Mark Grayson has a terrible time finding a lover. Like any normal young adult, he gets on a dating app. Weeks pass and it's getting him nowhere! Until he comes across you.
🏷️ Tags!
Teeth rotting sweet fluff. Eventual soft?? sex. Body Worship. Mark worships the ground you walk on. Corny in some part i guess.. Mark and Reader are inexperienced and awkward. Dating Apps. Body insecurity. Mark is a chubby chaser. Reader has body issues. Little bit of hurt with a LOT of Comfort. All hurt is from past experience. Kissing. Touching. Appearance of eve and mark's past relationships. Reader and mark are both approx ~20. Camping. Hiking, Swimming. Mark is a pervert, but so are you. Public sex. Beach/Lake sex. Edging. Overstimulation. Clawing. Unprotected sex. Creampie. Aftercare. Cunnilingus. Masturbation (Mark). More tags to add..
A/N: The original post is my MOST popular post on here like ever 😭 jessuss.. Sorry if there are any mistakes i tried to get this out quicker than usual. Also this is THE LONGEST fanfic ive ever written. ENJOY!!
inside was small, just enough room for the two of you to lie down without touching too much space between.
Which was… noticeable.
You tried not to think about it.
Mark crouched at the entrance, ducking in after you.
The moment he was inside, the space felt even smaller.
He reached out and zipped the tent flap mostly shut, leaving a small gap for air and the faint glow of the fire still outside.
The world narrowed down to canvas walls, sleeping bags, and the distant sounds of the forest.
You sat on your sleeping bag, hugging your knees for a moment.
Mark settled across from you, then hesitated like he wasn’t entirely sure what the “correct” amount of space between you was.
Eventually, he chose “close, but respectful.”
You appreciated that more than you probably could’ve explained.
Outside, the fire cracked softly, smaller now.
Inside, everything felt quieter in a different way.
More personal.
You reached for your bag, pulling out a small flashlight, then set it down again without turning it on.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “This is actually kind of nice.”
Mark looked at you.
“Kind of?”
You smiled faintly. “Okay. Really nice.”
That earned you a softer expression from him. Not a grin this time. Just something calm.
Like he was holding onto the moment carefully.
You shifted slightly, adjusting your sleeping bag.
Your earlier thoughts drifted back in for a second, how he’d caught you, how easily he’d moved, how little effort it seemed to take.
You glanced at him again.
He was watching you already.
Of course he was.
You hesitated.
Then asked, quieter than before, “Are you always that… quick?”
Mark paused.
Just a fraction too long.
Then he shrugged a little, like it didn’t matter.
“Sometimes.”
You studied him in the low light.
There was something about the way he avoided making it a big deal.
Like he didn’t want it to be a thing you had to overthink.
But you were already overthinking it anyway.
Still..
You let it go.
For now.
Instead, you shifted onto your side, facing him a little more openly.
The space between you wasn’t gone.
But it felt less sharp than it had earlier.
Mark mirrored you after a moment, lying back slightly, one arm propped behind his head.
The silence returned.
Your eyes drifted half-closed before you realized how tired you actually were.
The hike. The fire. The talking. The thinking.
It all caught up at once.
“You okay?” Mark asked softly.
You hummed. “Yeah. Just tired.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, you added, “In a good way.”
That made something in his expression soften even more.
Like he liked hearing that.
Like it mattered to him.
Outside, the wind moved gently through the trees.
Inside, the tent held the warmth of both of you.
You shifted a little deeper into your sleeping bag, your voice drifting lower.
“I’m glad I did this.”
Mark turned his head slightly toward you.
“Me too.”
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No second-guessing.
He was sure.
Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than you meant to.
Then you exhaled slowly and let your body relax fully into the ground beneath you.
The last thing you really noticed before sleep started to pull at you was the quiet way Mark stayed still.
Like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.
Like he was careful not to ruin something he already knew he didn’t want to lose. He wasn’t lying to you about his identity, he was simply protecting you.
However, sleep hovered just out of reach.
Not because the tent was uncomfortable.
Not because the forest outside was unfamiliar.
But because your thoughts kept circling the same soft, persistent disbelief, like your mind didn’t quite trust how gentle everything had been all night.
Mark stayed quiet across from you.
Still.
Present.
You shifted slightly in your sleeping bag, trying to settle deeper into it, pulling the fabric up around your shoulders like it might help anchor you back into rest.
It didn’t.
A small rustle came from Mark’s side of the tent.
Then he moved.
Just a quiet adjustment in the dark.
The sleeping bag beside you shifted closer. Barely noticeable at first.
Then his arm slid out, slow and careful, like he was checking for hesitation without asking for it out loud.
And then, gently..
He pulled you in.
No words.
No explanation.
Just a solid, careful tug until you were tucked against his chest.
You went easily, your body recognizing the offer before your mind could fully process it. The sleeping bags rustled softly as they tangled together, bridging the small gap that had felt too wide a moment ago. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, heavy and warm, anchoring you in place.
And slowly, without you making any conscious decision about it, your body stopped resisting rest. Your breathing evened out. Your shoulders dropped.
The world narrowed until there was only warmth behind you, steady and calm, and the quiet sound of him breathing somewhere just above your ear.
For once, sleep didn’t feel like falling.
It felt like being held there long enough that you could finally let go.
-🍑-
The night stretched on…
The fire outside died down to embers.
The forest settled deeper into its rhythm.
And inside the tent, Mark didn't move.
Not once.
He stayed exactly like that, muscled arm anchored around you, breathing steady and slow, as if you were a prized possession.
guarding you.
A small smile crept onto your expression.
Your breathing shifted.
Even.
-🍑-
Morning came softly.
No sudden light, no sharp wake-up—just the slow brightening of the tent fabric and the distant sound of birds pulling the world back into motion.
At some point during the night, you must’ve fully fallen asleep, because when you blinked awake, everything felt different.
Quieter in your body.
Heavier in a good way.
Warm.
Mark was already moving outside the tent, the faint sound of the zipper sliding open and soft footsteps on grass pulling you the rest of the way into consciousness.
You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes.
The memory of the night before wasn’t a dream.
It sat there, steady and real in the back of your mind, like something you didn’t need to question anymore.
Outside, the air was crisp and sunlit, the forest glowing in early gold.
Mark was crouched near the fire pit, messing with something that looked like it might become breakfast but was currently still in the “hopeful” stage. You could smell it. It was something with sausage.
When he looked up and saw you, his expression softened immediately. His dark brown eyes studying you made your face heat up.
That same look.
The one that always found you a second too gently.
You felt your chest tighten in response before you could even stop it.
“Morning,” he said.
You nodded, trying to act normal, even though your brain was still half wrapped in warmth and sleep and him. You wiped the drool off your jaw. You hadn’t slept that good in a while.
“Morning.”
Neither of you were in a hurry to break whatever softness had carried over from the night.
After eating, you packed up in a quiet rhythm together.
The tent came down easier than it went up, which you appreciated more than you expected.
Backpacks were slung on.
The campsite slowly disappeared behind you.
And without really planning it, you both drifted toward the lake again.
-🍑-
It was brighter now.
The water reflecting a clean, shimmering blue under the morning sun, ripples catching light like scattered glass.
You slowed at the edge of the shore.
Mark did too.
Neither of you said anything at first.
You just stood there, taking it in.
Then, almost without thinking, you set your bag down.
“…We’re swimming,” you decided.
Mark glanced at you. “We are?”
You were already untying your shoes. “We are.” He quickly followed suit.
That earned a quiet laugh from him.
The lake had a somewhat of a steep drop off. If you decided to get into the water, you had to be fully committed.
When folding your clothes neatly next to your bag, you heard a splash behind you.
You stood at the edge for a second longer than you meant to.
Mostly because Mark was already there.
And you were suddenly, unfairly aware of that fact.
He straightened when he noticed you, brushing a hand through his hair, a little damp from the humidity already rising.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
It was..somewhat awkward.
Mark’s gaze flicked over you, then stopped, just briefly, just enough to make something in your chest jump.
Not in a way that felt judged.
In a way that felt like he was trying not to look like he was staring.
And failing a little. A lot.
You were wearing your swimwear, the kind you’d picked and second-guessed at least five times before leaving camp. Not because it was wrong, just because you were you, and your brain always had opinions. You attempted to self-soothe.
Plenty of girls wear skimpy bikinis… it’s okay.
He averted his gaze quickly.
But not before you saw that look.
The one that made your brain stutter for a second.
You stayed on the shore a little longer.
Digging your toes into the sand.
Tugging at the straps of your bikini top.
He was in swim trunks, simple, practical, still somehow making the whole “standing by a lake in the morning sun” thing look like it fit him too easily.
It almost made you jealous.
Broad shoulders relaxed. Arms loose at his sides. No tension anywhere, like he wasn’t even thinking about being looked at.
Maybe because he was looking back.
He was too busy looking at you to worry about himself.
Like he’d decided there wasn’t anything about you he needed to look away from.
You swallowed slightly.
Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your towel for half a second before you forced yourself to stop.
You shook your head slightly, closing your eyes. You were building up courage.
Mark shifted a little closer bank, then paused like he was waiting, like entering the lake further was something you did together, not separately.
That did something to you.
Something quiet.
Something that made your chest feel a little too full.
You stepped closer too.
The sand under your feet was warm, soft, slightly uneven.
The cold lake lapped gently at the shoreline.
The water was barely at his ankles when he turned back to you.
Waiting.
Patient.
Like he wasn’t even aware of how that made your pulse jump.
You hesitated at the edge.
The water looked freezing. Why isn’t he more affected? Is he just trying to be nonchalant?
Mark glanced at you again.
His expression still soft, but there was something else.
Like whatever he saw, he liked it.
You felt your face heat slightly, and you hated how quickly it happened.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
It irritated you how perceptive he is.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't point it out.
Didn't tease, his eyes and knowing smiling were enough, acknowledging your flush without making it a thing.
Which somehow made it worse.
And infinitely better.
You swallowed.
“Come on in. It isn’t that bad.” His voice assuring.
Then, before your brain could overthink, you stepped into the water.
Immediate, shocking cold hitting your ankles.
“Oh my god!”
He walked to you. His hands landing on your forearm and shoulder. His touch was still innocent…respectful.
His gaze however?
You could feel he eyes darting all over you.
You naturally understood that. You wouldn’t have picked out this itty bitty bikini if you didn’t want him to. If You were being honest, you were also checking him out shamelessly.
He of course had shirtless photos of himself on his profile. However, seeing it in person was even better.
His swim trunks sat low on his hips, giving a salacious view of his v-line. How slutty of him you thought.
You watched him watch you.
Two people circling the same realization, not quite admitting it out loud.
Mark had been slowly guiding you deeper. The water was up to your thighs now.
