will simp for anyone

Unfortunately, I have a cabin full of siblings.

"Hey." That's Will, and I crack my eyes open in a halfhearted glare. He gives me a sympathetic smile. "Not so good?"

"Awful," I mutter, dragging myself upright and raking a hand over my face.

Will rubs my shoulder and offers a tiny corner of ambrosia. As tempting as it is, I shake my head; ambrosia overdose is a very real thing, I've discovered from personal experience, and I'd rather save it for when I really need it.

He nods in understanding, and helps me out of bed. "Fine, but don't be a martyr. When you start hobbling, I'm forcing you to have something."

Some of the others pass us by, hovering their hands rather than actually trying to touch me without permission. That does earn a little bit of a smile at how lucky I am to have a family that understands me.

"Why did dad have to nerf me," I mutter, sitting down at the table and bending forward to rest my forehead against the surface. "Someone do my offering for me, I can't get back up now I'm here."

Will pats my head, and not so subtly takes my temperature from the back of my neck. "I got it, just try not to pass out, okay?"

He gets a thumbs up and my plate. I remain firmly in my place, waiting for the headache to ease up. I can feel the moment Will scrapes my offering into the brazier because the pressure leesens on my skull and I get the feeling that dearest dad is apologising in my aura.

Relief sags my shoulders and I'm able to sit up straight, thanking Will as he brings my plate back to me. "Thanks, I feel better. Well. I feel less shit."

"Good," he hums, sitting next to me. "But seriously, if you don't take care of yourself before you fall over today, I'm telling Chiron.

"Don't you dare," I grin, nudging his shoulder with mine as I take a bite of breakfast. "I'm already in trouble for not realising when I dislocated my knee."

Okay, being chronically fucked up sucks, especially when your dad is the god of healing, but hey, at least that same dad gave me a bunch of siblings to threaten me with godly painkillers.

It's just juice, that's what I'm telling myself. Just juice, I only spilled some juice on the counter, it's not like I spilled it on carpet because that would have been a bitch to clean up and would have been awful- not that it couldn't have been fixed, that would also have been fine, probably-

I stop scrubbing at the counter with paper towels, forcing myself to take a breath. No need to spiral, it's just juice. Just breathe.

My hands tingle, like they're tempted. My wrists tingle like they're even more tempted, and I realise a moment too late that my fingers have curled into a fist and my perfectly manicured nails are digging into the soft flesh of my palm.

"Hey."

Nico's voice is alarmingly close, and I jump a foot in the air. "Fucking hell- Neeks, where did you come from?"

He doesn't respond, his hands moving to my waist and gently moving me out the way of the counter. He cleans up the rest of the juice, quick and easy, and dumps the soggy tissue in the bin.

Turning back to me, he holds out his hands. "Give."

My head falls forward, and I set my hands in his. Silently, Nico examines the harsh indents of my nails in my palms, and pushes up the sleeves of my jumper to examine my arms. With a hum, he brings my knuckles up and presses a kiss to each hand.

"Head up," he murmurs, not gentle but not harsh, just... firm. Caring in his own way. "No shame, c'mon."

Finally I lift my head up, and my eyes meet his. "There you are," he whispers, tugging me closer and wrapping me in a hug. "They're okay, just a small juice crisis."

It takes me a moment to realise he's not talking to me, hearing Will's footsteps coming up behind me. A second pair of arms weave their way around both me and Nico.

"All good?" He hum, pressing a kiss to the back of my head.

"...just a small crisis," I mutter, pulling back to take a breath and look behind me. "With some light... bad decisions."

Nico shakes his head. "No, some mismanagement of emotions. C'mon, babe, don't make me spew the same bullshit Will used to tell me all the time, it's cringe."

I laugh, and Will sputters in protest. "It's not bullshit, it's helpful! I got an internet diploma in therapy from the internet for you!"

"Whatever." Nico rolls his eyes, and leans in to peck my cheek. "No drastic reactions to spilled juice. Too much? Call for one of us before you start losing your mind over it."

