#worship. Worship. and i worked productively all morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laiiaaa · 11 months

Text

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.”

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there.

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder.

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call.

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…”

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline.

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto imagines #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #carmy the bear #the bear fx #the bear x reader #the bear season 2

5K notes · View notes

prosciuttulipa · 3 months

Text

Period Pain, Go Away

how the JJK men help you through your period

content: afab reader x jjk men, just fluff this time! brief dirty joke in Toji's one (because he's Toji), but every one of them is a good boi in their own way <33

a/n: on my period and am in much pain v_v i can't decide who i want to comfort me, so i'm writing for all of the men i want

Gojo Satoru who isn't just your boyfriend during your period, but a "girl's girl". He wants to spoil you with desserts and eat the leftovers that you can't finish, do face masks with those cute cucumber slices over the eyes. You want a bath? He's already drawing one, dunking in bath bombs till the water looks like a small galaxy, putting on your comfort show so you can watch it while you soak.

Dealing with pain through fun and smiles has always been his way of coping. So, yes—maybe he does look a bit silly, gossiping with you while you paint sparkles onto his nails, his hair tied up with a pink scrunchie. But what's a boyfriend for, if not to be your Ken doll during your time of need?

It hurts him more than he likes to admit, to see you wince at a bad cramp, or come out of the bathroom with the colour drained from your cheeks. When you can't manage anything more than lying in your bed, he'll rest his head against your stomach, peppering kisses wherever it hurts. "Be good to my girl," he'll jokingly threaten your uterus, poking your tummy gently, "she deserves the world."

Geto Suguru who knows your period is coming before you do. Your irritable mood and food cravings clue him in, and he takes action without saying a single word.

The day your period starts, you realise that the feminine products you usually use have been fully restocked without your notice. The fridge is filled with your period cravings, enough to last a week. Before you can even say anything, a large hand wraps around your waist and presses a hot water bottle against your abdomen. "Good morning, princess," he greets you like he hasn't just pulled off what can only be described as a small miracle, "is everything to your liking?"

You don't know whether to laugh or cry at how perfectly he's predicted you. He's a step ahead of you throughout your entire period, knowing which snack or act of affection you want just by your expression. Some might call his behaviour unreasonable; frankly, he thinks it's bullshit. "Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer," is what he quotes, when you ask him why he's so observant. "What makes you think I do not absolutely and utterly worship you?"

Nanami Kento who is obviously written by a woman, and so does not flinch when he sees the blood on the bedsheets when he wakes up earlier than you. Instead, he kisses you good morning till you're giggling, distracting you so you don't get a chance to see the stains. He changes the sheets while you're in the bathroom, throwing them in with the rest of the laundry. When you come back out, worrying you dirtied the bed, he merely shrugs. "I didn't see anything, darling."

He treats you like a queen on the daily, but during your period, you're his empress. Each word is law, each action his cue to immediately come to your aid. He'll cook every meal, and won't let you hold the spoon to feed yourself if he can help it. As far as he can see, your only responsibility this week is to lounge around, and let him spoil you rotten.

He thinks it's a crime that you still have to go to work, when you have to pop painkillers with your breakfast just to make it through the day. "I can take care of you, you know," he'll inevitably murmur, kissing the shell of your ear, "I make enough money to support us both. Take the day off, dearest. They don't need you more than I do."

Toji Fushiguro who manages to piss you off on the first day of your period. "What size pussy you wear?" he calls to ask, when he's picking up your feminine products at the corner store, "gotta make sure I take care of that kitty for all the squeezin' she does on me."

When he gets back home and finishes getting an earful on how you're more than just his pocket pussy, he apologises by scooping you up in his arms. "You know you're more than just a good fuck, doll," his words carry a rare sort of honesty, coming from him. "You're a good woman. My woman. Gun's in the second drawer, sweetheart—shoot me if I ever do wrong by you."

His touches turn softer, the smack to your ass replaced with a squeeze on the hip, kisses on your shoulders. He's got a hand on you at all times, just rubbing idle circles against your stomach or lower back to soothe your cramps. When bedtime comes, he makes you lay on your tummy, massaging away the tension in your muscles until you're all nice and pliant. He may not always know what to say, but he'll be damned if his actions make you feel like he doesn't love you.

1K notes · View notes

agirlcandream84 · 2 months

Note

he fucks you too hard and you cry x reader w frank?

Thank you for the request! I almost feel bad for Frankie writing this! But I will anyway :)

Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 1,710

Minors DNI. ----------------

Stop. The word popped in your head with your knees smashed into your chest as Frank fucked you so hard that you felt the skin on the back of your thighs and ass grow tender and raw. Frank had your calves hugged to his chest, a bulky arm wrapped around your shins, as the slam of his hips left your hands scrambling for purchase in the bunched up sheets.

You had never established a safe word with Frank. The idea of it seemed almost silly. A word to keep you safe from Frank? The man was safety personified. He worshipped the ground you walked on. He protected you from things that didn't need protecting. He put you first, always. It wasn't as though you didn't want one with him, the idea of it had just never crossed your mind.

In fact, you typically loved Frank's restrained power during sex. You craved his passion and even a little pain-- sex with Frank was often not without its marks. His calloused hand squeezing the smooth silk of your neck. A stinging slap to your ass as Frank filled you thoroughly from behind. A firm tug to your hair, your back arching to grant access that much deeper. It was the implicit trust and safety with him that made these moments possible at all.

But in this moment, Frank's brows furrowed, his grunts erratic and laced with something like anger, all you could think was stop. You had already cum, twice and hard, but Frank was relentless tonight. You had sensed the set of his jaw when he came home after a meeting with Billy but he shrugged it off with a "nah, nuthin' a pretty girl like you needs to worry about." But you knew he was still bothered, catching him in a stare while his thumb drummed on the countertop.

Truthfully, you were already feeling sensitive. Your favorite dress from last season was feeling more snug than normal and you had gotten into an argument with a product manager at work. And maybe you weren't exactly in the mood for sex but the way Frank tugged you close after the shower, his nose taking a deep inhale of your freshly washed hair and his hand easily unknotting the towel around your chest, you let yourself be persuaded with his touch.

Frank will make it better. He always does.

What you craved was softness tonight. Reverence. Those nights were Frank spent what felt like hours with his face buried between your legs, only coming up for air to coo at how fucking good you tasted. Or something like slow morning sex, with your leg draped over his hip, him dragging his cock slowly in and out from behind you, his fingers giving your clit the attention it needed until you were a sleepy, smiley puddle of goo in his hands.

But what you got was different. And maybe if it were any other day you'd cum for the third time and beg him to go harder. But it was today and now and all you could think was stop. Please stop. Tears well in the corners of your eyes and you reach your hands to press against the tops of his thighs, an attempt to slow the force of him. To gain just a moment to catch your breath.

Frank misses the cue, mumbling "Fuck sweetheart," as he grips your legs and lifts your ass an inch off the bed, his pace quickening to a pound-pound-pound-pound so that your body feels annihilated and used.

The sob chokes out of your mouth almost involuntarily. Your hand flying to cover your face as you beg him to "stop, stop, stop."

Immediately he stops. A "fuck" flying out of his mouth, his brows twisted in confusion and he calls your name and bends to scoop you gently from the bed. Once the floodgates have opened you find the crying hard to control, your mouth gulping for air as your chest heaves.

Frank twists to sit on the bed with you held firmly in his lap, brushing the hair out of your face to find your eyes. Pleading evident in his tone as he says, "Fuck, you gotta talk to me doll. I hurt you? Did I hurt you baby?" as he rocks you slowly back and forth, the motion meant to soothe you and him.

"S-s-s-sorry," you attempt to start, the gulping breaths still winning over, "didn't feel it right."

"It didn't feel right sweetheart. I believe you. It didn't feel right," he repeats back, still swaying back and forth, his eyes darting around the room in panic. He makes to shift you slightly and you hiss, the movement aggravating the tender skin of your thighs and ass.

"Fuck fuck fuck." he mumbles to himself, assessing his damage, "Hurts there doll?" he asks and you nod your head.

"sensitive," you mumble, casting a glance up to his eyes for the first time and seeing the crumpled, devastated look on his face.

"Ok if I take a look sweetheart?" he asks, his voice so soft you barely him hear. "Would that be alright?"

"uh-huh," you nod and he gingerly shifts you in this lap to peak at the backs of your thighs and your ass, the skin angry and chapped. He lets a slow breath out of his mouth, an attempt to steady the bubbling rage directed inward. He'd find the time to hate himself later, right now he needed to make it right with you.

"Gonna lay you down on the bed, yeah?" he asks, meeting your eye again and nodding at you to confirm your agreement. You nod back and hold tight to his neck as he twists to face the bed and gently lay you stomach-down, avoiding the tender skin. He guides a pillow just along your side so you can hug it, propping your body on its side, positioning your top leg to drape across the pillow. He reaches for the lotion off the bedside table and takes three big pumps before working it between his hands.

"Need you to take a few deep breaths for me honey. Might sting for a minute but's gonna help, alright?" he instructs, his tone soft. You nod and squeeze your eyes shut at the slight sting of the cool lotion as Frank starts to delicately work it into your chaffed skin. "Doin' so well sweetheart," he offers, "almost done."

Once he's finished he tugs the blanket up to cover your form, again fixing the hair out of your face. "Sweetheart I-- " he starts but stops, releasing a deep breath. "Fuck sweetheart, I'm so sorry. So fuckin' sorry," he adds, an agitated hand swiping down his face as he kneels on the ground in front of the bed to be eye level with you.

"Frankie s'okay," you reply quietly, "I'm ok. Promise. Just...had a bad day. Feel so stupid," you add.

"Hey hey, no, none of that doll. I.... I got too rough," he says, shaking his head as if to rid it of the memory, "I fucked up. You don't deserve shit like that."

"Lay with me?" you ask, "please." He felt so far away. Despite the proceedings, Frank felt like the only safe space. You craved his dependable solidness. The safety of his arms engulfing you.

"You sure you want that sweetheart?" he asks, his thumb skimming your cheekbone and his eyes searching your face. You nod and grasp his hand, mumbling another "please" before he climbs in gingerly behind you, his body cupping yours and a big hand making long, slow circles on your back.

You weren't sure when you had dozed off but when you woke, Frank wasn't there. You gather the blanket around your naked body and pad into the living room, Frank seated in silence, the room dark but for the streetlight, jumping to his feet the minute you step into the room.

"What's the matter sweetheart? You alright?" he asks urgently, standing in front of you in three long strides and his hands landing on your hips. "Somethin' hurt?," he adds, his eyes raking over your form.

"No I just...." you trail off. "Don't do this. Please," you plead, beckoning Frank off the edge of self-loathing that he teetered on.

"I'm not -- you're not safe with me sweetheart. That's the truth," he rumbles, matter of fact but his toned laced with disgust. You bristle at his statement, the fallacy of it striking and obvious.

"Bullshit," you respond, his eyes snapping to yours. "That's bullshit and you know it," you assert, feeling indignant that Frank let indulgent self-loathing threaten the safe space you'd both created.

"It's not fucking bullshit," Frank retorts, anger fueling him, almost mad that you won't hate him as much as he hates himself. "I did this," he says spinning your body and lifting the blanket, the product of his effort on display. "Me. Fucked you like a monster and I hurt you. I hurt the woman I love," he adds, his voice close to shouting.

"Say it again," you ask him, refusing to look away from him.

"I fuckin' hurt you!" he shouts back.

"No, the other part," you demand.

"The woman I love," he says, his voice still raised but the simmering rage dissipating.

"Say it again," you reply.

"The woman I love," he responds, softening. "The woman I fucking love. Fuck sweetheart. Fuck I never wanna fuckin' hurt you but that's what I do. I get people hurt," he adds, the vulnerability cracking through. The rage and self loathing only flimsy shield to keep terrifying vulnerability at bay.

"I'm not afraid of you Frank. I'm not afraid with you. I'm safe with you. And I love you," you murmur, your hands handing on either side of his face, fingertips tickling in the bristle on his jaw.

His neck cranes down to lean his forehead against yours, his hands making their way back around your waist to tug you closer. "Don't wanna hurt you like that again," he says.

