#........... i mean. fair enough I can't argue with that

[pilotcrash]

My sweet dad, bless his heart: Oh, my son mentioned he wanted to study more for the last week of vacation, and today's the last day! How odd that I see he is still online, I should check in and ask how that went for him! How are you doing, son!

Me, pitch night before end of vacation, there not being a possibly worse time to contact me: dad ngl i want to fucking kill mys

[teambyler]

How the Duffers likely will make the general audience AWARE of Byler and CHEER for Byler

First the TL;DR. They'll probably do it with:

Revealing the Painting Lie

Will comes out to Mike

Will gets bullied for being gay, and Mike must make a choice

Mike and Will face danger together, alone, for the 1st time

And I'll spell out exactly how and why!

(CAVEAT: I can't claim to know 100% what will happen of course! This in the spirit of fun analysis and speculation.)

We in the Byler fandom have our theories: Flickergate, Lettergate, Churchgate, etc. While totally fun and while it would be amazing if they became reality, they don't answer the question of how the Duffers would manage audience expectations to make them accept and cheer for Byler.

Because we all know the reality: on a surface level, season 4 ended with a grand "love confession" from Mike to El. It appeared to have culminated a four-year arc that started from the show's beginning. For the vast majority of viewers, a Byler relationship will be a HUGE SURPRISE.

This isn't just heteronormativity; it's also the fact that in every slow-burn romantic relationship in fiction, the story needs to openly tease "Will they or won't they?" for a while first. The audience needs to start thinking that these 2 characters (1) MIGHT be together, and (2) eventually that they SHOULD be together and cheer for them!

For Jonathan and Nancy, there were a lot of moments suggesting they MIGHT be together in Season 1. Then in Season 2, we had THIS episode (where Steve left Nancy wasted at the party) that made the audience think Nancy absolutely SHOULD be with Jonathan instead of Steve:

The show then dragged things out MORE before their first kiss.

Anti-Bylers raise a fair point that there "isn't enough time" to replace a relationship that seemed to have been "fulfilled" at the end of s4, with an entirely different one. Of course, the ground has been laid for four seasons, but HOW EXACTLY can the Duffers make the audience accept and cheer for Byler, after seeming to have "built up Mike and El for 4 seasons"?

Showing Byler is POSSIBLE:

First, the most obvious (and elegant) way for the Duffers to accomplish this is by revealing the Painting Lie.

The main things that make the General Audience/GA dismiss the idea that Mike likes Will back are that he (1) confessed "I love you" to El and (2) said things like "it's not my fault you don't like girls" and "we're FRIENDS" that suggest he can't be gay or bi.

The show has to address these two things, and there are ways that are pretty obvious.

The fact that El had no role in the painting COMPLETELY undercuts the "I love you" confession in the GA's mind. Milevens completely underestimate how this will affect Mike and El's relationship and how the audience will view it. El didn't commission the painting. When Will gave the painting, he wasn't describing El, but himself. Mike confessed his love to this false picture of El, one that was actually WILL.

When El finds out, she'll realize that Mike said he loved her based on a LIE. She'll realize that she accurately clocked Mike for not loving her when they argued in s4. It's likely that she'll want to break up or take a break in their relationship. (El taking the initiative will assuage concern that Will would "betray" his own sister by being with Mike.) Mike might desperately try to repair things. Even if he does, this will show the GA that Mike's struggle for an entire season to say he loved El -- already very concerning for a romantic couple -- was a complete fiasco, and after two whole seasons of them breaking up and trying to fix their relationship, this third breakup in the LAST season means they'll PROBABLY NOT end up together.

Mike (and the GA) will be confronted with the fact that Mike felt romantic love for the first time because Will described HIMSELF. It will be apparent that Will would be a more suitable romantic interest... if he were a girl. =) It's just too bad that "Mike is probably straight"!

Now how to deal with that misconception?

We come to our OTHER Chekhov's gun that needs to fire: Will comes out to Mike. Will is still closeted at the end of s4, and his right to be out and find happiness is clearly central to his future arc. This HAS to be resolved. And he HAS to come out to his mom and his BEST FRIEND SINCE KINDERGARTEN.

When he comes out to Mike, he of course won't spurn Will. Will probably explains he didn't come out earlier because he was afraid Mike would be homophobic because of what he'd said that summer, "It's not my fault you don't like girls":

If Will does, then Mike will have to explain why he said it. Mike probably apologizes and makes clear he accepts Will. The show (maybe Mike himself) might remind us that he defended Will from homophobia in s1. But this makes the GA wonder "Then why did he say it then?" And Mike might be exceedingly defensive when explaining himself. Will coming out to Mike is a golden opportunity to show the GA that NOT EVERYTHING IS AS IT SEEMS, and Mike might be dealing with internalized homophobia.

That's one way to signal that Mike might be gay or bi. And there's another!

We've been told that Season 5 returns to Season 1 themes. The Core Four are probably bullied for the Hellfire Club, and Will might be bullied for being gay. Ross Duffer says that s5 will center on Will's "emotional arc" and his "coming into his own as a young man," so his confronting homophobia in an 80s small town is quite likely. Since Mike and Will are joined at the hip in s5, the same accusation could easily extend to Mike. All this means that Mike will be confronted with the CHOICE of whether he'll stand up to anti-gay bullying. (Perhaps this is why there's a BTS pic of Mike with a bruise on his face?) It might be strongly implied to the GA that Mike is standing up, not only for Will, but for himself. Shrewd viewers would see the parallel to Mike defending Will from homophobia in s1, making them rethink that scene as well. (Defending Will INTENSELY would simultaneously suggest he's closeted AND clearly parallel Jonathan fighting Steve in s1, which showed Nancy that "only love makes you that crazy sweetheart, and that damn stupid.")

How Season 5 can make the GA CHEER for Byler:

Showing Byler is possible is the main obstacle; next is the much easier, and FUN (and agonizing) part!

First, the show has put Will through so much trauma and made clear how selfless he is, that the audience already wants him to have a happy ending. He almost certainly will suffer again in s5. We probably are reminded that as a gay person in the 80s he believes he's "not gonna fall in love." Meanwhile, the show has made clear that his love for Mike is PAINFULLY deep and won't simply go away: "[I] need you Mike, and [I] always will."

Once the GA sees the POSSIBILITY of a Mike/Will romance as per above, their mental floodgates will open. As Jancy shows, It doesn't take much to get the audience to root for a relationship, after the seeds are planted. And Byler has FOUR SEASONS of seeds for the GA to look back on with fresh eyes!

How to recall those 4 seasons of material? We already know that Will is in danger and we'll see a return of "leader Mike" in s5. This likely will include callbacks (and maybe even flashbacks) to Mike and Will's relationship in s1 and s2. There's the newly-filmed flashback from when they were young kids. This all will bring their long-time closeness to the fore in viewers' minds. But with the artifice of Mike's relationship with El knocked away, they will see it as potentially romantic and realize that this show seems to have been secretly building them up as a romantic couple all along.

Add to all that: we likely will have Will and Mike facing danger together, alone, for the first time:

It was Jonathan and Nancy facing danger together in s1 that made the vast majority of viewers ship Jancy. Mike and Will facing danger will put their LOVE (remember: the audience already accepts them as best friends who love each other!) and their willingness to RISK THEIR LIVES for each other to the fore. Callbacks, flashbacks, and dialogue will remind the GA of their sacrifices for each other: Mike putting Will before everything in s1 and s2, and Will sacrificing his feelings to help Mike be with El. They might hug each other after a near-death experience and have a mutual Gay Panic, which will be a callback (and contrast) to their non-hug at the airport. Millions will say "They should just kiss already."

There are SO MANY WAYS to get the audience cheering for Byler.

Will probably lives in Mike's house because the Byers don't have their own house in Hawkins anymore. Mike, if he doesn't know already at the season's start, will KNOW the painting came from Will and wonder if it was romantic. The tension between them in s5 will make s4 look like nothing in comparison.

When Will comes out to him, Mike might ask, "Is... there anyone you like?"

He'll ask NERVOUSLY, like he once did before:

Will probably won't answer honestly; he might make up another boy! ("I met him in California. We like a lot of the same things. He even likes D&D...") To which Mike says, "COOL." (BTW, this could echo the airport scene and make viewers reassess and understand that as another miscommunication!) This leads to a new cycle of these two boys thinking their love is unrequited LOL.

Only this time the General Audience will be fully aware of it. The miscommunication trope widely used in fictional TV romances will not only tell the GA that Byler should happen, but WILL happen. Will and Mike become THE "Will they or won't they?" couple that everyone is talking about. Mike's sexuality and his feelings for Will probably aren't officially revealed until mid or late season in order to let the excitement build. If Season 5 is released in more than one volume, there will be a flurry of videos and articles revisiting past seasons, finding evidence of Mike's feelings for Will that we Bylers have curated for years. Barring a few vocal homophobes, the show will make the GA (even people who don't watch analysis videos online) fully onboard with a Byler conclusion before it happens; the SHOW ITSELF will set-up and tease it and make the GA desperately want these boys to "just kiss already."

Season 5 will be messy. And glorious. And the most Byler season of all.

-teambyler

[n30n-l1ghts]

Tokyo revengers basic NSFW headcannons pt. 2

Characters- Taiju, Inui, Koko, Ran, Rindou, Sanzu, Izana, Shinichiro, Wakasa, Benkei, Takeomi

Read the first part here

Proofread by my lovely partner @nxll-n4m3

Taiju-

Chat I think we know. I think we KNOW this man has a MONSTER cock chat. Ain't nobody arguing that. He's 6'5" and built like a fucking 18 wheeler, yeah no question he's hung. 8.7. and I KNOW that's unethical. Trust me, he knows it too. And he'd be more cocky about it if it didn't dissuade almost everyone from even attempting to take that. I feel like he wouldn't have much, if any experience. I can see him sleeping around a teensy bit to relieve stress and then getting really guilty about it. But then again, he's a very pious man, so I can also absolutely see him saving himself for marriage (though he might cheat a teensy bit with oral or mutual masturbation) speaking of which, this man is SO guilty about falling for a guy. You're gonna have to deal with the world's most internalized homophobe ever. Religious trauma is a hell of a thing. A swift topic change, grooming. I don't see him caring much, but he will tidy it up a bit if you want him to. All while very loudly grumble curses under his breath of course. Long, thick, black and surprisingly not all that curly.

Seishu-

He gives me the vibe of someone who can be surprisingly subby if he trusts you enough. But he'd need to REALLY trust you to be that vulnerable in your presence. He's absolutely a switch and I don't think he actually has much of a preference, apart from the fact that he's more top and dom leaning the less he knows you. Then again, he has to trust you a fair amount to get into bed with you anyways, this boy does not sleep around even a little. Actually he hates the idea and finds it a little scumbaggy. As for physical description, pretty middle of the road both in size and grooming. 6.2-3, absolutely a grower and not a shower. His cock is the same really pale colour as his skin. He keeps himself a little tidy down south, but can't be bothered to give it more than a trim every now and again. Wispy and blonde, honestly looks almost white in the right lighting.

Koko-

Fancy rich boy smells like fancy rich soap and fancy rich cologne. Nah jk, that man wears perfume not cologne, and honestly, more power to him, he pulls it the fuck off. I think he's very cleanly. Clean, orderly, and fancy shmancy. Tell me why I think he'd own stupid expensive lingerie? I know he would. He swears up down and sideways the first time you find them that they're not for him to wear (they totally are). Pretty big toy collection too, can't convince me otherwise. This man needs his ass ate, I don't make the rules, I just work here. He NEEDS IT. He's super clean down there so it's not gross or anything, and it's just about his favorite activity. In other words, eat the rich- (who said that-) decent 5.7, not particularly large, but enough to get the job done. He's another one I feel like honestly might prefer being clean shaven. He might have a small tuft of curly black hairs, but it would definitely be meticulously kept as he can't stand the feeling of too much hair down there, it annoys him to no end.

Ran-

Biggest tease. BIGGEST TEASE. Brat. BRAT. He's a switch, but by God is he a pain in the ass as a bottom. He doesn't know the meaning of the word submit. He will get on your nerves and try to provoke you until you're fed up and just bend him over the nearest surface. Lowkey gives me the vibe of an exhibitionist. Like, semi-public sex would turn him on so much. Drag him into a bathroom or random alleyway and he'll pop an instant boner. Definitely a brat taming kink and it goes both ways, it's just whoever feels like putting the other in their place, he's cool with it either way. Pull his hair, wrap your hand around his throat, he's a lil freaky freak like that. Really though, an experimentalist, he's willing to try damn near anything at least twice. Definitely has a fair amount of experience, total fuckboy over here. He has a revolving door of guys and gals that want to get in those pants. It's really not that hard to do, what is hard to do is get into that heart. (Cheesy I know) But seriously, if you somehow manage to actually bag this man, you have him under lock and key and he's yours forever, loyal as a dog despite what you might think. Probably about 6.10ish maybe pushing 7" when fully erect. Man's is six feet tall, he's got some length to him, just saying. I feel like he would stay on top of grooming pretty alright, largely because of how much he likes to sleep around, he needs to be presentable down there at all times just in case he randomly bags a hottie while he's out. After getting into a relationship, he's a bit more indifferent to it, but still likes to keep it a little tidy for your sake.

Rindou-

A lot of people assume he's also a fuckboy because of Ran, he's not, and that assumption actually bugs him a lot. He finds sleeping around to be pointless and stupid, and he lowkey kind of silently judges Ran for it. He's a sadistic assholes that loves mocking your whining. At least in the bedroom, he's surprisingly sweet otherwise and just in general. But that same sadistic side that shows when he's fighting shows through during sex. I feel like he might bottom with some convincing, but he'll also be a brat. (A brat that sobs openly when edged enough) However he'll do the same to you when things are the other way around. To my masochistic brothers, here's your man. He's safe and consensual about it, maybe periodically checking up on you but he will absolutely pull your hair, bite you, whip you, spank you, slap you, hell maybe even spit on you if that's your thing. He's a pretty big S&M guy in general, but is the world's biggest enthusiast of *safely* practicing bdsm. Informed consent is key with this man (as it fucking should be). He's the type who likes music in the background, but he is willing to let you choose the music. He can go without, but he prefers it with. 6.7 in length I feel like sounds about right for him. He may or may not decide to actually groom down there, no real guarantee, it depends on the day and how he feels. I headcannon him to be borderline or straight up gender fluid, swapping between cis masc and enby. Some days he prefers it with a little bush and other days he's just like "No. No this cannot do, it must go." So, y'know- ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Sanzu-

Oh, where do I even start with this batshit crazy bastard of a druggie (He's just like me frfr). Admittedly, probably doesn't sleep around much, even though he tries. His crazy scares almost everyone away, if the scars didn't already do the trick (wanna know how I got these scars lookin' headass) but honestly, you probably met him at a bar or a club, and he was probably flirting with you because he's high as shit. I can't see him easily getting into a relationship, but when he does he's absolutely infatuated. Devoted. You are his god. It's almost unsettling how far he's willing to go for you. That also translates into the bedroom. He has his preferences, (AHEM body worship) but assuming he truly does love you and it's not just some spur of the moment one nighter, he's more than willing to do anything, and I mean ANYTHING to please you. No kink too nasty or too far for him. He'll do that in everyday life too. If want him to buy something for you, legal or illegal, he'll do it. He'll make it happen. You hate someone, or someone getting creepy on you? They suddenly go *cough cough* "missing". He loves him some high sex, but I can see him wanting to be at least mostly sober during sex if you're dating. To savor the experience, really. He would totally get high after though. Snorting lines after sex is his go to. A little on the smaller side-ish, maybe around 5.4 or so. But he can use it pretty well if he's sober. He gets sloppy and borderline animalistic when high. He does not care AT ALL about grooming, but again he'd blow up the sun for you if he truly loves you, so he'd do it before you could finish blinking if you ever asked him to.

