#;;tre-co

[everchanging-encyclopedia]

am i aromantic? yeah. am i gonna scream along to bobby sox? yeah.

[smuggsy]

Two of my favorite Oc's — Ricky and Tincho ✨🌈 from Tamaulipas 🇲🇽🐯🐯🐯.

[iceeericeee]

🌲

Was the angel and demon pining for each other?

🌳❤️🌲

lololol yes, yes they was

[sasyscarborough]

https://sasyscarborough.com/2024/12/16/pierrot-cover-up/ Did you know: That in the viewer “Comm” (short for communication) Menu at the top of your viewer, at the bottom there is a Conversation Log. This holds onto all communication between you and others, even if you have not replied. So in the... #secondlife

[theindyreview]

Scene Stories: When The Ball Starts Rolling

Scene Stories: When the Ball Starts Rolling Tess of #TESSLA talks about her experience picking up steam in the #electronic music industry. #newmusic #electronica #edm #newartist #pop #dance

There is a quote going around right now that says, “It takes ten years to be an overnight success.” Usually when an artist or an actor finally gets your attention, it is only after they have coursed a long journey of development, struggle, and luck. As a music-lover, it can then feel special when we discover acts who are on their way to hit it big. But what is it like for someone who is currently…

[prossima-nebulosa]

I am so fucking done with this job

[wine-porn]

No Bling-Jeans

Well, it’s definitely Zin. An over-simplified statement, perhaps, but with Zin, that’s the first–and most important–qualifier…considering the sins committed against the grape in the past 30 years. Sure, we like pinot to act like pinot and grenache to smell like grenache and chard to taste like chard, but as someone who regularly gets accused of wanting my zins to taste like cab, it’s an important…

[kkanabel]

co-pilot mischief ✫ both broken ✫ chapter tres ✫ finale

captain curly x teasing!reader

it’s been a month since your epiphany that Captain Curly has a sweet little crush on you, and you’ve been teasing him the entire time. what happens when you push him even closer to the edge? you asked that question, and here we are: Curly has officially broken.

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter

words: ~6.1k

t/w: sex, minors dni, overstimulation, fingering, REALLY OVERSTIMULATION, multiple orgasms, curly being a lil shit, so much yucky, gn!reader who wears a bra, no specific genitalia mentioned for reader (if i fucked up & did somewhere, pls lmk), any other things i should mention?

a/n: hi. been obsessed with this video game recently—well, especially with Curly (go figure. i like fictional men). i needed to make something self-indulgent bc i just like this man way too much. and because i just want to make a world where none of them have to suffer. enjoy~ 

~jeremy does not exist in this world~

Planned Shipment Duration: 382 Days Elapsed Transit Time: 342 Days

Since the incident, you’ve noticed Curly’s behavior shift from his usual awkward-but-adorable responses to something else entirely—avoidance. Every conversation with him feels clipped, every interaction rushed. This avoidance comes to a head when you have to discuss the ship's fuel readings.

“Captain, can you double-check the fuel calibration?” you ask, stepping into the cockpit with a tablet in hand.

Curly is already seated at the console, his back stiffening at the sound of your voice. “It’s fine,” he mutters without looking up, his fingers flying over the controls.

You narrow your eyes. “Fine? It’s been showing inconsistencies for two days now. Can we be sure it won’t cause an issue later?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “I’ll… take care of it.” Still, he doesn’t glance at you, his gaze fixed on the screen as if the fuel levels are the most riveting thing he’s ever seen.

You step closer, placing the tablet on the console in front of him. “It’d be quicker if we checked it together,” you say, deliberately leaning over just slightly to try and catch his eyes.

But he shifts, pulling back as if your proximity physically burns. “I’ve got it,” he says tersely, still avoiding you.

The clipped tone stings more than you expect. You hesitate, studying him. His hands grip the edge of the console, the veins in his forearms standing out as though he’s using every ounce of willpower to keep his composure. He looks tired—no, exhausted—but there’s something else in his expression, something tight and defensive.

You pull back, watching him with a frown. There’s an ache in your chest you weren’t prepared for—a pang of guilt mixed with frustration. You liked teasing him, pushing his buttons just enough to see the cracks in his armor, but this? This feels different. It’s like he’s shut a door between the two of you, and you can’t help but wonder if you pushed too far.

You bite your lip, torn. Was it the water incident? The shirt? Or maybe it’s been everything—the touches, the flirtation, the unspoken tension you’ve been toying with for weeks. Whatever it is, the wall he’s built feels higher than before, and it leaves you restless, your stomach knotting with something that feels a lot like regret.