You nod in agreement, and he adds, "Need you to speak up too ok? Gotta tell me how you're feelin', yeah?" and you nod again before his big hand cups your jaw and you let your eyes fall shut.

"Come on sweetheart, lemme take care of you," he murmurs, bending to gently lift you from behind the knees and supporting your back and walking to the bedroom.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fanfic #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fluff

520 notes · View notes

endlessthxxghts · 7 months

Text

Lay Off The Flannels

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: 1.3k

Summary: Joel gets handsy while your father temporarily steps away.

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified - obviously a legal one though, hello??). No physical description of reader (pic above is used for aesthetic only!). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (F receiving). Using a flannel to clean up🫣... Awkward interactions with an oblivious father. Fluffy/light-hearted ending :). I think that's it! Let me know if otherwise!

Author's Note: Hey y'all! Soo my personal definition of a drabble is when something is written and posted on a whim, and that's exactly what I'm doing here.. This was only proof-read once by me, so if you see any typos and confusing wording... NO YA DIDN'T. Anyway, I have a bunch of WIPs needing to get done, but the stress was getting to me, so I took a break from those and wrote this fun little scenario to calm my mind and give me a good little laugh. I hope you guys enjoy!💚

MASTERLIST

“We shouldn’t be-”

“I know,” he says.

“It’s too risky.”

“I know,” he says.

You pull his lips back onto yours, breathing in each other’s breaths, consuming each other eagerly as if the world was going to end if you didn’t.

His lips drag down to your jaw, to the sweet spots on your neck that make you mewl such addicting sounds he’ll never tire of, tasting the product of the hard work you did today with your father. His best friend.

His best friend, who-

“He should be back any minute now,” you say breathily as Joel drops down to the ground, his knees cracking from the sudden change.

Joel is desperate. Frantic, even. The speed he unbuttons and unzips your jeans and yanks them—underwear included—off of you has your hands flying to grasp at the edge of the workbench you’re sitting on. “Don’t care,” he says, inhaling in a breath, inhaling your arousal. “Need to fuckin’ taste you.”

Your father’s car crapped out on him a few days ago, and being the untrustful man he was, he bought the parts that needed replacing to do it himself. He had you working on his car with him, teaching you what to do if you were ever stuck in a similar situation—”It ain’t worth the bill, takin’ it to them mechanics. It’ll cost ya an arm and a leg just for them to diagnose your car’s issue even if you tell ‘em ya know what’s wrong, never mind actually fixin’ it,” he said to you this morning.

As soon as your father left, Joel was making his way to you, large strides cutting the time in half. His arms wrapped around your waist, picking you up from the seat you were situated on and lifted you to the bench against the wall behind you. His lips were on yours immediately, open-mouthed and needy. His hand slammed onto the black button beside your head, the garage door sliding down thereafter.

Joel grabbed onto your thighs, settling them onto his broad shoulders, stabling you and opening you up to him all in one. Wasting no time, his entire face dives into you, tongue immediately going to your sobbing entrance, hooked nose pushing directly onto your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp out loud, “Joel, oh my god,” your head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back.

The moans you’re feeding Joel has him groaning into you, his hands tightening his grip on the bottom of your thighs, the dull ache of it an indicator that you’ll have bruises forming within the hour.

His tongue—god, you love his tongue—always reaches places you never thought was possible, offering you a glimpse into Heaven each time he tastes you. The squelch of your pussy and his groans equivalent to that of an angel’s choir. You never want him to stop. Especially because his mouth is the closest to Heaven either of you will ever get.

Your hole begins to flutter around his tongue, your slick pouring out of you at this point. You’re close. Joel knows it. His tongue leaves your hole and is quickly replaced by two of his fingers, sliding in with ease because of your level of arousal. His tongue meets your clit, licking and circling and absolutely worshiping it as if it’s the most unique of pearls to ever exist.

The combination of his fingers and his tongue—plus his whimpers—are what do it for you. After a few more circles from his tongue, you’re cumming and you’re cumming hard, your liquids running down his wrist and soaking the rim of his sleeve. He gives one last suck to your clit before he lifts off of it, tilting his head up to watch you come undone, his fingers never pausing as he works you through your climax.

“Baby,” you’re whining, reaching that point of oversensitivity with his fingers, but your hips betray you as they grind into his hand.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, gauging the contradictions of your body’s needs and wants. He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, greedily sucking them into his mouth, not letting a drop of your liquid gold go to waste.

He stands at full height again, his hands on your thighs to scoot you back from the edge, giving you more stability, so he can let go of you and take his flannel off so he can wipe you down with it.

He sets his flannel beside you, reaching for your bottoms on the ground. He puts them back on you, gentle as ever, and guides you off the bench—albeit, on some wobbly legs. Once you’re breathing returns to semi-normal, you’re grabbing him by his t-shirt and pulling him in for a heady kiss. Your tongue breaches his mouth, and he lets you in selfishly, sucking on your tongue for anything more you can give him. You taste yourself on him, tangy with a hint of something that lights your neurons on fire, turning you on more even though he just pulled one of the most draining of orgasms out of you.

Joel pulls away from you, and like clock work, the garage door is whirring open. Your father. He’s walking up the driveway with a Harbor Freight bag.

“Got what you needed?” you immediately ask, trying to control the topic of conversation.

“Yeah. Why’d you close the garage?”

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before going back to normal. “The heat was getting a little much. Was gonna open it up when you got back,” you say.

He nods his head, then looks to Joel. “Hey, bud,” he says as he sets his bag down, walking up to give his best friend a handshake. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he asks, “Not that ya need a reason, of course,” he adds quickly, a light chuckle leaves his mouth.

“Just thought I’d swing by. Thought your girl here was workin’ on your car all by herself, was gonna make sure the damage was minimal,” he teases, looking at you with a wink. “But now you’re here,” Joel smiles. “I gotta take a leak anyhow, I’ll see y’all later, yeah?” Joel says as he makes his way to the end of your garage.

Your father offers a quick yeah, his eyes zoning in on the flannel atop his workbench. Before you can stop him, your father grabs it. “Oh, Joel, don’t forget ya flannel,” he says waving it in the air as he lightly jogs to him before he gets too far. Joel’s face immediately flushes, as pale as if he’s seen a ghost, as he realizes what your father is holding. His eyes dart to you, your expression just as traumatized.

“Oh, y-yeah,” Joel says as he quickly takes it in his grasp, “T-thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he says as he begins walking back to you, stopping midway to turn back to Joel. “And Joel?” your dad yells out.

Joel turns around, reluctant.

“Maybe lay off on the flannels during the summer, yeah?? That shit was soaked in sweat!” Your father says as his laugh grows to an uncontrollable level.

Joel’s jaw drops to the floor as your face turns to absolute terror.

“Dad!” you exclaim, absolutely stunned at his comment. “I’m done helping you for the day,” you say as you shake your head, gathering your things and heading inside.

Your dad’s laugh turns into a howl at your reaction, not realizing (thankfully) what’s got you so uncomfortable.

As soon as you make it to your room, the entirety of the situation finally hits you, and you’re gasping for air at how hard you’re laughing.

As you lay on your bed to try to calm yourself down, your phone rings. It’s Joel. Your laughter immediately starts back up again, and you answer, skipping all forms of introduction.

“Better lay off the flannels, Miller,” you say, barely able to keep it together by the end of your comment.

“Shut up,” he says, stoic as ever.

A giggle erupts out of you, causing the biggest of butterflies to flutter all throughout his belly. “Can I come over later?”

“I was expectin’ you to, darlin’.”

End note: I'm sure there are a few fics out there with a premise similar to this, of reader doin some ✨things✨ with dbf!joel in reader’s dad’s garage 🫣 — I think it's pretty common given that Joel is a pretty laborious kinda guy, so if you've read anything similar, please share them in the comments or message me them! I'd love to read them and also give credit where credit is due. This fic fandom we've created is about spreading creativity, and that's exactly what I would like to do here. :)

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @teatree121 @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

983 notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 8 months

Note

you said ghost lives to serve and i screamed at the top of my lungs how dare you. he never sits still in your shared home. constantly cleaning and upgrading and fixing so you don’t have to. it’s in his blood and his bones to serve in any way he can and now i’m sad🧸

wait i lied im not leaving i love this

ghost only knows how to serve - it's all he did in the military, and it's all he has left now. he genuinely doesn't know how to not serve someone. you're like a beam of light when he finds you - someone good and sweet and soft who he can help. he can offer to fix your ovens, he can help you by bussing tables when you're too busy.

you mention that a bird pooped on your windshield and when you leave the bakery at the end of the day your car is squeaky clean

you lament that your favorite shade of lipstick is about to stop production and ghost drives to every makeup store nearby and buys them out of their stock, offering them as a tip the next morning

you mention needing to find a plumber because there's a leak in the kitchen sink and he almost looks offended, leaves with his tea and come back five minutes later with a toolbox and gets to work

you complain about being stuck on the side of the road for hours waiting for roadside assistance after getting a flat tire, and he gives you his number, tells you you call me next time something like that happens, i'll take care of it for you. (catches himself just in time to not say i'll take care of you)

he comes to your house for the first time when you mention your broken doorbell. fixes it right up for you

he weeds your garden for you while you plant flowers - he's still only comfortable destroying, not growing. you bring him inside for a warm drink and tell him thank you, ramble on about how important weeding is for a garden, and you don't even realize how much it means to him

(also this ghost worships you in bed)

#asks and answers #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #🧸 anon #staying here in this spot forever #favorites #bo writes

426 notes · View notes

muscleloverz69 · 4 months

Text

Jock Juice

Ned was very anxious about moving into his dorm. Without knowing anyone at the university he had no choice but to go random and as luck would have it the only spots left were in the athletes housing. Ned had no interest in sports and found jocks completely obnoxious. Being a nerdy gay man Ned tried his best to steer clear but now his hands were tied. When Ned walked into his room he was met by a total jock.

Jack was well over 6 feet tall with a square jaw, biceps that stretched the sleeves of his tee and pants that left little to the imagination. Ned was embarrassed when he felt his dick twinge but he quickly ignored it. “Hey bro you must be the roomie, sup.” Jack extended a fist which Ned awkwardly bumped.

Jack turned out to be not nearly as bad as Ned was anticipating. Actually he was pretty nice. He did come back really late from parties and his football gear was littered around the entire room but Ned enjoyed being able to watch Jack change from the corner of his eye. Ned was being driven crazy, staring at the bulging muscles and broad figure of his roommate.

One day as Jack pulled off his pants after a day of classes, he noticed Ned staring at his big bulge. “Hey dude it's ok to look, I’m actually gay too.”

Ned felt his face go red but his mind was reeling from the revelation. “Oh sorry-.” Jack interrupted, “Seriously dude it's fine honestly I’d be down to have some fun with you but you need to know something first.”

Ned couldn’t believe his ears, “You’d want to fuck me?”

“Yeah but dude the thing is I have a curse.”

Ned looked confused as Jack explained, “I used to be a nerd just like you but one day I fucked a jock and now I look like this.” Jack flexed one of his thick biceps.

“Now whenever someone comes in contact with my fluids they become a jock too, it doesn't matter what they looked like before, nerds, girls, old guys they all become jocks.”

Ned stared at his sexy roommate for a moment, he couldn’t be serious, this had to be some kind of prank but he didn’t care. Ned crossed the room and pulled Jack into a deep kiss. Ned laughed in his head for a minute before he felt a gentle fog fall on his brain. Jack pushed Ned off “Bruh I wasnt fucking with you, are you ok.”

“Bro--I mean Jack, I feel fine I think. Whatever, I'm going to bed.” Ned wanted to die. He thought Jack was a nice guy. Why would he pull such a mean prank, although he had no idea why he called Jack bro.

The next morning Ned woke up earlier than usual. He looked himself down in the mirror, he looked the same. Since he woke up early though Ned decided he might as well do something productive and went over to the campus gym.

Ned got to the gym and quickly remembered he had no idea what he was doing. That’s when Jack came up to him, “Hey bro, sorry about last night I guess you’re into the gym now, need some help?”

“Uh sure that’d be cool dud--Jack thanks.”

