knew—you didn’t like beer sent a warm flush through your chest. It was the small things, the way he noticed the details about you that others often overlooked, that made your pulse quicken. You could already feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Oh, yeah, that’d be nice,” you managed, trying to keep your voice casual despite the flutter in your chest.

Joel's lips curled into that familiar, lopsided grin. “I’ll whip somethin’ up for you,” he said, his tone easy, but the promise behind it made your heart skip. “Don’t worry, it’ll be good. With cherries, just how you like.”

Joel’s grin deepened as he spoke, and the mention of cherries stirred a wave of memories—hot summer nights spent at Sarah’s, cartons of cherries devoured between the two of you as you laughed in the kitchen. He’d pass through, always noticing, always watching, the small details of your habits quietly catalogued. It struck you now, just how well he knew you—how effortlessly he’d taken in every part of you without a word. He had been there in the background, catching those fleeting moments when you thought no one was paying attention. His easy smile and that simple promise now carried a weight, a reminder that Joel saw you—really saw you.

You smiled, nodding as you turned to head outside, your hand just brushing the cool metal of the doorknob when his voice, low and steady, stopped you in your tracks.

“By the way…”

Something in his tone made your pulse quicken, and you glanced back over your shoulder, your breath catching as your eyes locked with his.

Joel’s gaze lingered, warm and intense. “You look real good in red.”

The words, simple but loaded, hung in the air between you, setting off a ripple of heat that raced through your chest.

His voice was low, rough, each word hanging in the air with a weight that felt deliberate, like he knew the effect it would have on you. But it wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he said it, the way his gaze darkened, hungry, trailing over you as if he were committing every detail to memory. There was an undeniable heat in his eyes, simmering just beneath the surface, a tension that wrapped around you, making your skin tingle.

His look wasn’t just appreciative; it was intense, like he was holding something back, barely restraining the force of whatever was brewing between you. For a moment, the world blurred, the sounds of the party fading into the background, leaving only the charged energy that seemed to pulse in the space between you.

You bit your lip, desperate to maintain composure, but the way he looked at you—like he was devouring you with his eyes—made it impossible to fight the pull.

You managed a breathless smile before turning away, stepping outside, but your pulse raced, knowing that his eyes were still on you long after you’d left the room.

•••

The party was in full swing now. Music thumped through the backyard, a steady pulse that mixed with the laughter and splashes from the pool. You smiled as you spotted Sarah and your friends across the lawn, their voices already bright with excitement as they waved you over. The blush from Joel’s earlier compliment still lingered on your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat every time your mind wandered back to the way his eyes had lingered on you.

“Hey!” they greeted you, their energy infectious.

But even as you returned their greetings, you could feel it again—his eyes on you. It was a heavy, almost tangible gaze that sent a thrill shooting through your veins, making your skin tingle with awareness. You smiled to yourself, knowing exactly what you were about to do. With a slow, deliberate movement, you shimmied out of your shorts, letting the fabric slide down your legs before they dropped to the grass at your feet. Every motion was intentional, your heart racing as you knew Joel was watching from across the yard. The warmth of his gaze felt like a caress, a secret thrill that made your pulse race wildly.

Settling back onto your towel, you leaned back on your elbows, allowing the sun to drape over you like a warm embrace. The vibrant red of your bikini shimmered under the golden light, drawing attention to the curves it barely covered. Conversations flowed effortlessly around you, laughter spilling into the air, but it all felt distant, a soft blur against the sharp current of awareness coursing through you. His gaze was on you again, heavy and deliberate.

Joel stood across the lawn, stationed at the grill, his hands moving with effortless precision as he flipped burgers and steaks. His expression seemed focused, but you could feel it—the magnetic pull of his gaze, like gravity drawing him back to you. Every so often, his eyes would drift over, sending a jolt of heat through your veins. You could barely hide the effect it had on you, your lips catching between your teeth as you fought to stay composed. Your sunglasses were tipped down, offering you just enough cover to glance back without being obvious, but each stolen look felt like it added fuel to the fire. The warmth pooled low in your stomach, undeniable, as you felt his eyes linger on you, as if he was just as affected as you were.

One of your friends, Emily, leaned in closer to Sarah with a mischievous grin, her voice low but playful. "I know this sounds weird, but your dad is seriously hot, Sarah."

Sarah groaned dramatically, burying her face in her hands. "Emily, oh my God, please! Can we not talk about my dad like that? You’re such a freak."

But before the laughter had a chance to fade, Joel—as if on cue—grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and, in one effortless motion, pulled it over his head. The shirt slid over his broad shoulders, revealing the defined lines of his chest and arms, his muscles catching the golden light. His skin gleamed under the sun, sweat tracing a slow path along the nape of his neck. He tossed the shirt over his shoulder with a casual ease, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was as if he were silently responding to your earlier move, acknowledging your little game with a bold, unspoken challenge of his own.

The group burst into laughter at the perfectly timed move, but for you, time seemed to slow. Your heart skipped a beat, breath catching in your throat as a familiar ache settled low in your stomach. Joel looked heavenly in the sunlight, every muscle moving with a quiet, unspoken power that left you utterly breathless. The scruff along his jaw, kissed by the light, made him look rugged, irresistible. His broad shoulders, the sculpted lines of his arms, the way his jeans hung low on his hips—it was overwhelming. Far too much to take in all at once.

And even as everyone around you laughed, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Biting your lip, you shifted, propping yourself up higher on your elbows, the cool softness of the grass beneath you the only thing keeping you grounded.

A few minutes later, Joel made his way over, drink in hand, cutting through the crowd with an effortless confidence. You couldn’t help but notice the way the other girls subtly straightened, adjusting their posture, smoothing their hair, all trying to catch his attention. But none of it mattered. His gaze was locked on you, unwavering, as if you were the only one there.

He stopped beside you, holding out the drink, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips—the kind that never failed to send your pulse skittering. “Here you go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the endearment dripping with that honeyed warmth that seemed to melt into you. His deep Southern drawl wrapped around each word, slow and deliberate, like a caress that sent a shiver racing down your spine, reminding you—as if you could ever forget—just how much power he held over you with nothing more than a look, a word.

You reached for the drink, your fingers brushing against his for just a second, but it was enough to send a spark through you, warm and undeniable. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper as a smile tugged at your lips. Then, slowly, you plucked one of the cherries from the drink, pressing it against your lips, lingering for just a moment before biting into it, your gaze lifting to meet his. The sweetness of the cherry was nothing compared to the heat in his eyes, the way they darkened as he watched you.

He lingered for just a second longer than necessary, his eyes locked on yours. In that brief moment, the world seemed to blur at the edges, leaving only the two of you in the thick summer heat. Inches away, Sarah and your friends laughed, blissfully unaware of the quiet storm building between you and Joel. You wondered if they could sense it—the way the air shifted, charged with something unspoken, every time he was near.

Before turning to head back to the grill, Joel lingered for a moment longer, his gaze holding yours like a secret. When he finally moved, you watched him go. Your eyes traced the broad lines of his back, the way his muscles rippled and shifted beneath his sun-kissed skin with every step.

•••

As the sun sank lower, bathing the backyard in a soft, golden glow, you and Sarah sat side by side at the pool’s edge, your shoulders brushing as your feet lazily dipped in and out of the cool water. Each gentle kick sent ripples across the surface, catching the fading light and scattering it like tiny diamonds. Most of the party had drifted indoors, leaving the two of you in the quiet embrace of the evening. The soft murmur of distant conversation mingled with the lapping of the water, while the newly lit fairy lights twinkled above, casting a dreamy, ethereal haze over the scene. It felt like you were suspended in a moment of calm, wrapped in the magic of the setting sun.