Coming from anyone else, it would sound mean and dismissive, but... coming from Nico, it hides a genuine concern. I give him a a small smile, nodding my head.

"Fine. Next juice crisis, I'll ask for help."

Will pecks a kiss to my ear from behind. "Yes, you will. You still need juice?"

He doesn't wait for a response, reaching for the glass I'd gotten out before the whole juice spilling, and pouring me an actual glass of juice. "Voila."

"Thanks," I smile, taking a sip as Will hands the glass over. "But if we say 'juice' one more time, it's gonna stop sounding like a word."

having a period as a guy can absolutely be dysphoric

maybe you've told them this, maybe not, but these boys are emotionally aware

every month there's about a week when you get quieter, insecure, popping painkillers like candy

doesn't take a genius to put two and two together

will, as someone with an interest and skill in medicine, is researching everything he can

causes of cramps, natural methods, best heat pads etc.

may or may not make a presentation about your hormones and how they affect people, including how to manage them

nico, bless him, is a bit more clueless

you did once catch him with a box of pads, transferring them from the overtly feminine wrapping to blue wrapping he'd somehow found

he blushed so bright but mumbled something about wanting you to be comfortable and let you melt about his consideration attempt

they have a plan now

every month, you get a basket of things

masculine scented body wash (travel sized, so you use it up before the next month so they can get you a new one)

a bunch of stick-on heating pads

will adds a bunch of vitamins and drinks and snacks that are good for you

nico finds a pin badge or a print or a keychain in the trans colours

their compliments become about how handsome you are, how lucky they are to have such a great boyfriend, anything to alleviate some of the dysphoria

but when it all gets too much? cramps too bad, hormones out of control, dysphoria hoodie not quite cutting it?

they match your energy

they're in hoodies too, so you don't look any different

everyone's slumped on the sofa, watching whatever you want

they just exist with you

will makes everyone tea

nico ignores will's suggestion of healthy snacks and brings out chocolate

they know you're a guy, you know you're a guy, and they'll support you when your body seems to be disagreeing

Nico physically jerks at the sound of my voice breaking the concentrated quiet, and a quick glance over reveals pink cheeks and eyes hidden behind dark hair. As if to emphasise my point, his character dies, murdered by about six pixels of my sword.

He huffs, adjusting his grip on the controller. "Nothing's up, just restart."

"Why? So you can lose again?" I set my controller down and shift so I'm sitting sideways on the sofa, eyes narrowed at my best friend who is suspiciously not looking back at me. "Don't bullshit me, kid, something's wrong."

Nico rolls his eyes, but there's a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "I'm, like, a hundred years older than you."

I wave my hand dismissively. "Who cares, I'm physically older than you by almost a year, now talk."

There's a good two minutes of silence where our stubbornness battles akin to our game characters, but I'm too well-versed in being patient with this motherfucker than he knows. Inevitably (to me), Nico is the one to break.

"...you are not allowed to judge me," he begins, setting down the controller and bringing his knees up onto the sofa, hugging them to his chest. "Because I will never talk to you again and then ensure you get sent to Tartarus whe you die. Capisce?"

I snort, but give him a salute. "Understood."

Another thirty seconds or so, and my beloved best friend displays his charming lack of tact. "I'm stupidly horny. Like, ridiculously pent up, and nothing is helping."

...well. Can't say I was expecting that, but I do my best to take it in stride.

"You're horny," I echo, clearing my throat. "Okay... and when you say nothing is helping...?"

"I mean nothing." Nico rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly and staring at the sofa cushions like it's their fault. "Not my hand, not fantasising, not being slow or quick-"

"Okay," I jump in, both wanting to stop him before he gets too frustrated and not necessarily needing to hear the ins and outs of my best friend's masturbation. "Got it, nothing's helping. Have you... tried getting someone else involved?"

Nico snorts. "What a dumb way to ask if I've hooked up with anyone."

I reach out with my foot and lightly kick his shin. "Shut up, I'm trying to help. So? Have you?"

"...no," Nico admits, shrugging. "I don't exactly know many people who are into guys, and I'm not touching dating apps with a ten foot pole."

