hxltic - Tumblr blog

hxltic · 11 days

Note

Heya!

First of all, I just wanna say that your stories/writing skills are AMAZING, I’m absolutely obsessed with your page tbh <3

I do wanna request another Megumi smut fic, if that’s okay. Maybe one where the (fem) reader is pretty anxious about getting intimate, but he gently talks her through it iykwim

Thank you so much pretty, and it’s perfectly okay.

You’d been thinking about it all day. So much so, that as your feet patter on the square tile of the kitchen in your shared apartment, you realize that instead of retrieving the parmesan out of the fridge, you’re pacing back and forth.

But then, every aspect of intimacy throttles into what you thought was a confirmed decision. It then splits it apart, leaving you conflicted when you thought you were done contemplating it.

You were ready. You were more than ready.

What if your ph wasn’t balanced? What if it’s not everything you dreamed of? It’s been a while since you’d actually shaved, would that turn him off? Should you wear something different? Can you even be seductive without being unable to take yourself seriously?

You shake your head at the reeling mess of hypotheticals, somewhat hoping the action would disperse them so that they dissipate into the air. Forcing one foot in front of the other with a sigh, you go to the opposite side of the kitchen, and take a seat on the stool at the bar top after plating your dinner.

And then you’re maybe two bites in before the front door’s lock rattles, clicks, and twists to invite nobody other than your beloved boyfriend in, returning from errands.

He effortlessly carries three bags of groceries in one hand, unintentionally showcasing the rings wrapped around his fingers. The other holds another two bags. He shuffles into the house, closes the door, and greets you, raising the food up high enough to rest it along the granite.

“Hey, what’s up? You made dinner early?” He stocks the milk into the refrigerator.

With a final chew, you place the fork down and rest your chin in your hands. “Yeah, I thought you told me to?”

He nods with a small curl of his lips, “I did. Told you to stop waiting up for me.”

You hum in response. It’s pretty quiet after that, just you two in each other’s presence as a couple, until he’s done with his task and gets a plate of his own. Of course, he comes to sit right beside you, but not before moving your hair out of the way and providing a gentle kiss to the forehead first. You smile, but not as bright as you usually do. He inspects your distant expression.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes find his. You can tell he’s trying to think of anything that could possibly be wrong—something he forgot, or something he did. It’s almost instinct for your heavy emotion to lift temporarily when anyone asks this question, giving you the appearance of an excited puppy. “Yeah, yeah! I’m good. Just,” you shrug, “thinking.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You definitely have his full attention, but when he takes a bite of his dinner, he can’t help but comment on how good it is. Meanwhile, you’re slightly able to feel heat rising to your cheeks. “Uhm…I don’t know. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

By this point the smell of the food is rising into your nose from below, long forgotten as your fingers rub circles into your temple.

“Try. I’ll piece it together,” he reassures. You’ve been trying to work on your communication, as is he, but he’s usually succeeding far more at it than you are, you have to admit.

“Uhh, fuck. I’m…” It’s already difficult to convert thoughts into words, let alone thoughts like these. Oh yeah, Megumi, I’ve been thinking about you fucking me for a while now. It’s even harder when you can feel him staring dead at you with those tender eyes, just waiting patiently for an answer. “Ready to take our relationship— further?”

Your shoulders haunch up protectively when you turn your attention to him, whose eyebrows are furrowed a bit, attempting to comprehend what you just said. It then looks like it hits him, but he inquires anyway, “Further, how?”

You pout, “Are you going to make me say it, Megumi?”

The man wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly what you were asking for. But the culpability of being incorrect would make him feel like the worst person on the damned planet, and this would tell you that he was “hoping” you would say something about sex. He knows you. It implies that the topic was on his mind beforehand, ultimately enhancing the pressure since you then would know he was thinking about it.

But truth be told, he wasn’t. When you said you wanted to take it slow, he was completely okay with that. Of course—there’s no denying the amplification of his hormones when you’re fresh out of the shower, walking around braless in a large tee, shorts, and wet hair—but it was never enough to push you into something you weren’t ready for. It would never be. All he had to do was take a shower, whether extra long or cold.

“Are you sure? You do understand that, no matter what, you come before your body, right?”

“Of course. You’ve always made me feel safe, and I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t done the thinking. I’m just nervous, I guess? I want it to be good for you, but I haven’t really done this before.”

“I guarantee you, there literally isn’t anything you could do that would make it a bad experience for me.” His smile spreads a grin to your features, lifting your mood a little. “And you don’t have to be nervous— I’ll be there with you the whole time. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“Finish your food. I know you’ve had a long day and you need energy for the scandalous acts you’ve committed to,” he adds. You giggle at the joke, suddenly feeling lightweight from the anchor that he’d single-handedly lifted off you.

Only to leave as quickly as it came because that meant you had to get ready for tonight.

——•——

After taking one more shower before he took his, you’re already in bed after dinner, curled up watching the light from the tv fill the room every time you change the channel. The smell of strawberries and coconut bounces off you, probably now into the fibers of the bed, and you’re as smooth as a baby. Everywhere.

The door to the bedroom suddenly opens, revealing Megumi with a towel draped low around his waist, hair fallen, dripping all over the carpet, and cut abdomen a distraction from whatever show you had playing.

The best part about having had that conversation is that you don’t have to conceal your feelings or the throb between your legs anymore. There’s no guilt from knowing the two of you will only get to kissing, desperately trying to find some friction.

Megumi leisurely walks over to the closet, entertained by your low eyes trained to him like a moth to a flame. You don’t even notice his amused gaze. “Can I help you with something?” He teases, eyebrows dipping into a smirk.

Your eyes finally shoot up, but you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. “Maybe.”

He chuckles, opening a drawer to grab some sweats. “We just talked, like, an hour and a half ago, and you’re already about to pounce on me.”

“Oh please— tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

You carelessly throw the remote down. Megumi disappears, then reappears, pants on and ruffling the towel to dry his hair. When he finishes, he comes to his side of the bed, pinches your chin delicately, and tilts it up to him. His voice was lower, and velvety sweet. He knew he could ask you to do anything if he spoke like this.

“You know I do.”

The ravenette allows you to kiss him softly, but he keeps it short. It’s just enough for a huff to leave your mouth when he pulls away. “We don’t have to do this tonight. There’s no deadline for me to be inside of you,” he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip.

You’d think he was talking about taxes with how casually he said it. Now that was what embarrassed you. “Right. Yeah.”

You force a smile to your face and turn away, going back to the tv, trying your best to ignore the growing heat in your stomach and the sudden disappointment of your work going to waste.

He observes that you don’t actually look satisfied, and was instead shuffling and moving awkwardly. To be fair, he knew what it looked like when you were horny.

“Unless, of course, it was what you really wanted.”

Then you look to him, and when he slowly pans back at you, knowing you took the bait, he immediately understands the severity of how you feel by the undercurrent of desperation in your eyes. You seemed to need him. His eyes slightly widen.