Izana-

Our favorite half Filipino boy right here. First things first. Sensitive. This man is so incredibly starved for attention and love, he can handle the hardest punches like a champ, but if you lightly and lovingly trace his skin, he's gone. He's dead, putty in your hands. His mind buffers like he's running on widows xp with dial up. He cannot compute this. Rough sex he's fine with, it's probably what he's used to, what he's comfortable with. But soft, gentle, slow sex? It's gonna take a minute to build up to that point. But seriously, hold this man like he's made of glass for a minute, he needs it. He'll complain about it, but he loves it. He so desperately needs someone to show him that sunshine and rainbows even exist at all. He's possesive too. If you show him an ounce of affection, he'll demand gallons and will never let anyone near you. Because how dare you even consider showing anyone else that same affection? It's like how he hates Mikey because of his jealousy over Shinichiro. Anyone who he deems to be a threat, he'll hate them (he's borderlining yandere) Really he's just jealous because he's insecure, give him reassurance and he'll calm down. Well, somewhat. I can imagine him being pretty middle of the road, 5.8 would be my guess. Another type who doesn't pay much mind to his grooming down there, especially in the time skip. Much like Sanzu, this man damn near worships you, so yeah, he'd start manscaping in a heartbeat if you wanted him to. Just ask and he'll do it. Main difference is with Sanzu you 100% have to tell him verbally or he'll never pick up on. Izana may or may not notice if you dislike it, still better to just tell him though. (Communication is good chat, talk to your partners jfc)

Shinichiro-

Awkward dork. Total dweeb and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. He's a loser and a lame-o, and we all love him for it. He's so babygirl coded fr. He will do everything in his power to please you (and probably fail miserably) whether in the bedroom or not. He tries though, his heart is in the right place and that's what counts. Though he can get a little dejected and self conscious about it, so you just have to remind him that it doesn't bother you and that he's fine the way he is. Please tell him he's fine the way he is. He's tried to dirty talk once before, but ended up stuttering and then became self aware halfway through, visibly cringing because let's be honest, whatever he said was probably pretty cringy. But it just wound up in both of you laughing about it, both in the moment, and looking back on it later. But he does really love you, and it shows in everything he does. I feel like he'd really like cuddle fucking and missionary. Really, he just wants to feel close to you. He likes to be able to hug you while you fuck. He can't dirty talk for the life of him as previously discussed, so he's usually not very verbal, only really moaning out curses or your name. Don't get me wrong, he's vocal, just not verbal. Occasionally when he's in the mood for a more rough type of encounter, he can and will turn into a babbling mess underneath you. However, if you dirty talk to him at all, he will absolutely lose his mind and go beet red, hiding his face in your chest or the crook of your neck. This boy loves nothing more than looking into your eyes, carresing you and kissing you during sex. He's a hopeless romantic is what he is. Actually decently long, 7.6, makes sense, he's over six foot. I feel like he'd definitely try to groom down there when you're dating, but he might fuck up a little and nick himself a couple times. But as always, hell make an effort to look his best and do his best for you.

Wakasa-

Ahem. Point to the best ass eater please?

👉w a k a s a i m a u s h i👈

But seriously. This man's tongue is magical (yes I'm biased, he's my fav leave me tf alone) but really, he gives me the vibe of someone who knows what he's doing. He's got experience and ✨talent✨ in regards to sexy time. And he's strong enough to toss your ass around like a raggedy anne doll, even despite how short he is. C'mon, he's owns a gym and he absolutely kicks ass in a fight, you cannot convince me he couldn't throw me like a tennis ball (I want him to so badly.) Stoner vibes. Hardcore stoner vibes. This man is constantly at least a little buzzed and he's absolutely a plug. You cannot convince me otherwise, I won't listen. This shit is gospel. I feel like he'd be willing to put in some effort for his s/o, but he's a total pillow princess at heart. Whether you're riding him or railing him, as long as he feels good and doesn't have to do shit, he's a happy boy. Really he's just spoiled, doesn't feel like working for a damn thing. He'll get really pouty if you make him beg or work for it, but if you torment and torture him enough he'll comply eventually. Waka is another body worshiper I feel like. Sure, he's a pillow princess, but he likes to have his hands roaming every inch of you at all possible times. His hands and his lips. The softest touches paired with the softest kisses, peppered all over your skin because he just can't get over how perfect you are to him. If you've read my Akihiko x Stoner reader fic, I can imagine that type of scenario. You riding him or him riding you while you share a blunt, just hotboxing yourselves in your room with slow, lazy sex, all of your sense through the damn roof. Another music lover, just something soft and really chill in the background, even better when paired with a good blunt. He's touchy in general when he's high, always having to have contact with you, and he just can't keep himself off of you, same applies to the bedroom, always caressing you without even realizing it. He's packing a relatively solid 5.6. not shabby considering that he's five foot fucking three. Short king, but we love him anyways. I SAID WE STAND WITH OUR SHORT KINGS. He strikes me as the type who grooms semi-frequently, but doesn't obsess about it. He's a lazy guy, but at the same time he doesn't like to be gross y'know? He maintains it, but it's the bare minimum.

Benkei-

Gentle giant, anyone? Because that's what he is. At least when he's with you. Sure, he's only 6'2", but he's pretty fucking wide too. That, and his overall demeanour and personality just gives him the vibe of a big guy. Despite his strength and his tendency to have a hot temper sometimes, he's surprisingly gentle with you. Of course, that's unless you ask him not to be. He'd never dare lay a hand on you in everyday life, but the bedroom has different rules as we all know. He's a big fan of setting up concrete and mutually agreed upon boundaries, and there always has to be a safe word. (Honestly how it should be) Even if you don't have a consent kink, it is undeniabley impressive how hot he can make asking you for verbal consent. He needs explicit verbal consent each time, and absolutely refuses to do anything if either of you are even a little intoxicated unless it was previously discussed. He's such a gentleman in that respect honestly. He'll always listen to your preferences and prioritize your needs first. Even if your into that freaky shit and he's telling you he's just using you as a cock sleeve, really he's always chasing your pleasure more than his own. It's just how he rolls. 7.10, and I will not elaborate. That seems pretty appropriate for him, honestly. He likes to have a bush, but he likes to keep it well kept and trimmed, like how he keeps his beard quite orderly. So there is a tuft of hair down there, black or white, I'm not sure (his natural hair colour isn't confirmed, but I doubt he'd bother dying it.) and it is very well kept. Manscaping is just a part of his everyday routine, same as maintaining his facial hair, he doesn't even think twice about it anymore.

Takeomi-

Another slightly awkward dork, but he tries to pretend he's all confident. May or may not lie about how much experience he has. He might tell you he's slept around a fair bit and dated a lot of people to impress you, but it's obvious he hasn't by how nervous he gets around you. He desperately tried to hide his nervousness too. We all know he's greedy and can get a little self obsessed at times. And I can see why that might make you think that he'd be too much of a narcissist to be a good partner, and I'd say you're only about a quarter right. Yes, having a partner like you would absolutely go to his head a bit. He thinks you're like the best person to ever grace this earth, so he thinks it's a major flex that you'd choose *him* of all people. He would absolutely show you off like some kind of trophy, number one hype man right here. You become his source of pride, next to his gang. I fully believe he's another straight up worshipping type, he thinks you're way too good for him, and as a result hails you like some kind of god and will flaunt you with pleasure. Though if close enough to him, he might be more willing to be vulnerable around you and admit to his overwhelming insecurities and lack of self esteem. It's no secret that his sense of self worth is derived from achievements and material possessions, which is just a tad bit of an issue. Just a tad. This all 100% translates into the bedroom. Tries so hard and fails so miserably to act confident. He'd be more likely to top especially towards the beginning because he feels he has something to prove, he feels that he needs to be more dominant just to show you he cares. But with some time, discussion and a fuckload of reassurance, he'd be willing to bottom. May or may not feel a bit emasculated by it though. Could be a bit of a whiner/whimperer, but again, it takes him a minute to be that comfortable. It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just really doesn't want you to think less of him. Same thing applies to grooming. The only reason he even tries is because he wants to look halfway decent for you. He wants to impress and come across as though he cares. If he cares for himself that makes it seem like he's more capable of caring for you, right? Well, that's his logic anyways. Likes to keep a decent sized tuft of hair because it makes him feel more masculine. Pretty well kept though if I'm being honest, he does a halfway decent job.

[yougavememyopia]

OH MY GOD UR MASOCHIST YAN DRIVES ME INSANE TOO oh my god oh my godddd OOOOHHHHH MY GODDDD GFRRRGAVBNCJJSJKDKDOAODOOAKAKNFNHCHUEOROGLKSJSJHFJDODOAODI

wouldn’t it be so funny to imagine if crybaby yan and masochist yan had to fight over you somehow?? maybe a 3 roommate situation HAHA like masochist yan is so confident at flirting but you’re easily annoyed by him versus crybaby who struggles asserting himself but you have a soft spot for…. IM GOING CRAZYYUYYYYUSUDIAJOAOO

They would not get along.

Masochist yandere is mean to anyone who isn't you. He wants to isolate you as much as possible so he can have all your attention for himself and himself only. He wants to get rid of Crybaby yan as fast as possible. Get him evicted and then turn his room into a "game" room. But he can't. You actually like that pathetic mess for some reason he can't understand.

His go-to manipulation tactic is making you exhausted to resist. Constantly pleading. Talking your ear off so you have to agree with what he says. Still, you somehow remain resilient in your decision. No matter how much he tries to sugarcoat his words like always, or argue how Crybaby yan is literally a useless waste of space. You don't budge. Much to his demise, you threaten to kick him out instead.

Anytime Masochist yan did something that bothered his sensitive roommate, he'd get a scolding. Crybaby yan would aggregate his actions, just to get more of your pity. Burying his face into your neck and putting his legs around your waist. You'd shush him and pet his head, glaring at the guy who made him cry. He looks at you dumbfounded like, "Seriously, you're gonna take his side?"

If you start to doubt Crybaby yan, he knew exactly how to guilt-trip you. Puppy eyes. Pouty lips. Tears easily rolling down his cheeks. The perfect victim with his helplessness act.

As much as Masochist yan actually loves when you yell at him and get all angry, he doesn't like how the other boy was getting most of your time. He doesn't want to be just an annoying shit you bicker with. He also wants your affection— your hugs and headpats— his jealousy really obvious.

"So when I ask to cuddle, it's annoying. When he does it, it's adorable? That's not fair.... Augh! Look what you did. You made me cry! Is that what you wanted? Huh? Is that what you're into, you perv? Seeing boys cry?"

He'd plop down beside you on your shared couch and grumpily look to the side. His whines stopping. You slowly thread your fingers through his hair like the other yandere lying on your lap. And just like that, he melts into you like a pudding. Shamelessly whimpering with his eyes closed. Brows furrow as he hugs your side tight. Eventually, they both learn to get along.

Unlike Crybaby yan—who doesn't openly talk about his feelings (unless it's saying how he doesn't want you to ever leave)—Masochist yan tells you exactly what he thinks. Even if not appropriate. He values honesty, so to him, being a tattletale is justified.

When you come home from a long day, Masochist yan is quick to give you a report of what you missed before you could even step inside.

Standing on his tippy toes to look taller and crossing his arms while he loudly began to speak. "The little creep you love so much sneaks into your room and smells your dirty laundry! Isn't he so gross? You're disgusted, right?"

Poor Crybaby yan looks paler than usual as he looks away from you with teary eyes. Unable to face you, dreading your reaction. Anger causes him to finally speak back against his irritating peer. "W-well, at least I don't s-steal the clothes like you."

"I don't steal, I burrow!" Masochist yan argues back, knowing well he doesn't have an actual point. "And I asked before I took something."

"A-are you serious? You ran away with it before you could get denied—"

"—Boys, boys, boys. That's enough!" You walk to stand between them abruptly. Arms on either shoulders, feeling their muscles tense up. "You're both in a lot of trouble, y'know..."

They glance at each other for a moment, then at you. Your playful words rousing sinful thoughts for one and petrified ideas for another. Different kind of scenerios of how you could punish them rushing in their mind. A playful hum and a scared squeak when you tug their arms and push them inside.

-----‐-------------------------------------------------------------

I WAS LITERALLY IMAGINING THE SAME THING!!!! LIKE THE EXACT. SAME. THOUGHT. Thank you for pulling this idea out of its dark bottomless pit~

Now, let's turn it into smut.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

How does frank castle deal with a s/o whose love Langauge is acts of service?

I feel like that is his love language, so he understands you wanting to do things for him, he understands that showing how much you love someone is easier than expressing it verbally...however! that doesn't mean he is open to you doing things for him.

It started slow, you would wake up first and slip out of his arms in order to make him coffee and some eggs. Then it turned to you do laundry for him, making his favorite dinner, going to his apartment to straighten things up when you know he was busy and it was driving him insane! Frank absolutely cannot wrap his head around the fact that you want to take care of him fully even if it seems like it'd be an inconvenience for you.

Since his love language is also acts of service, he wants to be the one to do things for you so what do you mean YOU want to make dinner??? He already has dinner planned for the next week for you in his head.

When the two of you are still a new couple you two have to find the balance between him doing things for you and you doing things for him. This takes a lot longer than it should've if we're being honest and I feel like the two of you have to have a sit-down discussion over what to do to fix everything.

During this discussion he opens up slightly about why he likes being the one to commit acts of service, it makes him feel needed and it gives him a sense of security because he knows for a fact that you are taken care of, that you have what you need because he was the one that got it for you. What he doesn't express is that it makes him feel proud, makes him feel good enough for you. When he does something simple as making a cup of coffee for you and you smile at him like he crafted the sun, he gets a moment of peace, a moment where he feels like the man you deserve.

During the discussion he listens very intensely and tries his hardest to have an open mind while listening to you. He nods along and gives soft hums when you make pretty good arguments as to why you like being the one to commit the acts.

Honestly after the conversation I feel like both of your love languages turn into quality time together. Hear me out here. Instead of bickering over who gets to make dinner the two of you make dinner together. Instead of bickering over who is doing the dishes the two of you do it together, it's only fair since you both dirtied up the dishes while you cooked anyway.

He does still fight you at times, especially when it comes to you having to do something more physically daunting or if it involves you getting up earlier than you need to. --"Babydoll, I got that box go sit down" "Darling why are you up already? No thank you for wanting to make me a lunch but baby you need your sleep." "Sweetheart what do you think you're doing carrying those groceries!?!" *Takes all the grocery bags in one trip* "Princess it is two in the morning if you wanted to move furniture you should've woken me up!"

You argue with him that you are capable of doing heavy lifting and that you got by just fine before you started seeing him, he just rolls his eyes honestly. Obviously this doesn't help calm you down but he had his reasons for the eye roll I swear! "Doll I know you are a very strong, capable woman. It's one of the reasons I love you, but you got me now y'know? You shouldn't hurt yourself over this stuff when I can do it and not get all that hurt."

Omg imagine that's the first time he says, "I love you"?!!? Like you already couldn't find it in yourself to argue with the man for wanting to just take care of you and just wanted to make life easier but now he confesses his love??? Fucking Christ you can't argue back now.

Anywho this might've gotten away from me but I just couldn't stop writing lmao. I hope you enjoyed and if you did please like, reblog, and comment it means the world and helps me stay motivated to keep posting. Request are open! I write for Frank Castle, Bucky Barnes, and Logan Howlett <3

[xichilie]

More!!!! More Brant x Siren!reader please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

Do one where siren brings Brant gifts from the ocean (like pearls, which they finds out aren't gross clam gall bladder stones to humans) and Brant has a mental breakdown thinking of what to give them cuz........what is he supposed to give a non-human being as a gift?

Honestly, that's a good question. What would you gift a siren, jewelry, or gold? Useless to her, they're probably shipwrecks of it down there. Food? Does she even eat human food?. Clothes? She can't really wear them. Flowers? What's she supposed to do with them?

So I was thinking, something personal that suits brant, and gives him the excuse to continue to see her..

Brant x (fem)siren reader

The Siren’s Offering

Brant had learned to expect the unexpected when it came to Y/N.

She wasn’t predictable—not in the way most people were. Humans followed patterns, even when they thought they didn’t. But Y/N? She moved like the tide. Unrushed, unknowable, drawn to him for reasons neither of them fully understood.

And yet, she always returned. That was enough.

Tonight, when she surfaced, there was something different about her. A quiet certainty in her expression. He noticed it right away, even before she spoke.