Sarah nudged you gently, breaking the comfortable quiet between you. “Someone’s been staring at you,” she teased, her voice dripping with playful mischief, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

You froze, your heart stumbling over itself as her words sank in. The first person that came to mind was Joel, and without thinking, your eyes swept across the yard in search of him. When you didn’t see him, a flicker of disappointment bloomed in your chest, the sudden emptiness of his absence unsettling in a way you hadn’t expected. Maybe he had gone inside—but the thought left a hollow ache that lingered longer than it should have.

“Huh? Who?” you asked, your voice barely masking the distraction as your eyes lingered on the empty spot where Joel had been grilling earlier.

Sarah smirked, nodding toward the pool where Henry—a boy from your class—was lazily swimming with a few of the others. Henry had always been the guy everyone seemed to crush on, with his tousled curls, easy grin, and laid-back charm that drew admirers effortlessly. But as your eyes drifted over him now, you felt... nothing. No flicker of excitement, no quickening pulse. Not like the flame that sparked to life in your chest whenever Joel crossed your mind.

Henry caught your eye and flashed a grin, then began making his way toward you through the water. Sarah, ever the instigator, raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk. “I’ll let you two lovebirds catch up,” she teased, giving you a playful nudge before pushing herself up and heading inside, her laughter trailing behind her.

As Henry reached the edge of the pool, he propped his arms on the ledge, droplets of water trailing down his toned forearms. His grin was wide, his eyes shining with an easy charm.

"Hey," he greeted, breathless from his swim, his damp curls clinging to his forehead as he looked up at you.

"Hey, Henry," you replied, offering a polite smile, though your heart wasn’t entirely in it.

"So, how’d you find the exam?" he asked, his voice casual but with a flicker of genuine curiosity behind it.

You shifted slightly, trying to focus on the conversation, but your mind kept drifting, thoughts wrapped up in someone else. The tension of the exam now felt distant, almost trivial in comparison to the weight of everything else. “It wasn’t too bad,” you replied, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Definitely tough, but manageable. How about you?”

Henry laughed, though you hadn’t said anything particularly funny, running a hand through his damp curls as water droplets glistened in the fading light. “I think I blanked halfway through,” he admitted with an easy grin. “But hey, I’ll survive. You, though? Bet you aced it—like always.”

You smiled politely, though Henry's compliment didn’t have the same effect as Joel’s had earlier. There was nothing wrong with Henry—he was kind, charming even—but the conversation felt predictable, lacking the quiet tension that seemed to fill the air whenever Joel was around.

The hum of the fairy lights and the soft splashes of water filled the space between you and Henry, but your thoughts were already somewhere else, with someone else who wasn’t there.

You and Henry continued your casual conversation, his light-hearted jokes filling the gaps in your distracted mind. Eventually, you both climbed out of the pool, the chill of the evening breeze making you shiver slightly. Sarah, ever the thoughtful friend, had handed you one of her oversized jumpers to throw on over your bikini, the fabric soft and comforting as it fell past your hips. You slipped back into your shorts from earlier, feeling a bit more at ease, though your eyes instinctively wandered, searching for him before you could stop yourself.

•••

The night had taken on a new rhythm—quieter now, with a few people huddled together beneath the soft glow of fairy lights strung overhead. You all found yourselves back outside, beers in hand, the low hum of conversation and bursts of laughter blending with the distant thrum of music, the atmosphere growing more intimate as the evening deepened.

Against your wishes, Henry found his way to the seat beside you on the loveseat, his arm casually draped across the back, settling in far too comfortably. You tried to focus on the easy conversation, but a restless energy stirred in your chest, a flutter that had nothing to do with Henry's presence. You looked at him—handsome in a boyish way, with hazel eyes and a nice smile—but he just didn’t stir anything within you. There was no spark, no pull, nothing.

Your eyes flicked up, almost involuntarily, to where Joel stood across from you. He leaned against the railing, beer in hand, his knuckles white around the bottle as his jaw clenched tightly. He was watching—his eyes dark, intense, taking in the situation with a smoldering heat that made your breath hitch. There was something in his gaze, something simmering beneath the surface, as his eyes flickered to Henry, and the tension in the air thickened, palpable and undeniable.

Just as Henry, emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere, leaned in a little closer, his voice dropped, "Hey, what do you think about getting out of here?" The question hung in the air for a second, his intent clear. But before you could even process it, Joel’s deep voice cut through the night, commanding attention in a way that made Henry immediately tense.

“Hey, kid,” Joel's voice was steady, but there was a weight to it that couldn’t be ignored. The air seemed to shift as his words cut through the casual conversation. “You mind givin’ me a hand movin’ some stuff inside? Need to clear a few things out before we wrap up.” The tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for argument, an unspoken authority lacing every syllable.

Henry let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused with himself. "We’re kind of in the middle of something, Mr. Miller." The casual dismissal in his tone caught you off guard, the subtle disrespect so out of place that it left you blinking in surprise. The shift was jarring, especially directed at Joel, who stood there, unwavering. His expression tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features, though he remained calm, his eyes locked on Henry.

The tension spiked instantly, sharp and crackling in the air between the three of you. Henry’s flippant response seemed to hang there, almost daring someone to challenge it, but it was Joel’s steady, unyielding gaze that had your heart racing. His eyes moved from Henry to you, a hardness settling in his expression, though his voice remained calm—Joel never needed to raise his voice. The quiet intensity in his presence was enough to shift the entire mood.

Sensing the tension thickening, you jumped in quickly, your voice warm, soft, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at Joel. “Uh, I’m more than happy to help you, Joel.”

You noticed the shift in Joel’s eyes almost instantly. The hard, unyielding edge that had settled in them softened, the tension that had coiled through his body beginning to ease. His lips curved, just the faintest hint of a smile, but it was enough—a quiet, unmistakable appreciation flickered in his gaze.

Joel's gaze held yours for a beat longer, something warm and unspoken passing between you. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice deep, threaded with gratitude that made your breath catch. The way he said it sent a familiar warmth blooming in your chest, a feeling only he seemed to stir.

Henry, clearly miffed by the turn of events, stayed seated, his posture stiffening in silent protest. You could hear him muttering something under his breath, a mix of frustration and disbelief, but it didn’t matter. His words barely registered. You were already on your feet, drawn toward Joel as he headed toward the yard. The silent exchange between you still hummed in the air, your heart racing as you followed him, leaving Henry’s bitterness behind.

•••

“That fucking kid,” Joel muttered, his voice low and rough with irritation. The two of you had wandered away from the party, now standing in the quieter, more secluded part of the yard, far from the buzz of laughter and music. The soft glow of the fairy lights flickered around you, casting shadows across his tense frame as you both gathered a few things to take back inside. The atmosphere felt heavier here, more intimate—just the two of you in the stillness.

You glanced over at him, searching for the right words. “Yeah, that was…” you trailed off, letting the unfinished sentence linger in the air. The tension from Henry’s rudeness still clung to the moment, thick and unspoken. Joel’s frustration was almost tangible, the energy radiating off him like heat, making the space between you hum with a quiet intensity, as though the air itself was charged.