You didn’t just randomly want to have sex with him; it had been growing over time. Every kiss, lick, and touch began to lose its fervor when you’d already known the outcome— when it would stop. You’d just finally been able to vocalize it.

“Come here,” he opens his arms up to you. The bed bounces when you throw the covers off and crawl to him, resting atop his lap and clearing his view to the tv. He didn’t mind; he has a better one.

The friction you get from his legs, pathetically, has you shifting before getting fully situated. His hands come to rest in the dip of your hips to keep you still. But he knows.

“You understand that I love you...”

It was said declaratively, like he was sure, but just in case he was wrong, you could speak up. His eyes carried a kindness to them and his cushiony voice melted your brain. “I do.”

“And you understand what you truly want? You’re sure I’m who you want to be your first?”

You nod. “And hopefully my last.”

“Then I want you to know that anything after this,” he waves his hand in a circling motion, “You are in complete control of. Tell me to wait, I will. Tell me to stop, and I’m sure as hell pulling out, taking my hands off you, whatever, all in an instant. And don’t feel bad about anything you say to me. Ever.”

Soaking in the lecture, being unable to ignore as if they were terms and conditions, makes you fathom how serious this is. He’s speaking earnestly because you did before, hence when you begged to take it slow the day you started dating (he confirmed he didn’t mind, but you truthfully didn’t believe him as per past relationships). In this heart to heart, you looked into his dark blue eyes, wondering how you managed to find someone like him that would wait a million years for your trust.

“Okay. Likewise, I want you to teach me. That way in the future I can be better at what you like.”

A finger comes to brush a tendril of hair behind your ear as you mindlessly fiddle with your thumbs. “You are what I like, beautiful.”

And then you can’t resist feeling the sight in front of you, the same one the pads of your fingers have memorized from repetition, so with a featherlight touch, your hands separate and design delicate swirls into his v-line, trailing only up to about his belly button.

You love seeing his muscles contract when he twitches since everything he does seems to send a shiver down your spine.

Widening your fingers as they rise, they stretch the span of his chest. There’s a low hum when you make sure to lightly drag your nails across his skin, reminding you to shift your focus to his expression. He was already staring at you through his eyelashes.

Your lips find his in the slowest, most sultry manner you can control. Both hands card through his semi-damp locks, quickening his breath alone, while his take rest at the band of your sleep shorts. And just when you think he’s going to slip his fingers through the silk, he grabs you with a firm grip and rolls over so your back is to the sheets, leaving you still pawing at his nape.

The experience increases in heat as it does speed. You were smothered with his presence but you wouldn’t have it any other way. He connects your lips one last time before he parts to share his kisses on other spots of your body, including your jaw, collarbone, and once he gets the thin shirt you’re wearing off— your chest.

And he does just that, peeking up at you first for confirmation you two share the same idea. You answer by lifting and helping him tug it off.

You reach your hands up past your ribs to the swell of your breasts, massaging them, unable to look him in the eye.

“Look at me.”

Well fuck.

You do, and just then he’s placing his free hand over yours, ultimately pilfering its spot entirely, and taking his time to lick around the bud, swirling it into his mouth. It’s his first time hearing the whine that came out of you. He will hear it again.

He does the other the same, hardening the peaks only to leave them be with a conclusive squeeze. “Do you like that?”

You manage, “Yes.”

He kisses down your stomach, leaving a hum in response, and drags his fingers down even further to ghost over the fabric of your panties. “Lace?”

“Yeah, for you.” You shiver at his touch.

His thumb circles over your clit as his chin tips down to shift his eyes around the garment. “How long have you been planning this?”

“It started last week.” Your chest rises and falls when you giggle, it ultimately dissolving into a breathy moan once he applies a deeper pressure. “I took a trip to the mall.”

There’s no response. His hand draws up to the sides of your waist, pausing to give you more slow, endearing kisses along the band.

“I wore it so you could take it off, Megumi.”

“Great.”

And just like that, he’s sliding it off you, down your thighs and throwing them elsewhere behind him. “Can you open up for me?” He coos.

There’s a coil beginning in your tummy, and you aren’t exactly sure if it’s because you’re already throbbing or if the embarrassment is just now settling in. No matter what, you just want him to do something. You spread them.

He groans at the sight of you. Bare.

“Fuck, you’re something else.”

With some hint of friction to stabilize himself, he shifts his hips against the bed, then he dips his head into your center.

You’ve thought about what it would feel like when he “eats you out.” Would it feel slimy and trigger your sensory issues? Would you squirm in disgust or ecstasy? Would it feel like anything?

And now, you finally have an answer, because after the swipe of his tongue on your inner thigh, there’s a warmth you associate with the muscle of his tongue dragging between your lips. Involuntarily, you do begin to squirm.

He does it again, sealing his mouth over you. The unpredictability of where you will feel him next is thrilling despite being now sat up lazily on your elbows.

There’s no doubt it’s making you feel something and it’s starting to gather. So much in fact that the sight of his angled nose and eyebrows between your legs may be too much to handle. You don’t render it as pleasure quite yet though.

“That feels kinda weird,” you mumble honestly. The rumble of his chuckle surges through your stomach as he pulls his face away for only a moment.

“Here,” he utters, and you’re expecting him to do something to help when he shuffles, but suddenly, a single finger prods at your wetness until it’s sinking seamlessly. “This is something you’re familiar with, right?”

Immediately, a gasp forces itself out. You’d done it yourself before so he wasn’t wrong, but when it’s him toying with you and his long finger, it’s a little different. “Mhmm.”

Now he’s really pulling the noises from you. He curls the one finger experimentally; Left, your hip twists. Right, your breathing picks up. Straight up, and your back arches.

He doesn’t take his time sucking up your clit and anything you release for him, the lewd sounds his mouth creates enough to support that, but how can he help it when he thinks about how bad you wanted it? He’s gotta make it count.

On that note, his tongue drags up from your hole to the nub and his head shifts to the side for a better angle. At the same time that he repetitively curls his finger into the spot he observes you like best, he slurps your clit, only to release it wetter than it went in and do it again. There’s a messy sheen of saliva and your slick coating his chin and a dot on his nose.

His palm snakes around the thigh he isn’t practically laying on to your lower stomach and rests it there so you feel everything but tenfold. It wasn’t to keep you still; he likes the chase.

“That feels s-so good, Meg,” you praise, watching his thick eyelashes flutter open when you speak, but somehow still looking like he has no idea what you said. The tingle was getting stronger and stronger, now converting to a hot fire resonating just under his palm. He adds another finger. One of your hands that wrapped around your breast drives into his dark locks. “Oh God—”

When he groans at the feeling is when your body tenses and cinches up, holding onto him for dear life, chasing something not quite too far, but the contorted countenance your features hold instantly lets him know how you feel.

“Let it go, I got you.” He speeds up the finger gyrating through the cushiony walls.

“Megumi.”

“Come for me, baby.”

You relax just enough to feel the entire distant, solitude of your orgasm; but at the same time, it didn’t feel lonely at all. He was right there, quite literally fucking you through it, but it didn’t feel lewd or sexual at all. It was the first time you’d felt anything like it.