He turned slightly as he waded deeper, sunlight catching the low dip of his trunks, the sharp cut of his hips. His hand on your wrist.
That V-line. Scratch that, everything.
Normally, the second you realized you were looking too long, you'd snap your gaze away. Pretend you hadn't been looking at all.
But there was something unfair about Mark Grayson.
The sunlight caught against damp skin and dark hair, turning the edges of him gold. The lake water curled around his waist as he moved deeper, completely unaware,or maybe completely aware, of the effect he was having on you.
Your stomach flipped.
Hard.
Mark glanced over his shoulder.
And immediately caught you looking.
For one horrible second, your brain screamed at you to look away.
You didn't.
Neither did he.
The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth wasn’t smug.
Wasn't teasing.
It was softer than that.
Warmer.
Like he was secretly delighted.
Like he couldn't believe you were looking at him that way.
Which was ridiculous.
Because he was Mark.
And you were..
Well.
You.
The thought tried to creep in.
It didn't get very far.
Not when Mark's eyes drifted over you with the exact same expression.
Not when his gaze lingered.
Not when he looked just as caught as you felt.
The realization struck you suddenly.
He was staring too.
Maybe he had been all morning.
Maybe he'd been doing it since yesterday.
The knowledge sent warmth rushing through your chest.
The water shifted around your legs as you stepped a little deeper.
Mark stopped moving.
Waiting.
Again.
You were beginning to notice he did that a lot.
Like he never wanted to leave you behind.
The lake reached your waist now, cool and clear.
Mark stood only a few feet away.
Close enough that you could see the tiny details.
The way sunlight reflected in his eyes.
The faint pink at the tips of his ears.
The way his attention seemed completely fixed on you.
Not the lake.
Not the scenery.
You.
Your heart stumbled.
Because nobody had ever looked at you like that before.
Not really. Not with that much certainty. Not with that much affection.
Like he wasn't searching for flaws. Like he wasn't comparing you to anyone else. Like he simply liked what he saw.
A lot.
The thought made your face warm.
Mark noticed immediately.
His smile widened slightly.
God.
You were in trouble.
The kind of trouble that came from liking someone too much.
The kind that came from realizing they might like you just as much.
The water rippled gently between you.
Neither of you seemed interested in creating more distance.
If anything, the opposite.
One step.
Then another.
Small enough to be accidental.
Except neither of you were fooling anyone.
Soon there was barely any space left between you at all.
Close enough that your pulse was impossible to ignore. Close enough that every glance felt heavier than the last.
Mark's expression softened.
His eyes flicked briefly to your face.
Then your eyes.
Then back again.
Like he was memorizing you.
The moment stretched.
Quiet.
Tender.
The entire lake around you seemed to disappear.
Leaving only sunlight.
Water.
The sounds of the local floral and fauna.
And the impossible feeling of being wanted by someone who looked at you like you'd hung the moon.
The water lapped softly around your waists, cool against skin that suddenly felt far too warm.
Neither of you seemed interested in moving away.
You looked up at him.
A mistake.
A terrible, wonderful mistake.
Because Mark was already looking down at you. Like he always was.
The look in his eyes made your heart stumble over itself.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The silence between you two was louder than the water you.
Everything narrowed until there was only this.
Only him.
And you.
You watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
His gaze flicked briefly to your lips.
Then back to your eyes.
Like he was asking a question without saying a word.
Your breath caught.
Mark took a small step forward.
The movement sent a ripple through the water between you.
You didn't step back.
You couldn't.
Not when every part of you wanted to be closer.
His hand lifted slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away.
Instead, his fingertips brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
The touch was impossibly gentle.
The kind of touch that made your chest ache.
You'd expected confidence from someone who looked like Mark.
Expected charm.
Expected smooth lines and practiced flirting.
Instead, he looked almost nervous.
Like this mattered to him.
Like you mattered to him.
The realization hit harder than it should have.
His hand lingered briefly against your cheek.
Warm.
Steady.
You leaned into it before you could stop yourself.
The smallest movement.
But Mark noticed.
His expression softened immediately.
And something about that look, something open and earnest and so very Mark, finally broke the last of your hesitation.
A smile tugged at his mouth.
You felt one answering it before you even realized you were smiling back.
The distance between you disappeared another inch.
Then another.
Your pulse hammered.
Mark's gaze searched yours one last time.
Making sure.
Waiting.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nodded quickly.
When he finally leaned in, it was slow enough that you could've stopped it.
You didn't.
His lips met yours softly.
His hand cupped your jaw and cheek.
You placed your hands on his chest.
The kiss was tentative at first.
Almost careful.
Like he was afraid of rushing something precious.
The kiss lasted only a moment.
Just enough to leave your head spinning.
When he pulled back, neither of you moved very far.
Your foreheads touched, leaning against each other.
You could see the surprise on his face.
The same surprise you felt.
As though the reality somehow exceeded whatever he'd imagined.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Disbelieving.
Happy.
His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek.
“Was that okay?”
“Yes..”
And for a second, Mark looked completely smitten.
Not cool.
Not smooth.
Not like the other men who chewed you up and spat you out.
Just utterly, hopelessly gone for you.
You had spent so long wondering how someone like him could want someone like you.
Meanwhile, Mark was looking at you like he'd just gotten everything he'd been hoping for.
The kiss left both of you a little breathless.
Not because it was intense.
Because it was real.
Because after an entire day of stolen glances and lingering touches and feelings neither of you seemed capable of hiding anymore, it had finally happened.
When you opened your eyes, Mark was still close.
So close.
His forehead brushed yours as he smiled.
And the look on his face nearly did you in.
He looked happy.
The kind that made him look younger somehow.
You felt yourself smiling back before you even realized it.
"Hi," you murmured.
Blush spread across your face.
This felt like those cheesy romcoms. You were finally living the life of the female lead.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"Hey."
Neither of you moved away.
Neither of you seemed particularly interested in doing so.
The lake drifted around you in gentle ripples, sunlight dancing across the water between your bodies.
Mark's hands settled carefully at your waist. They were large. They’d occasionally softly squeeze.
Like he was still making sure you were really there.
His gaze flicked over your face again.
Noticing every little thing.
The way your cheeks were flushed.
The smile you were trying and failing to hide.
The way you kept looking at him like you couldn't quite believe this was happening.
Honestly, you couldn't.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Then Mark smiled slightly.
"You know," he said quietly, "I've wanted to do that since yesterday."
Your heart nearly stopped.
"Yesterday?"
His ears turned pink.
Immediately.
You stared.
A laugh escaped you.
Mark looked horrified for exactly two seconds before he started laughing too.And somehow that made everything feel even better.
His hands tightened slightly at your waist.
Instinctive.
Protective.
Like you were something he’d lose.
Then suddenly
The water shifted.
Your balance slipped slightly.
Not enough to fall.
In fact, you were being.. lifted?
Before you could even correct yourself, his arms wrapped around you.
And then,
You were no longer standing.
Your eyes widened.
"Mark-"
You instinctually wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.
His hands were on the bottom of your thighs.
A startled noise escaped you as he effortlessly lifted you off your feet.
The movement was so smooth you barely had time to process it.
One second you were standing in the lake.
The next you were securely in his arms.
But something sour swirled within your brain and belly.
You stared at him.
Then stared some more.
"...What?"
Mark blinked.
"What?" he repeated.
"Put me down."
He looked confused.
Not guilty.
Confused.
Like he genuinely didn't understand the issue.
"Why?"
"Mark.”
You could feel your face burning.
He still wasn't putting you down.
Not because he was refusing.
Because he genuinely seemed completely comfortable holding you there.
Like it wasn't remotely difficult.
Like he hadn't even thought about it.
And that was exactly what confused you.
Your voice came out quieter.
"Am I not heavy?"
A small frown crossed his face.
Then understanding dawned.
"No.”
The expression that followed was so sincere it almost hurt.
He looked at you like the answer was obvious.
Like it wasn't even a question worth asking.
You felt your chest tighten.
Because there was no strain in his arms.
No adjustment.
No sign that he was struggling.
He was just holding you.
Comfortably.
Happily.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for some reason that hit harder than all the compliments ever could. You could cry.
Mark smiled softly.
His gaze never leaving yours.
You looked away first.
Unable to handle the affection in it.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Not mocking.
Fond. So incredibly fond.
The lake shimmered around you.
The sunlight warmed your skin.
And for the first time in a very long time, being looked at didn't make you want to disappear.
Not when Mark was looking at you like that.
Not when he held you like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
Mark looked at you like he was still trying to believe you were real.
Like something about you had shifted inside him and now he couldn’t quite put it back the way it was before.
His hands stayed on your thighs, steady even with you in his arms, and his gaze moved over your face with this soft, almost reverent focus that made your throat go tight.
Then he leaned in again.
This kiss was different.
Slower.
Deeper.
Less like a question and more like a promise he was finally brave enough to make.
You melted into it without meaning to, your hands finding his shoulders as the water moved gently around both of you. Mark held you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
When he pulled back, it was only by a fraction.
His forehead rested against yours.
You could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his thumb brushed small circles into your thighs like he was soothing something he didn’t want to name.
He kissed your forehead.
Then your cheek.
His eyes stayed on yours.
Then, softly, almost like he was admitting something to himself, he said, “You’re so beautiful.”
The words went straight through you.
Your chest tightened.
You tried to look away, but he caught your face gently, guiding your attention back to him like he wanted you to hear every part of it.
He moved his face into your neck. His breath tickling your skin.
“When I first saw you, you took the air from my chest” he murmured, voice low and certain. “You’re beautiful.”
Your heart was beating faster than it ever had. It was almost hard to breathe.
The way he said it made it sound less like a compliment and more like a fact.
His mouth brushed your cheek, then your temple, then the corner of your jaw in a trail of soft kisses that made you feel completely, helplessly seen.
Seen.
-🍑-
Mark’s arms tightened around you just a little, secure and warm. They moved to your ass
Your head was spinning
“I don’t think you understand how pretty you are,” he said quietly, kissing you again, slower this time. “It’s kind of messing with my brain.”
A shaky laugh left you, but it sounded breathless even to your own ears.
Mark smiled against your skin, then kissed you once more, like he couldn’t resist.
When he finally drew back enough to look at you, his expression was almost shy despite the certainty in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, like he was talking to himself as much as you. “Really beautiful. All of you.”
And the way he looked at you while saying it made it impossible to doubt that he meant every word.
For a moment, all you could do was stare at him.
The lake, the trees, the sunlight dancing across the water,it all seemed to blur around the edges.
Because Mark was looking at you like you were the only thing in focus.
You'd spent years learning how to deflect compliments.
How to laugh them off.
How to find the catch hidden somewhere inside them.
But there wasn't one here.