Call it impulsivity, call it sex drive, call it whatever you like, but whatever possessed me to open my mouth was an independent entity.

"You know me."

Nico gives me a blank stare, deep brown eyes rimmed with pretty eyelashes doing nothing to disguise the utter befuddlement within them.

Before he can get a word out, I double down. "I'm just saying, I'm a guy, I like guys, you trust me, right? I know what I'm doing, I won't let it get awkward, I could... help you, then we can get back to playing the game and maybe you won't be so shit at it."

I've known Nico for years, he's been my best friend basically since we met and lasted well into our twenties, so I know what his silences mean. Which is why I'm stunned to realise that his silence isn't wordless rejection, but thoughtful consideration.

After a painful several moments, he speaks. "Hypothetically... what would you be comfortable with? How would you help?"

I take a breath, releasing it slow and steady. "Well, I would probably use my hand, I guess. Would that be okay?"

He nods, slowly, once. Hesitantly, I take the controllers from between us and set them on the table in front of the sofa.

"Can you come closer?" I instinctively take the lead, knowing Nico isn't gonna risk even a minor rejection. Like a mouse approaching something it's sure is a trap, Nico shuffles across the sofa until he's in front of me.

Well, that won't do. With a soft huff of effort, I pull Nico into my lap, grinning at his noise of surprised indignance. "Hey-!"

"What?" I hum, arms around his waist to hold him against me. "I wasn't gonna reach all the way over there, that would be so weird."

"Yeah, 'cause this is so fucking normal," he mutters, but shifts to get comfortable, straddling my thighs.

"So, if I get you off, will you be less whiny?" I tease, my hands going to the waistband of his joggers. "Will you stop being a miserable twat?"

Nico looks down at me, his hands resting on my shoulders. "I'm always like this, I've been a miserable twat since you've known me."

My distraction tactic appears to be working, and he lets me pull down the waistband without a fuss. "Yeah, sure, but you're so much more of a bitch to me, why don't I get special treatment as your best friend?"

"'Cause you're just as much of a bitch!" Nico huffs, eyes rolling. "You match my whining, that's the basis of our friendship- ah-"

My hand palming over his underwear cuts him off, his cheeks flaring red like he's just remembered that he doesn't normally sit in my lap. I don't let him focus on it.

"The basis of our friendship is you have no friends and it's hard for you to play two-person games by yourself. It's hard for you to play single-player games, though, so maybe you just suck."

"I don't suck," Nico mutters, glaring at me through his hair. I roll my eyes right back at him, as if I don't feel him twitching under my hand through fabric.

"You suck so much," I argue, using my free hand and sneaking it under his hoodie to smooth over his side. "I've seen you try play Minecraft, it's embarrassing."

His hands tighten on my shoulders, hips twitching into my touch as i tease the little wet spot forming on his underwear. My eyes flick down to his neck as he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "I'm used to retro games, I'd kick your ass at Pac-Man."

"What about Ms. Pac-Man?" Doing the absolute most, I tug down the elastic of his underwear, using both hands to keep him steady. His cock bobs up, brushing the underneath of his hoodie, pretty and pink and twitching. "I could definitely beat you at Ms. Pac-Man."

Nico laughs, a breathless sound that's equal parts pleasure, playful frustration and disbelief. "It's the- o-oh, shit- it's the same fucking game, dude, there's no difference."

I gasp dramatically, finally wrapping my hand around his length. He's warm, tip weeping precum. "How can you say they're the same? Ms. Pac-Man is a queen, Pac-Man is just a guy!"

Despite his obvious struggle to remain coherent as my hand strokes his cock, Nico manages to keep up. "H-How do you know Ms. Pac-Man isn't j-just Pac-Man in drag?"

I reward his question with a thoughtful squeeze to his tip, and Nico muffles a whimper into the sweater-pawed hand he claps over his mouth.

"Very progressive of you, old man," I nod approvingly, my free hand slipping down his side to his hip and encouraging the tiny thrusts he makes into my hand. "I appreciate your unique point of view. Regardless, I could still beat you at any game. Just 'cause you spent years in an arcade doesn't mean you're any good."