It was like you were somehow spiritually connected as well and emotionally and physically, and there wasn’t anything to separate you from him as every ounce of your being was woven together.

Fuck, you’re already this sentimental and he hadn’t even put it inside yet.

Returning back to the Earth was as hard as it sounds, but the fall is a lot easier when Megumi is there to mitigate it.

On the other side— when you release the iron grip of his finger, he can finally remove it. The only sound in the room is your own heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” He wipes his chin carelessly.

“It kinda felt like... like I was dying. But good.”

“Perfect, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

He nods in approval. Anxiously, your feet rub against each other. His hands trickle around his waist as he slides off the bed, but he notices the staring just before he kicks his pants off.

Instead, he comes around to the side of the room, near the bedside table, only propping a knee up on the comforter to get closer so he can ease you into what he’s about to do next. “Give me your hand,” he suggests.

Without thinking you oblige, but your curious eyes blow wide when he begins to lead it onto his lower abdomen and deeper until both of you, in one movement, are smoothing over trimmed hair and down the length of skin. He was obviously erect beforehand, pressing through the fabric as if needing an escape, but feeling it is something else. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he cups your hand and drags a slow stroke all the way up to his tip and back. Similarly, he releases a shameless, airy moan of his own.

He does it again, and again, then feels that you’ve gathered enough confidence to do it yourself. Which you do—by the time he lets go, you’re already fully wrapped around him and feeling what you can’t see. You follow what he did.

His body slightly moves when he facetiously laughs, but it somehow removes the nerves and duplicates simultaneously.

“What?” You blink up at him.

“Nothing. You’re just so delicate with it.”

“Shut up. I’ll rip it off.”

“Please do,” he laughs once more, bringing an imminent smile to your face, and then he moves to push his pants down his hips. You can’t help but stare at his length in your hands.

He was right, you seemed to be barely gripping him, right before the tip. It was a smooth descent to the shaft, colored a muted shade of pink.

You pop back into reality. Squeezing, you earn a grunt. It was slightly harder to move now. There were only a few ways to lubricate his cock that you had on hand, and the best way that you had been curious to try is right next to it already.

You correct your positioning laying sideways on your elbow, the other hand curled around him, and he almost recoils when you stick your tongue out and look up for his reaction as you press your head forward. A deep sigh flows from his chest.

It wasn’t bad, and didn’t taste like anything, so you do it again, enclosing your lips softly over his tip. He wanted to let you explore so he stayed silent.

You had began to bob your head to cover some distance while trying not to choke yourself, and that’s when he gives the instruction, “Breathe through your nose. Don’t stop breathing.”

It does make it just a little easier as you keep going, but not much, so you pop off and roll your hand around his slick cock now that it was wetter. You sit up completely, tracking the other hand to his balls, praying it’s a myth that boys don’t feel anything there. Hopefully, it will make up for your sensitive gag reflex. “Sorry,” you mutter.

He holds his hair up with his arm, the other hand brushing through yours. His eyes are barely open and accompanied by a darkness brewing inside his pupils. “What did I say?”

You search over your brain for the memory. “Not to feel bad.”

“Yes. And don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t even know how fucking close I am to exploding.”

With that, he removes himself from your hold and reaches down to swiftly grasp your ankles. Yelping, you come sliding down. His pelvis is connected to your ass.

His lips can never stray too far from yours. Just when you’re expecting the deep fervor from not having ever gotten this far, or maybe just having not kissed since you were perched atop his thighs, he resonates his love in the cloud-like puff of his lips. Just when you begin to moan softly while placing a hand on his cheek, he pulls a few inches away.

“You ready?” He rubs over your clit a few times with his thumb. “What do you want me to do? Condom? Birth control? Both?”

You fidget underneath him, shoulders raised high and cheeks reddening. “I’m on birth control. Can you wear one anyway though?”

Your little voice as if he would have any type of negative reaction hurts his heart. “Of course.”

Just as he turns around, you add, “there are some…uh… in my purse.”

“In your purse?” He quirks a brow, smiling.

“I told you I’d been planning this…”

Moments later he returns with the small packet in hand just to rip it and casually roll it onto himself. His eyes focus and his brows furrow.

“Hmm.”

“What?” You sit up. Finally, you spot the problem, most importantly, how the base of the plastic stops about four fifths of the way down his shaft.

“What size did you get?”

“I don’t know. I asked for whatever the average was.”

“Have you no faith in me?” He lightly presses you back down to your back. “Do I look average to you?”

No.

Not like you knew, but you could imagine.

“We’ll make it work. Hold on to me,” he assures. You do just that in an attempt to run away from the embarrassment and link your arms around his neck.

Before you know it he’s patting your dripping pussy, lining himself up, tipping his head up to nip at your neck, and prodding at your entrance.

“Oh shit,” he hears you under your breath. He didn’t mean to laugh, but it slipped.

“What? You scared?”

No reply.

“It’s okay, you’re in charge. Take a deep breath.”

When he feels you inhale under him is when he takes the chance and inches in, pulling a gasp from your lungs right into his ear. Both of you curse at the same time. “Megumi.”

“Breathe, baby.” He inches in farther, not quite bottomed out yet, but closer. Your back raises from the duvet. “You’re almost there.”

One more deep breath that you have to actually, manually breathe out, finally has him buried inside you to the hilt. “Good girl.”

You were delirious. You wouldn’t be able to believe what is actually happening if it weren’t for the uncomfortable throb below you. It didn’t burn; it was just a pinch from the stretch, which is the best case scenario from all the ways you imagined it would go. Wriggling around to try and speed things up, you were unknowingly killing the man above.

His breathing picks up because, fuck, you were so tight, and whoever said the condom takes away some of that is a fucking liar. Or maybe they weren’t, and if you ever allow him to, going bare might just be on his headstone. You were latched onto him with all your might both on the outside and the inside.

“Tell me—”

“—You can move.”

You accidentally cut him off, but before you can feel bad about it, he’s pulling out, slowly but surely, and turning up your eyebrows when he returns.

A few more of these, a few more “are you okays” from Megumi, a few more of your nods “yes”— and the pain dissipates. Your hums dissolve into low moans that wisp against his neck.

“Does it hurt?” He lifts his head and looks down at you cautiously, searching for pain.

“I’m okay Meg, you’ve asked a thousand times.”

“Do you want me to speed up?” His hands change from your hips to your thighs, then to your legs. His body language portrays that he is nervous. He’d been so focused on you that it slipped your mind how he felt. What better way to calm him down than to get him riled up?

“You’re saying you’ll fuck me now?”

It seemed to work perfectly. His eyes blew wide for a split second hearing your voice say something so demanding and vulgar, but he raised his chest high, took a mean grip around your hips, and pulled all the way out. When he presses in, his hips have a small curve to add some distance, and persists like this with increasing speed. The sound in the apartment grows.