The two guys worked out together for the next couple hours, after Jack handed Ned a towel and as he did his sweaty hand brushed into his roommates. Ned hardly took note but did feel very tired from the workout.

Ned and Jack walked to the showers together. Ned started rubbing his body down with soap as he noticed some muscle he didn’t remember having. Nowhere near as much as Jack but his shoulders did seem broader, his chest protruded out just a bit, and his abs were showing. As he continued soaping his body he noticed his dick. It was throbbing hard and not only that it looked larger than he ever remembered it. Ned was hit with an overwhelming burning lust. He furiously started jacking off in the shower before cumming all over the tile floor.

Meanwhile Jack felt worried about Ned. He knew the kiss from the night before would result in some minor changes but as long as he was careful it didn’t have to go further unless he knew that’s what Ned wanted. Jack was torn though cute nerds like Ned were exactly his type and he wanted nothing more than to worship that thin nerdy body.

Later that night Ned tried to study for his Calc exam but couldn’t remember anything. He was sure the questions must have been written wrong because nothing made sense. On top of that all he could think about was Jack’s body. He was losing his mind.

Ned stood up and faced Jack who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone. “Bro I need you inside me.” Jack met Ned’s start

“You sure bro?”

Ned jumped on top of Jack quickly ripping off his pants revealing muscular thighs and an almost footlong dick. Jack yelped in surprise but couldn’t stop himself from letting Ned’s tongue slide down his shaft. Jack’s hips bucked as Ned got face fucked. Pre entered Nick’s mouth, causing his biceps to enlarge to 18 inches, his face sharpened into a chiseled look although Jack could hardly notice as Nick deepthroated his monster dick.

Jack began moaning louder, gripping Nick’s enlarged muscular ass before cumming right down Nick’s throat. Nick swallowed load after load before rolling off to the side. Nick felt an even heavier fog descend on his brain. All he could think about was sports, working out and, bussy.

Nick got up and tried to put on his tee shirt which was now skin tight. “Dude that was fuckin sick!” Jack was still laying in bed disappointed. Jack stared at Nicks new thick cock and massive muscles uninterestedly. Jack was really only attracted to nerds.

Nick laughed “Bro I gotta find some other nerd to blow me.”

#jock tf #nerd to jock #flexing #gay #male transformation #personality change

220 notes · View notes

sintiva · 2 years

Text

just the two of us..// ｡* lumberjack!reiner x blackfem!reader

｡*:･summary: just a hunky man tending to his needy wife 😮‍💨

｡*:･cw: established relationship, nipple play/sucking, body worship if you squint, dirty talk, size kink, fingering, penetrative sex, cervix fucking, creampie... lmk if I missed anything 🫶🏽

｡*:･notes: respectfully bringing this back, cause yeah, also tagging @eiflawriting👩🏽‍🦯 ac: @/uriellebeaupre15 on twt

lumberjack!reiner who starts his day off early every single morning. he sets his alarm for five; a quiet one that doesn’t wake you because he’s a light sleeper, and wakes up as soon as he hears the light chime. he goes to brush his teeth and wash his face, sometimes mistaking your products for his own because he’s too drowsy to function.

lumberjack!reiner who gives you a soft smooch on your lips — sometimes he’s a bit selfish and slips his tongue past your puffy lips cause he’s so intrigued with you. you get prettier by the day. it gets harder to pull away from the kiss every day, but he has to stop before he earns himself a painful erection. he carefully slips on his dark denim jeans and a white vest. one that barely covers his chest and would soon be dampened by the mass of sweat he concurs as he chops wood. he wraps a dark forest green flannel around his waist and trudges out of the room with his heavy work boots in his hand.

lumberjack!reiner who can’t get over how delicate his house looks, because of how enchanting it is. tapestries hung from nearly every wall, there’s incense burners scattered all over. you have cute dream catchers lining the ceiling; some paintings and little figurines and gnome decorations littered everywhere. you're his cute little fairy who just loves things to be pretty and full. a nice warm sun cascades into the house shining a golden overcast onto the house. everything lights up and brings him an overwhelming sense of peace. it makes him giggle that he’s found himself to be with such a delicate charm like yourself.

lumberjack!reiner whose very healthy and beefy. he has to bend over to reach into the fridge to pull out the bowl of overnight oats that you prepared for him the night before. you made them with regular steel cut oats, some granola, vanilla almond milk and a dollop of honey. they’re his absolute favorite, and sometimes he’ll boil an egg to have with it in order to get a bit more protein. he sits at the dining table and focuses his eyes on the tree stump and the logs around it that he forget to store from yesterday. he rolls his eyes and huffs a big breath, because that’ll take up more of his time — more of his precious time from you.

lumberjack!reiner who washes his dish and sets out to go and chop some wood, he heads over to the storage barn you guys have that sits a bit close to the house, when he realized how much you loved to gawk at him while he worked he made sure that the barn was close. he returns from it with his big ole’ goggles sitting on his face and his axe in hand. reiner’s real strong so picking up stumps is easy for him. he decides to go light today and chop about 15, since he chopped nearly 40 yesterday. he was so sore from yesterday that you thought he’d take a break and go easy today — which he was. he usually chops for about four hours so today would be a breeze.

lumberjack!reiner whose grunts get louder by the hour as he cuts down the stumps. by now it’s 6:30 and you’re waking up yourself. you hear his grunts and groans and your eyes immediately shoot open because only you know how much you love to watch your husband cut the wood. you quickly slip on your house shoes and run into the bathroom to take care of your morning breath. you gargle mouthwash and place little dots of moisturizer all over your skin. you shimmy into your kitchen to get a good look at him through the window and you're instantly melting.

lumberjack!reiner whose vest now sticks to his skin, but he’s slowly peeling it off. even that sole action has his biceps, pecks and veins bulging all over. your mouth instantly waters and you feel your knees buckle. you see the sweat that slips in between the divets of his abs as he runs his big, beefy hand down his face to get rid of some sweat. your sweet cunny aches at the site of him so big and strong. he’s so well built and fine you just can’t believe that he’s your handsome hubby. all yours

lumberjack!reiner whose eyes nearly disappear when he smiles so hard from seeing you run outside in your night gown and head scarf. “mornin’, darlin. did you sleep well?” he grins. “mhmph, i did.” you nod your head eagerly and walk closer to him. you grip onto his arms and get on your tippy toes, puckering your lips so he’d give you a kiss. “did you miss me?” he smirked, barely pulling his lips away so you could feel him mouth the words against your lips.

“you should’ve woken me up,” you huff, “you know how much i love to watch you do your man stuff.” you pout, two toned lips forming the prettiest pout that he can’t just help to kiss. “i know, i’d just hate to wake you up from your sleep, especially when you sleep so beautifully.” the rasp in his voice and his giant calloused hand that rubs your cheek has your heart skating around your chest.

“w-well from now on wake me up, okay?”

“pretty please?” you bat your lashes and run your hand along his abdomen, nearly folding at the feeling. his body is rock hard — solid and reflects a true sign of his continuous long days of work. “i will, darlin’,” he smirks, “just don’t get mad at me if i can’t bring myself to do it.”

“reiii, stop being so perfect and caring” you pout again. you don’t know if it’s the sweat that trickles down his skin, or the strew of a mess his hair is in, or honestly how much bigger he’s gotten, but you can’t get enough of him. you press your arms together — squeeze ‘em tight along your chest so that the fat of them pours over the low neck line of your night gown. “tell me you’ll wake me up before you start working in the morning.”

you catch a glimpse of him gawking at your breast before he licks his lips and lowers them to press against the shell of your ear. “i think you need me to do something more than that, darlin’,” he whsipers kindly before dropping his axe and wrapping his rough fingers around your throat. “what do i need, rei?” you wrap your hands around his wrist, you need both hands to get a good hold of it. he squeezes a bit tighter, feeling the chords of them vibrate as you gulp down your spit.

“need a good fucking. that’s what you need,” he breathes, “gonna let me fuck this little pussy of yours?” and he won’t wait for an answer. you paw at his chest and that’s an answer in itself, since he rendered your vocals useless. he drops his hands and situates them right under your butt to pick you up.

reiner picks you up with such ease it’s scary to think about how much stronger he is than you. most times his actions and body don’t match up. you wonder how such a big, beefy, burly man makes you melt into his touches. you think about how a man with such rough hands can trace such soft and intricate details into your skin that has you throbbing in your center. he places you right on his cutting stump and presses his lips on yours. “not letting you go this time.” he breaks the kiss and looks into your eyes.

your irises reel him in and keep him stuck in a trance like an ant stuck in a sweet, sticky pile of honey. he just can’t look away — he won’t look away. with two fingers he pulls the front of your skimpy night gown down, and makes quick work of his tongue. he sucks one of your hardened nipples right into his mouth and subtly “bites” down on it but only with his lips. “ah! rei…” you moan. not only is he skilled with his physique but his mouth’s a piece of work on it’s own.

he places wet kisses along your tits, one’s that form a sloppy heart around your areoles and he finishes off his art by sucking on your nipple; letting the tip of his tongue flick the sensitive bud until your pussy is weeping. your hips buck up as you feel your greedy hole clench around absolutely nothing. “feeling greedy are we?” he pops his mouth right off your nipple with a hard suction. “little thing need some filling does it, sweet heart?” he teases.

you nod your head and spread your legs further apart so he can nuzzle his way in between them. he uses his right hand to hold you up and keep your self situated on the stump by holding onto his shoulders. he’s so much bigger than you, he’s nearly enveloping your whole body and shielding you from the giant forest that resides behind you both. he places his scarry fingers in his mouth — just two of them to coat in his spit, but it’s not like he needed to anyways your folds were glosses in a thick layer of your essence already.

he slips his muscly arm in between your two bodies and flips his wrist so that his fingers can easily slide through you, “already so wet…” he hums. you shiver slightly from the cool wind that shakes the tree leaves. you moan a “mhm”.

“i like to watch you work-” you squeal, he thrusts a big finger inside of you, grazing your hot walls and cutting of any coherent thought. he tickles you, runs his fingers along the ridges of your gooey walls and curls it up. “oh? is that right, darlin?” he crooks a smile and rest his head right in the small crook of your neck. he striking a match as he diligently lets his finger dwell too long in your soft, pulsing heat. the pad of his finger presses perfectly against your spongy spot that sits right at the top, it’s soft and is warm to the touch. it’s his favorite spot to abuse with his big fingers and giant cock.

“rei-reiii,” you drool, a thin drop of saliva falls out the corner of your mouth as your body begins to curl up. he instantly yanks your thighs back open, pressing his fingers into the fat of your thighs. he feels your arousal slowly seep out, your insides grow increasingly warmer as his finger thumps against your g-spot. “feels like your pussy’s cryin’, sweet heart.”

“need me to stuff it up so it stops?” he pouts at your face and bumps his nose against yours. he knows your about to cum when you buck your hips up and grind against his fingers a bit harder. “come on, can’t cum if you don’t answer…” he grows stern; though it’s only a facade, because he can feel a fiery heat churning low in his groin. he feels the tip of his cock throb when you can only whine back a sweet, “wan’ you inside.”

“all you had to do was ask, darlin.” he kisses your neck, and pulls his slicked up finger out. reiner locks your arms behind his neck as he works to unbuckle that thick belt that holds his jeans up. he quickly pushes his pants down and leaves them right at his ankles. you look down and watch how his thighs look as they ripple with every step, or change of footing he makes. “so, so big rei.” you gently suck on his neck and bring him a bit closer.

you hear him chuckle as he dips his hands into his brief’s and gives his cock a couple languid strokes. his tips twitches profusely as he swipes his thumb over the slit, coating his length in a sheen of pre. he scoots closer to your body, one hands is lining up the thick head of his cock with your gooey entrance and the other is ok your hip making sure he doesn’t fuck you off the stump. “ready for me, darlin?”

he doesn’t really wait, because you always get so nervous as you wait for his thick intrusion. he bends his knees and slips the fat tip of his cock into your messy pussy. his dick curves up and always slides against your insides in the rightest ways. you feel him breaching you, he’s nearly halfway in and you clamp down on him. “don’t wanna let me in?” he groans; feeling the near suffocation of his cock inside of you. “i-i do,” you stutter, “you’re ‘st too big.”