Nico moans, and I grin at the sound of frustration mixed with arousal. He drags his hand from his mouth and sets it at the back of my neck, gripping it to ground himself. "Sh-Shut up- are you trying to make me c-come or piss m-me off?"

"Yes." I nod sagely, twisting my wrist in a way that makes Nico visibly shudder. "Look, I'm just extrapolating the evidence! You're shit at modern video games, it stands to reason you'd be bad at any other game."

"Th-That's not how c-causation works- fuck!" Honestly, I'm having fun watching my normally quick-witted best friend try to keep it together to continue this argument while I'm literally jerking him off in my lap. He's panting, and I can feel his nails digging into the back of my neck. "Minecraft isn't the s-same as... a-as that alien shoot-y game."

"What game?" I laugh, kind of fascinated that he's clearly losing coherence. "What's the alien shoot-y game called, Neeks?"

"I don't f-fucking care, don't fucking know-" Nico shakes his head, the tiny pulses of his hips becoming sporadic. I don't stop, keeping my hand even and rhythmic, but I don't stop teasing him.

"If you don't even know the name, I could definitely beat you," I scoff playfully, thumb now catching under his tip with every upstroke. "Guess it's 'cause I'm older than you, so I have more experience with these things, I could teach you-"

Nico slams a hand over my mouth with a groan of frustration. "Sh-Shut up, just stop t-talking, shut up-!"

His whole body locks up, a choked gasp forced from his throat as he comes. Dribbles of milky white seep over my fingers as I keep stroking him, his cock throbbing in my hand. I let him keep my mouth covered, watching as Nico shudders, whimpers, and slumps forward to drop his head into the crook of my neck.

After a moment, I gently let go of his softening cock, thanking the gods that I can reach the tissues on the table by the sofa. I clean my hand, then carefully wipe him clean before tucking him back into his underwear and tugging up his joggers so he's fully covered again.

He simply allows it, catching his breath against my neck while still keeping my mouth covered. Eventually, he drags himself out from his hiding spot, looking more relaxed than I've seen him in weeks.

"...five minutes," he breathes, a familiar smirk on his lips, and he jerks his head towards the TV screen where the game menu is still glowing.

"Five minutes, then I kick your ass."

smart? yes

impulse control? zero

if she thinks something is wrong or unfair, she's gonna call it out

if there is something annabeth wants to do, she'll find a loophole in the rules that lets her do it

so when she doesn't want to go home, she finds something in the rules that allows her to stay longer

and of course, you're coming with her

barely an ounce of impulse control between the two of you but that's the fun of it!

the life of a demigod is exhausting and stressful, so in comparison, sneaking around after school is simply fun that normal teenagers might have

'sneaking around' quickly devolves into a giggly game of chase, sprinting down corridors and trying to stay quiet as if someone might hear you

annabeth corners you in the library, the two of you out of breath and utterly giddy

you try and dart past, and she effortlessly snags you into her arms, burying a victorious laugh into your neck

of course, she demands a prize - she's chased you around the whole school, she's earned one

high on adrenaline, you give her a quick peck on the lips

the air changes, shifting into something both softer and more intense

this time, it's unclear who leans into whom, you just know that her lips are on yours and your hands are in her hair

she backs you up against a bookcase, her fingers curling around your hips

she tastes like strawberry gum and smells like ordinary teenage rebellion

for once, neither of you are looking over your shoulders for a monster pretending to be a book or a science teacher who's secretly a gargoyle

you're just two kids misbehaving and the worst punishment you'll get is a couple detentions

her hands sneak under your top and you gasp a laugh, the chill of her fingers catching you off-guard

she laughs quietly into the kiss and doesn't stop, coaxing your mouth open to deepen the kiss

time softens and slows into an abstract concept, both of you wrapped up in each other and your own little bubble

the sound of a hoover breaks the aforementioned bubble

you pull back, both of you wide-eyed, ears perked, lips a little swollen

you didn't account for the caretaker

bursting into giggles, you have to cover your mouths to stay silent

you can feel the excited kind of panic buzzing in your system, but annabeth's eyes are sharp and focused

your girl is coming up with a plan of escape

she takes your hand, leans in to press her lips to your ear, and whispers

"trust me"

The whiskey is repulsive. Your throat still hurts from the last sip you took two minutes ago, but being in a new town, in a new bar, surrounded by new people means the social judgement of abandoning the drink is entirely too much right now. So, rather than give in and order something you actually want, you’re stuck with what the bartender decided you needed from the resting bitch face you no doubt wore when you walked in.