There’s a constant movement from the bed going back and forth because of the rhythm he set. With each thrust your jaw drops further. There wasn’t unimaginable speed, but he was pounding against the fat of your ass each time. One of his hands finds your bouncing breast.

“When did you get so needy?” He asks. He wasn’t even grunting or anything, just very accurately moving his hips so his cock stretches the length of your walls.

“When—”

His fingers quickly squish your puffy cheeks together while he bends over close to your face. “Don’t answer that, smartass,” he pecks you on the lips.

The familiar warmth was building within you. Your arms reach up to connect around his back, locking him to your figure and keeping the angle of his thrusts low. You were already finding ways that you liked. Him not too far and his pelvis running against your clit as he grinds. Somehow, you manage to shake him off your face.

Not even to say anything, just to squeeze your eyes shut and release useless words and whines into the atmosphere with your red cheek to his shoulder. He did catch one word though, “closer”, and even though you cannot possibly be any closer than you are, he would try until you’re satisfied.

Testing your flexibility, he hikes both your knees up until they’re almost touching the comforter below and brings them together. This initially makes you feel farther apart with a barrier called your own legs, but then he leans forward on his toes so far that it pushes you deeper into the bed and his nose less than a breath away from yours. He curls his arms around your legs and lifts your head to dig his fingers through your hair before allowing you to rest your head again. How you’re balled up makes you feel so little.

No, to him, you feel more than little; the closeness of your thighs squeezing together removes a significant amount of space on its own. He gazes deep into your eyes when you whisper “There.”

He hadn’t moved yet, but he could conclude his tip brushed past it as he was trying to get situated. It doesn’t take long for him to find the patch again by the way your eyes flicker back and forth in front of his. The his hips lift, and he relies on gravity to slam him back down.

“Fuck!” You squeal, twisting your waist to no avail with his weight atop yours. He hits the spot dead on. “Hngh, m’ gonna come s-soon.”

He has an aggravating look on his face like none of this affects him but you know it does. The twitch of his cock says so. “Oh yeah? Can you feel it?”

“Yes! Yes—stop teasing.” The words come out slightly muffled by your scrunched up position. He continues pounding down, the squelch and slapping of skin loud in your ears. It felt like he was reaching your belly button. Every now and then a grunt would push past his mouth.

“But I’m not. Are you sure you haven’t already? You don’t hear that? Or is your pretty pussy just that wet for me?”

You could hear it along with the creak of the bed, but none of it matters when he comes forward, just a little more, to taste the swell of your lips, catching all of your moans in a sultry kiss. “Meggg,” you whimper, eyes hanging low and fresh painted toes dancing in the air though every thrust.

“Yes?”

He wasn’t supposed to actually reply, but he only did because he knows you’ll provide an answer if he wants you to. You croak, “Please don’t stop,” to both him and the universe.

“That’s not something you want, beautiful.”

And you take it just how it is— a warning, because now that he’s had a taste of you, he’ll go until sunrise. He glances down to where you connect to a somewhat cleaner situation that when he was buried between your legs the first time. It was wet, no doubt, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. “Push against me.”

What? Is what he takes the way your eyes peel open as.

“Try to push me out.”

When you finally understand his advice, a light groan turns into a full on cry of his name. He immediately regrets it because you tighten around him, removing the already little space necessary for him to move, almost making him spill on the spot while dragging your nails down the span of his back. He hadn’t known that was what would set you off. Oops.

“Damn,” his brows dip together and his head drops to yours. He decides to suck on the thin skin of your neck as you, like he asked, try to push him out, as well as the rest of the silky white he has clogged. Of course, he was pushing back with just enough strength. Your face was turning red with how hard and unexpected your orgasm hit.

Now, a few more thrusts (that are more deep grinds) to ride out your high is enough to tip him over the edge. He grabs the base of his cock as he pulls out quickly, making sure to hold on to the plastic. Despite how tired you are, you still feel empty.

The second he’s out, he rips the condom off, soothing the skin of your leg with one hand and the other wrapped around his length and quickly twisting the tip. Huh, you were being delicate, you realize.

Watching through deep, weighty breaths as he works himself, it takes everything in you to sit up on your own and wait patiently. It tells him all he needs to know by your posture.

He finally groans loudly, nothing to your volume though, cursing over and over when your hand comes up to knead his balls as the white comes out in spurts all over your chest. It was mostly your breasts, but some tainted your collarbone and chin too.

He finally comes back to Earth sometime later and wipes away the spot on your chin with his thumb before it drips.

“Fuck, sorry,” he breathes.

Before he can get too far, you wrap your lips around the pad of his thumb, sucking it and more off. You get all the way to his bottom knuckle, smiling as you watch his eyes zone in on the action. You remove yourself with a pop.

In case you didn’t know—yeah, he was hard again.

©️hxltic

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hxltic · 12 days

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hxltic · 22 days

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Omg omg I love your writing. May i please order a cup of Ghost, König, Roach (or really any other COD character) with an s/o who randomly decides to ask them what their bodycount is and then gets upset when it’s a lot ;( like their s/o asks them about their past hookups and they’re like 16 or something and their s/o gets all pouty and teary eyed cause they don’t like the thought of someone else touching them in an intimate manner. SORRY IF THIS IS TOO DETAILED OML

I really wanted to do one of the three you named but I’m gonna do Gaz cus he’s hot and young and the least traumatized out of all of them LMAO IM SORRY (this is so late but I have motivation again and I’m back!!)

Gaz connects the silver chain around his neck, watching his reflection copy in the mirror, then he shines a smile that hides the strawberry gum he’s chewing somewhere behind his teeth. Once he’s satisfied with a simple black tee that hugs him in all the right spots, he leaves the bathroom with a spritz of his expensive, vanilla scented cologne hanging in the air.

On his few days off duty, who better to spend it with than you?

He pours himself a single shot before you stroll out of your shared bedroom. Makeup done, heels high, and dress short— you were more than ready.

“Damn, you look good. You trying to kill me?” He rubs his jaw as he scans you.

Giggling, you twirl in your skin-tight dress, “Maybe.”

“Alright, let’s go before I do something I’ll regret.”

. .

You arrive with his arm slung around your waist as you pass the foyer and into the living room. Some of his high school friends await, new faces to you. They catch sight of you first, then him, and it instantly switches the mood when they holler out happily.

“Yo, Kyle!”

“Long time no see!”

A few hugs and handshakes later, you both take a seat and sink comfortably into the couch. His arm switches to rest over your shoulders protectively.

He inquires, “So, this is her right?”

“In the flesh,” he responds casually.

The man leans over from his spot and reaches his hand out, hoping you’ll take it. Your lips curl upwards politely when you do.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too. He talks about you all the time, so when I saw you, I knew who you were immediately. I’m Tyler.”

“Does he now?” Your shoot a curious glance to him who’s watching the conversation unfold. “And what would he say?”

“All good things, all good things,” Kyle jests. His thumb caresses your shoulder. Tilting your head to lean into his neck, faint cologne seems to override everyone else’s in the room when his two-toned lips kiss your forehead.

“It’s good to see him finally settle down. Out of your ways, right man?”