“you say that,” he grunts, and with a snap of his hips he’s sheathed himself entirely in, “but you take it so well.” the force of his hips knocks the air from your lungs and nearly knocks you off the stump. “ooh- fuck!” your face screws in pure delight as you feel the mass of him fill you up. there’s no space left and he grins in satisfaction as your nails dig into the great expanse of his back. he fucks you with a purpose that only he can muster.

he further pushes your body into the stump making you feel even smaller as his dick rams into you pussy. you grip onto him tighter and your moans float all through the trees, they bounce around the forest and come slamming back into your own ears. “you’re so loud,” he teases, “gonna make someone hear how good i’m makin’ ya feel.” there’s nobody for a couple miles, thought it seems as if he tries to fuck you so hard till someone does hear.

the underside of his cock pulses and his big breeder balls just wind up so tight each time they smack against you. he switches up his stroke going painfully slow or brutally fast. he can never keep a rhythm cause he’ll cum too quick. “mm… you always like to tease.” you whimper. his cock presses into your cervix at your comment making you flinch from the feeling.

“oh, do i?”

he cocks his brow and rolls his hips. he’s completely inside you and he doesn’t plan on pulling out. your toes curl in your house hoesand your legs lock around his waist. you dig the back of your heels into his back edging him in so much deeper, more than you can take.

“rei-,” you moan. he can tell by the pitchy volume you’re close to cumming. not only that, but your poor little pussy feels so battered and full, you just can’t help but fall apart from your hubby’s cock. he leans over you and lets his hands grip along the rounded edge of the stump for stability. he pistons his hips, pumping himself through your folds so fast because he feels his nerve about to break. all of his weight is nearly on-top of you making it impossible for your to escape his sharp thrust.

“fu- mmph… fuckkk, babe!“ you scream out. his thrust have become sharper and he’s caging you into his body to trap you. when he gets like this, taken over with a form of ecstasy that can only be released when he cums; you realize you can’t go anywhere. the lustful grunts and the lewd squelching of your pussy makes his heart beat heavy in his chest. his lip is held securely between his teeth as he listens to how your pretty moans make it seem as if his cock could bulge any bigger.

he feels the liquid begin to dribble out the head of his cock before he’s biting down onto your shoulder. the thick vein that settles at the underside of his cock twitches as he cums deep into your slippery walls. his balls wind up tight, and he clenches his fist tighter along the stump as he ruts all of his creamy, hot release into his favorite person. nothing better than morning where he gets to fill up his pretty fairy.

“feel that,” he groans, “feel me cumming inside. that's what this little pussy does to me.” and you can’t even respond, because feeling his cum slosh around inside of you, and feeling just how deep he plants himself inside makes your release come right after. you whine, sinfully squeezing your legs around his torso. your trembles are long and hard as you feel your pussy throb your orgasm. if someone was around they’d be able to hear the shrill scream you let out as you came on your hubby’s cock.

“it was that good, huh?” he chuckled deeply as he stroked his finger along your cheek. he swore he saw stars in your eyes as you smiled up at him looking like a pure ditz. nothing was on your mind minus the subtle throbbing of his half hardened cock, that still stirred in you as he rocked his hips against you gently. “uh huh…” you gazed at him with a pretty sparkle in your eyes.

he slowly pulled himself out letting his heads of cum dribble out of you slowly. he fixed his pants and patted your head, giggling at your soft fucked out gaze. “just gon’ sit here and look pretty all day?” he laughed. “i can’t move, you gonna pick me up?

you stretched out your arms for him to lift you up and he did. he propped his hands on your waist and nearly flung you up into his arms. he tickled your tummy as he carries you back in the house. “my big strong man.” you praise as he sets you down by the dining table. a deep blush washes over his face before he turns his head away.

“come on, this big strong man says you need to eat. cause i know ya didn’t.” he sighs.

“but i feel so, so full, rei.”

“you play too much,” he chuckles cause he knows exactly what you’re referring to, “that’s not food.”

“okayyy, fineee.”

#reiner x reader smut #reiner braun x reader smut #reiner braun smut #reiner smut #reiner x black reader #reiner braun x black reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader

3K notes · View notes

seat-safety-switch · 7 months

Text

We all do a little worshipping of historic brands, don't we? Maybe it's a beloved childhood toy company, a kind of candy you can't stop eating, or simply a type of hammer that isn't shit. Every single human being on earth identifies more strongly with one or more brands, than they do the other person in traffic.

Nowhere is this brand obsession more apparent than with cars. For my sins, I was raised in a "Ford family," where the idea of aligning with other products was altogether forbidden. Sure, my parents flirted with the occasional Chevy or Chryco product, but any failure on those cars, no matter how small, was a condemnation of the whole brand. Plymouth Voyager have a teeny-tiny electrical fire? Must be those lazy Mopar workers again, stealing bread right out of the mouth of FoMoCo employees. I knew I should have bought an Aerostar.

Even if you weren't firmly in the camp of a car when you bought it, the idea of having your purchase decision challenged will force you to adhere to the norms of the in-group. For instance, I once owned a half-dozen mouldering Subarus, and my attorney would like me to not finish this sentence with a comment on how I was implicated in the violent gang-swarming of a Mitsubishi Evo owner. In my defence, he was trying to buy the last flame-tipped titanium Tomei muffler.

Like in European royalty, though, brand loyalty gets real weird when you start mixing it up. My own Volare is putatively a Plymouth, sure, but virtually no part of it is original. There's no room for ideology when you have to get to work in the morning. All this desperate tinkering has installed things like Ford axles, Nissan electrical parts, and Cuban tractor engines running entirely off of waste vegetable oil and nitromethane that I occasionally spit directly into the intake.

And that's just the parts I can pronounce: Daddy AliExpress has stuffed my shitbox with hundreds of other components that I would need a Chinese-to-English dictionary and several hours on Wikipedia in order to approach a brand rivalry for. That doesn't mean you're off the hook, Changxi Heavy Industrial. I will remember your betrayal of Jinan PLK Self-Propelled Lift Corporation until my dying day.

202 notes · View notes

memoriesndew · 14 days

Text

tuesday, may 28, 2024 | day 1/100 | ♡.°୭̥ ୨୧

intro:

✿ today, I've decided to take on the 100-day productivity challenge. What I want to achieve from this challenge is to gain habits and learn more about myself.

✿ my main goals are losing weight, growing spiritually, my academics, work, and focusing on my mental health.

✿ I’m going to start/continue with habits like 30 minutes of movement, 10 minutes of journaling, and starting my day with God, and I'll continue from there. These are today's stats.

achievements:

✿ french duolingo

✿ swept like the whole house, but after that, I spent so much time on social media

✿ life revision (reset my notion homepage, organized my travel planner, and revised my finance page and wishlist) - did this yesterday, though

habit tracking:

morning stretch study time daily physical activity -just the walk

self-care task

practice a hobby read bible daily worship drink water 1L/3L 30 mins of movement - 30 min walk

reflection:

✿ I'm getting a little lost with my life currently I can't really tell what I'm working towards I mean I have all these goals but at the end of if all if I achieve them will I be happy or content will I want more, will I just continue searching for something quell the hunger for peace like should I just pause or continue idk which will make me feel better

notes:

✿ day one of cleaning, tomorrow I have to massacre that toilet - in like i'm gonna make it sparking way

✿ a lot of my downtime today was spent watching tiktok and ig Reels, and doing that always makes me feel down - also, I need a good journal

🎧 army dreamers ~ Kate Bush

🎀 en o'clock ep 20 ~ I think it's the ice skating one

photo credits: pinterest

100 notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 6 months

Text

📖"First Taste"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Kemp x reader

Tags: doctor/patient, medical kink, body image issues, oral sex (f!rec), fingering, dub-con, pussy worship, (inference of background cannibalism (b/c it's Fresh), but nothing to do with the plot or reader)

Summary: Steve Kemp sees a new patient for a consult about a rather ... intimate procedure.

Steve gets into the office at his usual time, coffee cup in hand as he catches the elevator. He sees Cassie jogging in from across the lobby in her colorful scrubs and holds the door for her. They greet one another amicably and ask how each other’s weekend was. She tells him about her new kickboxing class, he tells her about the pâté he made on Saturday.

“Liver?” She says dubiously as the two of them enter the office. She’s wrinkling her nose and laughing at him. “You’re some kind of Chef, Kemp.”

“I prefer the term gourmand. By the way is that Barbie on your—”

“Yep.” She goes behind the nurse’s station and hands him a clipboard. “Your morning appointments. Dr. Hickory went into early labor at like four am, so you’ve got some of hers.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise as he takes the clipboard and gives it a look. “What is she, thirty-eight weeks?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Should be fine,” he mumbles. He frowns at one of the patient slots on his clipboard. “I see I have an FGM consult at eleven,” he says, eyes flicking peevishly back up to Cassie.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she says, checking on her computer. “Yeah, Ms. Moreau. Be nice, she’s new.”

Steve narrows his eyes at the info. “You know I’ve tried to get away from doing those anymore,” he says, giving Cassie a look. Everybody in the office knows how he has a problem with the fact that Hickory’s turned their office into such a chop shop. Steve would’ve thought a woman would know better. Female solidarity, progressiveness, autonomy, kumbaya, whatever.

Cassie rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah yeah. Dr. Brendan the activist.”

“Hey, I told you, it’s—”

“‘Pathologizing the pussy’,” she recites with finger quotes. “We know.”

“Mm,” Steve grunts, assumes the ‘we’ is in reference to all the nurses at the practice. Those girls share a level of groupthink that is frankly eerie.

Steve works in plastics. He’s a vain man himself, so he knows he shouldn’t have gotten involved in a career field like this if he wasn’t prepared to be surrounded by other people’s body insecurities 24/7. It’s just… not how he pictured it.

Good thing he’s got this new side business venture going. He’s hopeful about it. Just last month he’d been able to send in the final payment for his student loans. Pretty soon he’ll have enough to get a house. He's entertaining the idea of a custom build, still scouting properties south of Portland. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Cassie. “Send my nine o’clock to exam three when they get here.”

“You got it.”

You arrive early for your appointment, plunking yourself down in the waiting room chair after the long walk from the train. You feel unpleasantly sticky underneath the cotton of your sundress. The office is cool, but it’d been hot outside. The near-boiling summer temperatures made you work up a sweat as you made your way across the city for this appointment.

Now, sitting in the chair, you can feel the sweat that’s formed on your body. It’s at your hairline, between your breasts and at the creases of your inner thighs. You worry about it, because soon you’ll be baring yourself to the doctor and you had specifically showered right before leaving for your apartment, used a pH balanced feminine hygiene product, just in case you were somehow scent blind to your own body. You didn’t want to be sweaty and gross when Dr. Hickory was going to be looking down there.

“Miss?” The receptionist smiles at you, holding out a clipboard from over the desk. “You need to fill this out, please.”

You stand, hurrying to go get it and the pen that she offers you as well. “Sorry,” you murmur. They’d told you that you would need to be there fifteen minutes early for paperwork. You return to your chair, feeling like such a hot sweaty mess, whereas the receptionist lady is so pretty and poised. You tuck some of your blonde hair back behind your ears and cross your ankles in an attempt to be even a fraction as put together as she is, you powder blue espadrilles knocking together as you prop the clipboard on your lap.

The office’s air conditioning is making the perspiration cool to your skin now, clammy and unpleasant. You read over the intake forms and fill them out. The second page has a line drawing of a naked woman’s body, front and back. It asks you to circle the areas you’re there to address. You bite your lip and circle the drawing’s pelvis. The anxiety you tend to get creeps back up on you, but you take a deep breath and let it out. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Dr. Hickory does this all the time. It’s her speciality. She will have seen it all, and you’ll be nothing new to her.

The door to the waiting room opens and a younger woman in hot pink scrubs peeks her head through. “Ms. Moreau?” she says brightly. She has café au lait skin, wild curly hair, and a genuine smile that helps put you at ease.

“That’s me.” You stand up, the only person in the waiting room. “Obviously,” you chuckle, grabbing your purse and following after her.