That night, sleep refuses to come. You lie in your bunk, staring at the dim ceiling of your cabin, your mind replaying every moment from the cockpit earlier. His stiffness, his avoidance, the way he couldn’t even look at you—it all swirls together, making your chest feel heavy.

Was he angry with you? Embarrassed? Or worse—had you made him so uncomfortable that he didn’t want to be around you anymore? The thought makes your throat tighten, and you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

The hum of the ship’s engines fills the silence of your cabin, steady and soothing, but it does little to calm the turmoil in your chest. You’ve been lying there for hours, staring at the ceiling, your blanket pushed to the side as your mind cycles endlessly.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The look on Curly’s face earlier had been… different. It wasn’t just the usual exasperation you’d grown fond of teasing out of him. It was heavier, like he was carrying something you couldn’t quite name, something you weren’t sure you should have pulled at.

You close your eyes and groan quietly into the darkness, guilt and frustration twisting in equal measure. Sure, it’s fun to watch him squirm, to push his buttons just enough to see the cracks in that carefully constructed exterior. But you may have gone too far—even if the water spilling on your shirt was a complete accident. His jaw had set so tightly, his words clipped in a way that left no room for your usual playful retorts.

The memory sits heavy in your chest now, pressing down like a weight.

You roll over for the hundredth time, but the ache of regret and the nagging spark of curiosity keep you pinned wide awake. It’s not just the teasing, is it? Not really. It’s the way his silence speaks louder than his words, the way he looks at you like he’s bracing himself to lose something he doesn’t even have yet

You sigh, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. You know you should leave it alone, let him come to you when he’s ready, but patience has never been your strong suit.

Sliding out of the bunk, you glance at the reflection of your sleepwear in the metal panel across the room. The skimpy fabric makes you hesitate, but only for a moment. If you’re honest with yourself, part of you still wants to provoke him. But another part—the part twisting in your gut—just wants to be able to speak to him normally again.

The ship feels colder at night, the air biting against your bare skin as you make your way down the narrow corridor. The faint glow spilling from the cockpit confirms your suspicion: he’s there, just as you expected.

You pause in the doorway, your heart beating harder than you’d like. He hasn’t noticed you yet. His head is bowed, his fingers raking through his messy blond hair as he leans over the console. He looks… defeated. The sight sends a pang through you, sharp and unwelcome.

Taking a breath, you step inside, keeping your voice soft as you speak. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He straightens abruptly, his shoulders stiffening as his chair creaks under the sudden movement. His eyes meet yours for a moment before flicking downward and darting back up, his jaw clenching. You catch the faintest flush across his cheeks, but his expression is unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is flat, but there’s a strain beneath it, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You try to smile, but it falters. Stepping closer, you cross your arms, suddenly feeling more self-conscious than you expected. “I—” You stop, unsure of how to begin. “I just… I wanted to check on you.”

His brows furrow, suspicion flickering across his face. “Check on me?”

“Yeah.” You force a small laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears. “You seemed… off earlier.” You hesitate, glancing at the console to avoid his gaze. 

The silence that follows feels heavier than when the ship’s gravity went haywire and pushed down on you all. You risk a glance at him, only to find him watching you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. His hands grip the armrests of his chair like they’re the only thing anchoring him, his knuckles pale.

“It’s fine,” he says finally, his voice tight, controlled. Too controlled. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

The way he says it makes something inside you crack. You know that tone, the one he uses to push people away, to keep himself locked behind walls you’ve only just started to glimpse behind. And it hurts.

“Curly…” You step closer. “That’s not what I—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice sharper now, his eyes flashing with something you can’t quite name.

But you don’t back down. Not this time.

“Don’t what?” you challenge, leaning closer to him. You keep your voice soft, almost hesitant, but there’s no mistaking the edge behind it. “Don’t worry about you? Don’t care?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. He just stares at you, his stormy blue eyes locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he finally says, but there’s no conviction in the words. They’re a shield, flimsy and cracking.

You tilt your head, your voice dropping lower. “Why not?”

“Because…” He looks away, running a hand down his face, and you see the way his fingers tremble. When his gaze snaps back to yours, there’s fire in it, raw and unfiltered. “Because I can’t keep doing this, alright? I can’t—”

He stops himself, his voice breaking on the last word, and your heart stumbles in your chest.

“Can’t what?” you press, taking another step closer, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor. Your voice softens, and this time there’s no teasing, no game. “Curly, just tell me.”