“You know him well?” Joel asked, his voice low, carrying a subtle edge beneath the quiet tone—curiosity mixed with something deeper, something that felt a lot like jealousy. He didn’t look at you right away, his hands busy collecting plates from the table, but you could see the tension in his posture. The way his shoulders were set, the hard line of his jaw—it was clear he was holding something back, waiting for your answer.

You swallowed, struggling to maintain your composure, but it was impossible to ignore how damn good Joel looked when he was angry. The way his muscles tightened beneath his shirt, the fire in his eyes—it was undeniably attractive. Too attractive. Your heart raced in a way it shouldn’t have, and you had to remind yourself to stay focused on the conversation.

"Not really," you murmured, glancing at Joel. Your voice was softer, almost tentative, as you continued, "He’s just a guy from my class. We’ve talked a couple of times, nothing more." You watched for his reaction, sensing the weight of your words as they hung in the air between you, hoping he understood just how little Henry meant in comparison.

Joel paused, standing a little taller as he straightened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. There was no hiding the flicker of jealousy that flashed through his gaze, despite his attempt to maintain that calm, composed exterior. “Didn’t look like ‘just a few times’ to me,” he muttered, his voice lower now, a possessive edge threading through his words that sent a thrill straight through you.

You bit your lip, the heat between you simmering, thickening with every second. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming, Joel now standing so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. His presence consumed you, and the storm brewing in his eyes was impossible to ignore. God, he looked incredible like this—his frustration, his protectiveness, all of it coiling around you, making your thoughts blur and your senses feel hazy.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though the tension between you both was undeniable. “Well, he’s not really my type anyway,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Joel’s eyes flickered with something—curiosity, amusement, maybe even a touch of relief. His attention shifting fully to you now, his stance softening just slightly.

“Oh yeah?” Joel’s voice was low and rough, laced with a teasing edge. He took a step closer, just enough for the heat of his body to radiate toward you, making the cool night air feel heavy, almost suffocating with the weight of everything left unsaid. “And what’s your type, then?” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours, the question hanging between you like a dare, thick with anticipation.

You swallowed, your heartbeat quickening at the weight of his question. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, sure, but underneath it, something far more intense simmered—something real. He wasn’t asking just to flirt. He wanted to know, needed to know. His gaze held yours, searching, waiting.

You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. “I don’t know,” you said, your voice soft but steady, emboldened by the heat of the moment, your eyes locked on his. “Someone who knows how to take care of me.”

The words tumbled out with a confidence that startled you, emboldened by the sweet burn of the drink Joel had crafted earlier and the fire in his gaze that hadn’t wavered all day. The air between you crackled, thick with unspoken desire, pulling you closer. It was as if the world around you had softened, blurring into the background, leaving only the intense, quiet space shared between you.

Joel’s eyes flickered to your lips, a brief movement that sent a shiver through you, a silent acknowledgment of the line you were both tiptoeing around. His breath seemed to hitch, the moment hanging heavy between you, full of all the things you couldn’t say out loud but felt in every charged glance, every subtle touch.

You watched Joel carefully as the weight of the moment pressed between you, the air thick with tension that neither of you could deny. His eyes flicked down to your lips again, and for a second, you thought he might close the distance, that he might give in to the pull that had been simmering between you all day.

Then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

The words barely escaped him, so low you almost missed them, but the impact was instant. Your breath caught in your throat, and a sharp thrill shot through you. You blinked, stunned, your heart racing in your chest as you replayed the words in your head, trying to make sure you had heard him correctly.

But Joel wasn’t meeting your gaze anymore. His jaw was clenched tight, and his hand flexed at his side like he was restraining himself, holding back everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do.

“Joel...” you whispered, the emboldened feeling from earlier still simmering beneath your skin. You took a small step closer, feeling the distance between you shrink even further.

His breath hitched, and he shook his head, his voice rough, barely restrained. "You're drivin' me fucking crazy," he muttered, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours, dark with the weight of what he was feeling. “Showin’ up here in that red bikini, lookin’ like that, expectin’ me to just—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thudding in your ears. The rawness in his voice sent a thrill through you, and you took another small step forward, the space between you almost nonexistent now.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” Joel admitted, his voice low and ragged, like the words were being torn out of him. "Every time I look at you, it gets worse."

The intensity in his gaze, the way his words trembled with restraint, made your heart race. You had never seen him like this—so close to breaking, so close to giving in to whatever was burning between you both.

You reached up, hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over the rough stubble lining his jaw. It was the closest you'd ever been, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips sending a surge of heat through your entire body. His breath hitched at the touch, his eyes widening just for a moment as the intimacy of the moment settled between you both.

But then his gaze softened, the tension in his jaw easing slightly as he leaned into your touch. The roughness of his exterior seemed to melt away under the gentleness of your hands.

You could really look at him now. Really see him. His brown eyes, once clouded with tension, had softened in the fading light. His skin, kissed by the sun, was a little red around the edges, glowing faintly beneath your touch. He seemed to melt beneath your hands, his rigid posture easing as if, for a moment, the weight of the world had disappeared.

Neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with unspoken tension, a silent exchange that didn’t need words. Then, unexpectedly, a soft laugh escaped him, the sound breaking through the intensity of the moment. "And now you're wearin' my damn jumper," he said, his voice laced with amusement, the warmth in his tone catching you off guard.

You froze, glancing down, and realized with a start that the oversized hoodie you were wearing wasn’t Sarah’s—it was Joel’s. The fabric swamped you, the sleeves hanging long past your hands, worn soft from use and carrying that faint, unmistakable scent of him. How had you not noticed?

You let out a soft laugh, the tension between you easing just a little as warmth spread across your cheeks. "Guess I am," you said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips as your hands drifted up to drape around his neck, keeping him close.

"I look good in it?" you teased, your voice light but edged with something more vulnerable, lashes fluttering as you searched his eyes for an answer.

Joel’s eyes softened, warmth flooding his expression, though the hunger simmering just beneath the surface was undeniable. “You know damn well you do,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a surge of heat straight to your core. His large, calloused hands found their way to your hips, warm and firm, their rough texture grounding you in place.

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, your heart racing as if trying to match the intensity of his gaze. You felt the world around you fade away, leaving only the sensation of his fingers pressing gently into you, his breath steady but rough. And in that moment, everything—the tension, the looks, the unspoken feelings—hung in the air between you, thick and electric.

Joel’s hand slid up, fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that stole your breath. His touch lingered, soft and deliberate, as his thumb grazed your bottom lip with a featherlight caress. Every movement was unhurried, like he was committing the moment to memory, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips.

“Let me be the one that takes care of you, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough, thick with emotion. His eyes searched yours, and you felt the weight of his words, the unspoken promise behind them. His thumb lingered on your lip, as if waiting for your answer, waiting for you to let him in.

The air between you buzzed, thick with the tension that had been building for months.

Before you could say anything, before the words even had a chance to form on your lips, Joel leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft, but full of everything you both had been holding back for so long.

The kiss deepened as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer. The world around you disappeared, leaving only the feel of him—the roughness of his stubble, the heat of his body, the gentle yet insistent way his mouth moved over yours. It was like everything had been leading to this moment, all the glances, the tension, the stolen touches.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads rested together, the soft night air cooling the fire between you. Neither of you spoke, but you didn’t have to—the unspoken words, the promises, and the feelings that had simmered for so long were clear in the way he held you, in the way his thumb traced gentle circles on your waist.

And as his arms tightened around you, grounding you in his warmth, you knew—he was the one who would take care of you, in all the ways you had always needed but never dared to ask.