“I’m Cassie,” she introduces herself. “Hop on up here and let’s get your weight.” You step on the scale backwards and open your mouth to tell her that you don’t need to know the number, but Cassie cuts you off with a wry look. “Don’t worry,” she says, thumbing at her own chest. “I know how it is, girl.”

You flush and nod, glad that you don’t have to veer into that explanation. She records your weight on her clipboard and tells you to follow her to an exam room. Inside, she hands you a painfully thin paper gown and tells you that you can change. You fidget uncomfortably. “Um, actually I wore a dress so that she could just…” you make a gesture, “ah, dive right in. Is it alright if I just stay like this?”

Cassie nods and doesn’t try to foist the paper gown on you any further. “Have a seat,” she tells you. “The doctor is just finishing up with another patient.”

“Okay,” you whisper, getting up onto the exam table. After Cassie leaves, you look around the room, taking everything in. You’ve never been in a plastic surgeon’s office before. Everything looks just like any other doctor’s office would, except that instead of posters talking about BMI and heart disease, there are advertisements for laser therapies and Botox.

You spot a tray of breast implants over on a counter and can’t stop yourself from going over to look. You pick one up and poke at it, feeling it wobble in your hand. You giggle a little, before bringing it up to hold in front of your chest. Your own breasts haven’t ever bothered you much. They’re small-ish but have a good shape. One of your exes had complimented them excessively (though other parts had received thinly-veiled criticism). You pick up another of the implants, this one bigger and more viscous, and hold the two shapes up to each of your breasts, trying to imagine what it would look like…

“I wouldn’t recommend either of those for you,” a male voice cuts in, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

You spin around. You’re still holding the implants near your chest, startled as you blink at the man who’s entered the room. He’s wearing a doctor’s coat over scrubs, and his nametag says Brendan Kemp, MD. The bigger of the two implants rolls out of your lax hand, landing with a comical ‘plop’ right by your shoe. “Oh jeez. I’m sorry!” you say in a hurry, feeling like a child who’s gotten caught doing something bad. You rush to bend down and collect the implant from the floor. “Sorry I was just—”

The man steps closer with a smirk on his lips and gleaming eyes. He seems amused at you. “Everybody wants to grab the boobies,” he says, gently taking the implants out of your hands and setting them back onto the tray on the counter. “You’re fine, Ms. Moreau.”

You blink at him, stuck in place. He knows your name. “Oh,” you say, voice hushed, still embarrassed. This doctor is very good looking. He has a commanding presence, too. Something about his eyes draws you in, makes you want to be the object of his attention. He smiles warmly at you, perfect teeth flashing for a second, and you huff at yourself and try to laugh off your foolishness. “Yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Guess I was just curious.”

“Hey, at least you weren’t juggling them. I walked in on that, once.” He winks. “What’s your accent? French Canadian?”

“Ah, y-yeah. I’m from—” You watch as he barely listens to your answer, his eyes sliding down to the level of your chest and staying there, assessing. You flush under the scrutiny. But you don’t feel like you can move away without being rudely dismissive. You squirm, uncomfortable. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m Dr. Kemp,” he murmurs offhandedly, still staring at your chest. You see his hands twitch, as if he’s thinking of touching, but stopping himself. “A woman with your frame wouldn’t look right with ones that big,” he says, meaning the implants you’d just been holding.

You feel the need to defend your own taste. “Oh I know that. I wasn’t—”

“These,” he says softly, taking one of the more modestly sized implants from the tray and holding it up in front of you to see. You’re caught looking more at the sight of his strong, elegant fingers than you are the implant. “These would suit you better. Though I honestly wouldn’t recommend augmentation for you.” His eyes finally return to your face. “Your breasts are lovely.”

You feel your lips part in shock. “Um…” you feel an odd combination of flattery and confusion. Is it normal for a doctor to talk to a patient like this? Maybe it’s different with plastic surgeons, you think. They are paid to focus on their patients’ looks, after all. Comments on what is and isn’t aesthetically pleasing must be par for the course, here. “Thank you?”

But then there’s his gaze, the way he stares at you. It feels like he’s not just looking at your body for his job, but also looking for himself, as well. There’s too much interest there to be purely professional. Your breath catches when you feel your nipples starting to tighten beneath your dress, and sure enough, when you glance down they’re very visible through the fabric. Shit. You see Kemp’s eyes look back down.

“Sorry,” you say in a rush, turning away from his assessing gaze. You should’ve worn a bra, you chide yourself. You try to take a deep, stabilizing breath while you have your back to him. “I’m here for… for something else.” You look down at your pebbled nipples, which aren’t softening as much as you’d like, and you sigh in defeat. No doubt Dr. Kemp has seen plenty of nipples in his day. You need to just get over it. You turn around and climb back up to sit on the exam table, the paper crinkling under your butt as you settle. “I’m just waiting for Doctor Hickory,” you explain. “For a consult. They said she’s with another patient.”

Dr. Kemp sighs and holds up his clipboard. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’ll be seeing you today.”

“What?” You sit up straighter, alarmed. “But…” You’d specifically sought out a woman doctor for this. The idea of a man looking critically at you, there, is mortifying. “But, but Dr. Hickory—”

“Is having a baby,” Kemp says. “She went into preterm labor this morning. But we hear everything’s going well.” He smiles at you, as if this is good news. “She’ll be out on maternity leave for at least six months.”

“...Six months,” you repeat weakly. You hadn’t even known she was pregnant. They hadn’t said a thing to you when you made the appointment. You’d been counting on her being your doctor. And now this guy, this Dr. Kemp, was stepping in? You swallow nervously, uncomfortable with a man (let alone a very, very handsome man) being your doctor. Not for this. “Um, well I…”

Dr. Kemp is already looking over your chart on his clipboard. He’s going to see what you circled, you realize, mortified. You watch helplessly as he reads all of your private details. “Dr. Kemp…” you say meekly,

“You're here for a consult for…” he reads, eyes scanning further down the page. “Oh. You’re the Labiaplasty.”

You flush bright red at the word coming from his perfect mouth. You squirm uncomfortably. “Um, well… yes.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells you, placing a hand on your knee as if in comfort. He pulls it away before you can process it. “I’m more than familiar with the procedure. I trained down in L.A.” He says this like it’s supposed to explain something, and he winks at you again. It’s… upsetting.

You swallow thickly. “The thing is, I’d been hoping for a female doctor.”

Kemp’s eyes fly to your face as he realizes how uncomfortable you are. “Oh, Honey. I see.” You blush and he gives you a tender look. “You’re shy? That’s understandable.”

“Thank you, I—”

“But I’m sorry to tell you, Sweetheart, there aren’t any other women doctors in our practice.”

“Oh.” Your heart sinks. Getting this consult appointment had taken months, and you’d wanted to go to a place where you knew they were very good, very experienced. This place had been recommended as the best. “I see.”

Dr. Kemp looks pityingly at you. “Did you want to reschedule your appointment?” he asks gently. “Dr. Hickory won’t be taking new patients until after her leave, but I can have the receptionist take a look at next year’s calendar.”

You look at him with wide eyes, disappointed. “Next… next year?”

He makes an apologetic face. “Yeah, sorry.”

Sighing, you try to put on a brave face. You’re an adult, you tell yourself. Buck the fuck up. You’ve put up with male gynos before, after all. None of them ever looked like Dr. Kemp, but you shouldn’t hold the man’s good looks against him. He’s just here to do his job, to help you. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to approximate a friendly smile. “It’s fine. You can… you can be my doctor.”

Dr. Kemp’s eyes flash in satisfaction, but there’s something about it that’s more than just professional. “Good girl,” he says, and he says it all chipper and like it’s a normal thing to say to a patient, like it isn’t supposed to make your panties feel a little bit damp (and honestly, the sweetheart’s and the honey’s and the your breasts are lovely’s has probably contributed to the situation in your panties, too). “So,” Kemp says, sitting down onto the physician’s stool and rolling over. “Why don’t you tell me what makes you want this procedure.”

He’s giving you his full attention. He’s not even holding the clipboard anymore, and you find that it’s nearly impossible to meet his gaze for long. You look down at your lap instead, at your clasped hands against the white fabric of your sundress as you tell him, “Um, well I guess I just don’t, ah, don’t really like how I look… down there.” You nearly whisper the last words, ashamed.

“What don’t you like about it?” he asks softly.

“It just doesn’t look right,” you say, echoing the things your boyfriend had told you, things that you couldn’t help but to come to see as true. “It’s too much. Too big. It looks like…” you can’t even bring yourself to say the words that he’d used. “It’s just not pretty,” you whisper, cheeks burning in shame. “I want it to be prettier. Like other girls.”

“Other girls,” he repeats. “What other girls are we talking about?”

You scoff quietly and frown at your lap. “Like… you know. Like what you see in, in—”

“Porn?” Kemp says, voice tight. When you look up you’re struck by his darkening expression. He looks pissed off. “Let me guess,” he says, jaw working. “Boyfriend?”

You gape at him. “Ahm… no. Ex-boyfriend,” you murmur. Dr. Kemp looks very displeased, and you shrink back into yourself. “Is it… isn’t this like, a common procedure?” you ask meekly, wary of the man’s expression. “I looked at the website. There were lots of before and after pictures.” When you don’t get a response, you prod, “Doctor?”

“Steve,” he says, his expression lightening up somewhat. “You can call me Steve.”

You glance at his name tag that says Brendan Kemp, MD. “But—”

He scoots forward and puts his hands on your knees, rubbing over them. It pushes the hem of your dress up by the barest degree, but you ignore it. He’s looking you closely in the eyes. He looks sweet, and kind. And because of how handsome he is, how sure of himself too, it’s intimidating as hell. “Why don’t I have a look first, hm?” he says. “Give you my professional opinion, before you go deciding what needs fixing.”

You gulp and manage a tiny nod. “O-okay.” This is the part you’ve dreaded. Dr. Kemp (Steve, he’d told you to call him, but that just makes this whole experience feel more uncomfortable, more personal) scrutinizing your most private place.

He pulls out the stirrups from the end of the table and instructs you to put your legs up. “Take your shoes and underwear off and get comfy,” he says, smiling nicely at you as he says it, as if “comfy” is something you could possibly be while doing this.

He scoots away on his rolling stool to go over to the room’s counter and don latex gloves, giving you an illusion of privacy as you untie the laces of your shoes and slip them off your feet. They land on the floor with a muted ‘clunk’, and you slide your panties down your legs and tuck them under your lower back. They have a little wet spot on them that you don’t want Dr. Kemp to see. You slide down the table and put your feet into the stirrups, getting into the familiar, yet never-not-humiliating, position. You feel impossibly exposed, the cool air hitting between your legs and making you want to close them. As a useless, last-ditch effort, you straighten out the fabric of your dress so that it covers you to your knees, serving as a sort of barrier between you and him. “...Ready,” you say quietly, when it seems that he’s not going to return without your say-so.

He sits on the stool and rolls up close between your legs. You start trembling a little and you shut your eyes to try and calm down. “...Hey,” Kemp says, getting your attention. When you open your eyes again you see him standing over you, looking at your face instead of between your legs. “Honey,” he says gently. “You seem really nervous.”

You wince. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He looks kindly at you. “I just wanted to double check. You didn’t indicate any history of sexual assault on your intake form.”

You blanch. “Oh! N-no I— nothing like that.”

“Okay,” he says gently, patting your knee again. “Just wanted to make sure.”

You’re struck by how sweet that is of him, and you try to relax to show him you’re grateful for his care. “It’s okay, it’s fine,” you tell him as he sits back down on the stool. “This just… sucks, you know?”

“Mm.” You gasp as his gloved hands appear on your ankles and give an indicative tug. “Scoot down closer to the end of the table, Sweetheart.”

Heat floods you as you do as you’re told, putting your ass right to the edge of the table like he wants. It’s so humiliating. You want to cover your face with your hands, only refraining by gripping the edges of the padded table instead.

“Shh. Good girl,” he praises you, and you feel your belly clench at the words. Below you, he chuckles and self consciousness floods you as you think of what he must be seeing. You’re suddenly, horribly curious if you’re at all wet. Good God, you hope not. But your panties had been damp, that one little wet spot on the crotch… You tense again as Kemp’s hands appear on the inside edges of your knees, pushing them apart. “Open up for me now.”