He lets out a frustrated sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan, and rises abruptly from his chair. The suddenness of it makes you flinch, but you hold your ground.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is louder now, but it’s not anger—it’s desperation, raw and bleeding. “You waltz in here in your—” His eyes flick down to your barely-there pajamas before snapping back up, his expression torn. “—your… whatever that is, and you look at me like that, and you think it’s funny, don’t you? Messing with me, pushing me, like it’s all some game!”

You blink, stunned by the outpouring of words. “I—”

“No,” he cuts you off, his voice cracking. “You don’t get to talk right now. Do you know how hard I’ve been trying? Trying to keep this… whatever it is… locked down? To keep things professional, to not…” He trails off, shaking his head like he’s trying to dislodge the thought.

“To not what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“To not ruin everything!” he bursts out, and the words hang in the air between you, heavy and unrelenting. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, waking up every damn day and seeing you, knowing I can’t—shouldn’t—feel this way?”

His chest heaves, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He’s closer now, the space between you shrinking with every ragged breath.

He leans in closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of hesitation before he barrels on. “Do you know what it’s like to sit next to you every day, to have you so close and know I can’t touch you? Can’t tell you?” His laugh is bitter, almost self-deprecating. “God, I can’t even think straight when you’re around. You’ve got me walking into walls, screwing up flight routes, forgetting my own bloody name half the time.”

“Curly…” You reach out, but he grabs your wrist before you can touch him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Don’t,” he says again, but this time it’s a plea, his voice breaking. His gaze locks on yours, his eyes glassy with an emotion you’ve never seen from him before.

And then, before you can say anything, he moves.

In one swift motion, he pushes you back against the console, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in. His face is inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the unsteady rhythm of his breath.

“I can’t…” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, but you don’t move, don’t dare to break the fragile moment hanging between you.

“Then don’t,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His eyes search yours, and for a heartbeat, everything stands still. Then, with a groan that sounds like defeat, he closes the gap, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so fierce it steals the breath from your lungs.

The kiss is not soft or measured, but raw, desperate, and full of everything he’s been holding back for months. His lips crash against yours with an intensity that makes your knees go weak, and you gasp into him, feeling the weight of all his pent-up frustration pouring out into this moment.

His hands, rough and calloused, grip the edges of the console beside your hips like he’s barely holding himself together. You feel the tension in his arms, the way his muscles cord and flex, the sheer power of him caging you in.

And then, suddenly, his hands shift. One moves to your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down to your hip, pinning you firmly to the console beneath you. The cool surface bites against your skin, grounding you as his fingers wrap around you with just enough force to keep you there without hurting you.

He pulls away for a moment, searching your eyes for any hint of rejection, finding none.

You open your mouth to speak, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His lips crash back down onto yours, more insistent this time, as if he’s trying to erase every teasing word and playful glance you’ve ever thrown his way.

His body presses closer, and you’re keenly aware of every inch of him—the strength in his broad shoulders, the solid weight of his chest against yours, the way his body is being held between your thighs (which you’ve just realized that you wrapped around him), keeping you and him firmly in place. His free hand trails down your side, his touch firm and possessive.

“Curly,” you keen, eyes fogged from the kisses he just gave you.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice low and rough. “Not unless you’re ready to take responsibility for what you’ve started.”

The words send a shiver through you, and you meet his gaze, your breath catching at the unrestrained emotion in his expression—anger, yes, but also longing, vulnerability, and an aching kind of need that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m not sorry,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling but steady enough to hold his gaze.

His lips curl into a gentle smile, and he shakes his head, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours. “I expected such,” he murmurs, his voice softer now but no less intense.

And then he kisses you again, slower this time, but just as overwhelming. It’s less about frustration now and more about everything else—the want, the need, the relief of finally letting it out. His hand slides from your hip to thread his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if to soften the moment, to remind you that despite the force of it all, he’s still Curly.

Even then, as he pulls his lips away to trail his kisses down that delicious neck of yours that he’s been fantasizing about for the past couple months, he bucks his hips into yours subconsciously. 

His eyes widen at the realization of what he just did, and he’s just about to apologize when he hears your soft groan, your hips grinding back into his. 

You’re going to be the end of him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his mind goes entirely blank while reaching his hands to grab onto the mounds of your chest as he places wet kisses all over your neck. 

The sensation makes you gasp—his warm lips suckling all over the crook of your neck, trailing slightly further down as his large, warm hands grasp at you, fingers gliding against the thin fabric over to the tips of your nipples. He teases it over the fabric, each graze sending a jolt down your core as his pants get tighter.

You watch as Curly’s eyes glaze over while looking at the thin fabric of your shirt, watching your nipples peak and harden under his ministrations. One of his hands pulls away from a breast, brushing down your body until he pulls the skimpy fabric of your shorts and your underwear to the side and places his fingers right onto your heat at just the right spot, rubbing at it.