Tyler mindlessly giggles as what he said runs over your head. Then, it takes a U-turn and comes back, dropping your expression to a blank stare at nothing in particular as the cogs turn in your brain.

Out of his ways. You repeat. What were his ways?

Unaware that he’d single-handedly ruined your night, Tyler continues talking to his friends. One of which was Kyle, someone trained to pay attention to those around him, so he notices your switch in demeanor but truthfully has no idea why.

To be completely honest, you didn’t know why either. He was a good man, one you trust with your life (literally), so why do you care about who he was? You didn’t know if this was riding a thin line of slut-shaming, but you were so curious that being lost in your train of thought negated the feeling of his hand resting on your bouncing knee.

“What’s the matter?” He tucks a strand of your hair back gingerly. “Let me fix it.”

Even if he didn’t know what it was, he always said those four words. “Let me fix it.” If it was things he couldn’t fix, he’d sure as hell try.

Your eyes dart to his soft ones. He gazes at you like you’re the only person in the room; the only girl in world. “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it now, I’m askin’ again later. Would you prefer me do that?”

You consider his negotiation, running the scenario of later through your head, then nod quietly. He nods back but it’s evident he isn’t completely enjoying himself the rest of the night. How can he when you aren’t?

Half-assed responses and deep sighs fall from his lips, the irritation growing despite the previous longing to hear from his old friends. He began to grow overstimulated from that point on, but not wanting to ruin the mood, he kept his mouth shut.

. .

The second you slipped through the door, fast food in hand (from his efforts to lighten your mood), the tension transferred from the majorly silent car ride to your home. Your breaths were shallow as if the thoughts circulating overwhelmed you.

Nothing matters beforehand. Your relationship was still fresh, there wasn’t even enough time for him to have a “military girlfriend”. But could that mean you’re next? You trust him, just not your judgement.

“What’s wrong, beautiful? Ya barely ate.”

He closes the door behind you, treading carefully around your emotions as to not hurt you more. As much as you wanted to curl up in a ball, unfortunately, there’s nothing to fault him for in this situation, so you can’t do anything but talk about it. The guilt eats away at your love for him as you gather the words you call shameful.

“If you had to guess, how many people did you date before me?”

His eyes widen in surprise, then fade away as he searches his brain for memories.

The deliberation of the question should let you know the status of what he did. They could have been one night stands— and the thought makes you cringe— but nothing would evoke the most culpability than it being various, genuine relationships.

“Three,” he states. There was no extra talk, even though you’re sure he had pieced together why you were asking.

“How many different people have you been intimate with? Including me?”

“Uhh…”

Answering wasn’t the problem. It’s just that if it made you this upset and you hadn’t even known the answer yet, hearing the actual reply would absolutely crush you.

He chose against saying it, just releasing a deep sigh, which is basically the same thing. It told you all you needed to know.

“Hey, look,” he begins walking toward you and his logic is warred with his heart when you don’t step away, but just stand there sadly. There was nothing to be afraid of, and you weren’t scared of him anyway. “I know this feels cliché, but you’re the one I want. Ty wasn’t lyin’ when he said I’ve settled down.”

Both of his hands gently find yours as if he were attempting to telepathically transport his sincerity to you. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

And he shows it, most certainly— the kiss he sweetly places to your temple nothing but evidence— yet all you can think about were your previous thoughts. What if you’re next?

“So what’s the answer?” Your focus remains to the hardwood floor, attempting to look for invisible specs of dust to avoid the tears threatening to swell in your eyes.

It shocks him because he didn’t think you’d speak, concluding you were too upset. One of his hands removes yours and drags it over his face. “Fuck, baby— I don’t even have count.”

He was right, it did upset you more, but there wasn’t anything you could blame him for. And living in uncertainty within a relationship that he promises he’s dedicated to sounds like hell. He hasn’t done anything to prove you shouldn’t, so your best option, quite literally, is to trust him. “Okay.”

“Look at me, love.” He slowly raises your chin by a few fingers, only to feel a painful throb behind his ribs at the sight. “I was young, and stupid, and wanted the wrong things from the people around me. I joined the military because of it, and thank God I did. I found the right values of life.”

There was a wetness to your cheek that he wiped away with his thumb, but you wouldn’t be able to tell why it was there. Overwhelming affection or sadness?

“In fact, there isn’t anything I can thank more than the world for the time we met. Now, I can cherish you in a way I wouldn’t have been able to before.”

You listen closely to the words, just thinking of how okay you’ll be. He was a good man, and if you unintentionally painted him out to be anything otherwise, it would show. But until then, you two would be fine (assuming he wasn’t still a man-whore, of course).

©️ hxltic

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hxltic · 24 days

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Crying

In another life, I would make you stay.

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hxltic · 27 days

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your desire to write the same trope over and over again

🤝

my desire to read the same trope over and over again

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hxltic · 1 month

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baby is not a baby anymore🎉

#sry #im throbbing

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hxltic · 1 month

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Me making it happen:

It was a regular schmegular morning with yuuji, the sex from the night before still fresh on your mind as it accounts for your great mood. The light of the sun shines through the blinds to kiss your face, giving his room an orange hue, discoloring the countless posters he has on display and making your eyes glisten this gorgeous color that makes the man beside you feel like he’s in a movie.

At first he brushes your hair back. Then he’s leaving his lips in various spots on your neck, eliciting a small, satisfied hum from you.

His hardness was pressing into the back of your thigh, and you being you, once you backed up onto him, the sensitivity of last night has his tip leaving a small wet trail along the skin there. There’s a low grumble from behind.

“Yer such a fuckin’ tease.”

Not even having to turn over, by the sudden flinch from the loving boy and the disparaging tone, you’re for sure Sukuna just berated you. Yuuji is thankful you know and possess the ability to separate him and his damned curse; it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty about it. “Shut up,” you retort.

“Then quit it. I can feel the brat thinking too much and my head hurts.”

Despite the constant bickering, Sukuna never really tells lies, and this piqued your interest. “About what?”

To Itadori’s dismay, he reappears: “He’s nervous as a virgin. You’re contorted in all these different positions and he won’t just fuck you for real instead of imagining it.”

Sukuna has always been vulgar, you know that. You look over your shoulder anyway at Itadori’s flushed cheeks as he runs his hands over his face. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

Before you can reassure him, the curse chimes in. “Don’t be sorry, the whore likes it. She wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t.”

“Stop calling her a whore,” he demands.

“No.”

By this point, you’re ignoring the ongoing conversation since the drive that made you practically jump on Itadori yesterday has returned. Hmm. Maybe you were ovulating?

The arguing stops when Sukuna decides to just ignore your boyfriend as a whole, you guess deeming him unworthy of a response.

Throwing the covers off yourself, turning around just to do the same to him, and getting comfortable with your ass in the air diverts Itadori from pestering Sukuna about how lowly he thinks of him, and instead brings a fire to his eyes that you observed last night. He’s usually quiet when he’s horny despite how normally he’s the complete opposite, but he’s so sensitive and he can’t think about anything else to say.