Just Mark.
Just that stubborn sincerity that seemed woven into everything he did.
Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulders."You keep saying that," you said softly.
His thumbs stilled against your sides.
Not pulling away.
Just pausing.
Like he was considering whether or not he should explain himself.
"Because it's true," he said simply.
Like that was enough.
Like he wasn't just saying what everyone says.
Like he wasn't just being polite.
Your mind kept hunting for the catch anyway.
He seemed so sincere, but your mind wouldn’t let you put your walls down.
“This isn’t some fuckboy ploy?” You raise a suspicious brow. You leaned away from him, to see his face. His body language. What he really thought. Your fingers loosely interlocked behind him. Negative thoughts and feelings swirled within you.
His expression turned serious, almost hurt. “No,” he said firmly, his hands moving to grip your hips gently but steadily.
“I’m not fucking around here.” He leaned in closer, his forehead almost touching yours.
“I mean it when I say you’re beautiful. Every time I say it.”
Your eyes widened at him. The whole date he’d been soft. This was the first time he had raised his voice even slightly. It wasn’t to hurt you. Instead, it was to reassure you. It made you feel full.
warm.
But something else as well. His expression was stern. He wasn’t lying to you. “Oh mark.. I-“
His stern expression softened the second he heard the crack in your voice.
The intensity didn't leave his eyes,if anything, it deepened,but the sharpness melted away into something devastatingly gentle.
His thumbs rubbed reassuring circles against your hips.
"Don’t," he murmured, his voice dropping back down to that soft, steady register that seemed to vibrate right through your chest.
“okay,” You said simply.
Something sick inside you kind of liked the serious mark. How his eyes seemed to get darker. His voice got huskier than usual. Your hands intertwined with his hair. You felt something hot stirr within your lower belly.
Mark’s expression changed at that one word.
Not in a big way. Not enough for anyone else to notice, maybe. But you did. You saw the way his eyes stayed fixed on you a second longer, darker now, more intent. You felt the subtle shift in his posture, the way his hand at your waist tightened just a little, like he was making sure you stayed right there with him.
And you liked it.
A little too much.
The realization sent a warm, dizzy feeling through you, low and secret and entirely unfair. Your fingers slid into his hair without thinking, and the moment you did, his breath caught.
Just once.
Barely there.
But enough.
Mark looked at you like he was trying to decide whether to keep being careful or stop pretending he wasn’t affected. His voice, when he finally spoke, had dropped into something rougher than before.
“You do that,” he murmured.
You tilted your head slightly. “Do what?”
His eyes flicked to your hand in his hair.
“That.”
The word came out quiet, almost strained.
A tiny smile touched your mouth, slow and knowing. You could feel the heat building between you again, different now than before. Sharper. More charged. Like the space around you had become its own kind of current.
Mark leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of him before he even touched you.
“Careful,” he said, He wasn’t so much warning you more than promising you.
And that, more than anything, made your stomach flip.
Because this version of Mark,steady, serious, all dark eyes and hushed voice, felt like something you wanted to keep discovering.
It was dangerous how much you liked this version of him.
The sweet, sunshine Mark was easy to fall in love with. But this version,the one with darker eyes, a rougher voice, and absolute sincerity,was doing something wicked to your nervous system. It felt grounding. Protective. incredibly attractive.
Your fingers continued to stroke through his hair, slow and deliberate, watching his eyelashes flutter.
-🍑-
The water didn’t feel cold anymore.
Not really.
Not when Mark was looking at you like that.
Like he’d finally stopped holding anything back.
Your fingers stayed tangled in his hair for a second longer than necessary, and when you didn’t move away, something in his expression shifted again—subtle, but unmistakable. Like you’d just given him permission without saying a word.
And he took it seriously.
His grip on your ass tighted. His fingers digging into your skin ever so slightly. He leaned in again, pressing another kiss to you, rougher, Sloppy. But more certain.
Your thoughts scattered.
That version of him, the quieter, steadier, more intense Mark, hit something in you you didn’t entirely understand yet. It overwhelming.
You wanted to see how far that calm confidence could go.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he’d noticed the way your breathing had changed.
His thumb traced a slow line along your inner thigh, just barely touching, sending sparks through your entire body.
Your mouth opened slightly.
"Mark," you breathed.
The way you said his name made him hiss through his teeth.
His eyes darkened, that serious expression returning,but this time it was charged with something far from innocent. Like he was holding onto something tightly.
You didn’t look away.
Neither did he.
For a moment, everything else disappeared again, the lake, the trees, the open sky.
Just the two of you in water that suddenly felt too shallow to contain what was happening.
Then Mark shifted.
“C’mon,” he said quietly.
You blinked. “Where-”
He didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he turned slightly and started walking you both toward the shore, both hands still squeezing the fat of your ass.
-🍑-
He set you down ontop of your towel.
The moment your feet hit the ground again, the air felt warmer against your skin, sunlight sharper now that you were out of the water’s cool haze.
Then, He was on you again.
He was kissing you again.
The moment your back hit the fabric, he followed you down without hesitation, bracing himself just above you, one hand still cupping your jaw like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.
The kiss didn’t break.
Like neither of you were in any rush to pull away.
Your fingers found his again,steady in his hair, pulling him closer without thinking.
And Mark responded immediately, like he’d been waiting for exactly that.
Like he was just as caught up in you as you were in him.
This wasn't the sweet, slow kissing you’d shared earlier.
This was Mark with his filter completely gone.
His mouth moved against yours with absolute intent, tongue sliding in hot and messy, swallowing your soft noise immediately. His hands weren't gentle anymore,they were firm, squeezing your hips, gripping your ass, grounding you.
It was overwhelming.
It was serious.
The sweetness from earlier was still there, somewhere underneath it all, but it wasn’t leading anymore.
Now it was something heavier.
More urgent.
More real.
Your breath caught against his mouth, and Mark responded instantly, like that sound alone pulled something loose in him. His grip tightened at your ass not rough, but unmistakably firm now, anchoring you to him like he didn’t trust himself not to drift.
Like he didn’t trust the space between you at all anymore.
You felt it then.
That version of him you’d noticed in the water.
The one that didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t second-guess.
Didn’t pull back.
And instead of scaring you, it made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t want to analyze too closely.
Mark finally broke the kiss just enough to breathe, but he didn’t move away.
His forehead hovered near yours, both of you breathing the same air now, close enough that everything felt shared, heat, silence, heartbeat.
His eyes searched your face like he was checking something.
Waiting.
Then, he leaned in again without warning, kissing you even slower this time, like he wanted you to really feel it, but with even more intensity. His hand slid up your side slowly, almost lazily, until his fingers brushed the side of your rib. You gasped into his mouth, arching slightly.
And instead of scaring you, it made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t want to analyze too closely.
Mark finally broke the kiss just enough to breathe, but he didn’t move away.
His forehead hovered near yours, both of you breathing the same air now, close enough that everything felt shared, heat, silence, heartbeat.
His eyes searched your face like he was checking something.
Waiting.
You didn’t look away.
Didn’t ask him to stop.
If anything, your hand in his hair tightened slightly, pulling him closer again in a way that answered him more clearly than words could.
Something in his expression shifted at that.
Softened.
But didn’t lose its intensity.
It just… steadied.
Like he’d made a decision.
He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. Each kiss felt deliberate, slow, lingering, and absolutely sure.
"You okay?" he murmured against your skin.
His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it, vibrating straight through your chest.
Mark exhaled slowly, his voice low when it finally came.
“Tell me if I need to slow down.”
Not unsure.
Just… giving you the space anyway.
His thumb brushed your cheek again, gentler now, but he still didn’t move away.
Still hovered there, close enough that everything between you felt like a choice you were both making on purpose.
And the way he looked at you, like you were something he didn’t want to rush through, even like this, made your chest tighten in a completely different way than before.
Because it wasn’t just heat.
It was care, too.
Mixed in so tightly you couldn’t separate them anymore.
And Mark Grayson, hovering over you on a sun-warmed beach, looked like he was very aware of exactly how much he wanted you… and just as determined not to turn it into something you didn’t want too.
His hand slid down from your cheek to your shoulder, fingers tracing along the curve until they reached your collarbone. He pressed a light kiss to the skin there, slow and deliberate.
“No this is fine. I want this.” You breathed out.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered against your skin, his breath warm.
The water droplets still clinging to his hair dripped onto your neck, mingling with the heat radiating off his body.
Your fingers gripped the solid, damp muscle of his shoulders, your nails digging in just slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. The contrast was intoxicating: the cool, lingering dampness of the lake air against the searing heat of his chest pressing into yours.
Mark’s eyes darkened, the brown turning into something deep and woodsy, reflecting a hunger that was far from innocent. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned in closer, his body molding against yours, making you acutely aware of every inch of contact. The softness of your curves met the unyielding strength of his frame, a friction that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.
"I want you to stop thinking," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear, sending a violent tremor through your limbs. "Stop worrying about the past, or the me, or anything else. Just feel this."
He shifted, his hand moving from your collarbone to the small of your back, his palm wide and warm as he pulled you flush against him. The sensation of his skin sliding against yours slick from the lake and heated by desire was almost overwhelming. He trailed a path of slow, bruising kisses from your neck up to the corner of your mouth, his breathing becoming heavy, ragged, and desperate.
"I've spent so much time looking for something real," he confessed, his voice a low, desperate growl against your lips. "And now that I have you... I don't think I can let go."
He didn't wait for an answer. He closed the distance, his mouth crashing onto yours in a kiss that was less of a question and more of a claim, tasting of lake water and pure, unadulterated want.
The kiss was deep and hungry, a frantic collision of teeth and tongues that left you breathless. Mark’s hands weren't gentle anymore; they were roaming, mapping the soft, generous curves of your hips and waist with a feverish intensity. He pulled you so tight against him that you could feel the hard, rhythmic thud of his heart against your own, a drumbeat of pure desire.
He broke the kiss just long enough to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if he were trying to memorize your scent. "You're so beautiful," he groaned, the words muffled against your skin. "God, you're so fucking beautiful."
The raw honesty in his voice, stripped of any hesitation, made your heart race. You felt the weight of his body, now entirely focused on the way your skin felt under his touch.
As his hands slid lower, pulling your body even more firmly into the heat of his, the cool breeze of the woods was forgotten, replaced entirely by the heavy, intoxicating scent of pine, lake water, and the unmistakable musk of arousal.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching yours with a desperate, burning intensity. "Tell me," he breathed, his thumb tracing the swell of your bottom lip, "tell me you want me to stay right here. Tell me you want this as much as I do."
Your breath hitched, the sound caught in your throat as his thumb grazed your lip. The world felt small, narrowed down to the heat of his skin and the desperate, heavy weight of his gaze. You didn't want to be careful anymore. You didn't want to be polite or composed. You wanted to feel every bit of his strength.