[toxycodone]

"Are they into PDA?" - Dungeon Meshi Edition

content. multiple x reader, fluff

an. yknow i havent written in like a week ESPECIALLY for my beloved dungeon meshi so. here is this. I'm kinda using this too as like practice bc i have never written for a lot of these characters but I would love to try!

Let me know if you want me to do this for another fandom <3 or if i forgot some characters

Laios's Party

Laios - He can go 50/50. I think at the start of a relationship he’s really awkward about it (he’s not used to anyone being affectionate with him besides his sister). But as time goes on he starts to really get into it. He just loves finally feeling accepted and cared for it’s just 💕💕 yeah. He’s lovey dovey enough with you in public to make people cringe. And he doesn’t get it when people suggest he should cool it down. Laios’s PDA is never heated or anything. Just cute and romantic. He’s smitten.

Falin - Similar to Laios, but I think she’s more chill with it off the bat. Falin gets hit with that puppy love phase HARD when you first start dating so she’s all shy and her heart’s pounding but she’s only bashful because she’s just so into you!! post-chimera she becomes a lot more assertive and has less regard for others witnessing your PDA. She’s always sitting close to you, holding your hand, resting her head on your shoulder (or letting you rest your head on hers). I also think she has a habit of sneaking up on your and nipping your neck/shoulder.

Marcille - ENJOYS IT. Like…there is not denying it. Marcille loves PDA. You would think your hands are glued together or something my God when you two are walking she’s always holding yours and swinging your arms while humming a little tune AHHHH…of course her cheeks will be stained red though. You ask for a kiss in public and she’s squeaks out an “…okay.” (Then has to hype herself up and is timidly puckering her lips w her eyes squeezed shut comically tight). Anyways. Yeah. She’s a little obsessed with you okay.

Chilchuck - He’s more lowkey and chill about PDA. He admires other couples when he witnesses it “aaah, young love.” But I think Chilchuck is a bit too mature to just. Make out with you in public (now if he’s had a few beers. That’s different. Drunk Chilchuck is a different breed okay.) Chil will give you a goodbye kiss or hold your hand for a second and give you a gentle squeeze, but that’s about it when it comes to public affection. I think he shows his affection fr tho by buying you accessories to wear (scarves, rings, pouches, etc.).

Senshi - He’s not super affectionate in public in general but he doesn’t mind it. Like oh? You wanna give him a little kiss? Sure. That’s fine. But then when he realizes others witnessed it then Senshi gets bashful. Thank god he has that thick ass beard bc I know he’s blushing way too hard. He blushes really hard at any PDA between you two. It’s honestly super cute. :3

Izutsumi - No. Hard pass. Do not. It just makes her incredibly uncomfortable (honestly the idea of affection in general makes her feel weird bc Izu thinks she’s undeserving, but she likes you enough to try to love herself. For you.) I think Izu substitutes PDA with handmade things…like. One day after a little thinking and comparing you guys to other couples she’s a little nervous about you thinking she doesn’t like you/isn’t a good partner. So…you guys have matching necklaces she made instead. It’s just a pretty rock and some feathers tied clumsily in twine but! She’s trying! It’s a step in showing that Izu wants something to link you guys together to others.

Toshiro - (idc that he isn’t in the party anymore he just fits best here ok) Hear me the fuck out. Toshiro Nakamoto likes PDA. BEFORE YOU STOP READING HEAR ME OUT. I think it’s a huge deal w his characterization that Toshiro is really repressed and is learning to voice his needs/concerns/opinions/etc. and I think this also applies to like. Getting in touch with his desires. Toshiro desires to be loved and cared for and well. He enjoys actions of affection from you. They make him happy. And when he finds himself getting embarrassed about it…he thinks on it. Like why should he feel the need to not showcase this? Anyways, yes he enjoys it. But keep it classy 💕 He prefers to save anything more for when you two are alone.

Kabru's Party

Kabru - 50/50 like Laios. But Kabru’s initial dislike for PDA stems from his own insecurities. Like…Kabru is just still processing that he is capable of love and doesn’t have to basically set his own desires and needs to the side and sacrifice for others. After he jumps over that jump it’s smooth sailing though. (Kinda. Every now and then he gets hit w an insecurity episode). Kabru’s like a fantasy prince. He gives chaste kisses to your lips and forehead, kisses your knuckles…yeah. It’s cheesy, but from him it works.!

Holm - Average PDA enjoyer. Keeps it cool and classy in public. He doesn’t initiate a lot besides a gentle kiss to your forehead or patting your shoulder every now and then. He has no qualms with it, Holm’s just a really mature dude (plus with his religion I kinda think he values being respectful). But like. As soon as eyes are off you guys Holm is WAY more touchy and lovey. When mickbell and kuroo stay at his place he’s always a little miffed mainly because his privacy with you is SACRED to this man.

Mickbell - Says he likes PDA. Cannot handle being kissed without practically exploding. He’s so cringe (I love him). Mickbell the embodiment of that “first kiss” vs. “expecting a kiss with tongue” meme. But he’s the first kiss part. He likes to pretend he has any sort of experience (he does not) and any attempt at PDA leave him glowing red but in his mind he’s like heh…I was so cool. (He wasn’t)

Rin - NO. It’s a mix of bashfulness and her fear of doing something crazy via magic because of crazy emotions. But I think she desperately does crave affection. Being able to be treated like a normal girl and love and be loved with no issue. Yeah. You can probably sneak up on her and give her a smooch or something and she’ll be too stunned to react (thank goodness bc the explosion spell building up fizzles out before it can be fully cast)

Golden Kingdom

Thistle - Little pain in the ass he acts like he hates it but in reality he loves displays of affection. Like Thistle gets all red in the face and waves you off but then he’s blushing and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl when you’re out of sight. In my mind Thistle doesn’t do a lot of PDA (if any) but he’s most definitely writing about you in his poem books 💀 there’s likely books dedicated to you…and yes he’d die if you found out.

Yaad - In the most princely sense, yes. Yaad is very sweet. Polite. Demure. He kisses your hand as a greeting and may kiss your cheek if he’s feeling really crazy (omg). But he treats you like the most respectable being on earth. Absolutely adores you. PDA makes him blush and Yaad will have a cute little smile for a while afterwards and be in a good mood (Laios asks you to be affectionate w him particularly when he knows he royally messed up)

Canaries

Pattadol - DO NOT. Like maybe a cheek kiss is fine but Patty is working VERY hard to look like a formidable leader and when you distract her! She can’t! Plus the prisoners immediately start making fun of her! You guys gotta keep it cool around them. She still loves you though.

Lycion - This is weird but Lycion seems like the type of guy who can do sexual stuff in public with no issue but PDA? It makes him choke a bit. Only because he struggles SO much with self image + self worth so you doing an action just to show affection for him that doesn’t give you anything in return makes his heart skip a beat. Like damn? You really love him? That’s crazy. Anyways. It’s cute as fuck.

Fleki - I honestly don’t know what to say other than you could eat her out in front of a crowd and she wouldn’t flinch. She’s soooo touchy and all over you it probably makes people uncomfortable but she doesn’t give a fuck. She clings to you like a Koala with no issue (like she did to otta in that comic YEAH)

Otta - Yes but she’s going to be pretend chaste about it. Like Otta acts all down to earth in public but I can’t decide if it’s because she wants to tease you or pretend like she has any sense of self control. Once you’re desperate enough yeah you two will be making out in public’s

Cithis - Idk if this is against the grain but I think she’s a bit reserved about PDA. Not because of any bashfulness or whatever (she could give less of a fuck) but with her hinted past experiences with people not regarding her personal space and being weird to her. In my mind just. Cithis has some personal boundaries about being touched and stuff she doesn’t want to be crossed. That’s not stopping her from getting you off under the table with her foot though. (Insane.)