Your body rests on your elbows, perpendicular to his thighs. The warmth of your hand shocks him at first. He sits up and rests a pillow behind him.

You’re slow in your movements, journeying up and down the whole of his shaft until taking a little extra time rotating at the tip. Your lips take it in, but not going any farther than his head. He hums satisfyingly.

At first he sulks in the moment— how pretty you look bent over for him, having to continuously move your hair out of your face and blinking up at him with your bright eyes thanks to the sun.

It’s then he decides to help you out. His hand reaches around the height of your ass, fingers delicate as they tread down to your clit. The hands around his cock tighten and you let out a low moan at the same time your thighs slightly pull apart.

“Oh shit,” Yuuji gasps lowly, using his free hand to brush hair out of your face and pet your head. “You wanted this just as bad as I did, huh?”

A cheesy smile inches into his expression as he dips deeper between your folds, massaging the round pearl and sulking in the sheen of silk he just knows is coating his fingers.

A lower, degrading version of Itadori’s voice returns somewhere on his body— you’d be able to tell where it your head wasn’t down and occupied— and speaks to your boyfriend as if you weren’t there once more: “I told you that already, did I not?”

He grumbles back, “God, do you ever go away?”

“You’re finally addressing me as you should. Should I no longer refer to you as ‘brat’ with this new submission?”

Itadori rolls his eyes, reminding himself to not ever say “God” in any circumstance again. The teasing tone he used didn’t help either.

“Regardless, you didn’t see the way she just spread her legs for you? And you get furious when I call her a whore? Please, she probably does the same thing for anyone else who intends to fill her womb.”

The words run through your ears. Your brows furrow in anger at the accusation, the blood boiling in your body and most likely finding refuge in your cheeks. You only pop up to say, “Fuck you, Sukuna.”

“I said don’t talk to her like that,” Itadori’s fingers lose their lightness due to his outburst, pushing inside of you, and he’d look insane if nobody knew he wasn’t talking to himself.

“Hughh,” you gasp.

It was like this with him: constant arguing with his parasite, never having time alone, and having to build thick skin because of the angry curse that inhabits his body. In fact, he continues taunting the both of you to throttle his own amusement, nagging, “See, brat? Don’t you want to hear that sound again?”

“Ignore him,” Itadori bends at the waist to gently kiss your forehead. Since his two fingers plunged past your lips, he’s been working them in and out, rubbing against the hot padding of your walls. Because of the angle he entered at, the small upwards curl of his fingers tickles a sweet spot he knows you love abused.

“Fine. What do they say? ‘If you want something done, you must do it yourself.’”

Moments later, there’s movement and a tingle where you and Yuuji meet. When he finally understands what’s going on, before he can pull his hand away, a hot muscle drags down the path from your hole to your clit, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

Quickly retreating from his reddened, mushroom tip to breath, a melancholy expression shifts to your face. A loud, sultry whine echos throughout the bedroom to signify your pleasure.

Then you finally glance up, only to find your loving boyfriend gone and replaced. The differentiation was in his eyes. It wasn’t the soft, warm look of Itadori; instead it was like he was somewhere in there, not completely present, but aware and unable to do anything about it. The curse marks didn’t appear so he didn’t completely take over—but it was enough control to influence the man you know and love.

Yuuji grabs a fistful of your locks and tug them upwards, making you yelp. Another tell that it was partially Sukuna was that he didn’t kiss you when face to face. He just whipped you all the way around, putting your back to his chest, and hiked your thighs up until your spread for anyone that could miraculously appear through the door.

“Y-yuuji?” You peer over your shoulder and you hate that you’re right. He’s there, but a large portion of it isn’t him.

“Hold your legs apart, slut.”

And it’s then you feel so, so bad, because honestly, there are instances when you wish Itadori was like this with you. Of course you loved him— that was no doubt— and a reason for that began with how sweet and caring he was, always taking care of his friends and fighting for what he loves. And it was horrible being around him when his curse was the complete opposite, always talking to and about you like you’re inferior.

You do just that, ensuring they’re wide enough as his right hand trails down your front just to come to a hover above your lips.

“You know I love how wet you get for me. You’re dripping all over the sheets,” Itadori groans in your ear. Sukuna would’ve said something much worse, so at least you know there’s a little part of him left. “Let’s see if it’s true.”

“If what’s true?”

You’re gripping onto Itadori’s arm when he spreads his palm, allowing the mouth there to do as it pleases. Like they were working together. “If you’d open your pussy for him like you do for me.”

On cue, the thick tongue slips out like it is its own being, curling until it has made contact with your wanting orb. It’s a slimy, weird feeling at first, and honestly, you’re questioning if it knows how to pleasure you. Or if it has a mind at all.

Apparently it does, because when it’s done wetting the entirety of your vulva, it retracts, just to come out again and slide into where Itadori’s fingers were.

“Oh fuckkk,” you toss your head back into his shoulder.

The curse has opened the naughty, untamed part of his mind, and by now, you can’t tell what thoughts are Itadori’s and which are Sukuna’s. In this moment they are molded together as one, both using you for pleasure even if one of the parties was less aware. Oh well.

Attempting to think about all this while serpent-like muscle dips and swirls through your insides is like working a full time job. So much so, that you’re reminded the mouth, quite literally, is Sukuna. Itadori is technically somewhat allowing Sukuna to eat through you.

He pulls away while you squirm, slurping a mix of your fluids and his hungrily. “It is true. I’m sure I could bend her over and breed her just as you could and she wouldn’t scream for me any different.” Your thighs threaten to clench together at the words. He notices and there’s a small pain where he bites for punishment. “Unless she favors me, of course.”

You’re breathless and hot and restricted. When you try to move, Itadori presses Sukuna further down. In the meantime, the curse owns your entire bottom half, lewd sounds produced from his suction and the symphony of your continuous moans.

You’re too far gone to think of any answers to all the degrading comments. It’s all so overwhelming. Yuuji’s free hand reaches around to your breast, massaging and kneading as if it was his first time ever feeling it, arching your back up to his touch.

“Yuuji,” you call, and he knows exactly what you’re saying based on the face you hold. That pout that gets him going in ways he can’t describe.

“It’s not me this time, you’ll have to talk to him.”

Sukuna played it smart. He knew what Itadori wanted, made himself a part of Itadori’s mind so that they shared a common goal, and delved into the host’s deepest desires. It was like a mutual relationship.

So you look down at your writhing body and the reason for it, hoping he knows you’re talking to him. “S-Sukuna?”

He would’ve mocked you if he didn’t want to hear what you had to say. He doesn’t respond though, just flicks the tip of his pink tongue over your clit a few more times. You continue, “I’m close, don’t stop— please.”

The last part is a whisper. You never saw yourself speaking this way to the demon, but to be fair, you didn’t see him eating you out either.

Now you were really dripping with how messily he eats. It has your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your instincts trying to escape the unfamiliar, flexible disturbance prodding at your prostate.