Then, without preamble, she lifted something from the water and held it out to him.

"For you."

Brant blinked. His first instinct was to smile��he always smiled when he saw her—but his expression faltered when he caught sight of what she was offering.

Nestled in her palm was a pearl. Large, round, flawless. The kind of thing that would make the greediest noble drool.

Brant had seen treasures before, stolen and displayed in velvet-lined boxes, but this? This was rare. This was a fortune.

And she was holding it like it was nothing.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Y/N tilted her head, puzzled by the question. "I picked it up from a clam."

Brant inhaled, slow and measured. "You… picked it up."

She nodded. "It’s just a clam’s gallbladder stone."

Brant closed his eyes for a second, pressing his lips together like he was physically holding back a reaction.

Then, carefully, he reopened them. "A clam’s—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Love, that’s not—" He stopped himself, shaking his head before trying again. "That’s not what humans call them."

Y/N frowned slightly. "Then what do you call them?"

"Pearls. And they’re—" He gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. "They’re valuable."

"Why?"

Brant stared at her.

For a moment, he truly had no idea what to say.

He looked down at the pearl in her hand, then back at her face, utterly uncomprehending. Finally, he let out a quiet, breathy laugh—one of disbelief, not mockery. "You really don’t know, do you?"

Y/N blinked at him, confused. "Why would I?"

Brant shook his head, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips. Of course. Of course she wouldn’t. To her, this wasn’t treasure. It was just something the ocean made—something commonplace, unremarkable.

And yet, she had brought it to him.

"Well," he murmured, taking the pearl from her palm with careful fingers, "I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?"

Y/N watched him, curious. "So, do you like it?"

Brant turned the pearl over in his fingers, letting it catch the moonlight. He had spent years learning the ways of performance, the art of words, but for a moment, none of that mattered.

He looked back at her, his smile softer now. "I do."

She gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied. "Good."

Brant chuckled under his breath, tucking the pearl safely into his coat. "But you do realize what this means, don’t you?"

Y/N arched a brow. "What?"

"It means I owe you a gift in return."

She frowned slightly. "That’s not necessary."

"Oh, but it is," he countered, grinning now. "A gift freely given is a gift freely returned. It’s only fair."

Y/N hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t argue further.

Brant, on the other hand, was already thinking. Because really—what did one give to a siren?

Jewels meant nothing to her. Gold was useless beneath the waves. She had no need for food or shelter, no interest in human possessions.

For the first time in a long time, Brant found himself at a loss.

But as he glanced at her again, watching the way she studied him with quiet curiosity, an idea started to take shape.

He didn’t need to give her something valuable. He needed to give her something meaningful.

Something only he could give.

Brant had faced many challenges in his life—escaping from Ragunna, surviving the Pilgrimage, faking his own death more times than he could count—but this?

This was impossible.

He lay flat on his back atop a stack of worn crates, staring at the sky as if the answer might drop from the heavens. The Fool’s Troupe was busy setting up for their next performance, voices and laughter filling the air, but Brant heard none of it. His mind was occupied with one singular, infuriating thought:

What in the name of all things dramatic do you gift a siren?

Gold? Useless. She lived in the sea—she had shipwrecks full of it at her disposal.

Food? Even more useless. She didn’t eat human food, and he wasn’t about to bring her a raw fish like some kind of well-dressed seagull.

Music? No, she had an entire ocean to sing with.

Brant groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "This is ridiculous."

"You’re ridiculous," one of the Troupe members called out, balancing on a nearby barrel. "Why are you sighing like a lovesick noble in a tragic romance?"

Brant peeked through his fingers, expression flat. "Because I am one, obviously."

The Troupe member snorted. "Who’s the unfortunate soul?"

Brant waved a dismissive hand. "No one you’d know. Or understand. Or—" He sat up abruptly, running both hands through his hair. "You know what? Forget it. This is impossible."

"What is?"

Brant turned to see one of the older Fools, a woman named Selka, watching him with an amused expression. She had seen Brant through all his wild schemes, all his ridiculous plans, and yet this—this seemed to be the thing that truly entertained her.

Brant huffed, dramatic as ever. "Finding a gift."

Selka raised a brow. "For who?"

Brant opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. The Troupe knew of his mysterious "songbird," but he wasn’t about to explain the specifics. Not when he was already spiraling into full theatrical despair.

Instead, he waved vaguely. "Someone. Hypothetically."

Selka smirked. "And what’s wrong with flowers?"

Brant scoffed. "Too simple."

"A trinket?"

"Too meaningless."

"A song?"

Brant paused.

Selka’s smirk widened. "Ah. There it is."

Brant frowned. "No, no, no—that’s not—it’s too obvious."

"Is it?"

Brant groaned again, flopping back onto the crates. "It has to be perfect. Something meaningful, something she’ll actually want, something—"

"Something only you can give?"

Brant stilled.

Selka chuckled, shaking her head. "You’re overthinking it, boy. Gifts aren’t about value. They’re about sentiment." She nudged his boot with her own. "You of all people should know that."

Brant sat up slowly, fingers drumming against his knee.

Something only he could give.

His own words from the night before echoed in his head, and suddenly, everything clicked.

Brant’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "I have an idea."

Selka snorted. "Of course you do."

Brant leapt to his feet, his usual dramatic energy returning full force. "I need ink. And paper. And maybe a bit of magic."

Selka sighed, already regretting her involvement. "I’m not helping you if this ends with another arrest."

Brant grinned, already halfway out of sight. "No promises!"

This? This would be perfect.

The waves lapped gently against the rocks as Brant approached the familiar shoreline. The Fool’s Troupe had set up camp just beyond the cliffs, but Brant had slipped away unnoticed, heart drumming with something between excitement and nerves.

Tonight, he would not leave empty-handed.

“Little songbird,” he called, voice light, teasing. “I do hope you haven’t grown tired of me.”

Silence.

Brant smirked. “No dramatic entrance today? No waves parting for my arrival? Truly, I’m hurt.”

Then, the water rippled.

Brant stilled as she appeared—just enough for the moonlight to catch the gleam of her skin, the slight tilt of her head. Her gaze, curious as ever, met his.

“You always come back,” she murmured.

Brant’s smirk softened. “And yet, you’re still surprised.”

She didn’t answer, just studied him, her eyes flickering toward the small bundle in his hands.

Brant grinned. “Curious, are we?” He crouched at the water’s edge, unwrapping the cloth with an exaggerated flourish. “I brought you something.”

Y/N blinked, tilting her head. “A gift?”

“A thank-you, actually,” Brant corrected. “For the lovely—” he held up the rare, valuable, eye-wateringly expensive pearl she had gifted him last time, “—clam gall bladder stone.”

Y/N made a face. “I still don’t understand why humans want those.”

Brant chuckled. “That makes two of us.”

He carefully unfolded the cloth, revealing a book. Handmade, bound in rich blue fabric with silver-threaded details. It wasn’t large—just enough to fit in his palm—but it was clear it had been made with care.

Y/N stared at it. “What is that?”

Brant’s smile turned just a little nervous, but he hid it well. “A story.”

She blinked.

Brant cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I wasn’t sure what to give you—turns out, sirens are rather difficult to shop for.” He gave a mock sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “Tragic, really.”

Y/N huffed, amused despite herself.

Brant continued, flipping open the first page. His own handwriting filled the parchment, neat but expressive. “So I thought… why not give you something only I can? A story—your story.” He tilted his head, smirking. “Or at least, the start of it.”

Y/N hesitated, then swam just a little closer, peering at the book as if it might vanish. “You wrote this?”

Brant nodded. “Well, you inspire quite the tale, love.”

She reached out, trailing a careful finger along the edge of the pages. The sea had never given her anything she could keep. Songs disappeared into the waves. Voices faded. Even the stars above seemed to shift, never the same from one night to the next.

But this?

This was hers.

Brant watched her closely, noting the way she lingered on the pages. “You don’t have to like it,” he added, voice softer. “I just… wanted you to have something. Something real.”

Y/N looked up at him then, expression unreadable.

Brant, for once, waited in silence.

Then—

“I like it,” she murmured.

Brant let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Good.”

Y/N’s fingers curled gently around the book, holding it close. “You always come back,” she whispered again, though this time…

This time, there was something different in her voice.

Brant’s smile softened. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Of course I do,” he said. “I have a story to finish, don’t I?”

[bigfan-fanfic]

Up for Debate (Male!Reader x Sam Winchester)

@magicstarbits How about college!Sam Winchester meet cute with male reader? Btw love all of your work (:💛

Sam has this in the bag.

With Halloween around the corner, the professor for his college Public Speaking and Debate course has decided to get playful.

She's set a challenge. The class has been set into pairs, each arguing opposite sides of a hypothetical legal case.

The catch is that the debate is over legal questions regarding different traditional Halloween monsters.

Sam has been assigned vampires, specifically the question of whether someone becoming a blood thrall should have any legal value in court in regards to property, protections, and marital status.

Sam is prepared to argue the relationship cannot be legally valid due to the inherent power balance of being in thrall to a vampire. And of course because vampires are, of course, monstrous.

He doesn't know his opponent well, so he makes a point to ask, and you two meet for lunch at a coffeeshop just off campus.

And just his luck, he slams right into you just outside, your books clattering to the ground with loud thuds, though he reaches out and catches you, leaning over you to leverage his own core to keep you from tumbling.

"Whoa! That's one way to win the debate!" you joke, and Sam starts to laugh as he helps you straighten and then you gather your things up together.

"Trust me, I like to win fair and square."

"I mean, you're... wow, you're... solid." you respond awkwardly, still marveling that this guy barely even budged when you ran into each other.

"I... used to play a lot of sports." Sam explains lamely, the excuse sounding weak. "My dad was really into that."

"Ah, okay. That makes sense."

"Hey, how about I treat you to lunch here then? I'd hate to knock you over AND make you pay."

"Not until the debate, right?"

"Exactly." Sam grins, and holds the door for you.

You two discuss the assignment, the sources you both are looking at, and then the conversation drifts to everything and anything.

Movie and book recommendations, hopes for the future, your majors, stories from being kids...

Before he knows it, Sam has spent two hours with you, your drinks and food long gone.

"This has been great!" you grin. "I do unfortunately have to get to class. Got a late lesson to catch."

Sam nods. "Well, can we do this again?"

A pause, a horrifying moment that Sam freaks out during, thinking he's overstepped.

"Absolutely. Here, I'll give you my number. Text me."

Sam is almost speechless as you put yourself in his contacts.

"I'll... run into you later." You tease. "Not literally next time."

"Y-yeah. Sorry again about that."

Sam cannot stop grinning.

The debate is fun as hell. He's surprised by the points you make, advocating for the need to grant legal protections to the thralls, in order to provide protections - you argue that these relationships will happen, and it's better to have something in place than nothing. If less than consensual, it gives the victims some protection. If fully consenting, it still provides some security.

He really likes your take on it, though he does his best to win.

And after meeting you at least once a week for a good long semester, he asks if you'd like to go on a real date.

You go driving to the beach late on the friday of a long weekend, and he takes you stargazing.

You lay together on the hood of the car, pointing up and making up constellations.

There aren't many stars, but that doesn't stop either of you.

And when he rolls over, shaggy hair brushing your forehead as he leans in, you lift your head up to meet him, lips brushing together before he cups the back of your head and you full on make out.

You give into to it, and you both spend a lovely night together, cementing each other as boyfriends.

His hand is almost always entwined with yours, loyal and sweet. He can't get enough of your kisses.

Because with every discussion, every debate...

...he falls in love even more.

[spider-stark]

RECKLESS

paring | foggy nelson x reader

summary | statistically speaking, fucking your annoying coworker is never a good idea. but who cares about statistics?

warnings | MDNI 18+, sexual themes & situations, no real plot (just concepts & vibes bb), your yearly reminder that i can't write smut, not edited we die like foggy in dd:ba (fuck that show)

word count | 660+

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy–”  

“Foggy!” Your voice was sharp. His face—cheeks tinted rosy pink—was so close to yours that, with the slightest movement, your noses were at risk of bumping together. “Stop. Talking.”  

His breathing was erratic. His gaze flitted between your eyes and your lips, as if unsure of where to look. “Sorry.” A second of quiet, and then: “It’s just—are we doing this? Like, actually doing this?”  

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kill him.  

You wanted him to shut up and to never stop talking ever again.  

“Foggy?”  

“Yes?”  

“I mean this in the nicest way,” you told him, though your tone indicated otherwise, “but don’t you think now is a little too late to be asking that?”  

Your skirt was pushed up to your goddamn waist. Whatever skin wasn’t covered by the thin fabric of your panties was pressed to the smooth, cool varnish of his desk. His palms pressed flat against the side of your thighs, fingers occasionally flexing with the urge to squeeze, held back by a most infuriating sense of restraint. 

His hips were wedged between your legs. Even through the barriers that separated you—his slacks, your panties—you could still feel him pressing against your core.  

Hard.  

Thick.  

“Well, you know what they say.” He gave a little shrug, nervous and adorable. “No time like the present, amirite?”  

You couldn’t agree less.  

But this was what Foggy was good at, wasn’t it? Pushing your buttons, getting under your skin. The two of you were opposites. Oil and water, yin and yang. If you said down, he said up, if you said red, he said green.  

And if you said Let’s Fuck, Foggy Nelson was for sure the type of guy to look you dead in the eyes and say: Actually?  

“Franklin–” his nose scrunched at the use of his real name “–I can feel every inch of your dick pressing against my–”  

His grin widened. “How are you feeling about that by the way?”  

You sucked an agitated breath through your nostrils.

“Presently? Not so good, Franklin.” Your glare bored right through the soul of him, menacing as it was in any courtroom as you stressed, “Not. So. Good.”  

You hated this.  

You hated him.  

Just minutes ago, the two of you had been at each other’s throats—a common occurrence during late nights at the office. The catalyst had been stupid. For tomorrow’s opening statement, you wanted to present the teenaged client as wholly innocent. But Foggy—stupid, stupid Foggy!—wanted to paint them as misguided youth. That way, he argued, if the plaintiff brought forth enough evidence to prove the client guilty (which, to be fair, they definitely were), then the jury might still take pity on them if it seemed they’d been failed by a larger system.  

It was risky. Reckless. No better than a blatant admission of guilt, really.  

And that was exactly the point you’d been trying to make—your finger jabbing against his chest, his jaw clenched with frustration—when, suddenly, the Earth shifted on its axis and his lips crashed against yours.  

As a lawyer, you prided yourself on being a person of extreme logic.  

Facts and figures, reason over impulse. You valued sense. Statistics. You never made a move without ensuring that success was not only possible, but probable.  

And workplace relationships? Ugh…  

Let’s just say the numbers weren’t in your favor on that one.  

“Foggy,” you raked your fingers through his soft blonde locks. Tugged, relishing in the way his eyelids fluttered shut, plush lips parting with a sweet, almost whimpering, sound. “I’m only going to tell you this one more time.” Your voice was low, firm. “Stop talking and start fucking. Got it?”  

He was already nodding, already fumbling for his pants, before the last word had even left your tongue. “Yes ma’am,” he choked out, so dutiful and submissive that you forgot all about facts and figures, reason over impulse.  

Fuck statistics.  

You were doing this.  

Definitely, definitely doing this.

a/n - god. if i knew how to write smut? i'd love to continue this. such a fun concept (in my opinion). anyways, hope you all enjoyed this little short piece about the most precious human to ever live (count your days, born again).

as always, could be ooc, but I do my best so cut me some slack lmao

[supercap2319]

You give Clark a massage. He’s only wearing his glasses.

Clark kept his eyes forward as he adjusted the black rimmed glasses on his face. His–well–everything was showing, the plaid robe on his body was long forgotten on the floor as the Kryptonian sat on the couch. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, trying not to make himself feel any more exposed than he already was.

He had been stressed between work at the Daily Planet and protecting the people of the world as Superman. It was its own reward type of job, but, God, Clark was swamped. He told his boyfriend, Y/N about it, and said to meet him at his apartment later on in the week, so Y/N could help Clark release all that tension away.