[loserlvrss]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝐅𝐎𝐑) 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 b. christopher ( 방찬 )

synopsis | you didn’t get your boyfriend anything physical for christmas, but he thought this was a better present anyways.

pairing : bangchan x fem!reader genre : oneshot, smut, established relationship, light comedy warnings : unprotected sex, language, pet names, mentions of pregnancy and babies, reader wears lingerie word count : 1126

authors note : idk what thoughts i had for this but

“Are you serious?” 

You looked to your boyfriend, who obviously needed some reassurance. He even had a dash of sadness written on his pouty lips—as if asking himself how you could play such a cruel prank on him. “Don’t play with me like that, are you kidd—being serious?”

Except it wasn't a joke, you were being serious. 

You debated long and hard about what you wanted, even listening to the many times Chris told you that he wanted a fall baby. So, you thought up a plan to propose the idea, and what better present could you actually think of? 

It just made sense. There was no one else you’d rather have as the father of your children. Mentally, physically and financially you were stable. You wanted it, and you know your boyfriend wanted it just as much, if not more. 

“Chris, I'm not kidding.” You grabbed his hand, the one that was clutching a stupid note you’d written; something about how much you loved and adored him and wanted him to fill your…heart, of course. “This is what I want.” 

“Fuck, okay,” He started mentally stuttering, clumsily pulling you from your seated position on the coffee table to his lap, “like right now?” 

You laughed, putting your soft palms against his cheeks and pulling his face to yours. The kiss was sweet and short lived, but you didn’t pull away far. “Is there a better time?”

No, there wasn’t in actuality. The atmosphere of your living room was softly-lit and warm in comparison to the snowstorm that raged on the other side of the glass. The sun had started setting maybe 5 minutes ago, casting an orange glow through the clouds. You even lit some candles, making the mood romantic by nature. 

There was always something about timing, but right now it was perfect. 

Chris’ lips were attached to yours in less than a second, strong arms caging you chest to chest. He was usually always precise with movements, but he kept clumsily knocking your noses or teeth together, or squeezing your lower body down on to him too hard. He was desperate, and desperately trying to keep control. 

You grabbed his arms, having no difficulty prying them from your torso, and brought them to the hem of your shirt. 

“My love,” You mumbled against his lips, “I got something else for you.” 

He broke from you, trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. You couldn’t help the whimper that bubbled in your throat as his teeth grazed your skin. “I don’t need anything else, just you, baby.” He remarked, “You spoil me.” 

You lifted your own arms with his, the shirt falling somewhere behind you. Underneath the oversized piece of fabric was a red, satin, lace-trimmed asymmetrical slip that barely went past your hip bones. Of course you had the matching thong, afterall, it was an early Christmas gift to yourself…and your boyfriend. 

He gawked, palms running up and down your exposed thighs. “When'd you get this, angel?” 

“Sometime last week,” You replied, staring down at the way he admired you—all of you. There was nothing else he loved more in this world than you, and at first you thought that that was a hard standard to live up to. But, now you know it’s actually quite easy. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” 

Chris made it easy. 

“Me or the outfit?” 

He kissed your shoulder and collarbone, trailing to the deep v-neck the dress created. “You, obviously. As much as I love this on you, I can’t wait to take it off.” 

“Then let’s go to bed, Chris.” 

He wasted absolutely no time, lifting you up with him. You yelped at his sudden movement, grasping him for dear life—though he seemed relaxed, only focused on getting you underneath him in a timely manner. 

And you were, in record speed, left thighs spread in the middle of your king sized bed. Your boyfriend’s hips were aligned with yours, grinding lazily against your heat as his tongue found its way back into your mouth.

You whimpered his name with every brush of his cock against your clit. 

You were just about to beg for him to hurry up when he attached onto one of your nipples, making your back arch into his mouth, and the thought die. 

“Shit,” You hissed into the dark air. Every squeeze of your waist and palming of your (unattended) tit made you need him more. “Chris please—want you to fill me up now.” With a lewd pop he was off of you, staring directly into your eyes again. Your voice lowered intimately, “Need your baby.” 

If he wasn’t such a self-restrained man he would’ve come right then and there, that alone was enough for him. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough for you. And Chris was a lot of things, giver, being close to the top. 

“God, you’re gonna kill me.” His eyes almost rolled back when he felt you take the lead for a second, stroking him and lining him up with your entrance impatiently. “You want to be a mom so bad? You want my baby so bad, angel? Want a little version of you running around, don’t you?” 

You giggled, imagining it. He was a girl-dad, wasn’t he? He treated you so well, you could only imagine how good of a father he’d be. A father you never got to have. 

”Fuck you’ll look so good,” He pushed into you, making your head fly backwards. “God, I can’t wait to be a dad, my love. You’re so beautiful, so fucking perfect. I love you.” 

He kissed you so passionately you almost blocked out the blissed feeling of him inside you, “There’s no one else I’d rather make a father on Christmas,” You tried to joke through the brain fog. “Or any—fuck—other day.” 

Your fingernails dug into his biceps as you clung to him, hips drilling into you faster. It was so good you could barely even make a sound, just lay there and take it with tears rolling down your cheeks. Well, It was always good, but it was different this time: he had a separate purpose than just making you finish a couple times before he did, after all. 

But, God, was he always good at it. 

“C-chris,” Your walls started clamping down on him without warning, teeth almost sinking into his shoulder as your body stiffened and contorted. 

He pushed you through it, prolonging the feeling coursing through you, “Good girl,” He praised, “Do that again for me, hm?” He dropped to him forearms, pressing your body closer again—chest to chest. “Gonna fill you up so many times, fuck, need to make sure, okay? Do it again, come for me and I’ll give you what you want.” 

please reblog and like <3 comments are appreciated ! thank you 4 reading © loserlvrss 2024 / 25 all rights reserved. 

networks : @blossomnet @starlit-network @k-films @kstrucknet

taglist : | fill out form to be added.

back to masterlist !

[jintaka-hane]

Sit Down

Masterlist

Summary: Ben Beckman carries too much on his shoulders. The situation on board is a mess, and the weight of the stress is making it harder for him to sleep at night. As your first mate and friend, it pains you to see him so exhausted. So, when things become unbearable, you offer a drastic solution—something he’ll hesitantly end up accepting. Word count: 4900 Notes: MDNI, + 18, NSFW, xf!reader, smut, oral (Beck receiving), fingering (f!reader receiving), friends to lovers, let me take care of you thing, fluffy end, needy Beck, a lot of pet names used (darlin', doll, princess, pretty) Self indulgent? This? Nah Warning: All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

Clink-Crassssh!! 

The coffee pot shattered against the wooden floor, sending shards of glass and splashes of coffee flying across the mess hall.

You jolted at the noise, nearly losing your balance on the stool, and after exchanging puzzled glances with Roux and Hongo, you turned your heads to find the source of the crash.

Before you stood the sad figure of Benn Beckman crouched on the floor, muttering curses as his trembling hands hurried to clean up the mess. His hair was more disheveled than usual, his lips pressed into a tight line beneath an untrimmed beard, and his usually bright eyes seemed dull, framed by deep, dark shadows.

He looked so exhausted, it was painful to see.