You reached up, your fingers tangling in his damp hair to pull him back down to you, closing the agonizing gap between your lips. "More than anything," you whispered, your voice trembling but certain, a soft, breathless confession that cut through the quiet of the woods. "I want you, Mark. I want you right here, now.”
A broken sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a sigh of relief, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for you to say exactly that. The last thread of his restraint snapped.
"You have me," he whispered against your mouth, the words fierce and absolute. "I’m yours..."
Then he stopped holding back.
-🍑-
Before the heat could become overwhelming, Mark slowed everything down. He seemed to want to savor the anticipation, as if the tension itself was a gift he didn't want to unwrap too quickly. He hovered over you, his weight supported by his arms, his eyes tracing the lines of your face with a look of profound, quiet wonder.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered again, the words a soft, breathless vow.
His hands moved to the straps of your bikini, his touch so light it was almost a tease. He didn't just pull it off; he lifted the fabric inch by inch, his lips following the movement. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the skin of your stomach as the top slid upward, then another to the swell of your breasts as the fabric cleared them. Each kiss was a silent tribute, a way of telling you how much he adored the soft, gorgeous curves of your body.
A soft gasp escaped you, your fingers curling into the sand beneath you as his lips traced the path his hands had already carved. Each kiss was so deliberate, so reverent, that your chest tightened in a way that wasn't just heat. It was awe, that this man, this quiet, serious, steady Mark, was looking at you like you were something sacred.
As your bikini top was cast aside, he didn't move on immediately. Instead, he stayed there, his gaze roaming over you with a reverence that made you feel like a masterpiece. He traced the line of your ribs with his fingertips, his touch as light as a feather, before leaning down to press a warm, slow kiss to the center of your chest, right over your racing heart.
"Every inch of you," he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm caress. "Every single part."
He moved to your waist next, his fingers working the fastening of your bottoms with a gentle, unhurried patience. He took his time, his eyes locked onto yours, making sure you felt the weight of his gaze as much as the warmth of his hands. As he slowly eased the fabric down your hips, he leaned in to kiss the curve of your hip, his lips lingering there, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin.
He treated the act of undressing you like a sacred ceremony. There was no rush, no clumsy tugging only the slow, rhythmic dance of his hands.
The fabric slid away, leaving you bare to the sun-warmed air and the intensity of his gaze. Mark didn't immediately surge forward to cover you again; he paused, taking a moment to simply look, his eyes sweeping over the soft, generous curves of your body with a heavy, appreciative silence. It wasn't a clinical inspection,it was worship.
"You're perfect,"
He kissed the soft skin of your thighs, the dip of your waist, and the swell of your hips, worshipping the body he had been dreaming of since the moment he saw you on that screen.
By the time you were both bare beneath the starlight, the air between you was thick with a sweetness so potent it felt tangible. He looked at you then, truly looked at you, with a gaze so full of devotion and pure, unadulterated love that it felt more intimate than the touch itself. He wasn't just looking at a girl he liked; he was looking at his entire world.
He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and filled with a quiet promise.
The air in the small clearing felt heavy, charged with a sweetness that was almost dizzying. Mark didn't just move toward you; he descended, his body a slow, deliberate journey of devotion. He began at your neck, his lips pressing soft, fluttering kisses against your skin, moving lower to the swell of your breasts, then down the soft, inviting curve of your stomach.
He was teasing you. He was prolonging the anticipation until your skin felt too sensitive to bear, until every brush of his lips felt like a spark of electricity. He would kiss a patch of skin, linger there until you let out a shaky breath, and then move just an inch further, always keeping you on the edge of wanting more.
"Do you feel that?" he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating hum against your skin as he moved past your navel. "How much I want to taste you? How much you're driving me crazy?"
His hands were never still. One hand would slide up to cup your breast, his thumb grazing the peak with a gentle, rhythmic pressure, while the other would roam lower, his palm flat against your thigh, his fingers tracing the soft, inner curve of your leg. The contrast of his large, strong hands against your soft skin made you feel incredibly cherished, as if he were trying to encompass all of you.
-🍑-
When his head finally dipped between your thighs, you let out a long, trembling moan, your hips instinctively arching upward. But he didn't go straight for what you wanted. He teased you first, his breath hot and humid against your most sensitive skin, making you quiver with a desperate, aching need. He used the tip of his nose to nuzzle you, his lips grazing the outer folds with a lightness that was almost maddening.
"Just relax for me," he murmured, his voice muffled but clear, sounding so close you could feel the vibration of it. "Just feel me. There's no rush. We have all night."
Then, he finally gave you what you were starving for.
The first touch of his tongue was slow, a long, wet stroke from the bottom to the top that made your entire body seize. You cried out, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair, pulling him closer even as the sensation threatened to overwhelm you. He was so incredibly thorough. He didn't just lick; he worshipped. He used his tongue with a rhythmic, swirling precision, circling your clitoris with a tenderness that felt like a prayer.
He was patient. He would slow down when he felt you getting too close, pulling back to kiss the inside of your thighs or to look up at you with those dark, adoring eyes, only to dive back in with a sudden, deep pressure that made your vision blur.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a dark, honeyed rasp as he felt you begin to tremble. "Give it to me. Let it go. You're doing so good, baby. Just let it happen."
The teasing, agonizing lightness of his lips was replaced by the slow, deliberate press of his tongue, a broad, warm stroke that started at the bottom and swept upwards with a reverence that made your back arch off the ground. He did it again, a little slower this time, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you still when your body tried to buck against him. "Easy,"
He was completely unhurried, taking his time to explore every inch of your most sensitive flesh with a patience that felt almost cruel in its deliberation. His hands moved back to your hips, holding you steady as your legs trembled and your breathing became erratic, your hips involuntarily bucking against his mouth despite his efforts to keep you still.
His hands were everywhere one hand was anchored firmly on your hip, holding you steady, while the other wandered up to your chest, his fingers playing with your nipple in perfect synchronization with the movement of his tongue. The dual sensation was too much; it was a beautiful, crushing weight of pleasure.
You felt yourself fraying, the tension in your core building into a tight, pulsing knot. Your breath came in short, jagged gasps, and your head tossed from side to side on the pillow. "Mark... Mark, please!" you sobbed, the words a desperate plea for release.
"I've got you," he promised, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of your pleasure. He increased the pace, his tongue becoming more insistent, more rhythmic, his suction more deliberate. He was focused entirely on you, his entire world narrowed down to the taste of you and the sound of your voice.
He slowed down just as you reached the edge, pulling back until you were nothing but raw, aching need, before diving back in with a hard, open suck that made you scream into the empty room. He was tormenting you. He knew exactly where you were on that brink, and he kept you right there, pulsing, clenching, desperate, without letting you break.
As the first wave of your orgasm hit, it wasn't a sharp explosion, but a slow, rolling tide of heat that started deep in your belly and radiated outward to your very fingertips. You cried out his name, your body shaking with the force of it, and he didn't pull away. He stayed right there, holding you through the tremors, his tongue continuing its steady, rhythmic work to milk every last drop of sensation from you, ensuring you felt every single second of the release.
When he finally pulled back, he didn't move far. He crawled up your body, his skin slick and warm against yours, and collapsed into your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He was breathing just as hard as you were, his heart thudding a frantic, happy rhythm against your chest.
"God," he breathed, a soft, exhausted laugh escaping him. "You are everything."
The heavy, sweet scent of your release hung in the air between you, a testament to the intensity of the moment. He stayed there for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing slowly evening out as the frantic heat of the moment transitioned into a warm, glowing afterglow. He looked at you with a gaze so soft, so utterly unguarded, that it felt like he was letting you see the very core of his soul.
"You okay?" he whispered, his voice a tender caress as he reached up to brush a stray, damp lock of hair away from your forehead. His fingers lingered there, tracing the line of your brow with a reverence that made your heart ache.
"More than okay," you breathed, your voice still a little shaky, your body feeling heavy and delightfully limp beneath him. You reached out, your hands finding his waist, pulling him just a little bit closer, needing to feel the solid, comforting reality of him.
A small, lopsided smile tugged at the corners of his mouth that boyish, sweet smile that had made you fall for him in the first place. "Good," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."
-🍑-
He shifted slightly, his weight settling more comfortably between your thighs, but there was no rush now, no frantic hunger. Instead, there was a profound sense of connection, a quiet understanding that this was only the beginning of something much deeper. As he began to move again, his touch was slow and deliberate, a gentle reintroduction of his body to yours, a silent promise that he would take all the time in the world to worship you, to cherish you, and to make sure you knew exactly how much you were loved. Under the vast, watchful canopy of the stars, the world was nothing but the two of you.
His lips began to wander again, mapping the constellations of your skin with a patience that felt infinite. He kissed the sensitive skin behind your ear, down the column of your throat, pausing only to murmur sweet, devastating praises against your pulse. "My beautiful girl," he whispered, the words vibrating against your skin.
As he hovered above you, the air between your bodies felt thick, almost electric. Mark’s eyes were dark, swirling with a mixture of intense desire and a profound, quiet tenderness. He shifted slightly, moving to the edge of the blankets to reach for the waistband of his swim shorts.
He didn't rush the movement. He kept his gaze locked on yours the entire time, as if he were afraid that if he looked away, the magic of the moment might break. You watched, your breath hitching, as he slowly peeled the damp fabric down his muscular legs. As he stepped out of them, he sat back between your thighs, his body fully revealed to the moonlight. His cock slapped against his abdomen. It had a long bulging vein running along the side of it. His tip was an angry, sensitive red.
He was beautiful strong, lean, and pulsing with a life force that seemed to radiate from his very skin. His hand reached down, his fingers wrapping around himself in a slow, rhythmic stroke. He began to move, a steady, deliberate motion that made his muscles ripple under the soft light. Some moans fell from his mouth.
He wasn't just pleasuring himself; he was watching your reaction, his eyes searching yours to see how much you were enjoying the sight of him.
He leaned forward, his body hovering just inches above yours, and began to rut slowly against you. It wasn't a hard or aggressive movement, but a soft, sliding friction the heat of him pressing against your sensitive, swollen folds. The sensation was maddening, a teasing promise of what was to come.
"You like that?" he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. "Do you like feeling me against you?"
"Yes... please, Mark," you whimpered, your hips instinctively tilting up to meet his pressure.
He paused, his breathing heavy and ragged. He braced himself on his forearms, his chest hovering just above yours, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was reading your very soul.
"I want to be inside you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and restraint. "But only if you want it too. Tell me, baby... can I enter you? Can I be part of you?"