You realize you’d been closing your legs together somewhat. “S-sorry,” you whisper.

He rubs your inner thigh—close to the knee but still shocking. “It’s okay. I know this is hard. I can tell you’re a woman who doesn’t spread her legs for many men.”

Your lips part as your mind reels, offended and horrified that he’d say that. Nevermind that it’s true, or that it sounds like he’s praising you, like he’s just calling you a ‘good girl’ in a different way. You seal your lips shut to keep yourself from scolding him.

The next thing you feel is him leaning closer. You swear you can feel his breath down there, but surely he wouldn’t be getting so close. You grit your teeth and try not to let your mind run away with itself. “So,” you say to try and make conversation, to try and prove to him and yourself that you’re a mature woman who can handle this. “So y-you can see. See what I mean.”

“Mm, still looking,” he says thoughtfully. You inhale sharply when he touches you, but you quickly slam your eyes shut and try to take calming breaths. You knew going into this that you’d need to be examined. He drags his fingers over your mons and down the puffy outer lips of your pussy. It’s extra sensitive to you because you’d shaved yourself completely bare before this appointment. Silly, maybe, but you’ve always thought that hair down there was unsightly, gross, and you didn’t want Dr. Hickory to have to deal with it.

Not that she’s dealing with you at all, now.

You bite your lip as you feel him exploring you slowly, with the barest of touches. He’s touching you in a way that feels more like a lover than a doctor. His thumbs gently dip into the crease of your outer lips and pull them apart, baring everything between. “Look at that,” he whispers, and you nearly cry out in mortification. You must whimper or something, because Dr. Kemp pauses and checks, “Still okay?”

You nod, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Fine,” you say breathily. Deep breaths. He does this all the time. It’s no big deal to him. Just take deep— “Oh!”

He’s stroking the hood of your clit with the pad of a finger, just the barest, gliding touch. It’s slippery with something, and you feel halfway sick as you have to wonder if it’s a medical lubricant he’s somehow fetched, or your own arousal that he’s gathered up and is using to explore you. No, you think, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t…

“You have a gorgeous pussy,” he breathes from between your legs.

“I… ex-excuse me?” you stutter. This time you can feel it when you clench and slick comes out of you. Dr. Kemp groans as if he’s seen it happen, and you feel your face flame. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, humiliated that you’re getting wet from this. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh sh sh,” he hushes you, one of his gloved hands smoothing over your inner thigh, this time much further up. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your body’s just reacting naturally to being stimulated.” His gentle explanation does absolutely nothing to help with your situation, and you feel your belly tighten again in arousal. You whimper helplessly, somehow wanting him to comfort you. And he does. “Honey,” he breathes, going back to tracing the hood of your clit. His fingers move down, following the line of your inner lips, spreading them out and gliding over the thickest parts of them. Shame curls in your gut as you remember the words you ex had used:

“Fucking luscious,”

You blink at the ceiling tiles, shocked. Those had most certainly not been the words he’d used. “Um,” you start to say, but he interrupts you in a firm tone,

“Baby, listen to me, okay?” You’re frozen, unable to respond so he takes your silence for compliance. Between your legs, his fingers trace up and down the wet folds of your cunt. There’s no interpreting it any other way now—he’s caressing you. “This?” he says, whispering the words what feels like only inches from your skin. “This is your labia minora.”

You exhale shakily. “I—I know that.”

“Mm.” He keeps tracing them, keeps gliding around in the wetness that’s now becoming obscene. “It’s natural for you to look like this.”

“I just…” you stammer, still trying to bring this examination back into the realm of productive. “I th-think they’re too big. There’s too much…” you tense up at another wet stroke over your clit. “Too much...meat,” you grit out.

Between your legs, Steve makes a displeased sound. “That’s what the ex told you, huh?” He doesn't wait for you to answer, one of his thumbs sliding down, down, until it starts rubbing down at your taint, pushing right up against the edge of your pussy. You gasp and he shushes you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong, here,” he murmurs, his breath a hot whoosh against you.

You whimper at the realization of how close he is to you now. “Please,” you whisper, “Dr. Kemp—”

“Steve,” he corrects gently, still thumbing circles of pressure into the thin skin at the edge of your hole, almost teasing, almost threatening with how close it is and how with only a little bit more pressure, a different angle, he could slide it right in. “I told you to call me Steve.” His other hand splays out over your mons, the thumb dipping down to swipe up and down over the hood of your clit. It’s a slick, gliding, barely-there touch. He’s hardly applying any pressure but that’s how you like it. You’re so sensitive there, and you can’t hold in the pitiful little moan that leaves your lips. Steve hums in approval. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and quiet. “You’ve got a prominent clitoral hood.”

You toss your head on the table, a whine building in your throat at his bold, clinical language. It doesn’t match his tone of voice or the way he’s touching you. This is so wrong. But you can’t stop it. You like it. He intimidates you horribly, and you like that, too.

He’s still stroking you there as he says, “What was that word you used, hm? ‘Meat’?”

You cringe.

“Well it is,” Steve says lowly. “Very meaty.” He traces your folds again, this time holding your labia delicately between his fingertips and rubbing the sensitive flesh. You just about die.

“St-steve, please,”

“And these lips,” he says, ignoring your pleas. “These gorgeous …juicy fucking folds.” he says, nearly growling the words. “Makes a man wanna lick, and suck…”

You go rigid at the first touch of his tongue. “Ohmygod,” you whisper, hips jolting up against his mouth without your permission. You’re about to apologize, but before you can, Dr. Kemp is loosing the filthiest, most appreciative groan, the tail end of the sound becoming muffled as he mashes his whole mouth against your pussy. “Holy—” Shit, you finish in your mind, unable to force words past your throat anymore. Steve mouths at you like he can’t wait, like he’s desperate, and you feel it as his tongue swipes broadly over your entire cunt. Your fingers spasm, digging painfully into the edges of the exam table as your whole body tenses up. “Oh, god,” you moan, hips jerking against his mouth.

He makes a muffled sound of pleasure and sucks everything he can into his mouth; your clit, your lips. He sucks, hard and sloppy, releasing it all with a loud, wet sound. “Fuck, honey,” he pants. “Never wanted to suck on a pussy so bad.” His hand returns to your mound, his thumb taking up the same swiping motion over your clit, only now you’re drenched and swollen, throbbing with sensitivity.

“Shit,” you whine, pressing up against his hand without realizing it at first.

He holds you down easily and flicks his thumb a little rougher, a little faster. “Yeah? He breathes, kissing at the edge of your sex, near your thigh in a move that is surprisingly sweet. “That feel good for you, Sweetheart?” You make an unplanned noise of assent, and he hums darkly. He’s pleased. “Good girl,” he says again, and flicks his thumb. “Such a big fat clit, and these pretty pink lips. Mmhm, so fucking plump. I could play with it all day, looove it.”

You toss your head, unable to take the words he’s saying. And he’s growling it all at you like it’s a good thing, like your pussy’s the best thing he’s ever seen. You can’t doubt for a second that he means it, but you’re just so overwhelmed by what he’s saying…

You make an embarrassingly high pitched sound when he presses a finger into you. “Oh!”

“Shsh,” he warns you, smoothing his other hand up the apex of your thigh, up under the fabric of your dress, over your belly. “Shh, honey. Don’t want the nurse to walk in, do you?”

You gasp, suddenly afraid of that possibility. He feels you get still and silent and soothes you with a heavy lick over your lips, the finger that’s inside of you curling. “You’re okay,” he promises, kissing your clit, sucking it and letting it pop from his mouth. You sob. “Shh. You’re okay.” He moves his finger shallowly, stroking you from the inside. It feels nice, and you exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself down.

“Steve,” you breathe. “You shouldn’t. We… I shouldn’t….”

All of a sudden he rises from the stool, standing to his full height and moving to the side of the table as he keeps his hand on you, in you. He stares down at you, his expression rapt but tender. It’s so much worse with him looking at you like this. It’s almost harder than when he had his face mashed against you and half your sex inside his mouth. It’s even more serious like this, you think as you blink up at him with parted lips. It’s more personal. He looks you right in the eyes, unfaltering, as he slips in another finger. You keen, and your hips press up into it, seeking. His lips curl, pleased. He moves his hand in such a firm, practiced way. He’s not pulling out very much at all. Not thrusting so much as he is rocking, grinding.

Inside, something starts to feel tight and desperate. You watch him watching you, watching it happen. He’s smiling, smug, he knows what he’s making you feel. “You’re soaking my hand, honey,” he murmurs, and you feel your cheeks flood hot with shame. “Uh uh,” he corrects you, stern. “No, it’s beautiful.”

He changes it, starts rocking deeper, curling against your walls and jabbing harder at that spot. It’s not an orgasm you feel so much as an urgency, and you squeak as the pressure builds. “S-something,” you try to say, try to tell him that something’s going to happen. But his eyes gleam in pleasure, like he already knows. Above your clit, the thumb of his hand starts rubbing in downward strokes: down down down. Holy fuck does it feel good. Your eyes slam shut as you feel it building, building and tightening. Oh—

“I want you to promise me,” Kemp says, and you’re shocked at how close his voice is. You open your eyes. He’s bent over, his face mere inches from yours as his hand keeps working. “Before I make you cum, I want you to promise me,” he growls. “Promise me that you’ll never let anybody cut on this fucking perfect pussy.”

You gasp, his words jabbing at the core of you almost as much as his fingers inside do, “Ahh-oh!”

“Promise me, Angel,” he says, rocking his hand harder, faster, harder. “Promise me now.”

“I… I…ha-oh! I pra–hom–mi–ssss!” Your eyes slam shut and your hips jerk against him as it happens. You cum, you cum hard. You hear him curse and know that he’s moving back down between your legs to look at your clenching cunt. He never stops jerking his hand into you, drawing the pleasure out. You’re loud. You squeal and shriek and jerk wildly through the whole thing, unable to control your body. It’s never felt this; this urgent, this out of control. You buck against his hand, feeling the wetness soaking everything beneath you, until finally it comes to an end.

He pulls out of you and uses both hands to spread your lips apart, staring. You whine and squirm, and then you really feel the extent of the wetness down there, and you blanch. “I—Oh no.” You try to sit up, try to pull away from him and get his hands off you, panicking. “I… I peed.” You struggle, mortified, pulling your feet from the stirrups and swinging them to the side of the table, trying to close yourself to him, trying to get off the table and—

“Heyheyhey, no. Hang on baby, calm down.” Steve stops you, his hands at your waist, keeping you seated on the table. He crowds you, holding you in place. “You didn’t honey, you didn’t. You’re okay.” He laughs. He’s laughing. You can’t believe it as you watch him. You begin to scowl, ready to be hurt and mad, but he hushes you with a kiss to your mouth.

You gasp and go silent, somehow more taken aback by this than anything he’s done yet. His mouth is so sure and confident over yours, his lips pillow soft but commanding. He pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. “You squirted, honey,” he explains, amusement still clear in his eyes, only now you’re calm enough that you can see the affection there, too. The satisfaction, the desire. He’s not making fun of you.

“What?” You look down to the end of the table, where you’d been splayed open for him. The paper covering and the vinyl padding of the table are soaked with a clear liquid. You look down to your lap, which is barely covered by the material of your bunched up sundress now. Between your thighs, it feels wet too. “I… I did?” you nearly whisper, astounded.

He laughs affectionately and leans in to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, Angel, you did. It was amazing.”

You flush and tuck your head down, feeling tingly from his obvious approval. The things he’d said about your body… “You really meant it?” you ask. “All the—”

“Yes,” he says firmly. He tips your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Hey,” he says gently. “Remember what you promised me.”

You squirm uncomfortably. Maybe he finds you attractive, but you can’t help but to worry about other guys, about the future partners you’ll have. Steve might like it, but he’s just one man. The fact remains that down between your legs, you still look like most of the before halves of the before and after pictures. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, apologetic to dismiss his opinion of you. “But I just… I want my next boyfriend to think I’m pretty, there,” you say reluctantly, glancing up at him.

He has a fierce gleam in his eyes as he boldly tells you, “He already does,” and then surges down to kiss you again.