Your gasping, arms tightening around his neck, and your hands gripping at the hair on the base of his neck only serves to spur him on. His eyes are still hazy with a sheen of lust as he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them lasciviously before easing a finger inside your hole, slowly massaging at your walls until he finds your most delicious spot. 

When you tense up and you let out another gasp, his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, knowing that he’s found it. As you reach up to capture his lips with yours, he slips another finger in. 

As you’re kissing, you let out a choked moan as he only rubs against that little spot more, fingers starting to curl up rougher and faster. His fingers filled you up so well—so thick and long, pressing your insides in all the right places. 

When you clench and spasm around his fingers, you expect him to slow down, but his fingers only get faster through your orgasm. You squeak in response, and his eyes are hooded as he finger fucks you into oblivion.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls against your lips, his voice thick with frustration and something darker. His breath fans hot against your cheek as he pulls back just enough to speak, his eyes blazing as they meet yours. “To push me until I couldn’t take it anymore?” 

His face is a storm of emotions, each one fighting for dominance. His jaw is tight, clenched as though he was holding back. His lips are red and slightly swollen from the kiss, a stark contrast against the stubble shadowing his sharp jawline. 

But it’s his eyes that leave you breathless—dark and blazing with an intensity that borders on feral. Those blue eyes, turbulent and unyielding, locking onto yours like they’re searching for every answer you’ve ever hidden. It combines with the feeling of his fingers pressing you in the right spot, making you see stars.

“You’ve been playing with fire, haven’t you?” he breathes, his voice rough and biting. His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile—a shadow of one, edged with frustration and disbelief. “All those looks, those little comments. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His hand at the console shifts, and he presses a little closer, his body heat seeping into you. “God, do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you parade around like that? Laughing, teasing, pretending you don’t notice what you’re doing to me?” His words are a low snarl now, sharp with exasperation and tinged with lust as he drives his fingers deep into you, earning a squeal from your lips.

“Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d pull something new. A touch here. Showing off some skin there.” His free hand slides along your jaw, his thumb brushing deliberately across your cheekbone. His touch is gentle, almost a mockery of the fire behind his words and the intensity behind his fingers. “You really thought I would break eventually, didn’t you?”

His eyes flicker to your lips, and his fingers keep curling and thrusting inside you in a way that makes you squeak. The sound makes his gaze snap back to your eyes, his expression darkening further. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself from this onslaught of pleasure.

“Was this the plan all along?” he taunts, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “To push me so far I’d lose control? Or were you just so sure I’d never cross that line?” He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “Well, congratulations. You’ve got me right where you want me.”

He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes again, his lips curling into a wicked smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So tell me,” he murmurs, his tone both a challenge and a warning, “what are you going to do now?” Your gummy walls clench on his fingers as he works you undone again—with both his fingers and his words.

“Please,” you keen, voice breathless. “Just fuck me, Captain.” 

The use of his title in that pleasure-drenched voice of yours makes him sharply inhale. He leaned back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Not yet," he says, his voice low and commanding. "You're going to need to be ready for me. Really ready. So, I’m going to take my time." He knew the company regulations like the back of his hand—no personal items, especially not the kind that could be used for pleasure. And he knew you hadn't had anyone else in almost a year.

Your eyes go wide with shock as he speaks, and you realize what he meant. "But I... I've been... stretching," you protested, face heating up at the implication. 

Curly's smile grows, and he leans down, his mouth hovering just above yours. "With your fingers?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement. "That's not enough. Not for what I've got in store for you." You look up at him in shock.

"Trust me," he murmurs against your lips. "You'll thank me for it later. Especially when I break you like you tried to break me. I’ll have you begging, you little tease." His words send shivers of excitement up your spine.

With that, he slides his hand back down your body, his fingers slipping into you again. Your muscles are still contracting from the aftershocks of your two climaxes. He pumps his fingers in and out, watching your face contort with pleasure and overstimulation. But he knew he had to prepare you, had to make sure you could take him.

He leans in, whispering in your ear. "You're going to come again," he tells you, his voice a promise. "And then again. And each time, I'm going to make you feel so good that you'll forget your name."

Your eyes close, breath coming in short pants as you moan into his mouth. Curly revels in the feeling and the view of your hips moving in time with his touch. 

Curly slides in a third finger, curling them gently, feeling the slickness of your arousal. Your eyes fly open, and you look at him with a mix of shock and need. "Curly," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand, hole stretching around his fingers. "Please..." He strokes you in a steady rhythm, watching your face contort with pleasure. You bite your lip, trying to be quiet, but the occasional whimper escapes. 