The question, so simple yet so profound, made your heart swell. It wasn't just about the physical act; it was about the permission to be completely, utterly one. "Yes," you breathed, your voice a steady vow. "Please, Mark. I want you. All of you."
A soft, relieved sound escaped his throat, a mix of a groan and a sigh. He didn't move to enter you immediately. Instead, he reached down, his fingers slick with your own sweetness, and began to explore you. He slid one finger inside you, then two, moving with an agonizingly slow, rhythmic motion that mimicked the way he had just been rubbing against you.
"You're so warm," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked his fingers inside you, stretching you gently, preparing you for his size. "So perfect. You feel so good, so tight... so ready for me."
As he worked, his other hand never stopped its worship. He was rubbing your stomach, tracing the line of your ribs, his palm sliding over the soft swell of your breasts, his thumb constantly teasing your nipple. He was enveloping you in his touch, making sure every inch of your skin felt the weight of his devotion.
"Just relax for me, sweetheart," he reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to the frantic beating of your heart. "Just feel how much I love you. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world." He kept reassuring you. You notice that he does that. Always keeping you in mind.
-🍑-
He leaned down, pressing a long, slow, deep kiss to your lips, tasting the desperation and the love in your mouth. As he pulled back, he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of him brushing against you, teasing the opening.
He began to sink into you, a movement so slow and deliberate it felt like a prayer. He entered you inch by inch, his eyes locked onto yours, watching the way your expression shifted from anticipation to pure, unadulterated bliss. He was careful, mindful of your body, pausing whenever he felt you catch your breath, waiting for you to settle into the sensation.
"There you go," he whispered, a soft, triumphant smile tugging at his lips as he finally seated himself fully within you. "You feel so incredible. You're everything, you know that? Everything."
You couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. All you did was let out a soft, shaky moan as he filled you completely, stretching and stretching, claiming every inch of your inner space. It was so full, so intensely intimate, that it felt like you could feel his pulse inside you. It felt like your very soul was being touched.
"Just... stay there," He was struggling himself. If he didn’t have more pride he would’ve came right there and then.
The connection was overwhelming a physical and emotional fusion that left you breathless. As he began to move, it wasn't with force, but with a slow, rhythmic grace, a gentle swaying that felt like a dance. Every thrust was a promise, every kiss a vow, as you both drifted away from the world and into the beautiful, sweet sanctuary of each other.
as you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sheer fullness of him settled deep within your core. The sensation was intense, a heavy, stretching warmth that seemed to reach all the way to your soul, but because of his gentleness, it wasn't overwhelming it was perfect. It was the feeling of finally being whole.
He stayed still for a long moment, buried deep inside you, simply breathing with you. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, his skin slick with sweat, his eyes searching yours in the dim moonlight. "You okay?" he whispered, his voice a low, grounding vibration. "Tell me if it's too much.”
"You're so beautiful. I could stay here forever," he whispered, his voice low and tender. He began to move again, his hips rocking gently against yours. The movement was so slow and deliberate that it felt like he was memorizing every inch of you.
“I want this to be perfect for you."
"It's perfect," you managed to choke out, your hands sliding down his back to grip his firm muscles, pulling him even tighter against you. "Don't stop. Please, Mark... don't stop."
With a soft, adoring smile, he began to move. It was a slow, rhythmic glide, a steady back and forth that prioritized connection over speed. He withdrew almost all the way before sliding back in, a deliberate, agonizingly sweet motion that made you moan his name into the quiet night. Each time he pushed forward, he would lean down to catch your lips in a deep, soul searching kiss, or press a tender kiss to your jaw, your neck, or your temple, as if he were trying to mark every part of you with his affection.
The friction was a warm, sliding comfort, a rhythmic pulse that built a slow burning fire in your belly.
"I love you. I love you. I love you," he repeated like a mantra, the words a steady drumbeat beneath the sounds of your mingled breath and the soft, wet slide of their bodies moving together. Each thrust was a physical manifestation of that love, a slow, deliberate claiming that felt less like taking and more like giving.
He was fucking you so good you hadn’t realized what he said. As he moved, the sheer reality of him being inside you became the center of your entire universe. It was a sensation of incredible, heavy fullness that seemed to occupy every corner of your being. You could feel the thick, pulsing length of him stretching you, a warm and solid presence that felt as though it were reaching deep into your very core, anchoring you to the bed and to him.
Visually, the sight was breathtaking. In the soft, flickering light of the dying campfire, you could see where your bodies met the way his muscular thighs framed your full hips, and the way his skin glided against yours with every slow, deliberate stroke.
"Feel that?" he groaned softly, his pace remaining achingly slow, deliberate. "Feel me inside you? This is where I want to be. Where I belong."
His hips rolled in that devastatingly slow rhythm, his cock hitting a spot within you that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. He noticed, of course, he always noticed.
You could see the slight, rhythmic swell of him as he slid deep within you, the base of his shaft pressing firmly against your entrance, creating a seamless connection of skin on skin. Every time he withdrew, you could see the glistening, wet sheen of him, coated in your own sweetness, before he slowly, reverently sank back home.
The feeling was nothing short of overwhelming. It wasn't a sharp or intrusive sensation, but a deep, sliding warmth that felt like being filled with liquid sunlight. You could feel the distinct, rhythmic throb of his pulse against your internal walls, a frantic, living heartbeat that mirrored your own. Every time he pushed forward, the sensation was a slow, heavy pressure that seemed to massage you from the inside out, hitting those deep, sensitive spots with a precision that made your toes curl and your breath hitch in a continuous, broken rhythm.
The slow, deliberate friction was unraveling you piece by piece. You felt entirely possessed, not in a way that demanded submission, but in a way that offered complete sanctuary. Every deep, heavy thrust felt like he was rewriting your definition of intimacy, replacing every ache you’d ever carried with the steady, rhythmic pulse of his love.
"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice a low, ragged vibration that you felt as much as heard. He leaned down, his chest brushing against your breasts, his sweat slicked skin sliding against yours in a way that made you feel completely enveloped by him. "So tight... so warm. It's like you were made just to hold me like this."
As he moved, you could feel the incredible texture of him the smooth, velvet heat of his skin and the powerful, unyielding strength of his muscles as he braced himself to keep his movements gentle for you. The friction was a slow, honeyed burn, a rhythmic sliding that built a pressure in your lower abdomen that was both aching and exquisite. It was a heavy, grounding sensation, a feeling of being completely possessed and completely cherished all at once.
You reached down, your fingers grazing the place where you were joined, feeling the incredible tension of his body as he worked. You could feel the way he trembled slightly with the effort of his restraint, his entire being focused on the delicate, beautiful task of moving inside you without breaking the spell.
It was a sensation of pure, unadulterated intimacy the feeling of his weight, his heat, and his incredible, pulsing length filling the void inside you, turning the emptiness into a beautiful, aching fullness that made you feel, for the first time in your life, truly, completely whole.
The friction was a slow, honeyed burn, a rhythmic sliding that built a pressure in your lower abdomen that was both aching and exquisite. He wasn't just moving within you; he was communicating with you through every inch of his length, his every thrust a silent question, a gentle demand for your surrender, and a promise of the pleasure to come.
The pace began to shift, almost imperceptibly at first. The slow, reverent swaying gradually gained a subtle, driving momentum. Mark’s breathing became more jagged, his chest heaving against yours, and the soft, sweet murmurs in your ear turned into deep, guttural groans of pure, unbridled need. He was losing that careful restraint, the sheer intensity of how you felt around him finally beginning to crack the dam of his composure.
"God, you're so tight," he gasped, his hips hitting yours with a more pronounced, rhythmic thud that sent jolts of electricity straight to your brain. "Every time I move... it's like you're pulling me even deeper. You're squeezing me so perfectly."
He began to drive into you with more purpose, his movements becoming longer and more profound. Each time he withdrew, he seemed to pull a piece of your soul with him, only to slam back home with a force that made you cry out, your back arching off the blankets as you chased the sensation. The heavy, pulsing fullness was no longer just a comfort; it was a catalyst, a driving force that pushed you both closer and closer to the edge of a precipice.
Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to ground yourself in the storm of sensation. The world had narrowed down to this: the heat of his skin, the rhythmic friction of his dick sliding deep inside you, and the overwhelming, beautiful weight of him. You could feel the tension building in your own body, a tight, coiled spring of pleasure that was begging to snap.
"Mark... Mark!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the first tremors of a climax began to ripple through your core.
"I've got you, sweet girl. Just let go." he commanded, his voice a raw, desperate rasp. He abandoned all pretense of slowness, his hips moving in a frantic, powerful rhythm, his entire body tensing as he drove himself into you one last, devastating time, seeking to lose himself entirely within your warmth.
The sensation was a violent, beautiful explosion. As he buried himself to the hilt, his entire body went rigid, his muscles locking in a powerful, trembling spasm. You felt the sudden, hot surge of him deep inside you a rhythmic, pulsing release that seemed to flood your very being. At the same moment, your own climax shattered you. It was a tidal wave of pure, white hot electricity that started at the point where you were joined and radiated outward, turning your bones to liquid and your breath to staccato gasps.
You cried out, your voice lost in the quiet of the forest, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders that you knew there would be marks tomorrow. Your internal muscles clamped down on him in frantic, involuntary pulses, milking him, drawing out every last drop of his devotion. Mark let out a long, guttural moan of release, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he shuddered violently against you, his weight pressing you deep into the soft earth beneath the blankets.
For a long time, the only sound was the ragged, synchronized heaving of your chests and the distant, rhythmic chirping of crickets. He didn't pull away; he stayed buried deep, his body still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your own. The heat between you was staggering, a heavy, humid cocoon that made the cool night air feel like a distant memory.
Slowly, the frantic energy began to settle into a profound, heavy warmth. Mark shifted, his movements languid and exhausted, as he finally withdrew from you with a soft, wet sound that seemed to echo in the silence. You felt his release begin to leak out of your cunt. He didn't move far, though. He immediately collapsed onto his side, pulling you into the curve of his body, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his heavy, muscular arms around you as if to shield you from the rest of the universe.
"Wow," he whispered, the word barely a breath, laced with a sense of awe that made your heart ache.
He pressed a lingering, tender kiss to the top of your head, his skin still slick and smelling of salt and sweetness. "That was... everything. You are everything."
You curled into him, your limbs feeling heavy and delightfully weak, the afterglow washing over you in warm, soothing waves. You felt safe. You felt seen. You felt entirely, irrevocably loved. As the stars continued their slow dance above the canopy, you drifted toward a sleep that felt as deep and beautiful as the connection you had just shared, wrapped in the arms of the boy who had just turned your world upside down.