"Beck?" You immediately set your drink down and stood up from your seat, rushing to help him.

“Ain’t gotta, darlin'...” he said in a rough, worn-out voice. "I got this."

With a frown, you ignored what he said and grabbed a clean rag, kneeling beside him and soaking it in the spilled coffee. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched his fingers clumsily gather pieces of the shattered pot, his movements so slow and unsteady that you worried he might hurt himself. You tried to push the glass shards away from his hands, but when he stubbornly kept picking them up, you placed your hand over his.

"Beck. Stop. I’ll handle it..." 

"No," the bulky man muttered, giving a small tug to free his hand in such a rushed and clumsy way that it struck the edge of a sharp shard, causing him to wince as his skin split open with a jagged cut.

"Beck!" You grabbed his wrist firmly. "Would you just stop?!"

Beckman sighed heavily and, for once, complied. As blood began to bead along the cut, Hongo rushed to assist him, crouching down to help you lift him to his feet.

“It’s not bad,” the doctor said, focusing on the wound and pressing gently around the edges to ensure no glass remained. “Just needs cleaning and a bandage.”

"I got it," you said immediately.

Hongo raised an eyebrow at your quick response and ran a hand over his shaved neck to asses the situation.

For once, someone from the crew was offering to help, and he wouldn’t be the one to refuse. He gave you a short nod, and that gesture was all you needed to grab the big, wall-of-a-man first mate by the arm, and practically drag him out of the mess hall, marching down the corridor as he grumbled the whole way.

“Darlin’, I’ve got plenty of things to do…”

You grunted. Of course he had things to do. He always had things to do. And that was exactly the problem.

"... and if you're taking me to bed," he continued stubbornly, "it's not gonna work..."

You huffed and without replying, kept striding down the corridor, your fingers digging into his forearm like claws.

We'll see about that …

**********

You weren't exactly having the best time on the Red Force.

The captain was confined to his cabin, bedridden and unable to make decisions. He had caught something nasty on the last island and was under strict orders to rest, spending his days grumbling and complaining like the terrible patient he was.

Roux and Hongo weren’t faring much better. With food and medical supplies running dangerously low, the cook was growing increasingly dramatic, threatening to serve boiled underwear soup, while the doctor prowled the ship’s corners, muttering to everyone that he’d soon be operating without anesthesia.

The ship herself was in no condition to help. The sails were in desperate need of patching, the masts needed reinforcement, and the cannons kept jamming at the worst moments. And to make matters worse, you were trapped in a dead calm. With the ship completely immobilized in the open sea, resupplying or seeking help was impossible, and the weather forecast offered no hope of change anytime soon.

Everything was a mess and completely out of control. And naturally, all the responsibility, worry, and pressure landed squarely on the shoulders of the ever-capable and vigilant co-captain. But the weight of it all was beginning to take its toll.

His body rebelled, depriving him of the restorative sleep he so desperately needed. And with each passing night, the insomnia only worsened, making the once steadfast first mate slowly turn into a tired, miserable shadow of his former self.

**********

"Go in," you said, opening the door to Beckman’s cabin and giving the sturdy man a gentle nudge on his back.

The moment you stepped inside, a sharp smell of tobacco assaulted your nose, and your eyes darted around the room, quickly taking in its disheveled, sorry state.

The bed was unmade, with rumpled sheets and clothes scattered across the mattress. In front of a worn, cushioned armchair, his desk looked disheveled, cluttered with a mountain of papers, maps and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. On the nightstand, a half-empty glass of whiskey sat next to a small box of sleeping pills.

A sigh slipped from your lips. You’d always heard that a person’s cabin was a window into their mind, and the sight before you was more revealing than any words could be.

Your attention shifted back to Beckman, who stood frozen in the center of the room, his injured hand raised and curled into a fist.

"Sit down," you commanded, stepping closer and looking up at him, your voice steady as you motioned toward the armchair. 

Beckman opened his mouth to protest, but before he could articulate a word you placed your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back and guiding him toward the chair.

"Sit down," you repeated in the most authoritative tone you could muster. 

Becks chuckled but complied, sinking into the cushioned armchair with his full weight. 

“Bandages and antiseptic?” You crouched down to meet his eye level, a finger raised in a questioning gesture.

“Top drawer,” he grumbled.

Without another word, you turned to the nightstand and rummaged through the drawer. Your fingers brushed past rolling papers, lighters, and razor blades before finally finding alcohol and some bandages. Supplies in hand, you perched sideways on the armrest of his chair, extending your hand to take his.

The bulky man allowed you to tend to his wound, remaining silent as you carefully cleaned the bleeding cut, his drowsy eyes following every move of your delicate fingers. He couldn’t help but notice how small and soft your hands looked against the roughness of his calloused skin.

"Beck..." your voice came out like a sigh. "You can't keep going like this. You need to sleep." 

His fingers didn’t flinch as you applied the alcohol to disinfect the wound. 

"I know, darlin’," he said quietly, his gaze now fixed on your face as your brows furrowed in concentration while you cut the bandage. "And I’m tryin’, but—"

"It’s too much stress and weight on your shoulders, I know..." You carefully wrapped the bandage around his hand, tracing small circles in the air.

You liked that grumpy, big-hearted first mate more than you were willing to admit. He was your friend, your confidant, your favorite person on the crew. You wanted to help him. And after all the traditional remedies your crewmates had tried had failed miserably, your mind had begun drifting toward more... drastic options.

Benn Beckman was a reserved man. But despite his discretion, you knew he had his needs. Whenever you reached port, you knew he sought comfort in the arms of willing, affectionate women, eager to spend a few hours in his company. You’d seen him share drinks with them, whispering who-knows-what in their ears while they sat on his lap, hands sensually tracing the lines of his chest in some secluded corner of the tavern. 

And every time you saw him the next morning, a cigarette between his lips, that casual smile of his, and a trail of bruises on his neck disappearing into his shirt, something twisted in your gut.

Something you couldn’t quite define.

Maybe it was curiosity… curiosity about what he did with them all night, tangled in the sheets of an inn bed.

But it had been weeks since you’d seen the first mate blow off any steam. With no wind to fill the sails, the ship had no chance of docking at any nearby port, leaving everyone deprived of the opportunity to unwind and relax with some good company on the shore.

So one idea had started to form in your mind.

At first, you had dismissed it, thinking it was crazy and inappropriate. But as you watched Beckman worsen day by day, you reconsidered, concluding that it might be exactly what he needed to forget for a moment the weight of his responsibilities and, hopefully, get the rest he so desperately needed.

The only problem? Suggesting the idea felt harder than carrying out the remedy itself.

“You’re lost in thought…” His rough voice pulled you back, his hand gently holding yours after you finished tying off the bandage. His thumb moved in slow circles over your wrist as he looked at you with gratitude.

You cleared your throat and stood up, pulling your hand away from his to return the first-aid kit to the nightstand drawer. His gaze weighed on your back, and just before closing the drawer, you clenched your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before deciding to take the plunge.

“I think I can help you,” you said.

A low chuckle sounded behind you, laced with disbelief rather than malice.

"Darlin’," he said, rubbing his eyes, "Hongo's tried everything. He even gave me pills to—"

“I can give you something Hongo hasn’t,” you cut him off, your voice coming out more confident than you’d imagined it would when you’d rehearsed the words in your head. When you turned to face him, though, you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

“And what’s that?” He stopped massaging his eyes, revealing his tired gaze again as he looked at you.

“My mouth.” 

The two words hung in the air, finally freed after days of being locked in your mind.