He pushes your tiny tank top up, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling it as he continues to play with you. Your hands pull him closer, urging him on. He can feel your body tightening, your legs starting to tremble. He knew you were close.

And then it happened. With a cry, you cum again, your muscles clenching around his fingers. He still doesn’t stop, though, instead curling his fingers deeper inside you, keeping the pressure on your sweet spot. Your orgasm went on and on, your body shaking with pleasure, legs giving out.

As the last of your tremors subside, he pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He tastes you, watching as your face heats up. "So good," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “I’m going to push you until you can’t take it anymore.” 

Without warning, he slams his mouth onto your core, his tongue flicking you rapidly. You scream, hips jerking up. Your nails claw at the console, searching for any kind of purchase before gripping his blonde locks.

Curly feels the warmth of your orgasm wash over his hand and lips, juices coating his fingers and face as he watches you come apart in front of him. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you let out a guttural cry, body arching. 

He waits for you to open your eyes, to look at him with the same hunger he feels burning in his gut. When you do, there are tears in the corners of your eyes, and you’re panting. "Please," you beg, voice a whimper. "Please, Curly. I need you inside me." Your vision was already starting to go blurry, and you felt a slight twinge of dizziness from all the mind-numbing orgasms.

His only response is a shit-eating grin and his fingers continuing to work you open. The sound of your wetness fills the cockpit, and he couldn't help but groan. You’re so tight, so perfect. And all his. He watches your face as he works into you, his tongue circling you in time with his fingers curling up and down, thrusting in and out. You’re close, so close to breaking altogether, and he can feel the tension building in your body.

“Curly, please, I-” And then, with a scream, you cum again, gushing wetness all over his hand and face. He pulls away, wiping it from his cheek with a grin. 

"See?" he says, his voice filled with pride and eyes filled with darkness. "I told you I'd make you beg for it."

Your chest heaves, breath coming in ragged gasps. You stare up at him, eyes glazed. "Curly," you whisper with a needy voice. "Please... I need you."

He stood up, his cock straining against his pants. "Not yet," he said again, his voice firm. "We have all night."

He reaches down, helping you to your feet. You sway slightly, legs weak from the intense orgasms. He swiftly picks you up and carries you to the Captain’s Quarters. The crew is asleep. The only sounds are the steady hum of the Tulpar's engines and your two footsteps.

Once inside, he places you down onto his bed gently, your legs still shaking. He hovers over you, his eyes dark with hunger. He kissed you again, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you and your desire. You moan, hands reaching up to tug at his shirt.

He breaks the kiss, pulling his shirt off. Your eyes scrape up and down the sight of his bare chest, his muscles rippling in the dim light. He leans back in, his mouth moving down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nibbles. You shiver, skin sensitive from the previous orgasms.

Curly slides his hand down to your hole again, his thumb pressing against you as he kisses his way down your body. You gasp, hips rising to meet his touch. He spread open your legs revealing you, all bare and wet. He took a moment to appreciate the view, your swollen hole and the glisten of your arousal—the glisten of your multiple orgasms.

With a groan, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking over you at the perfect spot. You almost scream, the sensation too much. He slides two fingers inside, desperate to continue stretching out your inner muscles.

He licks and sucks, his mouth a symphony of pleasure. You cum again, body bowing off the bed, hands tangling in his hair. He doesn’t let up, his tongue relentless, his fingers curling inside you, pushing you to the edge once more. Your cries grow louder, more frantic, until you’re almost screaming. And then, just as suddenly, you go quiet.

Your eyes roll back in your head, and you go limp beneath him as your body refuses to stop twitching. Curly pulls back, panting, his mouth wet with your essence. He watches your chest heave, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He knows you’re on the edge, just about to shatter into pieces.

He slides his fingers out of you, watching the way you quiver.

He stands, his own desire clear in the bulge in his pants. "You’re doing so good," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Now you're ready." Curly chuckles as he watches your muscles twitch. “So cute,” he mumbles as he zips his jumpsuit down all the way and pulls his boxers down. It's massive, thick and long, standing erect and flushed with arousal.

You’re still unable to form words, eyes blank as you come down from the onslaught of pleasure. Your eyes flutter open when you feel him getting back onto the bed, chest heaving as you stare up at him. "Curly," you breathe, voice shaky. "I don’t… I don’t know if I can take it anymore."

He leans over you, eyes dark with need. "You can," he says, his voice firm. "You will. And you're the one who begged for it."

Curly lines up his cock with your slick entrance, the tip kissing you lightly. It's hot, and you can feel the pulse of his excitement. His reddened tip is so much larger than what you've felt before, veins standing out. Your eyes widen, looking at the size of him, and you feel your stomach flip.