It was a vague way to leave that conversation on that note, but Clark showed up nonetheless. Arriving at Y/N's apartment with specific instructions via text message to get bare and have a seat on the couch. That's how Clark found himself sitting on the couch, naked as the day his Ma and Pa found him in the cornfield in his alien spaceship, wrapped only in a red blanket to hide a naked and chubby baby.

Being naked shouldn't have been the problem. Clark and Y/N had already explored and accepted each other's bodies, but it was still so intimate. Being nude in your boyfriend's house could sure get a guy going. And Clark was going.

Before he could do something as embarrassing as rubbing one out on the plush green carpet underneath his bare feet; Clark heard the door to find Y/N entering. When he saw Clark, he smiled. “Hey, there.”

“Hey, yourself.” Clark said.

“I'm glad you could follow instructions.” Y/N smirks, eyes trailing down Clark's muscular chest, falling onto Clark Jr between his legs. Clark crossed his legs to keep his modest, but also to hide his embarrassment of his dick starting to chub up. A simple glance at his cock made him hard? Could Clark be even more of a nerd than he already was?

Clark wanted Y/N set a plastic bag down on the coffee table and pulled out a pink bottle. Noticing Clark gaze; Y/N smiled at him. “This little baby is gonna help you relax.” He turns the bottle around so Clark can read what it says. “Massaging lotion?” Clark asked.

“Yup. I'm gonna help you relax with a nice massage.” Y/N said.

“But why do I have to be naked?”

Y/N giggles. “It's the only way to make sure every part of you is…Satisfied.” Y/N let that hang in the air. The double meaning behind it. Clark blushed as Y/N moved towards him and sat down next to him on the couch. Clark's bare thigh touched Y/N's jean-covered on. “This isn't really fair if I'm the only one who's naked.” They both knew that Clark wasn't really upset about the nakedness. He just wanted an excuse to see Y/N naked too. Not that it would take much.

Smirking, Y/N, began to strip down until he was naked as Clark minus the silver cross necklace that hung around Clark's neck. Y/N began to squirt the lotion on his hands before he gently applied some pressure to Clark's shoulders.Clark's eyes slowly closed as he leaned into the massage, his muscles relaxing under his boyfriend's fingers. He lets out a soft groan of pleasure, his head nodding slightly as he savors the feeling. His glasses slip down his nose slightly, and he doesn't bother to push them back up.

“Jesus, Clark. You're so tense. You gotta give yourself some down time. It's the only way you'll be able to do both your jobs at the Daily Planet and as Superman.” Y/N said.

“You're right, but when do I find the time? It seems like there's always another story to chase down or another catastrophe brewing in Metropolis. Plus, you know how Perry is about taking breaks.”

"Screw, Perry. Even the Man of Steel has his lips. You can't be at your best, if you're not loose and relaxed enough." His fingers trailed from Clark's shoulders, to his chest. Clark's breath hitches slightly as Y/N's fingers trace down his chest. He opens his eyes, looking at his boyfriend with a mix of surprise and warmth. He considers arguing, but the soothing massage and gentle touch are making it hard to focus on anything else. "Alright, alright.”

Y/N smiled. "Good." He reached lower and grabbed in between Clark's legs as he began to stroke him soft and slow. A deep, throaty groan escapes Clark's lips as his eyes flutter closed again, pushing his glasses up to keep them from falling off. "Maybe you're right about needing…”

“To get off?” Y/N asked, applying more lotion and stroking faster.

Clark's voice is strained, his breath coming in short gasps as his boyfriend's hand works him over. “Oh my God. So good.”

"That's it, babe. Just feel my hand on your aching cock. Just waiting to spill all over it." Y/N pants in Clark's ear.

Clark throws his head back, a strangled moan escaping his throat at the vulgar yet arousing words in his ear.His skin was flushed with desire and embarrassment as he loses himself to sensation. His cock throbs heavily in Y/N's grasp, leaking copiously now.

"God, Clark. You look so beautiful like this. Leaking and hard for me. I'd put my job at the Planet in jeopardy if it meant that I could give you daily hand jobs underneath your desk.” Clark shudders at the thought, imagining secret trysts beneath his messy desk at the Daily Planet. “You're not playing fair.”

"I don't play fair, handsome." Y/N said, stroking Clark harder than before.

Clark's back arches off the couch as he nears his peak. His voice comes out rough and breathy. “Jesus... fuck... I'm... close.” His whole body tenses, including his stomach and chest muscles. He's completely naked and vulnerable, losing all control under Y/N's touch.

"Let go for me, baby. Cum for me. I wanna see you climax your stress away." Y/N moans, touching himself in the process of making Clark cum.

With a loud, primal cry, Clark's body convulses as he unleashes a massive orgasm. His cock pulses violently in Y/N's hand, painting his fingers with thick, white ropes of cum. His vision blurs as he rides out the intense climax, feeling his stress and tension melt away. Some of his jizz leaks onto the green carpet.

Y/N smiles. “Nice one.”

[sanjifucker42069]

Looks Like Lingerie to Me - Sanji x Reader

Word count: 854

We gender-neutral and short af today boys. This is crack treated semi-seriously lmao, and an actual drabble. I love idiot!readers, there isn't enough rep for us dumbasses. This is written with OPLA!Sanji in mind bc I dig the super effective suave vibe

Suggestive, there's swearing, the word cock is used once. Brief description. (Ha! Brief!)

Let's be real...Sanji might wears shirt stays....and that's hot as fuck

It was midday when you found yourself outside the men's quarters. You had been lounging around on the upper deck when Usopp had asked you to grab a wrench he'd left in his room. Fair enough, you weren't doing anything, wouldn't hurt to help. And so you padded off, making your way to the bedroom. It was the middle of the day, no one should be in there. You'd passed Zoro napping against some bags, you could still hear Luffy. Sanji definitely had to be in his domain of the kitchen. Still, you offered a quick courteous knock as you flung open the door to the men's quarters, wandering into the space with no preamble.

"Sorry boys, I gotta grab Usopp's- Holy shit!"

Sanji's head shot up to stare at you, cheeks lightly pink. He was stooped over, pants pooling at his knees. Sure, his thick thighs were enticing, and his position stuck that gorgeous ass out at a delicious angle, but your eyes were fixated on the crossing fabric that adorned his upper legs. Was that…a garter belt? You felt lightheaded at the view before you. He looked delectable. The cook quirked an eyebrow at your staring.

"See something you like, love?" He drawled, sending you a cocky grin. Sanji felt his ego swell when you tripped over your words. Had you actually paid attention, you'd notice how his usual clothes were covered in flour, but you weren't exactly the most perceptive.

"I…thighs." You spoke dumbly, causing you to mentally smack yourself. "I mean, sorry. I didn't think anyone would be in here at this time." 

With great hardship, you tore your eyes away from the garment. It looked like a garter belt, had to be! You always knew Sanji liked fashion, and that he could be a pervert, but you didn't expect him to be unembarrassed at being caught wearing lingerie. As if they were possessed, your eyes trailed their way back to his thighs. The elastic was biting into his thigh meat, bulk deliciously spilling over the edges. Saliva flooded your mouth. What you wouldn't give to touch them. To bite them. Fuck what if you-

Wait. 

Sanji had said something.

"Wha?" 

Nice going idiot.

Sanji had abandoned his grip on the trousers, gracefully dropping them and stepping out of the puddle of fabric. Your breath hitched as he turned to you.

Abort mission! 

Fuck you didn't even look at his underwear. Shit, fuck, that…that was clearly the outline of his cock, a pair of grey boxer briefs doing a horrible job at hiding his silhouette. You were thankful that the length of his dress shirt covered the majority, or you'd be due a visit to chopper from fainting.

"I said can I help you, love?"

An awkward cackle escaped your throat and you blushed. Oh, he could help you alright. Instead, you opened your dumb mouth again.

"Is that…why are you wearing a garter belt?"

Sanji froze. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Oh shit! Oh fuck!

You opened your mouth to apologise when that bell-like laugh permeated the awkwardness. 

"What?" He laughed incredulously. "They are shirt stays."

Sanji felt his heart squeeze when you cocked your head confused. You really had no idea how cute you were, did you? Trying to be polite and stop laughing, he coughed into his fist.

"They keep my shirt tucked in sweet thing. Can't be looking unprofessional around you cuties." Sanji winked, smirking with satisfaction as your face grew redder. He expected an 'oh' or a 'sorry'. He certainly didn't expect a;

"I'd call having no pants but lingerie on unprofessional."

"You were the one who bust in here!" He argued. "And it's not lingerie!"

"Ah…sorry about that. I meant to grab a wrench Usopp left in here. I…uh…I should go."

"Mmhmm." 

You wandered stiffly to where Usopp slept, finding the tool with ease, and trying desperately to not look at the cook. Sanji watched you, amusement clear on his face at your robotic movements. Wasting no time, you rushed back to the door. 

"Oh, uh, Sanji?" The man hummed in response. "I, uh, I'm sorry for thinking you were wearing lingerie. Not! Not that there's anything wrong if you were, you'd look hot in it. I mean! I….uh…no, you'd definitely look hot in it. What was I saying?"

Silence. Sanji was staring at you with wide eyes, face now red from your comments. You clicked your fingers.

"Right, right! You should probably put some clothes on. Don't want you catching a cold ha ha." You forced out a robotic laugh. "Sorry again."

You slammed the door shut, leaving a confused and slightly aroused man in your wake. Sanji sighed, making his way back to his sleeping area to change into clean clothes. The door creaked back open. Sanji groaned quietly. Who now?

"You have to admit, they are kinda slutty though, right? Sorry! Bye again!"

You were gone before Sanji could even process your words properly. He groaned audibly this time, raking his hands down his face. He needed a fucking smoke. You were going to be the death of him.

[brattyspence]

toasted cinnamon bagel please <3

order #4 | see my event here

a/n: thank u bby this was fun

tags: pining!spencer, reader marrying a man, angst

There’s a hole the shape of you growing inside of him.

It’s been there for as long as he’s known you, maybe longer. Spencer’s almost certain that you’re written into his code somewhere.

It’s nearing 8 PM on a Friday, and for the first time in a very long time, he hasn’t heard from you in days.

There’s a thread of text messages open on his phone. They are all bits and pieces of the issues, slammed into cut and dry, lifeless remarks. They might be sent from you, but they aren’t you. They are terse, when you’ve never been. They’re mean and you’re not. They have a new tone that takes on the life of someone else, someone new–the man you’re set to marry in the morning.

A new message pops up, and he’s sure it will read just the same. Defensive, hurt, reactive.

When he reads it, he’s surprised to see the opposite.

You: Can I call you?

He doesn’t think twice before picking up the phone. It doesn’t matter to him whether you’re planning on arguing or not. Now, facing the deadline that is your wedding, he’ll gladly take whatever chance he can get to hear your voice before it’s too late.

The dial tone rings twice before you pick-up, and the sound of gentle static fills the line. You’re outside, he can tell, not at home where you should be.

“Hi,” he says. He considers asking the first question, but he doesn’t. He leaves the line open to you instead, expecting your anger and frustration with him to hit him all at once.

It doesn’t.

“Hi,” you reply.

He can hear the worry in that one word. He knows you well enough to know that you've waited too long to do something. This version of you, this strained voice, is a product anxiety left to sit and stew. He can only imagine what this means. It's less than 24 hours before you’re set to walk down the aisle, and you’re calling him, the person you’ve been so upset with.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

He can hear the sounds of cars passing by wherever you’re calling from. It fills the void for a moment as he collects his thoughts.

“Nothing?”

“No,” you reply. The shake in your voice is even more apparent. “And that’s the problem.

He takes a moment to try and piece together the clues to no avail.

“You're upset that he didn't do anything wrong?”

“Yeah.” On the other side of the line, you nod to yourself. The taste of anxiety hits you in the back of the throat as you attempt to figure out what to say.

“I don't understand.”

He can hear you inhale sharply just once, and then there's a pause. Spencer knows this; you're crying.

“I'm upset because… he’s so good to me. And he treats me so well. And he's nice, Spencer. He's a good guy. And my family likes him. And I'm supposed to marry him tomorrow and I can't find one thing wrong with him, but I don't love him.”

Spencer sighs. You're half expecting to hear him voice his frustration with you, that he told you. That he was right. But he doesn't.

“So what do you want to do?” He asks.

“I don't…. I don't know. I can’t call the wedding off. It’s not fair.”

“You can't marry him.”

“I have too,” you hiccup.

“You don't have to do anything,” he replies. “We can figure it out.”

“No. I-I can’t I don't…” he hears you sniffle once more. “I don't know. Maybe I’m overreacting and it's just cold feet.”

“It's not,” he replies. “But… I get it.”

You hold the phone to one ear, trying to stop your tears while silence fills the line again.

“I'm sorry for bothering you.”

“You didn't bother me,” he says. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you sigh, wiping your tears. “Tomorrow.”

You're about to end the call when he says your name once more.

“And by the way… when you’re ready to let him go, just say the word. And I'll come get you.”

[mae-gi-writes]

let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (4)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007 @astolary @biancatomlinson @lauraagrace

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part four | next part >>>

"I think I need a drink."

"Oh don't be so dramatic," your cheeks flush bright red. It's bad enough you don't know what to wear to your date with Kuroo, worse now that your blonde cousin is here to make fun of you until you're nothing but a squealing mess of embarrassment. You have half a mind to kick Atsumu out of your flat and call Osamu for help.

Alas, the grey-haired counterpart is busy with his restaurant these days. So it won't be fair to put that kind of responsibility on his shoulders. Definitely not when his twin is currently on vacation.

Atsumu just sends you a lazy smile from the living room couch, "aw c'mon Y/N. This is probably the first time since Aoi left that you're finally interested in someone. Isn't that something worth celebrating?"

"It's just dinner," you argue.

"And dessert," Atsumu winks.

You throw a pillow at him. He cackles even when it slams right into his face, "I'm joking!" he wheezes like a child high on sweets, kicking up his legs like Sakura would when she's excited, "I just can't believe it! And with someone I can vouch for!"

"What does vouch mean?" Sakura asks from her seat. She had been so glued to the tv screen ever since her uncle had the greatest idea to watch the reruns of the two Frozen movies. Little does he know he'll be stuck re-winding it again and again until he knows the lyrics by heart.

"Vouch for, means like to confirm something, from personal experience," Atsumu replies.

"Hm," Sakura frowns, as though an adult trying to contemplate his words, "I don't understand."

"`It's like if you tell me that you won third place at the egg race," you lean over the couch to rearrange your daughter's hair, "and I say that's something I can vouch for, that you won third place."

You watch, heart melting as Sakura's lips form an 'o' shape. She blinks up at you, "I still don't understand."

Atsumu guffaws, "it's okay sweetie. You don't have to understand it yet. You want some more of those marshmallows?"

You slap your cousin's hand away from the half-empty bowl, "that's exactly why her teeth are rotting," You snap at him, "why don't you give her real food?"

"I will! Once you get off my back and go have some incredible se--"

You toss another pillow at him and his yelp makes you let out a small chuckle. Thank god Sakura can't really put two and two together yet, and for that you're glad. At least it's possible to shield her innocence from Atsumu's wide mouth.

"Can you just go?" mumbles the said man himself from behind the pillow, "I thought your date was at six."

"Yeah but it's--" and that's when you realise it's not half-past five like you thought it was five minutes ago, "Oh shi--I mean shoot," you cut a glance at Sakura while grabbing your bag off the kitchen counter, "I'm off. You take care of her and--"

You round the couch, plant a quick kiss atop your daughter's head before heading towards the door, "--you keep her safe 'Tsumu!" you holler while tugging on your loafers, "and Sakura? Eat your veggies!"

"But I hate them mum!"

"They're good for you, and--"

"Y/N," Atsumu cuts you off with a shooing motion, "go. Now. Bye bye."

"Yeah--Yeah okay," you blow a raspberry and throw a final wave, "right. Bye then."

The dining place which Kuroo has suggested a few days back -- right after the incident in which you'd found yourself into his arms -- is tucked away into one of the corner streets, not quite far from the main road, and yet unnoticeable to passerby's with just one glimpse.

It's modern and cute, casual in a way that unconsciously makes you relax slightly as you walk through the olive-coloured doorway and take in the sight of rusty brick walls adorned with green ivy running along the ceiling, the wooden furniture and the cozy bar at the far right.