It’s been a long day. With both his own patients and a bunch of Hickory’s to see to as well, Steve is pretty tired by the time 5:00 rolls around and the office staff is closing up. He changes out of his scrubs and lab coat, back into his gym shorts and sneakers that he’ll jog home in. That’s how Cassie finds him. “Brendan, check it out!” She holds up her phone for him to see the picture of a wet, vaguely purple-colored newborn. “Boy,” she tells him. “Five pounds, whatever ounces. Small but healthy. She says they’re naming him Grady Harrison.”

Steve grins. “Awww.” What a horrible name.

Cassie puts her phone away and tilts her head at him. “A bunch of us are going for drinks. You want to come?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m beat. Gonna head home soon.”

“Mm. You know your nickname is Boring Brendan,” she teases, grabbing up her purse and heading for the exit.

“It is not,” he laughs, waving her out the door. “I’m just gonna finish up with a few notes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waves goodbye and the office door falls shut, locking behind her because he’s the last one there and the office manager already left. Steve walks behind the partition of the nurse’s station and sits down, booting up one of the computers. He clicks the mouse over a few folders, typing in his password when it prompts him for entry into the patient data files. There’s one in particular whom he wants to learn everything he can about.

He finds the folder marked with her name:

Moreau, Ann J.

The corner of his mouth ticks up and he clicks to open the file. “Ann,” he murmurs the name, remembering the taste of her cunt against his tongue, filling his mouth, his senses. Mmm. She’d been delicious, exquisite. Not taking his eyes away from the computer screen, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny scrap of lace she'd left behind in her hurry to escape him. He holds the panties under his nose, inhaling. Fuck, he thinks, remembering her delicate body in that delicate cotton dress, how she'd cried out and creamed herself for him. So sweet.

He wants to learn more about her, fully plans on tracking her down and taking her on a date. On many dates, if he can.

Because he’s never been the type to be satisfied by just one taste.

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #fresh 2022 #fresh movie #steve kemp #steve kemp x ofc #steve kemp x you #steve kemp x reader #au fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #fic writing #reader insert #reader fanfiction #reader fic

71 notes · View notes

loveandmurders · 2 years

Note

Hello! May I request a Thomas Hewitt x reader? His S/O is pretty much harmless and hides away when there are new "visitors" around so as not to hinder his work, but there comes a time when one of the victims is being pretty stubborn to the point that they are hurting Thomas badly. His S/O grabs anything they can use as a weapon and accidentally kills them but their first reaction after they stop moving is checking if Thomas is okay? Sorry if it's too long and thank you!

Hello darling! Thank you a lot for this request, I was really happy to write for my big baby (who also deserves to be protected and loved) <3 Hope you'll enjoy this! Btw this is a g/n reader without any kind of description (Mama just calls you "sweet pea" once + it is implies that Thomas is bigger than you).

NO ONE HURT MY HUSBAND

Warnings: one or two strong words, Tommy is injured (nothing too bad), mentions of murders and cannibalism, blood.

When you woke up this morning, you felt like something wrong was going to happen. Sometimes your instinct was warning you, and you would be a little bit nauseous and uneasy. You knew it was about your husband, you could swear he was going to get hurt today, and the thought was only making you sicker. You needed your Thomas to be well and happy. He was all that mattered in your life. That was why, this morning, you needed to stay in bed with your husband and cuddle with him; at least you were both safe there. You even coax him with tender kisses for him to stay a little bit longer by your side. Even though Hoyt was calling for him, your gentle giant was too in love with you to hear the man screaming his name. His arms were tightly wrapped around your body as you cuddled him and murmured sweet nothings against his lips. His eyes were bright with happiness as he softly worshipped you with caresses and kisses of his own. He seemed very relaxed then and you were certain you could have convinced him to stay there all day if Mama hadn’t knocked at your door. You had pouted when Thomas got up and he gave you an apologetic glance. He didn’t like to not be able to give you what you wanted. And he didn’t like the idea you wouldn’t be able to spend more time with him until the end of his day of work.

Hoyt heard there was a festival not so far away from here, and it was certain Thomas and he would be busy with visitors. And despite your love for Thomas and his family, you hated the killing. It meant you prefered to hide away in your shared bedroom than meeting one of your soon to be meals. You didn’t mind eating people, it was more the whole killing process that was bothering you. You didn’t like screams and fights. You were of a peaceful nature and it was probably why your presence was so soothing and so calming for Thomas. You were trying to tell yourself that, at least, the family would have enough to eat for a while and the meat factory would be more productive. You still didn’t like it and you just wanted your husband to cuddle and make love with you. You were quite a simple creature and that was why the family loved you as well, even though you were useless with the killings.

You helped Luda Mae with the house today, until you heard the voices of young people trying to negotiate with Hoyt. They were terrified and one of them was already bleeding a lot from what you could see from the kitchen window. They were three, but Thomas wasn’t around and you imagined he was dealing with more tourists. You didn’t like it at all, and you felt even more sicker than a few hours ago. You sent a pleading look to Mama who reassuringly smiled at you.

“Of course, sweet pea, go hide away. Thomas would go crazy if anything happened to you anyways, so it’s better that way” she said. You leaned to kiss her cheek, grateful she was being so good to you, before rushing upstairs.

You locked the door behind you and you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. You tried to find something to do, in order to relax, but you couldn’t without Thomas by your side. You decided that a shower could do you some good and you got one. After it, you put on a shirt belonging to your husband and his scent washed over you. It brought you some much needed comfort. You cuddled in bed and closed your eyes. You silently prayed to God to protect your family. You weren’t certain God would protect people like you, but you thought it couldn’t do any harm to pray anyways.

You eventually fell asleep and when you cracked an eye open it was already late in the afternoon. You slowly got up from the bed, your head and eyes still heavy from sleep. You heard a soft knock at the door and you thought it might be what woke you up. You opened the door to find your husband standing in the doorway. He gave you a worried look and you reassured him with a smile.

“I’m fine, baby, just had a nap. You can go back to work” you told him. It was usual for him to go check on you to make sure you were fine. He was too scared to lose you because he wouldn’t have taken enough care of you. And in his eyes, you deserved the world.

He watched you for a little while before nodding. He leaned to press a soft kiss to your pretty mouth. You smiled even more against his lips before gently pushing him away.

“Be careful and come back to me as soon as you can, okay?” you asked and he nodded again. He stole another kiss from you, like the greedy puppy he truly was, before turning around. You watched him disappear and you tried to relax. You were happy he was alright, and you thought that maybe your instinct worried you for nothing this morning.

You decided to tidy up your shared bedroom as Thomas and you were sometimes too thrown away in your passion to realise some chores needed to be done. You always found clothes laying on the ground, but when you needed to feel each other's bodies, you discarded your clothing without any care. You were needy with him and he loved it very much.

You found some stuff to do around the bedroom and bathroom for a little while until you heard screams coming from the back garden. You felt your heart sink and you walked to the window in order to close the curtains. You didn’t want to see a tourist getting killed by your husband. You loved Thomas, but his strength could be scary, even for you.

However, you weren’t ready for what you saw. You stopped moving when you noticed the tourist taking a knife and plunging it into Thomas’ side. Your eyes widened as you heard soft sounds of pain coming from your husband. Your blood ran cold and before you could even think about it, you were out of your shared bedroom. You ran downstairs, didn’t hear Mama calling for you with worry, and you simply grabbed a knife as you passed by her. You continued to run until you arrived in the garden. Thomas was on the ground, fighting the man off of him, but the pain wasn’t helping. The tourist was so full of adrenaline and of despair that he was being quite strong. He was about to strike another time when you jumped on him. He yelped in surprise and pain as you tackled him to the ground and started to punch him in the face. You were unable to think or to realise what you were doing. All you knew was that you needed to keep your love safe. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. The man pushed you and you fell from him. He was about to hurt you when you took the knife from your belt and hit him with it. You removed the knife without thinking and the man started to bleed a lot. He screamed like a slaughtered pig and you kicked him in the head.

The man was dead before you knew it. You didn’t even understand it. You were just happy he wasn’t screaming anymore and that he wasn’t trying to hurt Thomas anymore either. You were covered in his blood as you rushed to your lover’s side. He was a little bit groggy and wasn’t certain what just happened. You started to fuss around him to make sure he was alright, but he was bleeding too much, especially for your liking. At least, it was only one wound and Thomas was a strength of nature, so he would be all good in no time. At least you hoped, otherwise you would lose your sanity. But meanwhile, you needed to take care of him. You ripped your shirt so you could press it against his wound. You begged him to stay awake.

Hoyt ran to you after Luda Mae told him something must have happened. He was cursing when he saw the two of you. He didn’t show any emotions as he looked at the scene in front of him, quickly understanding what happened. He finally started to give the two of you rough orders and soon you were helping Hoyt with Thomas. Your gentle giant was trying his best to walk so his size and height wouldn’t hurt you or be too much, but you didn’t care. He finally reached the kitchen, that way Mama and you could take care of him. You sat him and gave him some water with painkillers.

“So you’re a killer now” Hoyt commented as he arched an eyebrow at you.

“What?” you asked, because you didn’t think the man was dead, even less that you killed him.

Thomas groaned before Hoyt could answer you and he sent him a threatening look. He didn’t want you to understand what happened. He was grateful you had saved him - even though it felt like a failure because it was his job to protect you. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure you would be able to handle the truth, especially after all the emotions you already went through. You looked up to give a glance at Hoyt but the man had left before Thomas could jump on him. You looked back at your husband but before you could say anything Luda Mae asked you for more bandages. She was aware her son wanted to protect you from the truth a little longer, and she was glad to help.

You quickly got up and you found what you needed. You stopped by the living room window and saw that the tourist who attacked Thomas was still lying on the ground. He was silent too, which was surprising, but he might just be unconscious. You silently went back to Thomas and Mama and you finished taking care of him.

You both went back into your shared bedroom and you helped him to settle on the bed. He needed some rest. You sat next to him but he gently tugged on your arm for you to lay down beside him. He needed you close to him, as you were the only thing who could give him comfort. You obeyed and cuddled on his unharmed side and nuzzled into his neck.

“Don’t ever do that to me again” you whispered and he nodded. You looked back at him. “You promise, right? You don’t let anyone touch you ever again, okay? No more games, no matter what Hoyt wants. You just kill them as fast as you can. This can’t happen again.” you started to babble as you cupped Thomas’ face into your hands. “You know I love you, don’t you? You know that I need you to come back home to me everyday or I would go crazy. I would burn the whole world down for you” you told him with an intensity you never had before. You could tell Thomas was surprised as his eyes widened, before he started to blush and to be all flustered. You were giving him little butterflies in his stomach. He nodded again, with heart eyes. He would obey anything you would tell him, even more when it was because your love was so fierce for him. He hugged you against his chest before removing his mask. He started to pepper your face with soft kisses, to appease you but also to thank you for what you did today, and for loving him that much. He loved you too, more than anything. He wished he could give you another life, and to make it up to you, he was trying to be the best husband ever.

You suddenly realised you still had blood on you and you very softly moved from his embrace. He really didn’t like the loss of contact but you promised him it would be quick. You removed the t-shirt and you went into the bathroom to wash the blood you hadn’t removed before cleaning up Thomas earlier. You watched yourself in the mirror and you saw more blood on your face as well.

“Oh. I killed the man” you said to yourself in realisation, and you went back to Thomas. You watched him and he looked up at you with a frown.

“Does it change anything?” you asked him but he didn’t understand what you meant “I know you enjoyed the fact I wasn’t part of the killing… But I killed the man, right? I killed him” you repeated and you looked down. Thomas tried to sit up to reach for your hand but you stopped him before he could hurt himself. You sat beside him and he started to sign . You saved me.

“Yes but…”

You saved me.

You smiled at him before straddling him so you could have a better look at him. His hands were on your thighs now and he gently stroked your skin. “I would do anything for you” you told him and he smiled; he knew it.

It won’t happen again. Shouldn’t have happened. You shouldn’t have to protect me. I wouldn’t stand anything happening to you because of me.

“I don’t want this to ever happen again because I’ve never been so scared and concerned for you before, not because I shouldn’t protect you. I’m your partner, it’s also my job to take care of you.” you replied and you could tell Thomas wasn’t too happy about it. “You always protect me, it’s fine that I protected you for once” you added and Thomas tried to agree with that. “Plus, it would never be your fault if something happened to me.” you added but Thomas shook his head.