Slowly, with a look of absolute focus, he starts to push in, watching your face as you bite your lip to keep from screaming. The head of his cock, that angry red tip, breaches your entrance, and you can feel your body stretching around its thickness. He goes so slowly, so carefully, that you can't help but trust him. The veins on his shaft stand out like roads on a map, and they feel like they're carving into you as he slides in inch by inch.

The pressure is intense, but you’re so wet, so ready for him. He slides in deeper, feeling you stretch around him. Your walls cling to him, and he knows he'd never felt anything so amazing. He pauses for a moment, savoring the sensation.

And to his surprise, you cum again, walls tightening around his cock. A keening sound tears from your throat, and you buck your hips against him, trying to push him deeper. He holds you still, watching your face, feeling your walls pulse around him. 

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, a wave of pleasure so intense it almost brought him to his knees. “Fuck,” his eyes squeeze shut, voice hoarse. 

But he doesn’t stop. He couldn't. He pushes in further, feeling you tighten even more. You were whining now, a high-pitched sound that seemed to echo through the room. He knows he’s hitting all the right spots, that you were on the edge again. And he was going to make sure you fell over it.

You're so wet, so ready for him, that he's able to ease into you with surprising ease, despite his size. Each time he pushes in, you feel your muscles resisting before giving way, your body adapting to his thickness. Your walls clench around him, trying to get used to the feeling of being so full, so claimed. It's as if every part of you is being rewritten, every nerve ending remapped to accommodate his size.

His thumbs press gently against your pulse points, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. “You’ve been in my head for months. Twisting me up so bad I can’t tell what’s real anymore. Hell, I can’t even close my eyes without seeing you.” His voice has dropped lower, huskier, the edges roughened by emotion and strain.

The feeling of fullness is intense, almost overwhelming, but it's mixed with an aching need for more. You can feel your body stretching, adjusting to his size, and it's both slightly painful and incredibly arousing. He's so much larger than any toy you've ever used, and the thought of taking all of him sends a fresh wave of desire through you.

You glance up at his form, the dim artificial lights overhead casting a faint, bluish hue across his bare chest. His skin glistens faintly, a sheen of sweat highlighting the sculpted lines of his muscles—the curve of his shoulders, the sharp planes of his chest, and the ripple of his abdomen. Shadows deepen in the grooves between his ribs and along the flex of his arms as he shifts, his every movement purposeful, almost mesmerizing. There’s faint golden hair dusting his chest and trailing down his stomach.

The sight of him makes you coo, “Curly, you’re so perfect.”

His eyes never leave yours, and in them you now see a fierce concentration, a hunger that's been building for a long time. The head of his cock reaches deep into you, and you arch your back, the sensation overwhelming. You're so full you feel like you might burst. But then he pulls out slightly, only to push back in even deeper, and it's as if you've been hit by a bolt of lightning.

With one final, powerful thrust, he's all the way in, and you let out a cry that echoes through the cabin. Your nails dig into his back, your body shaking with the intensity of it all. His cock is so big, so hard, that you feel it in every part of you, filling you up in a way you never knew was possible.

Your hips are moving, rutting against him, urging him deeper. 

He starts to move, his hips rocking into yours, his cock sliding in and out of your tight hole. You moan, the feeling so intense that you don’t know if you can handle it. Orgasms roll through you, one after another, each one more powerful than the last. You couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began, they just blended together into a never-ending crescendo of pleasure.

Curly's movements then become more forceful, his thrusts deeper and faster. Each time he fills you, you can feel your inner muscles clench around him, trying to hold onto that delicious feeling of fullness. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he starts to pick up the pace.

Tears slide down your cheeks as he fucks you, each stroke hitting deeper than the last. Your eyes are now squeezed shut, and all you can see was the bright white light of pure ecstasy. You don’t know if you can take it, don’t know if you could handle his size, his strength. But you don’t want him to stop.

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you. It's primal, animalistic, and you can't help but get lost in it—in the feeling of his body pressing into yours, in the heat of his breath against your neck, in the way your orgasms build and crash over you like waves.

Your body starts to shake, your muscles tensing as you feel another climax building. You look up at him, eyes pleading, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss. It's as if he knows exactly what you need, and he's more than willing to give it to you.

Curly starts to hit that spot inside you with every thrust, the one that makes your toes curl and your vision blur. You moan into his mouth, your hips rising to meet his, desperate for more. Fuck, but you don’t know if you can take it anymore. He's relentless, his cock driving into you, stretching you further and further until you think you'll shatter into a million pieces. 