Kuroo is already seated at one of the smaller, circular tables, and raises a hand in greeting while you make your way to him.

"Hey," he's dressed differently today. Not at all how you usually see him; a dark v-neck and some dark trousers to match.

The sight makes your tummy tighten deliciously, "hi," you manage to croak back.

"I really thought you were going to bail on me," he has on a teasing smile, "guess I was wrong."

"That's the impression I gave you?" your eyebrows raise.

"You always surprise me," his grin widens at the heat flushing through your cheeks. Cute, he thinks, "anyway, I've never been here but they have good cocktails. Or so google says."

"You're that kind of person aren't you?" You take a menu from the centre of the table and scan the options, "the kind that reads a hundred of reviews before deciding on a restaurant?"

"That's what it's for, isn't it?" he tilts his head at you. That same, cocky grin that turns your heart to mush.

Jesus. He really needs to stop doing that.

You look back down at the menu, "I don't know. I don't eat out much."

"Then let me be your official guide," he says it with a wink, and you can't help the chuckle that bursts out of your mouth.

As per Kuroo's recommendation, you decide to opt for a seafood pasta while your host decides on a pizza to share. The food comes right as you're halfway through your glass of wine and by then you're comfortable enough that the conversation seems to flow easily, gathered in a cocoon where only you and Kuroo exist and where everything -- even reality -- seems to fall away piece by piece.

Oh god. You're already in a bit too deep.

And the fact is, it's not even that hard to fall for Kuroo. Because he's just so nice and kind and gentle and everything that you've ever really wanted in a man. He's bashful in a way that reminds you of a pop in need of attention, careful with the way he handles your feelings, and seems forever wanting to please. And maybe that's something most girls would find off-putting given the fact that mysterious men are all the rage nowadays.

But you're not like most girls. You like this golden retriever energy coming off him. You love that he asks for your opinion and is as soft as a marshmallow on the inside.

You also love how he talks to Sakura. Not just because she's your daughter. But it had been clear from the very beginning that your daughter was a little bit in love with him.

By the end of the dinner you're not surprised to find that your leg is brushing against his casually, comfortably, as though you've been friends forever. And when you catch his golden flecked eyes from across the table, the twinkle of fire in them, the small sprinkles of molten golden mixed into warm maroon does something to your heart.

He fights to pay the bill like a true gentleman, but then splits it with you when you throw him a scowl and protest that he's done more than his fair share.

"I just wanna tell you I'm not happy about this," he grumbles as you are handing the waiter the rest of the cash for the night, slipping on his jacket with his bottom lip jutted out like a child, "I will take you out properly one day."

"Then I'm going to look forward to it," you tease.

Kuroo looks down at you, "you--you mean that right?"

"What?" you glance at him, noting the uneasiness, the surprise on his face, "that you can take me out again? Or...did you--I mean, I won't mind if you don't--"

"I don't mind one bit," he breathes and your chest exhales in relief. Gods, you thought he was going to tell you there was to be no next time.

Because again, who wants to be tied down to a single mother with a four year old toddler? Most of your tinder dates would've already blanched and snuck out of your date by now.

"I'll take you home," Kuroo is already going to unlock his car door, but your hesitation makes him falter as he takes in your hesitation, "what is it?"

"Uhm--well, Atsumu is there tonight. He's babysitting Sakura," you send him a sheepish smile, "Unless you don't mind going back there, but I--I thought we could maybe ...spend some more time alone...together?"

Heat is spewing across your cheeks by the end of your sentence, but the fond look that Kuroo gives you doesn't go by unnoticed as he cracks a grin.

"Sounds good to me," he gestures for you to get in, "wanna go get some ice cream then? Or a drink?"

That is how you find yourself sharing a couch with the sports coach, nursing a cucumber cocktail in your hand while he has a beer in his. You tease him about drinking when he's supposed to be the definition of health, and he answers that you're supposed to keep this little secret under wraps.

"I wasn't allowed to drink at all, until I left my volleyball team," Kuroo mentions then as he takes a swig of his drink.

"That sounds like a lot of sacrifice, especially for you."

"What does that mean?" he teases with a grin.

"While other boys are out there raving, experimenting with stuff," you answer and tilt your head towards him, "didn't you get jealous of what they could do and what you couldn't?"

"I suppose to an extent," he shift his legs and it brushes against your thigh, shoulders pressing to yours as warmth suddenly seeps into your right side, "but I had a lot to gain. So I never thought I missed out. Plus, all my good friends were on the team. So we suffered together if that made sense."

"Yeah," you smile at the thought of Atsumu and Osamu being deprived of house parties and clubbing when you were all younger, "it does. Actually, I was quite envious of Atsumu and Osamu when we were younger. They both knew what they wanted -- well, until Osamu decided to quit and become a chef."

"What did you want to be when you were younger?"

"Me?" your lips curled into that same crooked smile that caught Kuroo's heart into a mid-spin every single frickin' time. He knows how to breathe, just forgets to whenever you're around, "I wanted to have my own cake shop. Got the diploma, never got round to actually doing anything about it."

"How did you end up in the event planning business?"

So you tell him. About one of your neighbours asking you if you could help decorate their son's first birthday party. You didn't have the heart to say no and from there onwards, your clientele grew over the months. At some point, you'd realised this job could make ends meet, all while giving you some flexibility around Sakura's schedule.

Your diploma was stuffed at the back of a drawer at some point, forgotten and useless. You'd never gotten around to framing it.

Now, you wished you had. It brings back a bitter wave of memories, ones that are tied to Aoi and that echo with pain whenever you think for too long.

"I could start all over again but--" you think of Sakura and her sweet, smiling face. The way the light would bounce over her eyes whenever she looks up at you full of trust and honest love, "I don't think I can. I'm a bit past my prime."

Kuroo shakes his head, "okay, hear me out but--right before all this PE coach thing came my way, I was actually just a waiter."

You blink, "huh?"

"Yeah. I quit the team a few years back right after I left university, and for someone with a degree in Education and with no experience, jobs are hard to find these days," Kuroo chuckles as he takes another swig of his drink, "so I had to find part-time work while I waited. It took a few years and well-- I landed my first job just a year ago. Quit when I realised the environment was shit, and then here I am now," he lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug, "what I mean is--I don't think there's ever any real timeline for anyone. You just--do the best you can, with what you have. And if you gotta start at thirty, then that's fine too."

The bittersweet smile that fills your face is enough to render him breathless, "thanks Kuroo," you murmur softly, "I'm not sure I'm as brave as you though."

"uh--No, you're managing a four-year old by yourself," he sends you a pointed look, "that in itself is an act of courage. Not everyone can do it, especially the way you do it."

Your cheeks flame, "you flatter me--"

"But I'm not," he interrupts gently. His hand lifts up, pushing a stray strand of hair from your face and your breath hitches when his touch seems to linger there for a beat longer than he's supposed to, "I actually really do think you're like one of the bravest people I've met."

"Stop it," now you're really embarrassed, hands coming up to hide your face.

Kuroo lets out a soft laugh, "I'm just telling the truth."

"Or you're just sweet-talking me."

"Okay maybe I am, but I'm not a liar," is it your imagination that makes you believe there's a little blush scattered along his cheeks? Maybe. But you tempt yourself into believing that's your effect on him.

Kuroo looks away, though he has a smile on his face as he toys with his beer, "so did it work?" he asks.

"What?" you finish the cocktail. The alcohol stings as it slides down your throat, before it warms you up from the inside.

"The sweet-talking," and he's back with that grin of his, dashingly courageous, dashingly cute and he knows it.

You whack him playfully along his shoulder, "you're an idiot."

Kuroo mutters something that might've not reached out ears if you weren't paying attention. But you swear that he says something along the lines of "only for you" which has you blushing down to the tips of your toes all over again.

It's past two in the morning when you manage to reach your flat, now a little tipsy from all the alcohol humming through your veins. You're both laughing about something -- something stupid -- when the door to your flat flies open to reveal a grinning Atsumu.

You straighten, though wobbling in your heels. Kuroo presses a hand to your back, grounding you.

"Hey 'tsumu," you say breathlessly, feeling heat sting your spine spreading from Kuroo's fingertips.

"Well someone's tipsy," Atsumu tips his head towards the raven-haired man, "hope you didn't do anything stupid--"

"Who do you take me for?" Kuroo retorts as he prods you towards the entrance.

"Yeah I know, just checkin'," your cousin eyes the proximity of your bodies, the way Kuroo stands almost protectively behind you, and something in his eyes softens, "alright then. I'll take my leave."

"What? This late? Why don't you stay over--"

"And what?" Atsumu raises a brow at you, "watch you both suck face? No thanks. By the way," his grin widens when you turn beetroot and Kuroo almost strangles himself with surprise, "Sakura's already asleep, so no matter what, don't go wakin' her."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper out to your date when your cousin's out of earshot and Kuroo's managed to manoeuvre you into the flat, "he's not usually that annoying--"

"I know," Kuroo's lips twitch in amusement at the way you worriedly look up at him, "what? What's gotten you looking like someone ran over your pet cat?"

You gasp, "that's not nice, Kuroo sensei!"

"Kuroo," he emphasises his name. One arm going up to press against the doorframe, he leans in towards you, "actually--you can call me Tetsurou."

"Tetsurou," your head cranes up to look at him and --wow, he's tall. And he smells good. Like boy perfume and something woody, something musky you can't quite place, "That's a nice name."

"Thanks," his words trail off, body unconsciously leaning towards you. it's only then you realise how close you are, chests almost touching, noses bare millimetres, his entire frame practically engulfing your tiny one.

He's so close that you can see the way light bounces off his orbs, or the small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes that deepen whenever he smiles.

Something in your chest tightens. You swallow thickly.

And that's when you feel it; his hand skimming your waist.

You let out a sharp breath at the same time that the young man pulls you to him. Gently.

Falling against him like a puppet, hands splay out to press against his shirt and heat permeates your skin and makes you sweat because--Kuroo is ripped. You can feel it, feel him, underneath your palms. He's built like stone and you wonder briefly what he must look like without them--

Oh god.

Your face flames and that doesn't go unnoticed by the raven-haired man. He grins wickedly, his other hand reaching out to cup your jaw so that you cannot look away.

"What?" his murmur is soft like melted chocolate. It makes you weak in the knees and you're glad he's holding you up against him, "what's with the face?"

"N--Nothing," you try to steady your racing heart, "uhm...you're..." he's unconsciously leaning in towards you, as if drawn like a moth to a flame, "...you're really close."

"Seems like it," he murmurs huskily.

"I--uhm--" you shake your head slightly, biting down onto your lower lip as your eyes flutter back up to his. You notice how his pupils have darkened with something else, something that makes your stomach knot deliciously, "Kuroo?"

"Hm?"

"I'm--" you try to scramble your thoughts together, but it's hard when he's so close and when he's looking at you like that, "I'm too old for you."

His body stills, "what?"

"I'm--" shame fills you up and you look away with embarrassment as you repeat, "I'm too old for you."

"Do you really think that you're too old for me?" Kuroo asks, "or is that just an excuse?"

"I have a daughter--"

"--It's only three years' difference--"

"--And you have your whole life ahead of you to figure out what you wa--"

"--I know exactly what I want--"

"I have responsibilities and I can't--"

"Can't what?" with one tug, you fall against him. You let out a sound of shock but Kuroo's hand is insistent as he presses your spine to his body, his palm splaying out and practically enveloping all of your back, "I have responsibilities too, Kosuke-san. And yet," his eyes seem to search yours for a minute, "I can't seem to stay away."

"Like I said," you're not quite sure whether he can even hear you, because your heart seems to be galloping so hard you feel it vibrate through your ears, "I'm too old for you, you should find someone of your own age, someone who's just as ambitious, with no strings attached to them--"

"I want you."

"--and like I said, I'm a mother," you're babbling now, "and I need to put Sakura first, no matter what. I'm sorry, I don't know why I decided to come out today. I shouldn't have, this is a mistake and--"

Kuroo's hand slips to your cheek. He tugs you up, and his lips land on yours.

You freeze.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Oh shit shit shit.

Shit.

This isn't happening.

This isn't supposed to happen!

And yet...it is.

His mouth parts slowly, sliding over yours in such a sweet way that you let out a restrained sound from the back of your throat. Gods, even his mouth is delicious. His hand sifts through your locks to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer by the waist as he kisses your next breath away. Your chest stutters and you all but melt into him, surprise and shock overrun by the sudden desire shooting through your veins.

Your hands, initially at his chest, make a grab for his shirt as your lips follow his in a dance that leaves your heart stuttering and has you gasping for breath. But still Kuroo doesn't relent. He kisses you again and again and again, mouth weaving between yours and teeth nipping at your lips like he knows exactly what you want. A soft whimper bubbles up your throat and he grunts in satisfaction, tugging your hair down and tilting your head back to ravage your lips like there's no tomorrow.

You part after what seems like forever, a small gasp falling from your lips. But Kuroo's slides against your jaw, "god Y/N," he groans out, nipping at the skin along your jawline before slowly pressing butterfly kisses along your neck. You jolt at the suddenness of the action, mouth parting as heat bubbles up in your lower stomach while the young man presses you even closer if that's possible so that you feel every single inch of him against you.

A surprised yelp echoes out of your throat when he finds a sweet spot at the junction between your neck and collarbone. Kuroo smirks against your skin, nipping the area gently with his teeth as your hands trickle up to entangle in his locks, grabbing at them and making him grunt.

The hand along your waist flutters up your spine like a caress and you fold like leaf with the softest whine. Kuroo moves up to claim your mouth once more, kissing the rest of your logic away until you forget why you're here in the first place.

It's not until he's pressing you up against the doorframe that reality crashes back into you. You push him away gently, so gently that your mouths part with a soft sound and as you gaze up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, your heart jumps at the way he's looking at you; desire and tenderness and affection and lust all mixed in together. His chest is heaving just as much as yours is, and when you bite down onto your lower lip the growl that rumbles through his chest makes you all weak in the knees.

"That mouth," he mutters, thumb unconsciously going up to trace your lower lip. He pulls it away from your teeth so that he can trace its outline.

And then he's back to kissing you like he never stopped.

You kiss back with just as much ardour, getting lost into him and for once not caring that all sense of logic and self-restraint are now gone, evicted by the pure selfish need to have him close, closer.

His hands are everywhere; on your hips, in your hair, tracing your abdomen and making you gasp with every searing, scalding touch of palms against skin. But you press closer still, your own hands roaming his back and feeling up all the muscles that tense under your touch.

Kuroo suddenly draws away so quickly that you can't help but whine and tug him closer.

He resists with a groan, nose brushing yours as he furrows his brows, "Kosuke-san, I really cannot."

"What?" you're half-way out of focus at this point, more interested in kissing the soft skin at his jaw.

Kuroo lets out a sound between a moan and a grunt, making your insides twist with desire as his hands find your hips to pull you away, "If we continue, I won't--I don't promise I'll be able to hold back so--" he breathes out raggedly, "for the sake of my own sanity, we--we need to stop."

"Oh," you blink. It takes a moment for the words to make sense. When they do, your eyes widen on their own accord and you push him away, embarrassment flooding through you, "I--Oh, I'm sorry--"

Kuroo drops a firm kiss onto your mouth, grunting in satisfaction when you make a surprised sound, "I told you," he murmurs against your lips, "to stop saying sorry. It's gonna be the death of me."

He finally draws away and pushes your stray strands away from your face, a force of habit, it seems. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, flushing at the gentleness lying in those beautiful pupils. Throughout your relationship with Aoi, you're not sure he's ever looked at you with as much intensity as Kuroo has for the past five minutes. It does something funny to your heart.

"Right," for someone who'd been previously so adamant on not making out with the said man, you're quite frazzled. Your hands are latching onto him like you're a baby koala and he's your tree trunk, and you slide them down to your sides like a shameful kid, "yeah, I--" but you quickly retract the apology in your mouth.

Kuroo grins crookedly, that smile sending your heart into spinning cartwheels, "I'll be off then," he murmurs. His hand smoothes over the back of your head affectionately, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss to your temple.

"How far away do you live?" you have to ask. You feel bad for making him drive all the way out here, it's practically morning at this point.