I’m your husband, he replied and you knew you couldn’t argue with his protectiveness so you didn’t say anything about it.

“At least Hoyt won’t ever bother me again about it”

I’d kill him otherwise.

“Aren’t you romantic now?” you gently teased him before leaning in to kiss him, as his hands started to roam your body like they had to when the two of you were in bed.

#texas chainsaw massacre x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt xg/n!reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher oneshot #thomas hewitt oneshot #sheriff hoyt #luda mae hewitt

1K notes · View notes

j2lx · 2 years

Text

Nanami Kento as your boyfriend (SFW and NSFW Headcanons)

Warnings: (for SFW section) Mostly Gender Neutral, but implied fem bodied reader for one of the SFW headcanons (on periods =")), NSFW as stated in the title but it will be separated by a pic <3

A/n: Happy Birthday Nanami! I love this man so much omg he's so cool and responsible! He's such husband material omg

(Images do not belong to me. All credit goes to Gege Akutami, MAPPA, and everyone involved in the production of Jujutsu Kaisen)

SFW

- Nanami is the embodiment of a walking green flag. Like he's literally husband material!!!!!

- Will split the responsibilities in the household equally. You never have to worry about doing too many chores because he splits them such that the both of you do your fair share! And if you are sick or whatsoever, he'll do everything so that you can focus on resting <3

- He cooks every single weekend for the both of you. He's so good at cooking (he looks hot doing it too) and he takes the time to learn new recipes so that the both of you have more variety.

- Makes breakfast everyday for you before he goes to work. No matter what, he makes it a must to make breakfast for you every single morning. He makes dinner too if he gets off work on time!

- Has a relatively healthy sleep schedule, but will stay up with you on weekends so that the two of you can talk or do things together! He'll wake up early the next day to make breakfast for sure though <3

- Always brings an extra jacket wherever the two of you go. He wants to make sure that he's well prepared in case it gets cold suddenly. The last thing he wants is for you to catch a chill and fall sick =(

- When you're sick, he literally takes such good care of you! Will make you soup and will ensure that you're in bed, resting. Yes, he will take the day off to make sure you're feeling better. He just wants to make sure you aren't in pain anymore =")

- When you're on your period, he'll make all the foods he knows you like. Always stocks up on your pads before your periods too, so you won't ever run out <3

- Makes sure to kiss and cuddle you in bed every single night before the both of you go to sleep (ofc he cuddles you in his sleep too). He wants to make sure you know just how much he loves you.

- He always listens to your problems and encourages you to talk to him should you be troubled by anything. He's an amazing listener and he gives reasonable and logical advice, as well as encouragement and praises.

- He brings you out on dates at least once every two weeks. Most of the time, he does it once a week but sometimes he gets really busy and needs to do some work. He makes sure to make it up to you on your next date though!

- Dates with Nanami normally consists of the two of you going to check out some new cafes or bakeries! Sometimes, he brings you to different parts of Japan for a the weekend as well <3

- He's already planning for the future! When Nanami dates, he makes sure it's with someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with. So he has planned out your future together (he hasn't told you yet though), like the house the two of you will live in, the number of kids the two of you will have (adoption counts too!) etc (he will talk to you about it though, he doesn't want to force you to have kids if you don't want to!)

- Overall, Nanami is an amazing boyfriend who loves you unconditionally and who will always be there for you.

NSFW (Gender Neutral reader)

Warnings: (all are only implied since this isn't a full fic) Daddy/Sir kink, pet names (princess/prince, baby girl/boy), praise kink, switch Nanami!, BDSM, mentions of punishments, body worship, oral (both receiving), spanking

- Consent is everything to him. If you say no, that's fine. He doesn't want to cross any boundaries and wants to make sure you will enjoy the session as much as he does.

- He's pretty vanilla about sex, until you start calling him "daddy" or "sir".

- Yes he has a daddy/sir kink you cannot change my mind. He likes calling you "princess/prince" and "baby girl/boy" a lot during sex too.

- His favourite position is missionary! He loves seeing your face and it's much easier for him to place kisses all over your face when the two of you get down to it.

- Has a praise kink, both giving and receiving. He loves being praised when he subs for you, and similarly he'll praise you a lot when you're the sub.

- Yes, he subs for you whenever he gets really stressed. He just wants to be taken care of sometimes 🥺

- Prefers giving than receiving. Yes sure, blowjobs feel great. But Kento Nanami is a man who focuses on his partner's pleasure. He'll go down on you mostly for his own pleasure, and he'll enjoy it to the furthest extent possible. This ends up in him overstimulating you from oral most of the time <3

- Body. Worship. When he has sex with you, he makes sure that you know how much he loves and appreciates your body. Expect lots and lots of praises and kisses! He'll leave lots of hickies too so make sure you cover them up (I mean you could expose them too if you wanna)

- Is kind of into BDSM, but mostly uses it to punish you if you've been a brat. He'll be rough during the punishments, but makes sure to take care of you after that.

- He's willing to experiment around with different kinks, as long as it doesn't involve hurting you too much (eg knife play, branding etc). He's fine with spanking, especially when punishing you, as long as you're fine with it

- AFTERCARE WITH THIS MAN IS SO 😍😘 He gets you water, food and basically anything you need, before running a bath for the both of you. He'll soap your body and massage all your sore spots too 🥺

- Apologises for being too rough and kisses you all over to make sure you know he loves you (especially after punishments, he doesn't want you to think he meant anything he said or did).

- Overall, perfect man, super gentlemanly and really gentle after everything!

Hope you enjoyed reading! (Also that was my first NSFW fic so let me know how I can improve ehehe)

Happy Birthday once again to our favourite 7:3 Jujutsu sorcerer! <3

898 notes · View notes

alloftheimaginesblog · 2 years

Text

pretty eyes {e.m}

Plot: Eddie's always loved your eyes.

Character: Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader

part of my eddie munson 'pretty eyes' series!

It wasn't uncommon for Eddie to fall asleep last, he was always awake until the wee hours of the morning whether he be playing guitar quietly or painting his Dungeons and Dragons figures or watching a movie, Eddie Munson was a night owl. It was uncommon however for Eddie to be awake first. Eddie Munson loved to sleep in, he went to bed late and woke up late, however this morning was different. He woke up at the crack of dawn and now he was just waiting for you to wake up; waiting to see those pretty eyes.

He knew that he could've done something productive with his time, caught up on cleaning and studying, learned the riff to the Metallica song he'd been learning or even just showering but he didn't want to. He was quite enjoying just cuddling into your sleeping frame. Something that the majority of people wouldn't know about Eddie was that he loved to cuddle, he always had to be wrapped around you somehow no matter how hot he got. He craved your touch, innocent or not, and even during sleep that didn't change. He was always touching you during the night, a hand round your waist, legs tangled together, holding your hand or shoulders pressed together; he always had to touch you.

This morning Eddie was just appreciating you. Whenever he wanted to look at you, you'd get all flustered and shy and you'd hide and make him promise not to stare but all he wanted to do was stare. You were gorgeous with full cheeks, a perfect nose, a lovely smile and god those eyes. Those goddamn pretty eyes could make him do anything if you asked. You'd point out a million flaws about yourself, your overhanging stomach, your fat thighs, your wobbly arms, your double chin, your chubby cheeks, but Eddie worshipped you. He loved every single thing about you, thought it was so sexy and loved it all because it made you and he adored you.

Eddie loved your body, he loved your curves (especially your thighs, stomach, hips and ass), he loved the way your stomach curved and dipped, loved the way you thighs dimpled, loved the stretchmarks that littered your body from head to toe; he loved every single blemish, mark and imperfection you had and no matter what you said, he'd never stopped.

Over the last few months of dating, Eddie had proved over and over how beautiful he believed you to be, whispering it against your body in the dead of night, calling you gorgeous every five minutes, getting turned on by you just looking up at him (those goddamn pretty eyes) and through Eddie's constant praise, you'd started to see yourself in a different light. It was small steps to self love, you were nowhere near there yet but you were a little closer than you would be had you not been dating Eddie. He helped you see that just because your body was larger and different to most, didn't make you any less beautiful or any less worthy than someone of a smaller frame. He hated that mindset you had, that society had drilled into you, so he vowed to help you change it and slowly, it was working.

Eddie's hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of your hair back behind your ear, as you began to stir and he could already feel the excitement building in his stomach as he willed you to open those pretty eyes of yours. Groggily, your eyes fluttered open and shut as you adjusted to the light before you found yourself staring up at your gorgeous boyfriend, Eddie Munson.

"Could feel you staring at me," you teased, voice croaky and sleepy.

Eddie smiled, "Sorry, Princess, I was just desperate to see those pretty eyes of yours and that gorgeous smile." At that, you giggled. You loved waking up like this, the rarity of it making it even more special to you.

"I'll be a mess, I'm not even awake."

Eddie leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, "Absolutely perfect, Princess. You're so fucking perfect." And in that moment, as you wrapped around Eddie, wrapped in bed in your little quiet pocket of the world, you believed him.

#one shot #eddie munson #pretty eyes series #pretty eyes #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #reader insert #plus size series #plus size #plus size reader #os #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things imagine #st #st imagine

256 notes · View notes

eremosjournal · 2 months

Text

Good Friday

As a good Catholic boy, I remember waking up on Good Friday morning and wanting to be sad all day. Which isn’t very healthy when my default already bends sad. A funny moment would come, and I’d feel guilty for laughing. A smile would slither to my face and I'd feel like I did something wrong.

Then came Easter Sunday. And suddenly the sadness I was used to feeling - and felt with pride on Good Friday - was incorrect, just 48 hours later. Immense joy today! And nothing else. But what changed? Jesus hadn’t died on Good Friday 2018. And Christ was no more resurrected on Easter 2018 than Christ was resurrected two days before on Good Friday. But we Catholics love a show. Like a good Confirmation retreat. If I may paint a familiar picture:

Sleep deprived on Saturday with a twinge of altitude sickness. Away from screens and surrounded by nature. Physically drained from outdoor games & only eating half of each meal (retreat food). A vulnerable testimony followed by a healthy portion of small group oversharing. A Tony Award -worthy Lifehouse skit and intimate love letters from parents. Tissue boxes conspicuously placed throughout the room so everyone is within arm’s reach. All leading to an hour-plus of adoration with repetitive, meditative, and even trance-like worship music. Did the ‘body and blood, soul and divinity of Jesus’ make this room of hormonal and over-stimulated teenagers cry, or were their emotions manipulated by a well-orchestrated and scripted production from a core team of adults, and a teen leadership team that definitely has a weird name?

Looking at it now, Holy Week has the same flavor. I’m tired of being emotionally manipulated by the church. And I’m tired of emotionally manipulating teenagers in the same way that I was.

I still work at the church. But Lent and Holy Week have been different this year. I baked cookies for middle schoolers on Lenten Fridays. I laughed with teens on Palm Sunday. I didn’t go to mass on Holy Thursday. I didn’t try to feel sad on Good Friday. The joy I’ve gained from letting myself feel however I want to feel is more of an offering to God than my forced emotions ever were. “Holy” does not mean “has permission to tell me how to feel”. If God gave us free will, wouldn’t it be an insult to that gift to go against my real feelings? To substitute my emotions for ones manufactured by people just as flawed and confused as myself? Emotional extremes are not what make Holy Week “Holy”. The sanctity of my week, my faith, my life comes from its authenticity. And the church can cry about it.

#ex catholic #exchristian #post christian #excatholic #exvangelical #catholic #ex christian #deconstruction #post catholic #deconvert #good friday #Good Friday 2024 #holy week #Holy Week 2024

7 notes · View notes

sleepysheepyeclipse · 1 year

Text

Jealousy Jealousy

A sheep x Nariender fanfic (1/2)

Summary: Narinder is finding himself in a position after being well settled in the cult where he knows of a new friend’s affection for their leader, and takes the sideline for them.

TW: Feelings of inadequacy, mentions of & allusions to cannibalism, and unrequited feelings, Love…Triangle? Tangle? Something. Spoilers for the game.