And then, with one final, powerful thrust, you do.

You push him away, just enough for his cock to pop out of you, and you squeal. “‘Curly,” you keen, twitching all over as you release all over yourself, him, and his sheets. His dick twitches as he watches you spasm all over his bed, coating both of you in your cum and slick. 

The corners of your eyes sting with tears of pleasure, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Curly’s gaze doesn’t waver, his lips slightly parted as he watches you, his chest rising and falling with his own labored breaths. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his voice hoarse and rough. Then, without hesitation, he flips you over with a strength that sends your pulse racing all over again. His hands are firm yet careful, a mix of desperation and reverence in the way he touches you.

“You drive me insane,” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The weight of his words settles over you, and you know this is far from over. His frustration, his need, his months of pent-up tension—all of it is unraveling here and now, and you’re the one holding the thread.

And with those words, you know it’s going to be a long, unforgettable night. The thought crosses your mind in a brief, hazy moment of clarity: How are you supposed to walk tomorrow? But the question is quickly swept away, drowned in the whirlwind of Curly’s relentless thrusting and the electric heat between you.

Hours later, when the two of you finally collapse into each other, exhausted and sated, there’s a rare, blissful quiet in the air. His arm drapes over you after he cleans you up, heavy and warm, pulling you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you into a peace you haven’t felt in ages.

For the first time in years, Curly sleeps soundly. No tossing, no turning, no restless hours spent staring at the ceiling. In his dreams, as in reality, you’re there with him. And ever since then, he hasn’t had any insomnia.

And you? You have no regrets.

a/n: the finale~~ let me know what y'all think!

oh yeah.. smut.. neverending smut..

taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just curly/mouthwashing characters or if you want the news on alll my fics.

also might be accepting requests hehe! i can’t guarantee that i can do em, but i’ll accept ideas!

btw. not beta read, please let me know if there are any typos/inconsistencies stay safe & hydrated as always!

(and go to sleep if you’re reading this super late. don’t be a curly. take care of yourself!)

thanks for reading! <3

crossposted on ao3

taglist: @m-carriaga2021, @skyeconch

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter

[pupsmailbox]

DOG︰WOLF ID PACK

NAMES ⌇ ace. affen. affie. aidi. airendale. akita. aksaray. alano. alex. alfie. amarok. amaruq. annie. apollo. archie. arianell. aries. armant. artemis. artois. ash. asher. aurora. badulf. bailey. bandit. barbet. bardou. barkley. basenji. bear. beau. bella. beowulf. biewer. blue. bluey. bolt. boris. boxer. brad. brenard. brittany. brutus. bud. buddie. buddy. buster. buttercup. buzz. cailean. cain. cairn. caleb. canaan. cane. canid. canis. carlo. carol. catellus. celeste. charles. charlie. chase. chewie. chip. cliff. clifford. coco. collie. conall. conan. conell. cooper. daciana. daisy. dale. darwin. dash. daxie. dexter. diana. dire. dixie. duke. dylan. echo. emory. eros. eskie. ester. fang. fenrir. fido. finn. ford. fox. frankie. ghan. glen. gold. gordon. gray. grey. griffon. grim. grimmwolf. hamilton. harley. havana. hero. hound. howl. hunter. indie. indy. jack. joey. kai. kaleb. kalev. kelpie. ken. kerry. kibble. kibs. kit. lady. leo. leon. llewelyn. lola. lowell. lucine. lucy. luna. lupin. lyall. lyca. lycro. lycus. mace. maisie. mal. malinois. marley. max. mia. miles. milo. mingan. mob. molly. mudd. mutt. nala. night. noire. noiresse. noirette. nova. nugget. nyx. oliver. ollie. orion. oscar. paxton. peach. pebble. phoebe. picard. pila. pluto. poppy. puff. pup. ralph. randelle. randy. red. redd. reika. remus. rex. rhys. riley. rocky. rolfo. roman. romulus. rosie. rover. rowdy. roxie. roxy. ruby. rudy. ruff. rufus. ruppell. russel. russell. sadie. scottie. scout. scruff. scruffy. selena. shep. shepard. shepherd. silver. sophie. spike. spitz. spot. stafford. star. stella. stick. storm. stormy. suki. teddy. terry. tiger. tosa. venerie. walker. will. wolf. wolfgang. zev. zip. zoey.