As the frantic energy of the climax finally ebbed away, leaving only the heavy, rhythmic sound of your breathing, Mark didn't just roll away to catch his own breath. He stayed anchored to you, his body a warm, protective weight. He waited until the tremors in your limbs subsided, until he could feel the tension truly leaving your muscles, signaling that you were drifting into the heavy, sweet lethargy of a post orgasmic sleep.
He watched you for a long time in the dim moonlight, his eyes tracing the flush on your cheeks and the way your eyelashes cast long shadows against your skin. You looked so peaceful, so utterly surrendered to the exhaustion.
Moving with a quiet, deliberate grace so as not to disturb you, Mark began to take care of you. He reached for a clean, soft cloth. With a tenderness that was almost heartbreaking, he began to clean you.
He started between your legs, gently wiping away the evidence of what had just transpired. He was careful, almost reverent, as if he knew you were more sensitive there now. His touch was light, soothing, completely different from the desperate, urgent way he had touched you minutes before.
He was meticulous, his touch light and reverent as he wiped away the traces of your passion, the sweat, and the slickness of your shared release. He treated your body like something sacred, as if he were cleaning a masterpiece. He moved the cloth with slow, soothing strokes, ensuring you were comfortable and clean, his expression one of pure, focused devotion.
Once you were clean, he didn't leave you exposed. He reached for the heavy, fleece blanket you had brought to the clearing. He draped it carefully over your body, tucking the edges around your shoulders and hips to trap the warmth of the fire and your own body heat. He lingered for a moment, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips barely brushing your skin.
"Sleep, beautiful," he whispered, his voice a mere ghost of a sound. "I've got you."
He spent the next hour in a state of quiet vigilance. He gathered the gear with practiced, silent movements. He was careful to keep the world at bay, creating a small, safe sanctuary for you to rest in.
Eventually, the chill of the deep night began to seep through the trees, and he knew it was time to move. He didn't want to wake you, so he moved with the precision of a man performing a delicate ritual. He gathered the equipment and you up in his arms, lifting you with an ease that spoke of his strength, cradling you against his chest as if you were made of the finest porcelain. You let out a tiny, sleepy moan, your head instinctively nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you didn't wake. You simply clung to him in your sleep, trusting him completely.
He carried you through the dark woods, the moonlight guiding his path to where his car was parked on the forest trail. The night air was crisp, but you were cocooned in his warmth and the thick blanket. He reached the car and carefully settled you into the passenger seat, reclining it back so you could lie comfortably. He draped the blanket over you once more, ensuring you were snug and warm.
As he climbed into the driver's seat, he didn't start the engine right away. He simply sat there in the dark, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminating your peaceful face. He reached over, his hand finding yours and squeezing it gently, a silent promise of protection.
He started the car, the low hum of the engine a soothing lullaby in the quiet night. As he began the slow drive back to his apartment, the world outside the windows was a blur of dark trees…
Now that he had you, he couldn’t go back. He never would.
"It would be funny if the twin of the winner won."
"He would be an amazing dad, even though at first he is gruff and a bit reckless, you can see as the series goes on, how deeply he loves and cares for the people closest to him, he would do anything for his family, and he would be the most dedicated dad out there."
"Gotta get both twins knocked up."
"why should Ford have all the fun? also Stan would be a WAY better dad than Ford."
"HED BE SUCH A SINGLE DAD I NEED HIM PREGNANT AND STRUGGLING WITH A BABY AND RAISING HER THE BEST HE CAN AND SOMETIMES FAILING BUT OVER ALL MAKING IT WORK I CAN PICTURE HIM USING HIS PREGNANT BELLY AS AN ICECREAM TABLE WHILE HE WATCHES DUCKTECTIVE AND PERIOD DRAMAS."
"He's the sexier more breedable brother to me but also I just think it'd be funny if he won the second time around since Ford won the first one :)"
Grunkle Stan propaganda from last season
[Senshi]
"You know he'd take such good care of his body and eat extra well to make sure that the baby arrives healthy and strong. Also, he'd make such a good father."
"He's perfect mother material also just look at those tits."
"Dude is peak malewife material AND dad material, why wouldn't we need him pregnant??"
"Mom friend of the group. Would probably infodump about pregnancy if it were relevant. He and Chilchuck would have beautiful children. <3"
is it just me, or would Stan Pines and Cheech Falcone (McDougall) be the BEST of friends despite their different backrounds?
I feel like Stan and Cheech would meet in jail, either bunkmates or smth idfk, they would probably start a convo and realise: “holy shit this guy is just like me” and they become inseparable🤩
They write letters, text once they figure out phones, meet each others families, evade taxes together, All of that jazz.
But since Cheech is on witness protection, he’d probably tell stan and move off to Saskatchewan or wtv and change his last name😞
Stan gets mad and has a vedetta against the mob, but he still visits every once in a while (with permission from McCool) and theyll be having the time of their LIFE.
“in the name of knowledge,” Ford says, breathing heavily
AO3 link
tags: nsfw, smut, journaling, Ford's pov, she/her used for reader, fem anatomy, scientific observation of sexual activity, congratulations we are back to ford pines explorer uterus, reader as research subject, explicit anatomical descriptions, pervy Ford, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, rough & gentle sex, panty sniffing, vaginal fluids analysis
writing this almost killed me bc english isn’t my first language and i had to google 12 different euphemisms for “pussy” gosh. but still it was fun and difficult for me, especially in a second language, so i hope it came through well. if it made you laugh or feel things (or both), i did my job. + i apologise in advance to scientists and native english speakers. i did my best
reblogs/comments are always highly appreciated, ty!!
JOURNAL ENTRY 4978-F. PRIVATE FIELD NOTES ON SUBJECT’S SEXUAL BEHAVIORAL RESPONSES TO AFFECTION AND INTIMACY-DRIVEN VOCALIZATIONS
BY STANFORD F. PINES
this is an unofficial continuation of Journal Entry 4876-B, the menstruation study, which, to my genuine relief, remains undiscovered by my darling. as of yet. i have hidden it between chapters on interdimensional corrosion and rogue slime molds, hoping she never looks there.
SUBJECT OVERVIEW:
this ongoing personal study aims to classify, track, and, LET'S BE HONEST, OBSESSIVELY document the behavioral and physiological responses of subject my love during prolonged exposure to physical affection and erotic stimulation.
As always, i am beginning this document purely for the sake of scientific rigor. i want that stated clearly, for the record. this is not indulgence. this is NOT a coping mechanism. this is research. on what, exactly? well. myself, unfortunately. more specifically: my escalating, deeply inconvenient, possibly pathological attraction to [REDACTED], hereafter referred to as the subject, or less professionally, darling, sweetheart, my love
PHYSIOLOGICAL RESPONSE.
this is where the analysis turns... unpleasant. for me.
whenever i am within a 1.5-meter radius of the subject, my autonomic nervous system goes haywire.
SYMPTOMS INCLUDE
• increased heart rate (avg resting BPM: 62 to avg BPM around her: 104)
• sweaty palms (i left a smudge on her coffee mug and then had to invent an excuse to wipe it off. it was very awkward)
• pupil dilation (confirmed via mirror)
• spontaneous erection (this one is self-explanatory and utterly humiliating)
JOURNAL ENTRY. PSYCHOSEXUAL & LINGUISTIC RESPONSE ANALYSIS OF subject MY DARLING
ENTRY DATE: [Redacted for Security]
SUBJECT: (name redacted, referred to throughout alternately as “subject” “my darling” “my sweetheart”)
STATUS: fully consenting romantic partner. Unaware of entry, praise be to the veil of academic secrecy.
PRIOR STUDIES: See Journal 47-B, Subsection “Endometrial Phases and Erotic Behavior,” Entry 1. Subject has not yet located nor confiscated said journal. Miraculous !
RESEARCH FOCUS:
Neurophysiological & Behavioral Responses to Romantic Stimuli; affective touch & verbal cue conditioning; psychoacoustic analysis of pet names; intimate preferences (ongoing. intensely ongoing.)
HYPOTHESIS:
The subject exhibits measurable reactions in physiological arousal, facial microexpression, and dermal flushing when exposed to emotionally-loaded stimuli, particularly verbal affection in the form of personalized pet names. additionally, certain bodily configurations (positions, gestures, postures of submission or control) appear to generate a disproportionately intense emotional or sensual response. this may point toward a deeper neurological kink schema I intend to examine further. extensively.
FIELD OBSERVATION: #003
Experiment was conducted organically, i.e., in the throes of affectionate interaction, post sex cuddling session, midweek.
Upon softly uttering the phrase “that’s my good girl” during a moment of positive reinforcement (in this case, subject performing an extremely dexterous act with her tongue and two fingers, ref. Diagram 7), subject’s eyes dilated 0.6mm wider than baseline pupil diameter. Skin of cheeks turned a faint shade approximately Pantone 182 C. Notable tremble in the lower lip, coupled with immediate increase in breath rate (from 12 bpm to approx. 18 bpm).
footnote: that specific phrase appears to create a Pavlovian response. subject becomes pliant, warm-blooded and markedly affectionate. application in future praise/breeding-focused sessions advised.
SIDE NOTE: gods above and below, it’s a magic spell. i should patent it.
FIELD OBSERVATION: #004. affection-based conditioning via touch & praise
During spontaneous acts of nonsexual intimacy (e.g., hand on lower back, casual handholding, forehead kisses), subject exhibits subtle pelvic shifting toward the source of contact. This occurs even when she’s multitasking (cleaning, speaking on phone, brushing teeth), this indicates autonomic system override, body moving subconsciously toward touch.
my sweetheart is, quite scientifically, touch-starved and praise-motivated. operant conditioning is underway. i reward her with touch.
FIELD OBSERVATION: #005. verbal stimuli and titling response
pet names tested thus far: my darling, my starlight, my love, my good girl, sweetheart, my clever girl, beautiful thing, my treasure, baby (yes, see below for details). of these, “good girl” and “beautiful thing” yielded the strongest involuntary reactions, both physical and vocal. subject’s thighs pressed together post-verbal delivery in both instances.
“baby” on the other hand, was met with a crinkle of the nose and a muttered “ugh, that one’s so generic”. just saying, i don't use this word often, if at all, and it was said purely out of curiosity about my partner's reaction!
RESEARCH SCOPE: examination of the psycho-physical ramifications of various sexual positions
I. the lateral configuration (commonly occurring in early morning hours)
description: partner lies on side, back pressed flush to chest, legs aligned, bodies forming parallel curvature. this often happens just after subject wakes, still sleepy. my arm slips beneath her neck, other hand free to explore.
NOTABLE EFFECTS:
• optimal for slow penetration. allows for direct manual stimulation of subject’s external genitalia. clitoral stimulation via middle and ring finger proves effective at increasing arousal threshold.