You grunt in irritation, rolling your eyes, only for Itadori to release your nipple that was rolling between his fingers and force your head back by your hair to look at him. Except it wasn’t Itadori this time, but actually Sukuna. Marks, extra eyes, and all.

“Beg,” he demands, rough and deep with a harsh grip on your skull.

You admit it. Now that he’s before you, he does instill a deep fear, but you could barely focus with his second tongue swirling around your canal.

And it would be hell for it to stop, not when he was so close.

“Please, Sukuna, keep going…” It’s a desperate whimper, but fear keeps your eyes shifting through his. Truthfully, he thinks you can do better than that but he’ll let it slide this once.

“Very well.”

And then he dissipates, releasing the grip on your hair. Yuuji is left behind, but it’s all too late when the warmth finally lets itself free. Sukuna sucks and gulps down every ounce of your honey while you see white.

©️hxltic

sry I’m so tired I’m going ts now

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hxltic · 1 month

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what timezone are you in?😊

Central

#tictalks

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hxltic · 1 month

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when are they getting uploaded🥺

Tbh I’m extremely inconsistent with school and my sport and work and other things of that nature so I’m horrible with timing but it should be out soon!! I genuinely am so sorry

#tysm ily #tictalks

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hxltic · 1 month

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are you currently working on any stories

Yes!! Like two from my inbox and another I made up myself :))

#tictalks

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hxltic · 1 month

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hii hru

Heyy! I’m doing great, how are you my love?

#tictalks #tysm ily

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hxltic · 1 month

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Im not sure how to request cause this is like my first time doing it but would u write anything w iwazumis timeskip? like how hes an athletic trainer.. YK DO UR MAGIC idek how to request also x reader if thats ok. THANK U

Hey ofc!! You can be as vulgar and straightforward as you want, this is a safe space😘 (idk if you wanted nsfw or not so if not I’m sorry! I just made it suggestive because I was unsure :P)

The ass crack of dawn peeks through your window, enough to have your body twisting and turning until you’re inevitably forced awake.

Of course you drag yourself to the bathroom and check yourself out a bit, admiring how your new waist training is going and your puffy lips of the morning before brushing your teeth to start the day. Some argue you’re a morning person, but you aren’t. And you feel no kind of guilt admitting that.

You only get up because you have to—to remain consistent, especially with allowing yourself to grow not only physically, but emotionally, finally feeling free from the weights of stress by exercising and feeling good about your figure.

Also, the routine is great for you. It makes you feel productive in the morning, so now when you reflect before, there was this emptiness that came with sitting at home with the same three things you have to do on repeat.

And then of course, the motivation of going to the gym for a man you’ve been seeing around recently. He recognizes you now, probably casually assuming the relationship is nothing more than a mutual gym buddy.

And it’s likewise; you wouldn’t call it a crush. The both of you are grown, just two adults with the same hobby even though you are relatively newer to the activity.

So you pack up your bag and tip your head back for a swig of the protein smoothie you prepared and head out the door.

The gym doesn’t smell anything like how you imagined it would when you first cluelessly walked in. It actually smells clean (mainly from the overwhelming scent of chlorine in the pool water), and it wasn’t super busy around this time. If there were people, they definitely weren’t teenagers coming for their afternoon rounds. The receptionist waves back at you as you pass.

Today was legs. You recognize how far you’ve come, because initially, no day was your favorite, each as long and tortuous as the last. But this has got to be what it means to become accustomed to the pain. Does that make all gym-goers masochists?

If so, Iwaizumi has got to be the worst, because the only other person insane enough— that even remotely looks like he does anything other than train— to be here before you, is him.

“Morning,” you chime. His headphones are off, so the switch that usually tells you when people don’t wish to be spoken to doesn’t go off.

To your delight, he responds with just as much pleasure without turning around, currently sitting on the Lax machine and tugging the resistant handles. “Good morning,” he grunts.

He eventually does, even as he attempts to convince himself to stay focused on his set, but even the discipline he’s built over the years couldn’t prevent him from catching a glimpse of you. You were sitting your stuff down nearby, relocating to the floor to stretch.

He’s been watching you. Not in a creepy way, he justifies, but it becomes a habit when you’re working how he does.

Your progress is a miracle. He could count on one hand the amount of people that come in fresh and immediately get to working, just to return consistently, and cycle through this process until they reach their desired figure and continue after that. You, however, stepped in with a determination on your face he’d never seen before.

You hadn’t requested a trainer, and by what he sees, didn’t need one either. He remembers when you came in talking about how badly you wanted to rid of your little tummy, as well as slim down your plush thighs, pleading someone to teach you how. Of course he knew how; he keeps his work strictly professional with the women who came in asking for the same thing.

He’d always found the little pudge attractive, but it’s your body. It’s just somehow, he wasn’t on the verge of telling them how good it looks or the pure desire he has to press on the fat while his head is between their thighs like he was you. Someone must have heard his prayers though, because instead of slimming your legs down, you became comfortable with the idea of them getting stronger, ultimately making them slightly thicker.

The man was close to finishing the set but that one glimpse of you had him do five extra for good measure since he lost count. How could he focus?

As you split your legs and tilt to one side, you watch the man not too far. The black compression shirt he wears hugs his carved body perfectly, only cementing this fact as his back and arm muscles flex with every controlled pull of the bar. Everything about him was sharp from his shape to the hair on his head.

It was no doubt he was attractive, and since having graduated, attention wasn’t just found anywhere. Maybe some small talk will help?

“What are you doing today?” He hears you call. He almost flinches with what he thinks you’re asking until you add, “Workouts I mean.”

Iwaizumi chuckles at your mishap, more for himself, but it flushes your cheeks nonetheless. It’s a genuine, gentle sound. “Arms. Tomorrow is core,” he says coolly.

“I hate arms. I should probably do them more often, but lifting is only fun if you’re already strong.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” he pulls off the machine, rotating himself on the seat to face you. You’re in a lunge now, oversized t-shirt covering half of the skin tight shorts desperately trying to contain the glutes you’ve grown. He makes sure to force his emerald green eyes to yours. “You won’t get stronger if you don’t give it a try.”

You scoff, “You sound like my old therapist.”

The humor you two shared was nothing more than the surface level awkward kind so this unexpected comment from you had him laughing. Actually laughing. “And you sound like an old friend of mine.”

Smiling at this, you get one more good stretch in and come to your feet. You stand proudly with your hands on your hips, staring at him.

He blinks around happily, “What?”

“You said to give it a try right? Show me the way."

—•—

“I can’t do this,” you say, already struggling just with the form part of the exercise. You switched positions with him since it was closest machine. “How do I pull it if I can’t move my back?”

“Well, that’s the workout part,” he walks around the seat while inspecting you, waiting for you to figure it out with his advice. “Sit up completely straight and slightly lean back. Stay in that position the entire time, but try to pull the bar down to you instead of pulling yourself up to it.”

You try to replicate what you saw him doing. By this point, you had gotten majority of the positioning right, even keeping your back straight, but the damned bar wouldn’t move an inch. “Are you sure the setting on this thing is right?”