"Not far," Kuroo sends you a comforting smile, "don't worry, I'll text you when I reach--"

"Do you--" the words blurt out of your mouth before you can stop them, "--do you want to stay over?"

Kuroo blinks. His mouth parts. Closes. Parts again. And then, what seems like a blush litters his cheeks.

He shakes his head, "ah--I think that's a bad idea Kosuke-san--" he spares a glance at your lips, "--especially today."

"Oh," realisation dawns and you flush, "right. Okay. Okay then."

"Don't worry. We have all our time," he grins cheekily.

"I'm still too old for y--"

Kuroo interrupts you with a kiss, "enough of that," he murmurs, "or I'm gonna have to kiss you again."

"That sounds--" your nose brushes against his, "--promising."

"Don't tempt me," he presses one last kiss right above your eye, cups your face for an instant, before he turns away towards the corridor, "goodnight Kosuke-san."

"Goodnight Kuroo," your heart melts, "can you--can you text me when you're home?"

He sends you a grin over his shoulder, "I thought you said you were too old for me?"

"I am too old for you," your face is so red you feel like you could cook an egg on top of it.

"Nah, never," he winks and before you know it, he's gone.

Leaving you and your poor, stuttering heart.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Date me? —(Ron Weasley xGN!Reader)

A/N: I never write for my boy it's time I change that. Will do a part two if most of you ask for it leaving a comment or reblogging! -Danny Summary: Lazy afternoon with your friend who you're definitely not crushing on. Words: 821

Warnings: This is basically a 'hear me out' one-shot between friends Twoidiots Masterlist

You could always count on Ron to have the best treats. You could also always count on him when you wanted to sit around and do nothing. Today, you two have decided to do nothing in the common room.

Hermione had gone off with Neville and Hannah Abbott to finish some extra work only they would be eager to finish on a Sunday, and Harry was somewhere in the castle with Ginny, which left the two of you with little to do, not that you were complaining.

"What if the Giant has a nice complexion?"

"I'm still not shagging the giant, Y/N," Ron snorted. You had been going at this 'what if' game for hours, first starting with classmates you knew, but now you'd moved on to more... particular options.

"Okay, but what if it's one of the smaller giants?"

"Would still break a leg trying to get it on," Ron laughed. "I'm not shagging a giant, I'm telling you."

"Ron, you're not playing the game right! It's not about being realistic, you just wonder about it sometimes, no need to explain. For example, my pick is Mer-people."

"They're not a bad pick, everyone has thought of it!"

You laugh. "No, they don't! You're just as mental as me!"

"Fine! You want mental, I'll give you mental," Ron's ears blushed a little but he kept talking anyway. "I think if I had to pick, I'd go with Dementors."

You hold back a laugh and answer in a shaky voice. "Is the mo—?"

"Their mouth is huge!" Ron nods, finishing your sentence.

You cackle, holding your stomach. Ron watches you with mirth, also laughing. When the amusement subsides, you wipe your tears and sit up. "Well, but that's almost like doing it with a corpse, isn't it? Aren't dementors like dead people?"

"I have no idea and I don't wish to find out. Besides, you said being realistic spoils the fun."

"True. Sorry to bring it up." You grin.

Ron chuckled, popping a piece of hard candy into his mouth before replying. "I've got another question."

"Shoot!"

"If you had to pick one of us —one of us four, I mean— which one would you date?"

You roll your eyes. "Oh, come on, Ronald, are we circling back to sleepover inquires? That's not even half as fun!"

"Answer the question and I'll go back to the weird ones, then!"

"Fine," you ponder. "Definitely not Harry, he's too thick to understand when someone is flirting with him..."

"All of us are," Ron snorts.

"Well, yeah, but he's the worst," you grin. "And he would find a way to make it awkward anyway, you know he's always reacting in the weirdest ways..."

"Fair enough. That leaves 'Mione and I."

"Well, dating you would mean I would be paying for all the food you ate at our dates, which isn't my idea of fun..."

"Oi! I would have some control, and I wouldn't be letting you pay for everything!" He argues.

"Ah yes, I suppose you'd tip," you tease him. He throws the wrapper of his candy at you, making you chortle. Then you continue to ponder, making a face. "Ah, but then Hermione would never have time for me, would she? It's all school and S.P.E.W., and I have the feeling she'd forget our dates constantly so I'd be basically a fixture on the wall..."

"So it's back to me, then," he smiled with clear satisfaction. "I knew you'd pick me. I'm the looks of this operation."

You snort. "Alright, so who would you pick?"

"Well, can't date Harry because I wouldn't steal my sister's boyfriend, she'd kill me."

"Very wise."

"So I would date you."

You blinked, surprised by his quick decision-making. "What about Hermione?"

"Well, it's like you said, I would only be taking up space in her schedule, and we'd bicker all the time, not that I'd be any better at remembering dates and stuff, but let's face it, I do need attention."

"And you think I'm the right call for that?" You smirked, trying not to sound or look as pleased as you felt.

"Definitely." He mirrored your expression. "You do it all the time already, you come to me when you're looking to have a fun time, so that's something to consider, isn't it?"

"Hm," you nodded pensively. "I s'ppose you're right. Well, how nice of us to pick each other," you joked, trying to rid of the funny feeling in your tummy by playing it down.

"Reckon so, yeah," Ron's smile softened, which only made the butterflies in your stomach go even crazier.

You grabbed a chocolate frog and stuffed it in your mouth, needing to do something other than stare at him. "So," you chew messily. "Harry's life is on the line and you have to french-kiss Umbridge to save him. Would you do it?"

Ron gawked. "Can I do the giant instead?"

Taglist.

@i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @siriuslysirius1107 @aleksosoto @aconfusedslytherin @talksoprettyjjx @23victoria @moonhoonie @raajali @espressopatronum454 @tokkishouse @slytherinnqueen @typicalsolangelolover @Kai-wifey @j-cat @inkandpen22 @theeicedamericano @hamiltonwc @thelastpyle @emilyyyvalenzuelaaa @azura-mist @tomshollandz @cedricisnotdead @letsfly-andbe-free @meetmyblondemuffins @emilyefronhudgens @aggressivevillian @avengersz-biotch @peachyaeger @ieatpanicattacksforlunch @impulse-anchor @mayoforthewin @mikaelsonwhxrebae @sputnik-01 @angelhugsaresweet @slytherinambitious @outofst1le @na1ven3vy @architect-2015 @writingmia @arey0usirius

[jellieland]

(Spoilers for. Real life?? I guess???)

---

Five figures stand, solemn, at the celestial summit of nowhere. They discuss matters of great import, and observe the fragile gossamer thread that is all that surrounds them, and-

Oh. No, nope, nevermind. They're just arguing again, aren't they.

"-don't know what you expect ME to do about it!" snaps the Red One.

"I don't know, Grian, how about literally anything?" asks the Scarlet Moon, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, you could at least tell us what's going on out there," says the Ruby Star. "I don't think that's too much to ask, Grian."

"Riiight, like that'll help," says the Bloody Victor, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Martyn, do you have to make this difficult every single time?" snaps the Red One. "Anyway, we've got loads of time to work this out. It's only just started, even if it was a bit earlier than I thought it would be," he grumbles, irritated.

"Oh! Look!" calls the Coquelicot Loner, from where he is peering away from their circle at something that would look, to anyone but the five present, entirely indistinguishable from any other patch of the universe. "They must be done! Someone's coming!"

"What?" The Red One frowns. "Don't be ridiculous, Scar, there's no way-"

A brilliant beam of starlight shoots down from the heavens, and tears through their little circle like a formula one car cutting through the middle of a picnic.

It leaves behind...

Huh.

What. What is that.

There is... a. Person? But the proportions are all wrong, nothing this world has ever seen before. The limbs are mismatched, twisted, not quite connected. The movement is... disturbingly smooth, except when it jerks and jumps at seemingly random moments.

Whatever they are, they regain their balance, look around, and... laugh. "Oh, hey guys!" they say. "You know, I really didn't think this counted. But here we are, I guess!"

"Mom?" says the Coquelicot Loner, squinting at her. "Why are you short?"

"Oh my god, Scar, you can't just ask people why they're short," says the Ruby Star, apparently on autopilot.

"Yeah, and, uh, not to be rude, but more like why are you an eldrich horror? But, like, more so than usual?" says the Bloody Victor, backing up and looking rather alarmed.

They raise an eyebrow. "Oh, we're doing this now, are we?" They shake their head. "You know what this is perfectly well. We did another game, and I won. Deeply surprising, I know, but here we are!"

The Scarlet Moon tilts her head. "I mean, not that it's not nice to have you here, I guess, but that seemed real quick for a whole game, Cleo."

"Yes, thank you Pearl," says the Red One, narrowing his eyes. "I quite agree. Just how violent WAS this one that it's already finished? And WHY was I not informed?"

Cleo laughs. "To be honest I don't think anyone expected it to matter. And, I mean, sure it was violent, they always are, but it was all pretty light-hearted to be honest! Not a lot of drama, you know." She looks around, and seems to remember something. "Oh, Scott, I let a zombie kill you at the end! Sorry about that, I didn't realise quite how low you were. It was pretty funny, though."

The Ruby Star blinks, and shrugs. "I mean, fair enough. Hey, that means Divorce Quartet is all here, now!"

The Coquelicot Loner squints. "...Does that make you my stepdad, Scott?"

"No," says Cleo.

"God no," says the Ruby Star. "For, just, so many reasons."

"Yeah, I am not doing that again," says Cleo.

"So... So, hang on," says the Red One. "You're saying, in your game, it was all just. Cool and fine and calm. No pain or blood or sacrifice. No agonising entangled web of alliances. No cold-blooded, cold-hearted backstabbing?"

("Hey!" says the Bloody Victor.)

"I mean there was plenty of blood, technically. And Martyn did sort of try to stab everyone in the back and then run away."

("...Yeah, ok, fine," says the Bloody Victor.)

"But no, not much emotional turmoil, all in all! It was pretty chill, really!" They glance around the circle. "It was nice to see Ren again, too! I think he was off roleplaying with Martyn most of the time, though."

"I'm going to kill you," says the Bloody Victor, despairingly. "How is that fair?!"

"Life isn't fair," says the Scarlet Moon.

"Oh, you-"

"Can you shut up for five minutes," snaps the Red One.

As the bickering continues, the Coquelicot Loner and Ruby Star sidle up to Cleo, avoiding her wavering, eldritch outline.

"So!" says the Coquelicot Loner. "How's dad?"

Cleo gives him a look. "Scar," they say.

He holds up his hands. "Ok, ok! Just asking!"

She shakes her head, not without affection. "Is this really all you do here? Just stand around and irritate each other?"

"No!" says the Coquelicot Loner, seemingly deeply offended.

"Yeah, pretty much," says the Ruby Star.

"Ok well that's stupid," says Cleo.

"Yes," says the Red One, having extricated himself from the continuing altercation between the other two. "This is extremely stupid." He claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention and finally ending the argument, for now. "All in favour of erasing the past few minutes from existence and pretending none this ever happened?"

"Aye," says everyone but Cleo.

"What," says Cleo.

"It means you get to go home and you don't have to stands around in a circle with us lot for the rest of eternity," says the Scarlet Moon.

"Oh. Yeah, definitely do that," says Cleo.

"Wonderful," says the Red One, and clicks his fingers.

...

Five figures stand, solemn, at the celestial summit of nowhere. They discuss matters of great import, and observe the fragile gossamer thread that is all that surrounds them, and-

The Coquelicot Loner speaks. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it! Do you-"

"I thought we just agreed that didn't happen, Scar," snaps the Red One.

Oh, ok. Alright, they're arguing again.

Yeah, we probably don't have to stick around and listen to this any longer, either. I don't expect it's going to change anytime soon.

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Hii!! I love your work sm, and you write so well. I was wondering if you could write something for Kyle 🙏🙏 Something smutty if possible 🤭 I'm not too picky, and I don't have anything specific in mind. It's totally fine if you can't, though!! Have an amazing day/night, take care of yourself, and I hope you're doing well <3

i see my giant thought transmission antenna i have in my roof is working properly. are we all just using 'shitter' alongside cartman and alec baldwin huh

because i was literally already writing for Kyle when i got this request sjkdkjsdkjsdkjsdikj so indeed i COULD write for him

i've been doing well. classes have started again (which means nowadays between 1 to 4 PST is prime 'yapping on phone' time because some of those classes can get pretty boring). it's been a little hard for me physically due to the disability but i'm glad to be doing something.

anyways, here it is! i'm aware it's a bit different from what i usually write, but i hope it's fire enough anyway. hope y'all have a great day/night too!

Kyle Broflovski x Reader - vodka, peach snapps, orange & cranberry juice

Also available on ao3!

Summary: Kyle Broflovski hated the beach. The sun, the sand, the sea, the people, nothing about it appealed to him. So, when you take him on a trip to one, he's not amused at all.

There might be something in there for the both of you, though, when he decides to remind you what happens when you upset him.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Smut, Established Relationship, Public Sex, Beach Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Prone Bone position, Doggy Style, Possessive Behavior, Angry Sex, Arguing, Kyle just being an asshole

A/N: okay so! if anyone is confused about beach vibes in march, i'm in the southern hemisphere and it's hot AF in here because it's still summer. so i figured i might as well drag my favourite guy to suffer through the heat with me, as a final goodbye to bright sunny days and this table fan i have turned on 24/7 in front of the computer

kyle is such an asshole in this one it was hard to write the argument. i might just put him on a sex ban and focus on other characters for a bit (oh who am i kidding i love this ginger if he appears to me on a vision i'm definitely running right back to him)

it's a bit different from my usual work, but i hope you guys like it!

“Do we really have to do this?”

Because of course those had to be the first words that left your boyfriend’s mouth as soon as he settled on the driver’s seat beside you, the door not even fully closed before he voiced his complaint, like a child that reeeeeally doesn’t wanna go to the doctor instead of a grown-ass man on vacation.

You and Kyle had decided to go on a road trip to the beach during the first weeks of autumn. It wasn’t exactly prime vacation time - but it was when you two managed to get away from your jobs simultaneously to go on this trip, the rental places were cheaper, and global warming was slowly making sure all seasons felt like summer anyway, which meant it was still decently hot and proper beach temperature.

Unfortunately, another thing that had been scorching ever since you arrived at the place was Kyle’s temper. The reluctant way with which he accepted your trip idea - not that he had much of a choice, since he was the one who chose the last place you went to, and fair’s fair - should’ve been a warning sign, but careful negative comments and and sure, whatevers shifted into outright complaints upon arrival, and even though it was only your first day around, he already didn’t seem keen on anything that involved leaving the Airbnb.

“Kyle, we hardly even got here,” you responded while you both buckled in your seatbelts, “Of course we gotta see the sea!”

In spite of his complaints, he still started the car, continuing to talk while looking over his shoulder as he pulled out of the driveway of the rental. “We have a pool at the house. You could swim there! Clean water, no people…”

“It’s not just the swimming, baby, it’s the vibes! Sunny days like these practically beg for the beach!”

“Or we could’ve gone camping instead,” the mere mention of the concept seemed to bring a happier intonation to Kyle’s voice, but it got snuffed out quickly once he realized it was not the reality he was living in. “The weather’s also great for that right now!”

“We went camping a few months ago,” you reminded him, conveniently forgetting to add that the concept of a forest and insects and sleeping in a tent did not appeal to you at all in this hot weather. “It’s good to have variety.”

His response to that was a nonsensical grumble about the concept of ‘variety’, possibly to give himself some time to pick apart your argument in his mind, his eyes squinting both from anger and from trying to make out the road with the sun shining on the windshield. 

“I really don’t understand what it is that people like so much about the beach.” Well, that wasn’t exactly a direct counter to the case you were making, but if those were the straws his mind was giving for him to grasp at in this fight, then by God was he going to do so. “I mean, what is there to like?”

Ugh, the way he placed that question. Like something he was legitimately intrigued by, expecting an honest train of thought to understand - but years of knowing Kyle, both as friend and lover, taught you to recognize the traps he laid when he had a point to prove; whatever answer you gave, no matter how elaborate and efficient, or even if you decided to stay completely silent, it would be picked apart and analyzed in a way that particularly fit the concept he already had created in his mind. It was smart, and absolutely worked, but being on the receiving end of it had to be one of the most annoying things in creation.