• penile angle slightly limited but creates increased friction against posterior vaginal wall.
subject status: often warm and pliant, cortisol levels low, oxytocin high. minimal verbal response, but soft moaning, breath hitches and thigh twitching are reliable indicators of pleasure.
initiator: 65% subject (by pressing her hips back into me first), 35% myself (unable to resist)
orgasm frequency: subject typically first, especially when paired with whispered praise. myself after. sometimes, to avoid wasting time in the shower, i spill into my hand, with the help of my partner.
II. the deep fold configuration (colloquially: mating press)
subject position: supine. legs elevated and bent at the knees, pressed against subject’s chest or folded over shoulders. pelvis tilted upward.
researcher position: above subject, hips aligned to maximize downward thrust angle. arms on either side of torso or gripping thighs.
NOTABLE EFFECTS:
• subject's anterior pelvic tilt increases canal depth by ~2.3cm.
• entry angle permits direct contact with posterior fornix and, depending on thrust depth and hip velocity, occasional contact with cervix. (MONITOR FOR DISCOMFORT)
• full bodyweight leverage permits controlled, high-pressure thrusts.
• high friction zone engagement along entire vaginal wall.
• compression of clitoral region possible when subject’s legs press inward, friction via pubic bone contact.
• subject’s hands often reach overhead or grip my wrists; potential autonomic submission indicator???
orgasm frequency
• subject status: slicker than usual. pupil dilation extreme. breasts engorged. clitoral hood retracts without direct contact, clear arousal marker!!
subject: usually first, often cries or gasps. pelvic tremors observed.
self: delayed climax due to overfocus on control. I tend to hold back to watch her shake. It’s.... yes.
initiator notes:
• predominantly myself. used when ive been edged by her teasing or prolonged kissing.
• applied after periods of absence, emotional intensity, or when she wears that damn dress.
PERSONAL NOTE: i hate how much I like that one, i can push so deep... should never try this pose unless we are alone at home. the sounds coming from both of us are too loud.
III. the forward-bend over surface configuration
subject position: upright, torso supported against surface (desk, rock, workbench, etc.). hips angled downward, legs spread.
researcher position: behind, standing or semi-crouched depending on height differential and surface elevation.
SPINAL MECHANICS & ENTRY ANGLES
• subject’s lumbar lordosis naturally increases, arching spine and presenting gluteal area prominently.
• angle of insertion aligns shaft with posterior vaginal wall, intense friction, minimal cervix contact unless aggressively deep.
• my darling may grip edges of support surface, bracing body. exhibits backward hip propulsion and sustained thigh constriction
• clitoral stimulation minimal unless fingers used
• my love highly sensitive in this pose when pressure applied to hips or when hair is pulled lightly (neurological link to scalp stimulation observed)
orgasm data:
• best combined with one-handed clitoral rubbing or anal thumb pressure for maximal response.
either method appears to induce involuntary pelvic tilting and vocal escalation (“fuck, Ford, please do that again—“) which may be attributable to overlapping nerve clusters (see pudendal and perineal branches).
ejaculation possible; vaginal fluid secretion increased. will test again under lab conditions with towel placement beneath hips.
subject: reaches her peak best with secondary stimulation. highly vocal, feral-sounding moans.
self: climax comes fast. visual stimulation too high, i love my darling's back, hips, the sounds she makes.
SIDE NOTE: I have no dignity left, i can’t look at that desk without my hands shaking. The stain on the wood where her cheek laid. I am unwell.
IV. the seated straddle (usually in chair or lap-based context)
description: Partner mounts me from above, legs straddling either side. Full control granted to subject. often occurs spontaneously in non-bed environments (desk, study chair)
NOTABLE EFFECTS:
• clitoral stimulation from pelvic friction.
• my darling dictates speed and depth. im just a man for use
• psychological stimulation extreme. subject appears emboldened, smirking, uses hands in commanding ways (gripping my jaw, tugging hair, etc), stops any attempts by me to thrust my hips up knowing how much i want to
• my love is sensitive to spanking during this pose. It's not that i do it myself, she calls me to do it
• bites me when i won’t let her on top. says “ill ride you if i want” and who am I to refuse her?
• subject status: highly confident. pelvis rocks forward, pressing against base of shaft, creating devastating pressure. nipples visibly erect, voice huskier.
initiator: 100% my darling. always surprises me.
orgasm frequency: hers first, almost always. sometimes twice, when she needs it too much. i barely last though.
side note: don't want to admit it, but this pose is my weakness. i LOVE looking at my partner's body too much when she's on top, i love it when she initiates kisses and bites my neck, leaving marks. she always says im too loud when she rides me. i love the weight of her thighs and the way she bounces sometimes, im afraid i could write academic essays on her technique.
V. the face-down configuration (subject on stomach, hips elevated via pillow or hands)
description: subject lies on stomach or chest, hips raised via manual positioning or cushion. entry achieved from behind, bodyweight distributed over subject’s back.
NOTABLE EFFECTS:
• angle presses shaft against anterior wall. when timed with thrust rhythm, this pose produces prolonged contact for her sensitive spots.
• breasts pressed against bedding, so subject appears overstimulated, often grasps sheets or hides face.
• cervical pressure high. adjust thrust depth to avoid discomfort.
subject status: tactile responses heightened. her legs are shaking too much in this pose. vaginal canal contracts in intervals... must measure this better.
initiator: surprisingly, but its me. usually after subject teases me excessively.
orgasm frequency: subject second, sometimes she tries to stimulate herself thinking that i can't see her hand between her legs, but I prefer to remove it, replacing it with mine. her cries get muffled in pillow, must ensure airway clearance. yes, of course Ford, that's why in a fit of stupid lust you once lifted her head by the hair!
side note: sadly, i lose control. every time... there's just something feral about the way her back arches, how my darling whimpers into her own wrist. long, deep, bone-shaking thrusts until my sweetheart is limp. her condition (physical & mental) after this pose worries me greatly because she cannot speak and is shaking all over, only smiling stupidly. i have to apologize afterward and she always says “do it again“
JOURNAL ENTRY. BIOLOGICAL VULNERABILITIES, SAFETY PROTOCOLS, AND PLEASURE-INDUCED PHYSIOLOGICAL RESPONSES
SUBJECT: im smiling while writing this, but as always, it's my darling. my beloved.
STUDY FIELD: microbiological health, vaginal ecology, tissue trauma prevention, post sexual intercouse recovery tracking, and oral/manual technique effectiveness.
I. VAGINAL ENVIRONMENTAL BALANCE. ACIDITY, LUBRICATION, AND RESPONSIBLE ENTRY
subject maintains a healthy vaginal pH in the range of 3.8 to 4.5, consistent with normative vaginal acidity standards in individuals with typical female reproductive anatomy.
this acidic environment is crucial for the prevention of bacterial vaginosis and candidiasis. (side note: no yeast infections to date, my darling is healthy, yay)
pre sex protocol. this is written by me and for myself only. sometimes i... get too excited, so i prefer to make a plan that i will follow.
• always wash hands thoroughly (including under nails).
• oral flora is less risky than manual flora, but still note to self: brush teeth before eating her out, you absolute idiot.
• use of saliva as lubricant is avoided unless during mutual arousal; preferred lubrication is subject’s own secretions, which increase significantly around mid-cycle ovulation. can confirm !! i once skipped dinner to just stay between her thighs for 23 minutes. no regrets except the cramp in my neck. worth it
II. ROUGH INCIDENT. FILE UNDER: “SHAME”
there was one evening, post-expedition, high adrenaline, limited clothing, excessive mutual arousal, where subject and i engaged in intercourse against a tree trunk.
i should admit, this was not planned, no matter how many hours a day i spend dreaming of touching my partner. we had no blanket, so her spine pressed to bark. and i did not assess for insects or moss. entry occurred before thorough lubrication could be ensured.
post-incident findings. (i had to check my partner, even though she kept saying she wanted to do it again because, according to her, “rough feral Ford is hot”. silly)
• minor thigh abrasions (healed without intervention).
• mild inner soreness reported next morning.
• thankfully, no tearing, no blood, but subject limped adorably. i wanted to expire.
response protocol (updated):
• NEVER initiate without at least 90 seconds of foreplay.
• always carry blanket, antiseptic wipes, portable lube (unscented, glycerin-free). check bark texture. avoid pine sap. for the love of science, Stanford, think with your upper brain.
side note: I hate myself for that. She said she was fine but i could see the way she walked. i got so caught up... i lost control. not acceptable. not again. unless... she asks... very nicely. which she will. and then what? then what, Stanford?
III. MUTUAL FINGER STIMULATION. TECHNIQUES, VARIABILITY, AND SENSORY OUTCOMES
subject exhibits high sensitivity in clitoral glans and surrounding hood area. best approached with indirect stimulation at first, stroking alongside hood, not directly on top.
methods employed with consistent success:
• two-finger horizontal rubbing along clitoral shaft (index and middle, circular motion, low pressure at first)
• V-shaped finger split. middle finger inside canal, index gliding over clitoris in tandem
• curling motion once inside, aiming for anterior vaginal wall while palm rocks against clitoral region
• thumb-to-clit pressure during penetrative fingering. best when rhythm syncs with thrusts, judging by my partner's moana
timing observations:
• subject prefers slow, teasing pace at first, begins gripping bedsheets once pace increases.
• when she whines and her hips cant upward, that's the threshold. increase pressure. maintain rhythm.
• my darling says my hands are “too big for this”, translation “don’t stop”. (from experience)
side note #1: my hand got numb. i was happy.
side note #2: my darling holds my wrist when I rub her clitoris. I find this detail too cute.
IV. ORAL TECHNIQUE OPTIMIZATION. LINGUAL STRATEGIES FOR SUBJECT’S PLEASURE
• her clitoris responds best to broad strokes of the tongue, flat surface, not pointed tip. gentle suction produces full-body shudders, which I found too attractive, causing me to ejaculate prematurely. it was awkward to finish without stimulation other than rubbing against the bed...
• humming softly (resonance vibration) increases blood flow and evokes a keening sound.
a plan on how to please my partner. learn by heart
• begin with teasing licks along labia majora.
• slide tongue upward, avoiding direct clit contact initially. makes her cry and beg, which makes me feel somewhat guilty for enjoying it
• ontroduce suction + rhythmic flicking at apex of arousal.
• insert two fingers concurrently, curl toward her sensitive spot.
• use thumb /nose pressure for additional clitoral nudge
resulting data:
• subject's legs shake uncontrollably when stimulation lasts longer than 5 minutes.
a mandatory section of my research down below, for the safety of my love's health i must write this down for myself so I don't forget.