The brown liquid is taunting you, ice cubes sat smug at the bottom of the glass.

“Yikes, what the whiskey do to you?”

Low, smooth, amusement colouring the words and providing the first glimmer of fun you’re experienced all day. Glancing over to the left, your eyes flick to the hat, the eyes, and the smirk of the stranger waiting a respectful distance for you to reply.

You manage to find your words just before the delay gets awkward. “…honestly, it’s kinda gross.”

The stranger laughs, big brown eyes crinkling cutely at the corners. “Why don’t you order somethin’ else?”

“’Cause that’s weird,” you huff, lips turning up – his smile is infectious. “And it was just handed to me without a word, is that a thing that happens here?”

The man gestures at the barstool between you, and takes a seat at your nod of permission. “Sometimes, yeah. Might just be that they’re jumping to conclusions.” He holds out a hand. “Jisung, a pleasure to meet you. Guessin’ you’re new around here?”

You tell him your name and take his hand to shake it. “Yeah, moved here a couple weeks ago.” The charmer brings your knuckles to his lips and brushes a chaste kiss to the skin. You pretend the simple gesture didn’t just make your fucking day.

“Well, will the lovely lady allow me to buy her a drink?” Jisung visibly cringes at the words that just came out of his mouth, reaching up to touch the brim of his hat self-consciously. “Okay, let me try again – can I buy you a drink you’ll actually enjoy?”

You laugh, warmth kissing your cheeks. “You may.”

He visibly relaxes and flags down the bartender, ordering something red and tart. When the drink comes, he doesn’t touch it; instead, he steals your barely-touched whiskey and uses the glass to nudge your new drink towards you. “Hope you don’t mind, don’t want good whiskey to go to waste.”

You take sips of your respective drinks, and a sharp cherry taste bursts on your tongue. Jisung takes an easy gulp of whiskey and clears his throat.

“So, been here a few weeks?” he asks, glass rim held between slender, worn fingers. “How ya’ like it so far?”

“It’s… different,” you admit, an elbow on the bar surface, body turned towards him. “Definitely still settling in, so I haven’t seen much of the town yet; mostly just been sorting out my new place and job and shit.”

Jisung hums, eyes bright with genuine interest. “If you need a guide or someone to introduce you to the hidden gems, consider my expert services offered.” He throws you a wink over the edge of the glass.

You again pretend like something as simple as a wink doesn’t make you feel special. “Bold of you,” you grin, mirroring him and taking another sip of your drink.

He shrugs. “I’m a drink and a half deep–” He swirls the liquid around, ice dinking softly against the glass. “–and you’re extremely pretty, if I may say so, ma’am.” This time, he doesn’t take back the formality, doubling down with a tip of his hat.

The cherry drink loosens your limbs and dismantles some of your brain-to-mouth filters, and Jisung’s charming, cute, dorky personality blossoms over the course of the conversation. You tell him about moving away from the city and living independently for the first time, and you learn that he’s a farmhand at the biggest ranch nearby, where he’s worked since he was sixteen.

It feels like he can’t help the compliments and flirtation, laughing low and clinking his glass to yours in a gesture of ‘cheers!’ that you both pretend isn’t just an excuse to touch your hand.

“Well,” he murmurs, tipping back the last of the whiskey. A single drop escapes the corner of his lips, trailing down to his jawline. It’s unfairly attractive, and you experience the inexplicable urge to follow its path with your tongue. “Like I said, I’m a pretty good tour guide, if you find yourself in need of one.”