Yet you just had to, this time. Knowing what was coming your way, you walked right into it, armed only with outstanding patience and love for him. “It’s relaxing,” you responded with a small shrug, “Come on, Kyle. Can’t you imagine it? Laying down in the sand, listening to the waves, warming up under the sun…”

Just as you trailed off in your genuine explanation, painting a picture of it in your mind’s eye, he laughed sarcastically. “Relaxing!” He shook his head to himself, “What’s relaxing about getting sand stuck everywhere and swimming in dirty, disgusting-ass water? Do you know just what goes in the sea every single day? It’s all bacteria, sewage, oil and dead stuff at the bottom. And people pee in there all the time.”

Wow, way to throw a bucket of cold water in your daydreams. “Eeh… People don’t usually think about that, no.”

“Of course they’d rather not.” He scoffed. “Because if they did, then nobody would go to the beach, and all those overpriced houses would lose value.”

“It’s a pretty environment,” you pointed out, “Just seeing things feels nice too, you know.”

“Ah yeah, because nothing screams beauty like dozens of half-naked people breaded in sand and salt water hanging out in the sun.”

“Some people are into that,” you shrugged, “You could chill out a bit too.” 

“And this thing!” Completely ignoring what you said and continuing his tirade, he gestured with his right hand encompassing your whole body. “Where did you buy something like this? The sex shop?”

Now it felt like you were getting to the root of the problem Kyle had. It had come up once or twice back at the house - actually, it surprised you that he hadn’t picked a bigger fight about it earlier; you liked to think that it was because he was too smitten to talk. But, now that you were actually wearing it to go out, it was like the situation clicked in his brain. “It’s not that small.” You looked down at the bikini you were wearing. It was new, and surely it might be smaller than what the conservative hicks back at your hometown were accustomed to, but it wasn’t by any means an affront to modesty. It covered everything that needed covering and kept in place what needed keeping, not to mention it was absolutely cute.

However, it was clear that all meant very little to your boyfriend. “You’re wearing basically nothing!” He insisted, making some more grandiose gestures with his arm towards nothing, maneuvering the steering wheel with only his left hand. If he wasn’t raging, that move would’ve been absolutely sexy. “You had a great swimsuit before! What happened to that?”

“I’m not wearing a one-piece to tan, Kyle! The markings are not gonna look good!”

Bzzzt. Wrong answer. “What markings? Look good to WHO?”

This was one of those times where your boyfriend’s lifelong experience with road rage served him well. Because if anyone else was in his position, visibly fuming like he was, the car most certainly would’ve swerved. “To myself! And you’re gonna like them too, Kyle, you’ll see.”

“I already like how you look!”

“Then you’re gonna like me after that too! And also, it’s healthy.”

He shook his head, putting his other hand back on the wheel. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. People get skin cancer doing that sort of thing, you know.” He shuddered and his knuckles turned white as he held a firmer grip, as if terrified by this scenario his own paranoid mind created.

 This time, the buzzer rang for his words instead. Frowning, you put one hand on his shoulder - not as a way to comfort him, but to grab his attention in the manner of a warning. “Don’t even joke about that.”

That more serious tone you used seemed to have gotten to him, a slight frown forming as he actually considered the words that left his mouth possibly without thinking.  “Look, I’m sorry. But I’m not joking! It happens!”

Your fingers dug more onto his skin, as if physically giving emphasis to what you were saying. “A few days of tanning isn’t gonna do that to me!” 

“Well, maybe we should avoid it just in case,” he shrugged lightly, “You know, go back home. Chill there.”

A deep, prolonged huff left your throat, as if you were physically exhausted. This was becoming ridiculous, and you were sure it wouldn’t get better if you kept feeding into it. So you decided to deploy the secret weapon - the one thing that was sure to stop this argument with your boyfriend, to get him right where it hurt.

“You’re acting like your cousin, Kyle.”

Quiet as a church mouse the rest of the way there.

However, in spite of the graveyard-like silence that held him back from voicing complaints, as soon as the both of you got out of the car, it clearly took everything in Kyle’s power not to push you right back inside and drive far away from anything beach-related. Whether you were aware of it or not, your body looked fantastic in your new bikini; with every step you took, men were turning their heads to you like sunflowers to the brightest star - with your very infuriated boyfriend right on your heel shooting them all glares that could also burn just as much as it did.

After not much deliberation and with very quick steps - because Kyle was absolutely frantic and scrambling to settle down before anyone else could get their eyes on you -, you both found an empty spot near some tall rock formations, with not many people around since it didn’t provide much of a decent access to the sea.

“I’m not gonna get any sun in here, baby,” you complained as you pointed to the rocks, which made the sand beneath your feet much more pleasant to stand on with the shadow they cast.

“Well, you’ll just have to make do,” he retorted gruffly, already in the middle of opening his beach chair and setting it on the ground with a bit too much force compared to what was required to do so.

Rolling your eyes, you decided to just let him have this. There was still a decent spot with sun for you to lay on, which was where you put down your beach towel, and hopefully chilling out alone and listening to the ocean might mellow Kyle’s temper enough for him to agree to move to the more open areas later on.

With all your belongings properly placed - a task made more time-consuming than necessary due to Kyle meticulously calculating the positioning of the beach umbrella so it would constantly create the biggest amount of shade from any position of the sun -, you both were free to finally enjoy, or morosely partake in, your bright afternoon out. And you came to find that even your boyfriend’s little fit had done little to dampen your spirits; by the time you were sat, relatively protected of the oh-so-annoying sand by the fabric of your towel, the sour moods had been all but washed away, replaced by a sense of calm and contentment. Even the man seemed less grumpy, seated in his chair with a bottle of ice-cold water at his side and a nice huge book in his lap, sheltered from the UV radiation by the trusty colorful umbrella.

In preparation for your sunbathing time, you took the bottle of sunscreen and spread it around the parts of your body that you were able to reach - arms, chest, legs and face, all properly covered, but still in a way that your skin could still tan. That left just your back without any protection. “Kyle…” Turning your face to him, you called out in a higher-pitched tone, one that you’d used with him quite a few times in the course of your relationship and that by now he had also learned to associate with trouble.

It took him a few seconds to acknowledge your voice and lift his own face up, almost as if he was expecting you to give up or for there to be another person with his name to take the problem for themselves. “Need anything?” He eventually asked, one eyebrow arched above the upper line of the reading glasses perched on his nose.

You lifted the bottle of sunscreen and shook it to draw his line of sight. “Can’t reach my back,” you responded using that same cutesy pleading voice, laying on your stomach while still keeping your eyes on him. “Help me here? Pleeeease?”

For a moment, you could almost see a tiny angel and devil in Kyle’s shoulders battling against each other - his ever-present proclivity to be a good boyfriend and help you out with whatever you needed versus the current desire he had to tell you to eat shit and let you burn yourself under the relentless rays while he chilled in the shade. Luckily for you, the angel did eventually win - whether by legitimate concern or by a lingering awareness that he was still willing to get laid that night, after all - and with a tired sigh, he let go of his book, took off his glasses and got up from his seat, grabbing your sunscreen and settling behind you, knees on the sand on the sides of each of your legs.

Hearing the tiny sound of the bottle cap opening, you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax while your boyfriend did his thing. Even though it was expected, never could you truly be prepared for the full-body shudder that coursed through you when the cold sunscreen hit your already sun-warmed back; but your boyfriend’s hands were already on the case, spreading the liquid into a shiny thin layer on your skin. A gentle pressure accompanied his slow movements, almost like a massage, an image enhanced by the small circles Kyle drew with his thumbs as his palms drifted around. Unnecessary to the work he was doing, but very much appreciated.

During a minute or two, that was all there was to it - Kyle silently rubbing around the sunscreen on your skin with determined concentration while you nearly dozed off, your arms crossed under your head for a makeshift pillow, crashing waves and faraway chirping birds providing a relaxing background noise that seemed straight from one of those ‘Meditation Music’ videos on Youtube. What prevented you from getting completely distracted was the steady increase in pressure you noticed as his hands made their way to the lower half of your body, not nearly enough to be uncomfortable, but certainly placed there with more purpose than it started off as. You could even swear his breathing had gotten a little heavier once he had reached your waist, fingers lingering at your sides just a little bit longer than necessary with an unintentional tickle before continuing their descent.

Until you couldn’t deny it anymore. Once he got to the base of your spine, he was definitely taking deep breaths through his nose and pressing down on your body almost as if he was making an active attempt on pinning you down rather than just holding you. His thumbs pressed down on your lower back, filling in the faint dimples there, before both hands moved even lower, grazing the fat of your ass before moving to the sides to get to your hips.

Then you figured you had to say something. Between the extra pressure, his dragged-out exhales and the fact that he was basically feeling you up in public, there was something abnormal about the way he was acting, which went past mere ‘just helping out with sunscreen’ behaviour. “Baby? Is everything alright?”

The surprise caused by the break in quietude would’ve caused anyone else to flinch and take their hands away from the situation altogether - but Kyle did the opposite, finger pads pressing down on your flesh further at the sound of your voice. “Yeah,” why did his voice sound lower now? “I’m just doing what you asked me to do here. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I know, it’s just…” This time, you cut yourself off. Considering that he was finally being cooperative, you weren’t about to start yet another pointless argument if you could avoid it. Besides, he wasn’t doing anything wrong or that you didn’t like; his hands always felt amazing on your body, in any context, so all opportunities to get a bit of that were appreciated. If both of you were getting something out of this, then the trip had been worth the money spent.

Satisfied with your compliance, he hummed sharply in agreement before turning his attention to your body again, this time making no attempts to hide the way his hands grabbed at your ass instead of just rubbing on it like he was doing before. Figuring you might as well help a man out, you giggled as you lifted it off the ground the tiniest bit - but still clearly noticeable, considering the low growl he emitted before squeezing tight on both cheeks, spreading them apart and pushing them together like his own twisted entertainment.

His palms wandered more and you expected him to go for your thighs this time, maybe paw at the soft flesh and watch everything jiggle. But he surprised you yet again when his dominant hand trailed inward instead, tracing the edge of your bikini bottoms, over your ass and lower still - until he reached your covered center. Your breath hitched at the press of his fingertips, relaxed eyes opening wide. 

Whatever doubt you might’ve had about that particular action being deliberate, any suggestion that maybe he just had gotten distracted looking at your body and struck gold by accident, was out the window when two fingertips pressed firmly over your core, as if trying to get inside of you through the barrier of your bikini; not getting very far in that specific mission, but enough for your boyfriend to show he knew what he was doing. With a slow movement that didn’t lose the intensity of the pressure, he then dragged those same fingers to hook at the edge of the fabric, pulling it to the side.

The moment of silence that followed seemed to scream Kyle’s thoughts straight into your brain. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he was unabashedly staring; the gaze of those darkened olive eyes burning into the lower half of your body could even tan you itself. His other hand pulled your cheek to the side a bit, giving him a better view of your cunt, glistening with a film of your arousal that had built up from his earlier touches and the proximity of his body. The effect he had on you, physically manifested.

That hand he still had on your ass then took to the job of tugging your bottoms further away from what they were supposed to cover while his fingers dipped between your folds, moving along your slit with a small wet noise that at that moment seemed louder than the very sea. Your eyes shut tight again when he breached your center, getting only to the first knuckle before retreating slowly, a move that appeared to tease him just as much as it did you.

Maybe you should say something, your possibly much more refined awareness of your environment told you. The lack of other people passing by might’ve allowed Kyle to forget that you were still at the beach, and silence plus relative privacy plus being half-naked equaled a perfect opportunity. It was up to you to be responsible, even if it meant dealing with a bit of his embarrassment for a while and depriving yourself of his touch. “Baby, maybe we should…”

“What?” The loud snarl had you startled. His tone was very much alert - this man had not been distracted. “A guy can’t even touch his own girlfriend anymore?”

You didn’t think you even understood what that was about. But clearly, he was still mad. “What? Kyle, it’s not like that…”

“It is like that!” The tone he used to bite back at you, stopping your train of thought, could probably cut through steel. All of a sudden, both his hands were planted at the sides of your head, supporting his body as he hovered dangerously over yours. Now it was his hips that were outright grinding on you, pressing his cock insistently against your ass, and his next words were punctuated by sharp hisses between his teeth. “You put on this fucking thing just to… To show off to everyone… All those motherfuckers staring at your body... While I can’t even touch you… Want me to sit here… Watching you… Like a fucking idiot…”

Only the feeling of him like this, babbling his frustrations away while rutting into you like a wild animal, was sufficient for your judgement to start clouding. You didn’t know what to do. He was as hard as he could possibly get already, straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, and you just knew it hadn’t been a recent development caused by his little massage alone. The idea that he might’ve been fighting his own arousal from the first moment he saw you in your beach ensemble, hiding behind his anger to deny his dirty thoughts amidst the petty arguing, was exhilarating - and to burst that bubble, even if it was the more rational thing to do given the public setting, would be such a waste. 

“It’s not like that at all…” Your repetition came off more stupid than you intended it to, fingers curling into the beach towel and grabbing a handful of soft sand through the cotton in the flimsiest tether to your good judgement. That same sand was spilling over the towel with the movements of your bodies, sticking to your skin. “I didn’t wanna make you mad…”

“It doesn’t fucking matter… You did,” he lowered himself to his elbows without stopping his grinding, lean chest just an inch or two from touching your back, caging you in even more.

“Just tell me what you want from me,” well, now it just felt like you were stalling time. His thick hardness pressing against your behind felt amazing, every movement of his hips feeling like a promise of a wonderful time for the both of you despite the tense atmosphere. “Tell me so I can help us out…”

“Telling you didn’t work earlier,” his voice got deeper, “I’ll just fucking show you.”

The rutting motions stopped. Swiftly, he lifted himself up and away from you, going back to the kneeling position he started out in, and you turned your head as much as possible to look over your shoulder and see him staring down at you intensely. He didn’t break line of sight on your face as his hands undid the string of his swim trunks, loosening them enough for him to pull the waistband down and take his cock out, giving it a couple tentative strokes.

Alright, he was definitely out of it now. Kyle Broflovski, ever prim and proper, who had taken his sweet ass time warming up to PDA and avoided talking about your sex life with his friends at all because he valued privacy that much - that Kyle was about to fuck you on a public beach in broad daylight because you had pushed the green-eyed monster inside of him to its limits. And now it was loose to attack.

“Kyle, we’re… we’re in public,” you tried to warn him, eyes moving around as if they’d capture anything else in your surroundings from the precarious position you were in. All you could see, though, was the vast sand, your little set of items you brought, and Kyle touching himself without a care in the world.

“Yes, and?” Another small wet sound began filling your ears again - this time, that of his precum spreading over his cock with the movement of his hand.

It was clear he did not give a fuck. You wondered, even, if you should. “What if someone sees us?”

“Then that’s their luck,” he responded plainly, “What, do you have an issue with other people knowing who you actually belong to?”

The way your heart raced in that moment was somewhat suspect in its meaning. Even if you were terrified of getting caught and facing the consequences, there was no denying the thrill of the entire situation, the rush of excitement that set your veins alight just from the prospect of getting so thoroughly taken by Kyle without a single thought to give to the world around you. Having your pleasure mean more than decency or morals or the law itself; return to those usually repressed primal instincts which always made for an electrifying reminder that, at the end of the day, humans were still animals. 

Relenting, but still with the last hint of shame that your logical mind didn’t shake off, you shook your head and planted your face on the beach towel, trying to hide the reddish tint that burned through all of it now - but there was no way to hide from him the fresher coat of arousal that dripped from your exposed cunt with the image his words painted in your mind.

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, but there was an undertone of satisfaction, the proof that you were on the same wavelength as him on this matter chipping away at his anger, just a tad. 

The wet sound ceased and you felt the weight of his cock resting on your lower back while both his hands took the sides of your bikini bottoms and pulled them down slowly, until they were at your knees. Your attempt at lifting up your hips or legs to assist on that action were met with Kyle stopping altogether to press your body down - understanding that your movement was not required or appreciated, you stopped trying.