MISCELLANEOUS SAFETY MEASURES FOR FOREST SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS.
subject and i, Stanford F Pines, frequently find ourselves aroused during field work. exposure to moss, bark, damp surfaces increases risk of microbial transfer or splinters. therefore:
emergency forest (outdoors) sexual intercouse checklist:
• blanket, clean towel, witch hazel wipes, lubricant, thermos (warm water) for aftercare rinse, soft edible snack for blood sugar replenishment (for both of us. now i keep granola bars in my coat), condoms (usually unused, but...)
well then, Stanford, you think years of surviving other dimensions would prepare you for everything in the world. but apparently, my sweetheart made me me lose IQ points.
ADDENDUM TO HEALTH OBSERVATIONS. PRIVATE TEXTILE SAMPLE STUDY (UNAUTHORIZED)
ENTRY STATUS: NOT to be included in main sequence of documentation. this is for my eyes only.
OBJECT OF ANALYSIS:
subject’s most recently laundered and subsequently worn lower undergarment. fabric density indicates frequent use. recovered from laundry pile under pretense of cleaning assistance. (I am a liar. I did not intend to wash it.)
i cannot refer to this item by its colloquial term. let’s call it the cotton sample.
I. COLLECTION METHOD:
Item was collected post-wear, during late evening hours, prior to intended laundering cycle. heat from subject’s body still embedded in central gusset.
no visual staining beyond expected, however, a faint translucent secretion had marked the interior. not visible to naked eye under poor lighting, but evident via touch and scent.
SCENT COMPOSITION ANALYSIS
• high concentration of lactic acid and urea traces.
• mucosal residue containing epithelial cells and vaginal secretions consistent with arousal-phase lubrication.
• minor traces of dried sweat near waistband; negligible relevance.
OLFACTORY PROFILE:
• tangy-sweet. musky. pungent in a way that activated my hypothalamus with frightening immediacy.
II. ANALYSIS & PERSONAL MISCONDUCT
in the end, i brought the item to my study. I claimed it was to confirm pH through basic litmus testing. This was a lie.
within 47 seconds, I had undone my trousers. I held the cotton sample beneath my nose, breathing in the residual warmth, traced the inner seam with my fingertips. I remembered my darling still wearing it as she read a book today, then boiled water and bent over to pick something up. (my neurons short-circuited.)
personal compromise occurred. I WRAPPED, no, I had to wrap the item around my penis shaft slowly after long inhalation, which caused an involuntary reaction in my lower body, making my penis shaft swell with blood.
SIDE NOTE: this is disgusting. i am disgusting. This is not acceptable behavior and i am aware of the ethical violation. I should report myself to an oversight board but the only oversight here is mine. i came in under 60 seconds, holding my darling's cotton sample, smearing myself in her scent. This is inappropriate behavior, i should be doing my research about the anomaly I caught yesterday in the forest near the lake, not sniffing my partner’s underwear like a pervert in heat. But Holy Moses, i would do it again.
III. POST-EJACULATORY DATA (AND SHAME):
• as expected, sample was stained with seminal fluid (mine). i attempted to wash it by hand using unscented soap.
• it still smells like her, but slightly. I folded it and returned it to the laundry bin. my sweetheart will never know.
NOTE: do not label this act as “masturbation” in my notes. call it “physiological response management.” unfortunately, the lie soothed nothing.
PHYSIOLOGICAL AFTEREFFECTS:
• residual arousal lingered for 3.2 hours.
• fuilt level measured at 8.9/10.
• self-perception plummeted.
• refractory period unusually short (possibly due to tactile connection with subject’s scent profile).
JOURNAL ENTRY. SUBJECTIVE STIMULUS-RESPONSE PREFERENCES, COMPILED FROM FIELD OBSERVATION AND POST-EXPERIMENT REFLECTIONS
PREAMBLE: this is an analysis of the subject’s, my partner’s, observed and expressed preferences in erotic activity, gathered via post sex discussion, live anatomical assessment, and deeply unethical mental replay (and, unfortunately, a handful of data recovered during frantic self-stimulatory recollection, but I digress). For organizational purposes, the structure is divided as follows: 1) Roughness & Control 2) Oral Activi— entry ends here. my beloved has entered the room, and I must momentarily step away
ROUGHNESS & CONTROL
My starlight exhibits fluctuations in arousal responsiveness corresponding to psychological and likely hormonal cycles, during which they express distinct cravings for physically intense stimulation. these often include requests for manual cervical pressure, choking, hair manipulation, or abrupt pelvic thrusting. My reaction is to... panic whenever these preferences surface.
PERSONAL NOTE: just to make myself clear, I fear injuring my partner.
above all else, Im a scientist, not a savage! but she uses a dishonest method, a puppy look and a gentle tone that begins to beg. and unfortunately, i falter. I apply pressure, cautiously, always monitoring her pulse. I hate myself for how hard I get from it.
During these phases, the subject initiates with visible body language: bared neck, splayed limbs, intentional provocation (i.e. verbally requesting me to “pin [her] down” or “make it hurt”) Refractory periods appear shorter post-session, possibly due to a hormonal cocktail of adrenaline and dopamine.
UNPLANNED VOCALIZATION ANALYSIS ! ! !
• subject emits a wide range of sounds, most commonly: hitched moans (a-ahh, hhnn), breathy sighs, ragged laughter when overstimulated
• panting my name [ “Ford, Ford, Ford” ] usually when my darling is on top of me, riding or grinding against my body
• talks a lot during climax. filthy & surreal things. phrases that i can't repeat here unless i want to combust.
note: i do not discourage this. in fact, i may have recorded one such session. for scientific accuracy only.
ORAL ACTIVITY. ANATOMICAL ENGAGEMENT AND GLANDULAR RESPONSE
Subject expresses persistent oral fixation, both as a receiver and provider. They often initiate oral sex on myself, typically during early morning or late evening hours. duration can last up to 7–13 minutes before ejaculation unless manually redirected.
NOTE: my love insists on swallowing, and in some way I'm glad that she can read my thoughts. metaphorically, of course, I hope not literally. she says it’s easier that way. I don’t even know what to say. the sight alone, my legs practically give out.
Reciprocally, the subject reacts with pronounced pelvic tilting and adductor muscle spasms when I stimulate her labial structures with tongue and lips, especially the anterior region of the clitoral hood. Lingual stimulation in combination with insertion of two fingers (palmar side upward, curling motion) typically results in rapid climax.
The subject frequently initiates friction-based stimulation through clothing. Mechanically, this act lacks direct skin contact but appears to produce substantial arousal in the subject, especially when seated on my lap.
FIELD NOTE: my partner once came like this, just through grinding. through denim. denim! meanwhile, I ruined my only good pants. honestly... not my proudest orgasm. i don't understand why my partner likes the fact that I finish in my clothes and not inside her.
while inefficient for my own release, this activity seems to provide psychological comfort to the subject, especially during emotionally vulnerable states.
tactile stimulation of the cervical and thoracic dermatomes (neck, collarbones, shoulders) consistently provokes moaning, muscle fluttering, and intentional pressing into contact. I use my mouth to stimulate these areas with suction and teeth. her nipples, especially the left, are extremely reactive to oral manipulation and require little pressure to induce limb trembling and involuntary pelvic elevation.
NOTE: I could write a dissertation on her nipple to vocal pitch ratio. But that would be weird. So I won’t. (Yet.)
FINGERING NOTES: i typically begin with a single digit, gradually expanding to two, then three, using firm, upward pressure toward the anterior vaginal wall, approximating stimulation of the g spot region. concurrent thumb pressure on the external clitoris generates a peak response. on average, my darling climaxes in 90–160 seconds under optimal conditions. but I prefer to prolong her pleasure even though she says that i torture her. how unfair!
following extensive documentation of my darling’s somatic, behavioral, and neurochemical responses to erotic stimuli, across various conditions, environments, and positional variables, I consider this entry conclusive for this phase of observation.
All measurable data indicates mutual satisfaction, emotional security, and extremely high sexual compatibility!
her preferences continue to evolve, so do mine.
accordingly, I predict a minimum of twelve to twenty-seven additional studies over the next fiscal quarter, as her affective, biochemical, and psychological novelty shows no sign of plateauing.
for now, this document stands as a complete and satisfying record of our shared intimacy. though the subject herself remains... incomprehensibly addictive.
Further research will be inevitable. I await it eagerly.
ALRIGHT EVERYBODY! THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!
With two wins in the round robin finale, tumblr has elected to breed... STANFORD PINES!!! CONGRATULATIONS, GRAVITY (gravid-y) FALLS FANS!!!
Garak finishes as the runner-up, with 1 round robin win, leaving Bashir to finish in 3rd place. It's been such a fucking blast running this tournament and seeing all the amazing art and fanfiction and meta produced from it! You guys have been absolutely amazing! Stick around for our bonus polls. :)
*(Also don't worry about the fact I used the Lower Decks Garashir designs, it was just to make them easier to edit)
Pony: Track all year. He glazes that shit a little bit TOO much, begs johnny but gets rejected.
Johnny: None in fall, hockey in the winter, tennis in the spring. HE JUST GIVES TENNIS BOY. hates track with a passion.
Soda: Football in fall, Wrestling in winter, Lacrosse in spring. the football thing is canon, he’d be in wrestling for steve😭, and he just looks like a lacrosse player.
Steve: Nothing in fall, wrestling in winter, Volleyball in spring. He’s just aggressive asf
Two-Bit: None in fall, wrestling in winter, volleyball in spring
Any Ponyboy or Steve headcanons?
(This is me projecting and no pressure to do so but maybe Hellenic polytheistic Steve headcanons (specifically Hephaestus and Aphrodite devotee Steve)? Again no pressure!)
OMG I LOVE THAT😧
STEVE AS A HELLENIC PRACTIONER
I can see him worshipping Hephaestus and Aphrodite😌
The way they met was so random too istg.
Steve is just hanging out with Dallas, since he’s a practioner too, talking about the gods and stuff
Steve was contemplating on being helpol because he was zoroastrian, but with Dally’s help, he managed to get settled in.
He starts off with the research, and he sees Hephaestus. Automatically, his ass likes him already because he’s the god of the forge.
And coincidentally, steve likes building. soooo, good match????
So he starts doing his research, he’s loving the faith, and Steve’s having a ball with Hephaestus.
BUT NOW ON TO APHRODITE. You guys know how Hephaestus was married to Aphrodite?
Well, lets just say that one time, while Steve was doing a tarot reading for himself, Hephaestus just does this: *THROWS OUT LOVERS, EMPRESS, QUEEN OF CUPS.*
Steve is just like: 😧 Oh! wait wtf is this-
Then he hears: “My wife”
“WHA-“
He keeps pulling the same cards until it finally clicks into his DUMBASS BRAIN.
“OHHHHH. aphrodite😧”
Now he works with aphrodite AND hephaestus.
(i havent wrote headcanons in a hot minute😭 im sorry if this is bland asl)