Beckman stayed silent, his gray eyes locked with yours. With your heart in your throat, you approached the armchair and placed a hand on each armrest, leaning your torso toward the wordless man. He lifted his chin to look at you, and you tried to remain stoic and unwavering, holding his gaze as his eyes flickered between yours, studying your features as if he were trying to see beyond your skin.

"Doll," he finally said, his voice deep and soft. "If you're implying what I think..."

"I am." 

His lips twitched into a wry grin.

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not." Your fingers unconsciously dug into the fabric of the armrest.

His smile faded, and this time, his gaze held an animal-like intensity. Frowning, and with his lips pressed tightly together, he seemed to be trying to control an internal battle raging inside him.

"No," he finally said, his chin still lifted so he could look you straight in the eye.

His refusal struck you like a bucket of cold water, though, in some way, you knew that’s exactly what he would say. He always treated you with a respect and care befitting a goddess, and making you lower yourself to the dirt in such a worldly way would probably be unthinkable for him.

“Becks,” you sighed softly, removing one of your hands from the armrest to trail it up to his stubbled chin. “You’re barely on your feet. We’re all worried about you…”

Beckman closed his eyes at the feel of your touch, his chin leaning into your hand as he allowed himself a moment of rest.

“I can help you if you let me…” you continued, “We’re adults, it’d be an agreement between the two of us… an agreement between… friends.”

His jaw tensed in your hand.

“As flattered as I am that someone like you would be offerin’ somethin’ like that to a guy like me," he said, "my answer’s still no."

This time his refusal genuinely hurted you. You pulled your hand away, and his tired eyes opened again, disoriented without your touch.

"Your stubbornness is reckless," you tried to sound composed, but the pain in your voice betrayed you. "You can't work like this. A-a crew without a first mate at his best is a crew in danger. We all need you, Beck... I-I..." Your lips trembled nervously as you spoke, "I need you."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you bit your lip. The last thing you wanted was to add even more weight to the already burdened first mate, and that was exactly what you'd just done.

Embarrassed, you straightened up and began to turn away to leave, but he stopped you, grabbing your wrist firmly and pulling you back toward him, spreading his legs to make space for your body to move closer to his.

"Girl," he said in a rough voice, locking his eyes with yours in a way that sent a spark flickering in the pit of your stomach. He frowned, and for a moment, you thought he was going to scold you. But his expression quickly softened. "You can back out anytime. Got it?"

You nodded, and before you realized it, his hands were around your waist, lifting your shirt and exposing the skin of your abdomen. He pressed his nose playfully against your navel, and his fingers traced the waistband of your pants.

“Becks,” you giggled as the ticklish sensation sent goosebumps racing across your body. “What are you doing?”

“I never let my partner pleasure me without takin’ care of her first,” he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face further into your belly.

Oh. 

Of course.

Benn Beckman, competent first mate and finest gentleman.

Smiling, you placed your hands on his cheeks, guiding his gaze back to yours. As tempting as the situation was, you weren’t going to let him take this turn. You were here to help him, not the other way around.

"Becks, stop... you don’t have to. I’m not asking for anything in return, understand?"

He looked at you, his hands still resting on your waist. From the expression on his face, you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

"Besides," you added, trying to find something that would make him relent, "if that ever happens, I deserve it to be with all your strength. Not like the tired wreck you are right now."

A raspy laugh rumbled in his chest, and you smiled. How you loved that rough, husky laugh.

"Alright, Darlin’," he said, still chuckling.

Your smile lingered as you slowly lowered yourself to kneel between his legs, never breaking eye contact with him. Before your knees could touch the floor, he leaned over to the bed, snatching up his pillow and placing it on the floor beneath you.

"Here," he said, "don’t go hurtin’ those pretty knees of yours."

Why was he always like this? You thought as you made yourself comfortable on the pillow, placing your hands gently on his thighs for support. "Thank you".

Your eyes lingered on the prominent bulge at his crotch, and without thinking, you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. Beckman’s jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a rare display of vulnerability for a man with his reputation.

“Hey, big guy,” you gave his thigh a comforting squeeze, "it’s just me. Relax, okay? Just let yourself go…”

The tent in his pants seemed to complain within its prison, and you didn’t want to make him wait any longer. Slidding your hands down his knees, you spread his legs just enough to create space for your head.

"Who’s undoing the belt?" you asked tilting your head and looking up at him from beneath your long doe-eyed lashes.  

"You." His tone struck you as the same one he used when handing out tasks on deck.

Your hands gripped the buckle of his belt and unfastened it, your fingers decisively pulling aside the layers of fabric that stood between you, lowering the waistband of his pants and finally freeing his painfully swollen cock.

Benn Beckman was a big man. And his dick matched him well. With a large, pinkish-red head and a prominent vein running up and down a thick shaft. Your mouth watered at the sight, lips parted as you took a moment to prepare yourself.

"Darlin’,” Beckman said, taking the moment of silence as doubt on your part, “you can back out if—Hah~" 

His words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you captured his swollen, mushroomed knob between your eager lips.

His taste was salty and strong in your mouth.

You, on the other hand, felt incredibly sweet on his cock.

Opening your mouth as wide as your jaw would allow, you slowly took him in, giving yourself a moment to breathe and adjust to him. You swallowed gradually more of his cock, eyes closed in concentration, hands anchored on his base for support, until you managed about two-thirds of his length.

He held his breath above you. His abdomen tightened with restraint when you looked up at him, your tongue pressing against the pulsing vein on his shaft, feeling the wild rush of blood running through it. Then his hand cupped your cheek, his lips curling into a smile as he traced with his thumb his own bulge inside you.

With your cheeks flushed by that smile, you began applying more pressure with your lips, rising back up to his large head, giving it a quick lick before taking him all the way down again. 

"That's it... “ he sighed. 

His hand slid to the nape of your neck, his fingers brushing your hair aside with care before settling there. You continued bobbing your head against his cock, making him groan with your upward and downward movements, trying to take as much of him as you could.

“Yeah, nice and slow princess…, just like that," he whispered, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles against your skin.

Encouraged by his sweet gesture, you decided to use your hands as well. One moved carefully up and down his hard cock, while the other dared to venture deeper into his pants. His balls felt heavy and tight between your fingers. The balls of a man who hadn’t known a partner' s warmth in a long time.

"So, so good, princess," the bulky man praised breathlessly, his eyes full of devotion as he watched your head bob sweetly between his legs.

His length twitched inside your mouth and you tasted a salty drop of precum as you ran your tongue through his slit. You smiled proudly on his cock, continuing to suck and bob, feeling sparks ignite between your thighs as your own arousal began to smolder in your core.

“Look at you... hah… so perfect… and takin’ me so damn well,” he groaned, his voice a little deeper and raspier than usual. 

His sweet praises, coupled with the slow, sensual glide of his fingers along the nape of your neck, sent a sharp jolt of desire coursing through you. Your mouth continued working up and down his shaft, increasing the pressure and speed as you felt the weight of his darkened, dilated pupils staring at you.

“Princess, open your shirt for me," he uttered with an unsteady breath.

Arching your brow, you looked at him, holding his gaze with an alluring intensity as you slowly obeyed. Your fingers fumbled with your buttons as you undid them slowly, one by one. As soon as you finished, he tugged your shirt down, baring one of your shoulders.

“So goddamn beautiful…” he whispered, the back of his fingers grazing your soft, vulnerable skin, tracing an invisible line from your collarbone to the curve of your cleavage.

His touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you frowned, fighting to control the raw, insistent desire building between your thighs. You continued to sweetly embrace his cock with your swollen lips, sucking him hard up and down, focused on how with each movement, his breaths grew more and more uneven.

"Ah~”  he tilted his head back, his fingers pressing more tightly into the back of your neck, drawing your head closer to his crotch. "Let's go deeper, a'right, Doll? Show me what that pretty throat can do…"

You nodded obediently, exhaling through your nose as you took his cock further, slowly swallowing his entire length inch by inch. 

“That’s it, such a good girl…” He praised you as his hands gently grabbed your head to guide you deeper into him.

His sweet words pushed you to swallow more than your throat could handle, and when his blunt head hit the back of your mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from choking. 

"Hey, n-no," He huskily chastised you, giving you a little tap on the nose. Though he couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and rolling them back. "No gagging, okay? Good girls don’t gag”.

You nodded again, knitting your brows together in concentration, and let him guide you to take the rest of his cock.

“That’s it… breathe and relax for me, okay?”

You had to squeeze your eyes shut as the large tip pressed against your uvula, but once you managed the last few inches, you smiled proudly on his cock.

“That’s my good girl,” he cooed at you, letting out a heavy sigh, unable to avoid twitching over your tongue. “I knew you could take all of me…”

You continued moving your head, up and down, then down and up, always watching his reactions and listening to his breath to match the right pace. His throbs inside you became more frequent and desperate, and you began to fantasize about how his massive cock would stretch you to your limit. 

The thought did little to ease the growing, unbearable thirst inside you. The damp fabric of your underwear clung uncomfortably to your swollen folds, and you pressed your thighs together, seeking any form of relief.

Burning with desire, you increased the pace. Obscene sucking sounds filled the air as you worked your way up to his thick tip, repeating the process over and over again, making him grunt and curse above you in his frantic fight not to cum.

“G-good j-…  -ahh such a pretty good girl…” he had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the pleasure flooding him. “I’m so close, princess... gonna keep bein’ a good girl for me and not let me make a mess on the floor?" 

You don’t remember giving him an answer, but you do remember how your swollen pussy throbbed between your legs at his question.

You desperately wanted to touch you.

You desperately wanted him to touch you. 

And your prayers were answered.

As you whimpered in frustration, you felt Beckman's large hand slip into your pants and slide under your underwear.

“Shh, I got you…,” he soothed in that deep voice of his, his expert fingers parting your labia and pulling up the hood of your clit, circling your perfect spot with astonishing ease. “Go on, princess.” 

Gripping his hand you grounded your pelvis against it, desperately begging him to keep on those sweet circles that were taking you so quickly to the edge. He indulged, and in less than 30 seconds, he had you whimpering and mewling against his cock, eyes rolling and toes curling as you shoved his thick fingers into your clenching pussy.

Your pace bobbing your head decreased during your high, but the force increased. You hollowed your cheeks, raking him down with your mouth with so much fervor, that you had not yet come down from the crest of your orgasm when you felt his hands roughly grab your hair in firm handfuls, his cock throbbing against your palate and filling the bottom of your throat with his thick, salty load. 

“Fuck, princess, sweetheart, -ngah!, you’re too good, too much -so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his cock deeper into your mouth, emptying himself so hard and so deep in your throat that you gagged on his knob again. Tears began to well up in the corners of your eyes, but you continued bobbing your head against him, feeling his hand rest on your throat as if he wanted to feel your windpipe shift with each swallow of his overwhelming stream of cum.

Panting, and sweating, with your hair tousled and your cheeks flushed, you felt the last of his spend spill into your mouth. You pulled away from him, lifting your eyes and finding him as breathless and damp as you.

He smiled, and his hand ran through his hair in an attempt to regain his composure. But as he leaned toward you and his fingers grazed your cheek, his smile disappeared.

"Oh, Darlin’... No..." His voice cracked, his eyes following the tears as they slipped down your cheeks. “Forgive me... I’ve made you cry.”

His large hands wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly and settling you onto his lap.

“Damn, I’m such a fucking brute…” he said, drawing you close against his chest.

“It’s alright, Beck,” you whispered as you pulled your face away, but his hand drew you closer once more.

His lips brushed softly against your cheeks, catching each tear with tender, almost apologetic kisses. You let out a soft laugh, turning your head slowly to allow him more access, and in doing so, your noses brushed together. Your eyes fluttered shut, and in that brief, unspoken moment, his lips found yours.

The kiss was slow, softer than you’d ever expected from that grumbling, broad-shouldered first mate. He had the calm and patience of someone who had waited for this moment for a long time, savoring every second as if your lips were a long-lost treasure. Sighing into the kiss, you allowing yourself to be carried away by the sweet, unhurried motion of his chin.

When you pulled back, your fingers brushed lightly against his cheek before your gaze met his deep gray eyes once again. They held something intense, familiar yet impossible to name.

A look he reserved only for you.

A look that was now hungrier than ever, as if he were staring at something that had always belonged to him.

“And?” you asked, straightening your back and raising an eyebrow.

“And?” he mimicked you, a smile grazing his lips as he looked lovingly at you. “Darlin’, you were… you are gorgeous.”

“No,” you giggled, your cheeks flushing as you gave him a light, teasing tap on his chest. “I meant if you can sleep now.”

“Ah, right… okay,” he frowned and cleared his throat. “The truth is… yeah, I think I can sleep now.”

With a genuine smile, you nodded and gave him another light tap on his chest. As you moved to stand, his large hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you firmly back into his embrace.

“Stay with me…” he whispered, his forehead coming to rest softly against yours.

“I can’t, Beck. I’ve got work to do,” you lovingly brushed your fingers along his stubbled chin.

“No, you don’t…”

“Yes, I do,” you teased, crossing your arms playfuly over your chest. “And if I don’t, my first mate is gonna punish me.”

He lifted his forehead from yours.

"Oh, I see. That first mate of yours must be really mean."

“The meanest,” you leaned in, your voice low and almost conspiratorial.

He hummed in amusement.

“Is he?” 

"You have no idea."

Clearly enjoying having you so close again, he tilted his chin towards you, grinning as he caught the way your eyes darted to his lips. But when you leaned away out of his reach once more, his smile faded.

"Maybe he's just a man," he said, his voice rough and barely a whisper, "who believes he doesn't deserve what he truly wants."

Your eyes darted between his. “And what is that?”

He cupped your cheek and his thumb traced slowly the line of your jaw.

"Stay with me, and I’ll tell you in the morning."

A smile played at the corner of your mouth as you closed your eyes, sighing before slowly nodding to him.

Before you could even catch your breath, he had you in his arms, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the bed.

The clothes scattered across the mattress were brushed aside as he gently laid you down, quickly straightening the wrinkled sheets to make sure you were comfortable. Smiling, he tossed his shirt aside and lay down behind you, drawing a giggle from you when the weight of his body made you roll toward him. His bandaged hand came to rest on your thigh, while the other slid beneath your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer.

"Besides..." you heard him whisper, his nose nudging the curve of your neck, "I gotta show you what this tired wreck can do after a few hours of sleep..."

Those were the last words he spoke before letting out a long, deep sigh, his body relaxing behind you as his steady breathing signaled he had finally drifted off.

Beckman slept soundly that night, his heartbeat calm and his brow relaxed, at last enjoying his well-deserved, soothing rest. You, however, couldn’t manage a single blink and endured what felt like the longest night of your life.

.......................................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training <3