Once your panties were off, you felt the weight of his cock resting on your lower back, another small drop of his precum landing on your skin, before your boyfriend manually nestled himself between your cheeks and moved it slowly, tracing the line from your tailbone to your entrance. His non-dominant hand got hold on one side of your ass and spread it to the best of his ability to give him a better view of your cunt, while the other kept a firm grip on his dick.

“Fuck, I love you so much…” His barely audible declaration sounded most absurd amidst the little squelching noises that were being drawn again with Kyle beginning to rub the head of his cock around your entrance, coating the angry tip in a mixture of both your arousals. 

“I love you too… Kyle, please, just-”

Your attempt at calling out to him was interrupted once more with a scoff. “Oh, so now you want me, huh?” The sarcastic complaint was accompanied by him giving your ass a few taps with his cock, knowing exactly how he was getting to you. “Couldn’t have thought of that before you decided to make me mad, now could you?”

Well, for all of his complaining, he surely didn’t seem like he was willing to wait much longer, either. Thankfully, Kyle was rarely a tease - someone as short-tempered as him never took kindly to wasting time -, so it was just a few more seconds before he was pushing inside of your warmth with a prolonged grunt that seemed to bleed off every drip of impatience he had bottled up the past couple of minutes.

“Thank you… Thank you,” you murmured pathetically as his girth filled you up, the tension in your body caused by the expectation easing away with every inch.

You felt his hips pressing down on your ass before he did answer, forcing himself as far as he could go on your cunt, which, given his length, was a lot. “We could’ve been doing this the whole time back home… But no, you had to go and be such a bitch.”

That type of language should’ve earned him a good talking right back - especially since it was abnormal to him. Kyle was more into the praise section of his vocabulary when it came to you, so it needed to reach extreme levels of worked-up before he began really calling you names. At that moment, though, he could’ve referred to you by whatever goddamn word he fancied; because he had started moving inside of you, setting a steady pace immediately, and the way he reached deep inside you always managed to put out any argumentative fire you might have going on, leaving only the heat of passion.

“My bitch, though, right?” The almost full weight of his torso was suddenly down on yours - he was laying over you completely, chest flush against your back while he spoke near your ear. “Even when you’re acting like that… You’re still mine…”

You hummed in agreement, but considering the hard thrust that shook your entire body and had your cervix bruising, it wasn’t good enough an answer. “All yours,” the words seemed to quiver as they left your mouth, “Do what you want to me… Please…”

“Exactly,” he nodded against your shoulder even though you couldn’t see it, “And I will.”

Pearly white teeth sank down on the crook of your neck, making you squeal and leaving a reddish mark, before moving to your nape and tugging at the string of your bikini, yanking undone the small bow you had made to secure it while his hands simultaneously did the same to the knot behind your back. Soon your cute little top laid loose on the beach towel, your breasts squishing on top of the fabric without being constrained by it. They weren’t free for long, though - Kyle’s hands took to that job, being shoved under your chest and grabbing the perky flesh with a firm grasp that mirrored the roughness he used to pound into you.

“Much better… Much fucking better,” he growled, “Should’ve done this a while ago… Get rid of this fucking thing…”

His fingers dug so deeply into the soft skin that even his very short nails were managing to leave the shallowest indents on it, to be accompanied by bruises you’d only see building up hours later back home. Your ass jiggled with every hit of his hips as he thrusted, that thick cockhead absolutely bullying your sweet spot, your arousal coating his base as your cunt gushed even more. Whatever he was running his mouth off about died down as nips and quick kisses were peppered on your shoulders and the back of your neck, making you shiver and your breath hitch with electric goosebumps.

Fuck, did his weight and his hands on you feel amazing. Yes, he had you completely caged in under his body and unable to make any movement, completely at his mercy, but never had you felt more free. It felt like he was everywhere - warming up every inch of your skin, massaging every silky ridge of your walls, talking to your very mind when he whispered in your ear. Even your eyesight seemed to capture him in every aspect of your environment, conjuring images of a face and body it couldn’t see at that moment but which had been living in your heart ever since the first moment you saw it.

When under him, your whole world was Kyle. The pleasure he brought, the love he had, even his fury - nothing made sense if he wasn’t there to give it to you.

Overwhelmed with equal parts love and lust, your body began to tense again in a way that had nothing and everything to do with the weight placed over it. You were getting close, letting out small whines and squirming from the pleasure buildup, barely managing to move much under Kyle. But whatever movement you did have was noticeable - both your twitches and your constant squeezing around his cock told him what he needed to know.

Through his labored breathing, you could basically hear the slight smirk when he spoke to you again. “You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum for me, (Y/N)?”

Apparently, you were at a point where you’d only be granted the great blessing of coherent speech if it was to answer his questions. “Yes, Kyle, fuck yes, I-”

A sudden emptiness, like your whole physical body had been hollowed. Right as you called out your nearing orgasm, Kyle pulled out almost completely, keeping just the tip inside and stilling for a moment, his hands leaving your breasts so that he could lift himself on his forearms for adequate support.

“No, you won’t.”

Your immediate reaction, either a complaint or a whine, became little more than a choked sound from your throat once he placed that simple statement. He hadn’t lost his tempo - he never does that -, he hadn’t slipped; that was a calculated move.

“Not until you say it.” The shallowest of thrusts accompanied his speaking now, barely dipping his cockhead in and out of your begging entrance, teasing it with empty promises of bringing back the depth it basically screamed for. “Apologize for your bullshit.”

Though in other scenarios you might’ve asked for a bit more clarification on what your boyfriend meant, there was no time for such discussion in that specific moment; not with the little kisses from his tip distracting you, making your walls flutter stupidly around nothing as they missed the pressure on them. “I’m sorry,” you muttered almost absently, trying to channel all your focus into that sensation between your legs, taking whatever you could get out of it.

Given the way he clicked his tongue, that wasn’t enough. “Properly,” he insisted, “You have to tell me what you’re saying ‘sorry’ for. If you’ve truly learned your lesson, then it won’t be a problem.”

Trust and believe, you wanted to have learned it. Giving him what he wanted wouldn’t be an issue if you did. But everything had happened so fast - the bickering had worn you out, then the relaxing ambience of the beach and his touches on your body had fogged up your thoughts and made you forget what even the fight was about. All you knew is that you needed to apologize, appease him, if you wanted that release to be granted to you.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, “Kyle, I’m sorry… Just… Help me out here, please…” 

You weren’t sure if he would really dignify you with an explanation, considering how much he was making a point that you’d ‘learn your lesson’. However, Kyle was nothing if not impatient - he was struggling just as much as you, if not more, to keep edging the both of you like this, his whole cock throbbing with the need to have your cunt wrapped tight around it again. So, with a long sigh which emulated an annoyance that really didn’t reach his heart, he basically jumped at the opportunity to play teacher. 

“You pissed me the fuck off,” he finally stated, “You argued with me. Made me angry. Made comparisons I didn’t like. And then tried to act like nothing happened. But most of all…” 

A slight pressure on your back - shifting his weight to one arm, he pushed you down with the palm of his other hand, a tiny sample of the possessive cage he had you in earlier. “You let other people see what’s mine.” This last part seemed angrier than the rest of the explanation, as if it meant more in relation to everything else. “All those fucking guys staring. Eating you up with their eyes. You’re not supposed to be a sight for them. You’re mine.”

He spat those concepts related to other men like they personally hurt. Jealousy always managed to have a powerful hold on Kyle’s heart - his love for you and need to keep you close and protected becoming so overwhelming he couldn’t express them properly in situations he perceived as adverse -, and you’d seen it manifest into this deep sense of possessiveness a couple of times. Never before had it felt so real, though - like he’d do damn near anything to make sure everyone including yourself knew that anything related to your being belonged to him, that he was a threat to the world as long as anything tried to sullen your relationship.

And damned if you weren't going to help him. Because you wanted to be his. His protection made you feel safer than anything else, his presence soothed your pains and his love untangled your troubles until they were barely wisps, irrelevant in the wind. Also there was no denying that he was yours - a man that devoted could not belong to anyone else.

“You’re right, Kyle,” ah, those magical words that always had him a hundred times more willing to listen to whoever uttered them had to say. “I don’t need anybody’s attention, only yours… I’m sorry…”

“And are you gonna fucking listen to me from now on?” Another push on your back, like a nudge to continue speaking. “You’re gonna let me take care of you?”

“Always,” you were quick to answer, “You can do what you want… I need you…”

When he sighed and his hand left your skin, relief had washed over you, already anticipating the pleasure that surely was to follow. Yet, instead of pushing his cock fully inside again, he pulled away from you completely, straightening his posture and leaving you truly empty. You were about to lift yourself up to complain - you had done what he asked, goddamnit! Since when was he so mean? -, but all you managed was another squeal as he held your hips and pulled them up abruptly, your knees bending instinctively to accommodate the new position, leaving you face down ass up.

This time, there was no preparation before your boyfriend bottomed out in one strong thrust that almost made you lose balance, using his hold on your sides to pull you towards him, to meet halfway the speedy movements of his hips. This new position allowed him to fuck you even harder; the sounds of his skin slapping powerfully against yours could possibly be heard across the whole shoreline, and so could his wanton grunting and moaning. Your own frantic cries of pleasure were muffled by the beach towel, your face planted on it - if anyone else dared to hear them in their full glory, you’d have to move countries to escape the embarrassment.

That climax Kyle had denied you earlier was coming back with a vengeance, your whole body tighter than ever as if it had capitalized on the stress of denial. You swore you were able to feel the veins on his cock against your walls with how tight they were on him, and if you weren’t so focused on your own release, it would’ve brought a smidge of smug pride to your ego to know that he was definitely feeling it too.

“Fuuuuck… The things you do to me,” your boyfriend grunted behind you, thoughts from a brain that was swimming with desire being put into words. “Make me lose my damn mind… And I fucking love it.”

“I love you,” the little sentence came out downright desperate, “Kyle, please, I can’t wait anymore, I’m going to…”

“Do it.” Oh, the way he sounded when he was giving your orders. He was made for that role. And you were made to follow. “Show me what I do to you…”

Your whole body shook and you would have fallen if not for Kyle’s hold on your hips - the sun itself had come up to meet you as you came, boiling your veins with its warmth in a way that made everything in your skin spark with pleasurable fire. In a last burst of strength, you bucked your own hips back, ignoring Kyle’s pulls; and the way you deliberately moved dealt away with what little restraint he still had in him, his nails trying to claw at your skin as he also climaxed shortly after, thick loads of his seed spilling into you. His thrusting continued through it, fucking his cum into your cervix, painting it white as one last demonstration of possession - like the others, a very welcome one.

There was barely any time to bask in the afterglow, though. While you still tried to gather back your thoughts and calm down from your high, a thick fog of bliss mixing with the salty shoreline air that seemed to cover you completely, Kyle’s next actions were far more dynamic - you heard the rustle of the fabric as he pulled out and shoved himself back into his swim trunks, grunting like if physically pained when he quickly stood up, wobbling on his feet as if his limbs and brain hadn’t yet received their fill of the blood his racing heart pumped. Through unfocused eyes, you watched the blurry shape of his body tripping around in the sand while he scurried towards your stuff, those long legs of his not much more stable than stilts, carrying a spent body that refused to comply with the hurry its actions seemed to require.

“Uhm… Kyle?” You found it in yourself to ask, your voice still so weak it could’ve been overshadowed by the crashing of the waves. One of your arms stretched to the front of you, as if trying to grab at your boyfriend, who was already hastily shoving your few belongings back into the bag, definitely not in touching range. “What are you doing?”

“We’re leaving,” despite the firmness in his response that left no room for questioning, it was clear his vocal cords were also struggling to find strength to get the words out; he had left all of his energy inside of you with his orgasm, and was currently running on leftover anger, plus perhaps a little bit of panic.

After all that, the fight that was in you to get your sunbathing on and spending some relaxing time at the beach had vanished without a trace. You sat back on your heels and wrapped your naked, now sand-coated body with the beach towel like it was a protective blanket made out of whatever was left of your shame. Maybe you’d even have taken one more moment to collect yourself, but hurried callouts from your boyfriend had you quickly getting up on shaky legs and tripping over the bunched panties that fell at your ankles before you rushed to pick up your belongings and go after him.

You figured playtime was over. You’d go back home and never approach the subject again, dismiss it as another bout of angry sex and go back to your normal loving relationship. But, as Kyle grabbed your wrist tight and turned to you again, and his focused expression and furrowed brows belied the lust in his eyes, it was clear there was only a mere half-time in those plans, and the things he still needed to do to you required way more time and more private settings.

Weeks later, you’d even say it was worth the traffic tickets your boyfriend got while racing to the Airbnb, or the risk of jail time from the beach moment. Kyle, his wallet a couple hundred dollars lighter, gets bright red in the face when he weakly disagrees.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[rogueddie]

I'm so into You T | 613 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is bodies touching

Eddie frowns when he wakes up, blinking around the unfamiliar room. He almost starts to worry- until he looks to the spot beside him, where Steve is sprawled out on his front, and he finally remembers the night before. He finally remembers exactly how he ended up there- in Steves bed.

"Steve," Eddie mumbles, turning over to lay ontop of him, because he can do that now. "Hey, Stevie."

Steve hums, wriggling around for a second, before finally open his eyes to squint at him.

"What?"

"Good morning," Eddie grins, pressing kisses to his bare shoulder.

His skin is littered with hickeys and fast fading bite marks. He looks like he's been mauled. It makes pride bubble in Eddies stomach.

"Mm. Morning."

"Woah, no, don't go back to sleep!"

"I's too early, Eds, 'm tired."

Fair, Eddie thinks. Their argument had been emotionally exhausting by itself, nevermind what happened... after.

Eddie glances to the clock on his sidetable and snorts.

"It's almost noon."

"Wuh... no, it's not, shut up."

He has to press his face into Steves skin to hold back his laughter. He nips at his shoulder, light and playful.

Steve grumbles, trying to shift, but Eddie shifts with him to keep him pinned under him. Steve huffs, turning to raise an eyebrow at Eddie.

"Is this usually how you wake people?" He asks, amused.

"Mmm, only the special ones."

"Gee, thanks."

"Oh, you are so welcome."

Steve wriggles around again, trying to roll Eddie off, but he just uses the opportunity to worm his arms under Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Come on, dude, get off."

"Ah, ah, ah. You can't call me 'dude' after what we did last night, it's illegal."

"Illegal?" Steve parrots, snorting. He finally gives up on escaping. "I'm so sorry to offend your virtue."

"... I don't think that's a real phrase."

"Tough, it is now."

Eddie hums, turning to rest his cheek against Steve's shoulder.

Despite his complaints, Eddie can feel Steve melting underneath him, snuggling into the pillow with a dreamy sigh.

"Comfy?" Eddie teases.

"Unfortunately."

"Good."

He starts kissing along Steves shoulder again, slowly working his way up to his neck.

"Don't start something if you aren't going to finish it," Steve hums.

Eddie smacks a big, wet and exaggerated kiss to Steves cheek. He laughs when Steve scrunches his face up in feigned disgust.

"Ew dude."

"You love me," Eddie sings, leaning down to kiss his cheek again. "You really, really love me."

"Yeah," Steve sighs. His smile is so dopey and dreamy that Eddie is tempted to make fun of him. "Yeah, I really do."

Eddie shifts so he's laying on Steve, cheek mushed into the back of his shoulder, mumbling, "does this mean we can stop arguing all the time?"

"Sure, but on one condition."

"What?"

Steve shifts, Eddie leaning up enough to let him turn onto his back. Steve pulls him back down, one arm around his waist with his other hand bruying into his hair.

"We get more mornings like this."

"Is that it?"

"W- hey! I think that was a sweet thing to say and you-"

"You could ask for anything! Anything at all, and that's it?"

"Oh, fuck you, I was trying to be nice! As if you could do better."

"Trying to be nice," Eddie scoffs, gently nipping at his jaw. "I love you too, Steve. I would be here every morning if I could. There isn't anything that I would not do to keep waking up to your pretty, pretty face. You could have asked me to stop teasing you about D&D, anything, and that's what you went with?"

"... shut up."