You, just the right side of tipsy, tap a finger against your similarly empty glass. “Okay… so, hypothetically, where’s the first place you would take me?”

The flicker of a double entendre isn’t missed, and the slight tilt of his head sends an interested shiver down your spine. His voice drops, a soft twang making itself known. “I suppose I’d have to introduce you to my truck, then I’d be able to take you wherever you wanted.”

“Practical,” you hum, sliding your glass away and making to stand up, making sure you have everything you came in with. Jisung hesitates, tongue wetting his lips and eyes flicking up and down your form. “I might take you up on that.”

You smirk, every movement languid and teasing. On a whim, you reach out for the cowboy hat on top of his head. “Now, I’m not totally familiar with the customs in this town, but I’m also not totally ignorant, and I’m pretty sure…” You steal the hat, and place it atop your own head. “…I know what this means.”

You stay long enough to watch his eyes go dark, then turn on your heel and walk out the bar, barn-style doors clacking behind you.

It takes ten seconds for Jisung to catch up, and the warm hand curling around your forearm already feels familiar. He spins you ‘round, a little out of breath, a smirk on his plush lips. “Didn’t expect you to be so forward, ma’am, but I hope you know what you’ve just started.”

His arms slip around your back and under your knees, hoisting you against his chest. No time wasted, he crosses the road away from the bar, two silhouettes in the evening light. He only puts you down once he’s carried you to a truck, worn and well-loved. “This way, darlin’,” and he opens the door.

With his helping hand, you climb up into the cab of the truck, swiftly followed by Jisung. There’s a single moment of quiet.

It’s broken by the cowboys’ grasping hands, pulling you out the passenger seat and across the console, bringing you to straddle his lap. Your lips crash into his, twin exhalations of relief escaping into the non-existent space between your bodies. Jisung’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the quiet hitch of breath as your chest presses to his.

The kiss deepens, lips slanting and parting against each other, hot and greedy, cherry and whiskey blending together into something addictive.

“Tastes so much better,” you breathe, words spoken between hard kisses. “From your mouth than a glass.”

Jisung groans, tearing himself from your mouth to bury his face in your neck. “You can’t just say shit like that, baby, you’re gonna ruin me before we even start.”

You laugh, uneven and breathy, hands curling into his flannel shirt as his lips mouth at your neck. “You’re really that sensitive, huh?” Just to experiment, your hips roll down against his.

The action earns a shaky moan, his hips bucking up and hands tightening at your waist. “F-Fuck, shouldn’t have said anything…”

“Definitely not,” you purr, hands running up his chest and neck to bury into his hair, giving it a playful tug. The warmth pooling in your gut coaxes your hips to keep going, grinding down again and again, and to your delight, Jisung utterly fails to muffle his desperate noises against your skin.

His fingers fumble at the waistband of your jeans, the button slipping free. “So unfair, wearing my hat and in my lap, lookin’ so fuckin’ hot–” And his hand slips into your jeans, questing fingers finding the warmth covered by your underwear.

He’s rewarded with a sharp gasp and an instinctive curl of your fingers in his hair, already trying to ground yourself. “Damn, baby,” he whispers, smirking as he tugs and tucks at the wet fabric, baring your slick flesh to his touch. “All soaked f’me, huh?”

“Oh, shut up–” Your weak protest is cut off with two fingers sinking into you, and your head tips back with a moan. The movement dislodges the cowboy hat, sending it tumbling back onto the dashboard. Jisung tuts, stroking his fingers slow and delicious against your insides with one hand and retrieving the hat with the other. He sets it back on your head, tapping a teasing finger to the tip of your nose.

“Can’t ride the cowboy if you don’t wear the hat, babygirl.”

You attack his lips again, kissing that smug grin off his face. He moans into your mouth and fucks his fingers into you harder harder, faster, soaking up the effect he’s having on you but quickly getting impatient.

“Okay, full confession,” he pants, reluctantly pulling his hand from your jeans and blinking hard to try and focus. “If we were anywhere else, like a bed, my head would be between your legs, but I really, really wanna be inside you.”

His eyes are both wanting and pleading, like he can’t decide whether to beg for what he wants or just take it.