“Oh shit-” He pauses at this, then renders that you’re completely right. You’re trying to pull his weight.

As he shuffles over to the side of the machine to adjust it, you watch him with a smug expression and your arms crossed. I’m not just that weak, I knew it, it reads.

Moments later he comes back around, “That’s my bad, try it now.”

And you’re finally able to do it, but your form falters when you successfully pull the bar to your chest. He knows you know, you’re a smart girl, so he gives you a few more tries to correct it. “I feel like I’m about to fall,” you say finally.

“Here, that means you’re leaning too far.” He comes and presses a hand to your back, pushing you forward. “Don’t think about it too much. I’ll hold you right here for a few until you can support yourself.”

He was already hovering beside you, lurking and seeping into all your senses, making the air warmer than it usually is in the gym. With his palm on your back too, you’re starting to think this little affection of yours is getting out of hand. You don’t even look to see how much it has helped.

Somehow, you do eventually get through the sets, but you hadn’t realized that during that time he would actually train you. It was progressive overload, and he brought the weight up to what he thought you could handle each time. You were on the last few.

“C’mon, you got it.”

“I don’t,” you grunt while somewhat laughing, still pulling it to your chest. His voice is more declarative now. You deem it as his professional tone. You also wonder which voice he tends to use in—

“You do. It’s one more—make it your best.”

“Ready for the next?” His lips stretch into a smile, already predicting your answer.

And you do just that, slumping on the seat in victory.

“Good girl,” he praises, clapping, and he changes the weight on the machine to just five before twisting around and holding a hand out. He helps you up when you take it, but you’re really trying to figure out if what he said was professional if it made you clench your thighs.

You bend and get your smoothie, popping the top and drinking, “There’s a next? What’s next?”

“Pull ups of course.”

Truthfully, doing pull ups right after lax for someone who doesn’t really train arms is a death wish. It’s just this once though and your arms will already be sore so he might as well make the most of it while the adrenaline is there.

“Oh dear God,” you sigh.

“I’ll do them with you,” he reassures.

—•—

And he stands on his word, because after walking over to the bar, he clips the belt attached to weight around his hips. The bar was relatively high, even he can admit, so he isn’t surprised when you ask how the hell you’re supposed to get up there.

And you weren’t even necessarily short, it’s just the bar was made for 6’0 and over men, and athletes, so people like you were left out, hence the stacked boxes meant for help beside it.

Iwaizumi makes sure the belt is secure around himself before walking over to you, taking a stance directly behind.

He commands, “Arms up, sweetheart.” And it must be the proximity, because you do just that without a fight. The pet name contributed too.

But when he lifts you, he first drags his hands from your shoulder blades, to your ribs, and into the small of the your back. So smooth you’re questioning if he did it on purpose.

He couldn’t help it. Not when he’s hovering behind you, almost a foot taller. With one small nudge of his hips forward, he’d rest comfortably right between your ass, smelling the coconut shampoo of your hair. Though instead of being a pervert, he’d stick to the nicknames and the gentle touches until you get the damn hint.

Sometime later he’s effortlessly hauling himself up, counting one by one with you. He says you’ll only do 3 sets of ten. Either way it was burning by the ninth.

—•—

Finally you’re done. The only reason your arms aren’t completely limp is the adrenaline of just being around the attractive man next to you. He literally regulates your blood flow.

And you regulate his.

“Okay, now you have to do my workouts.”

He unclips the belt, turning to face you, amused. “I have to do your workouts?”

Your arms come to a cross offensively. “What does that mean? Yes. I did your arm day, now you have to do my leg day.”

He throws his hands in the air defensively, the curl of his lips threatening to break his character, “I’m just saying it won’t be the sa—”

“This way!”

—•—

This was a horrible idea.

He’s situated on the angled leg press machine at a diagonal, now gripping onto the handle bars. The amount of circular plates you usually have on it are already there. You’re standing beside him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to add weight? I usually go more than this,” he challenges.

“Fuck you— no.”

His laughter intensifies at your irritation. Then he brings his legs down slow and controlled, somehow still managing to appear like he could do it with his fucking finger if he tried. You’re not surprised, he’s extremely fit; though you had already catered to this by going whatever your highest weight was.

He guffaws again at your blank expression. “Fine. How much more do you need?”

He appears to think for a moment. Instead of calculating the math like he should be, he’s actually doing nothing of the sort. “Get up there.”

He bends his legs as if confirming he’s dead serious by allowing you to actually step foot on the back of the plate. You stand there still, having not even realized what he’s asking you to do. “What?”

“Get your sweet ass up there and that should be about what my usual weight is.” He shoots a nonchalant glance to the machine. “You won’t fall, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

After a few moments, with an incredulous look painted on your face, you slowly step to the lowered machine, and push yourself up and on to the back, past the weighted plates, to sit not-very-comfortably in the middle. “Uhm…”

“Perfect.”

This time, it didn’t look as easy, but he very much did an entire press to extend his legs out. You watch in wonder over the plate as he carried your weight and plus some just in his legs.

It was his arm day, and you didn’t get to fully watch him do the pull ups since the focus was keeping yourself on the bar. But you got a glimpse when he finished, biceps flexing and pulling extra weight then too. He was strong. You wonder if he puts it to use with his partner?

With his partner. What if he does have a partner? You shake your head, no, he wouldn’t have asked you to do what you’re doing if he did.

His grunts were a nice addition too.

Counting for him aloud, and not completely sure if you didn’t skip a number even though you’re only going to ten, you helped him through the set. It had been a while since there was someone to cheer him on. He was always doing the cheering.

“Okay okay,” you wait for him to finish the set, then get off. It feels so good to have your feet on the ground, sure that you won’t be yelled at by the gym staff to remove yourself from the equipment. “You’ve proved yourself, muscleman.”

“Great, I’ll take you out Saturday then?” He asks, pressing up the remaining weight easy and locking up the machine so he can leave it.

A flush runs across your cheeks, driving you to pick up your drink and sip to hide it. “You don’t know me. What if I have a husband and kids at home?”

You were projecting, you know that. It was fresh on your mind since you slightly wanted to ask him the same question. He stalks over to you.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he observes, nodding to your right hand, making you look as if you didn’t know it was bare. He only stops walking until you’re face to face, way too close to just be a professional interaction. It only worsens when his thumb and index finger pinches your chin, his eyes sending flames through yours. “And let’s both be honest— if there was someone waiting for you at home, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Let alone at the gym at all, he wanted to add. Whatever pussy was letting you come here to workout instead of telling you how good it feels to have your thick thighs ricocheting off his skin or how good your stretch marks look after being swollen with a child for nine months, doesn’t deserve you anyway.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he swipes your lips with his finger and retreats. The heat doesn’t dissipate.

“Saturday at 7?” You speak softly. So softly and breathless you aren’t even sure if he heard it as he walks away.

“My number’s in your bag, beautiful,” he winks, and then he’s turning the corner, back to where you met earlier in the morning.

smash

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