Your lips, kiss-swollen and shiny, curve up into a smile. “I’m wearing the hat for a reason, cowboy.”

Relief visibly floods his body, and he fumbles behind you in the glovebox. He retrieves a foil packet with a cute sound of victory. “Thank fuck, now take off your jeans.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to react, he just yanks at the denim with needy hands. With some necessary contorting, the clothing is peeled off your body, joining your shoes in the footwell. Jisung looks longingly at your thighs, and you can’t help but laugh at how bad he wants to know your taste.

“Next time,” you whisper, and his eyes light up.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Your promise spurs him on, and he undoes his own jeans, yanking them down just enough to free himself. His head tips back with a moan of relief, cock a pretty pink and achingly hard, beading with precome. “Fuck… fuck, c’mere, pretty girl–”

You go easily, making sure your underwear is tugged to one side and hovering over his cock as Jisung snaps the condom onto himself. The warmth radiating from your pussy pulls a wanting groan from his throat, and his hands guide your hips as you sink down, deliberately and painfully slowly.

“O-Oh, shit…” You cling to his shoulders, jaw dropping as you take every inch into you perfect body.

Jisung whimpers, eyes wide and wrecked as he looks up at you like he’s seeing an angel in real life and she’s on his cock. “You’re so tight – oh, god, baby, you gotta move, you gotta, need to feel you ride me, holy shit–”

“You talk so much.” You lift up, only to sink all the way back down. It drags a tremling, needy whine from the cowboy beneath you, his hands vice-like on your hips and encouraging you to bounce in his lap.

Proving you right, Jisung cannot stop talking, babbling like he’s losing his mind inside you. “So good, so fuckin’ good, don’t stop, you look so fuckin’ pretty, ridin’ me so well, you can keep the hat, please, please keep the hat if it means I get to fuck you like this again–”

It spurs you on, thighs beginning to ache as you feel your release building like a promise. Jisung whimpers as you squeeze around his cock, his hips bucking up and catching your clit against his pelvis. One of his hands sneaks down to press a thumb to that sensitive nub of nerves, working rough, determined circles over it.

“You gonna come for me, huh?” he pants, heart thumping like it’s trying to escape his ribs and find yours. “C’mon, gorgeous girl, show me how good it feels, come on my cock, wanna feel it, need to feel you come f’me.”

“C-Close, so close, oh fuck–!” Your hips stutter hard, the promise breaking and flooding your already-buzzed system with bliss. Your head falls back with a cry, pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock.

Jisung doesn’t stand a chance, and he drags you down until every inch of him is sheathed inside you as he comes, stifling a whimpery sound against your shoulder, the noise bordering on a sob.

Two bodies tremble together, catching shared breaths, hands softening against skin. Jisung recovers first, peppering kisses along your jaw as you shiver in his lap.

“Hey, pretty,” he murmurs, voice soft and sweet. “How ya’ doin’?”

It brings a tiny laugh from your lips. “…I’m good .Yeah, really good.” Jisung hums and gently guides you off his lap, both of you hissing quietly as he slips out of you. He removes the condom, flailing around for a second and making you laugh again before he finds an empty pot of gum to leave it in for now.

He’s so gentle; readjusting your underwear to cover you, helping you put your jeans back on, even sitting you in the passenger seat to bring your feet onto his lap and put your shoes on for you. “C’mere,” he mutters, running his fingers through your hair to neaten it up. “Still gorgeous, even when you’re all messy.”

You rescue his hat from the passenger seat footwell, dusting it off and giving him a grin as you return it to his head. He hums a thanks, and links his fingers with your after a moment, thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“…so, you still want a tour guide?” Hope and hesitance wrap his words, like a gift he’s not sure you’ll accept so he kept the receipt just in case. Looking into his pretty, warm brown eyes means you have no other answer to give.

i hope you like it :3 i actually haven't written many kpop fics so i hope this was okay lol <3

“Oh, a hundred percent.” You gesture at the freshly-defiled cab of his truck. “The first place was an amazing start, I’m sure the rest will be even better.”