PRONOUNS ⌇　arf/arf. awoo/awoo. ba/ball. ba/bark. bark/bark. bite/bite. ble/blep. bo/bone. bo/bork. bork/bork. cae/canine. can/cani. cani/cani. canid/canidae. canin/canine. canine/canine. cha/chase. chew/chew. claw/claw. co/collar. coll/collar. cute/cute. dig/dig. dog/dog. drool/drool. en/energy. fang/fang. fe/fetch. floof/floof. fluff/fluff. fluff/fluffy. fur/fur. fur/furry. ga/game. grey/grey. grim/grim. gro/growl. growl/growl. grr/grr. guard/guard. ho/howl. houn/hound. hound/hound. howl/howl. hunt/hunt. jump/jump. lea/leash. leash/leash. lo/loyal. loyal/loyal. lu/lupi. lup/lup. moon/moon. mutt/mutt. muz/muzzle. night/night. pa/paw. paw/paw. pawprint/pawprit. pet/pet. pla/play. pla/playful. play/play. pooch/pooch. predator/predator. pro/protect. pup/pup. puppy/puppy. ri/rir. ri/ruff. roll/roll. rough/rough. ru/run. ruff/ruff. run/run. silv/silver. slob/slober. snap/snap. snarl/snarl. sni/sniff. snout/snout. soft/soft. squi/squirrel. star/star. star/starry. sti/stick. tai/tail. tail/tail. teeth/teeth. teeth/teething. tre/treat. tre/tree. wa/wag. wa/walk. wag/wag. walk/walk. wolf/wolf. wolf/wolve. wolv/wolve. woof/woof. yap/yap. yip/yip. 🌳. 🎾. 🐕. 🐕‍🦺. 🐩. 🐶. 🐺. 🐾. 🐿. 🔆. 🥎. 🦮. 🦴. 🧸.

[10000mormonsintheutahdesert]

Holmes + their watsons + being dog coded

Arthur Conan Doyle, "A Study in Scarlet"//Planate Animal//Wikipedia, "Black dog (folklore)"//Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Hound of the Baskervilles"//Mitski, "Cop Car"//Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of the Devil's Foot"//Athur Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of Three Garridebs"//Sherlock & Co, "The Dancing Men"//Limbourg brothers, "Les tres riches heures du Duc de Berry"//Psych, "Lock, Stock, Some Smoking Barrels and Burton Guster's Goblet of Fire"//Elementary, "Details"//Sherlock & Co "Shoscombe Old Place"//Sherlock & Co, "The Solitary Cyclist"//House, "House Training"//Sherlock & Co, "The Solitary Cyclist"//Maurice Leblanc, "Arsene Lupin vs Herlock Sholmes"

[elperegrinodedios]

Ora dunque queste tre cose rimangono: fede, speranza e amore; ma la più grande di esse è l'amore. (1 Co. 13:13 📖)

lan ✍️

[i-am-not-a-super-hero]

My Candy Love New Gen is finally out!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳🥳 So I went ahead and played the first chapter a bunch of times, here are the answers I chose in case they can be useful to someone else :3 (spanish only since that's my main server)

/neutral +positive -negative

Zahra: Bueno, ¿quieres beber algo, Ysaline?

Un zumo de naranja está bien. /

Como tú, un café será perfecto. /

Sí, me apetece un té, si hay. /

Zahra: …

¡Y también pienso disfrutar de ella! No creo que mi próxima casa tenga piscina… /

¡Y cuando vuelvas ya me habré ido! /

Y me salvas la vida, de verdad. No me quedaré mucho tiempo… /

Zahra: Por cierto, Ysaline, ¿qué esperas de este nuevo comienzo?

(REBELDE) Quiero tomarme la revancha. /

(DULCE) Pues la verdad es que espero que vaya mejor que en EPMC… -Tasha

(ENÉRGICA) ¡Quiero arrasar en mi nuevo trabajo! +Tasha

Zahra: ¡Qué experiencia más terrible! ¡Podría haber hecho que Ysaline se desencantara del amor para siempre!

(REBELDE) Ignoraré los consejos de una adolescente de dieciséis años. -Tasha

(DULCE) No te preocupes por eso, mamá. /

(ENÉRGICA) Lo que tengo muy claro es que el siguiente que intente jugar conmigo va a pasar un mal rato. +Tasha

CONJUNTO: 40 PAS

Archibald: Pero lo que no sabía es que tú también habías decidido venir aquí…

De momento, estoy en casa de mamá. REGALO TAKI

Llevo muy poco tiempo, acabo de llegar… /

Para ser sincera, lo cierto es que no he tenido elección. /

Roy: Y no entiendo cómo es posible que no me haya fijado en ti…

(REBELDE) ¿En serio ese es tu mejor piropo?

(DULCE) No pasa nada, a veces pasa… /

(ENÉRGICA) No te preocupes, a mí también me pasa cuando corro. +

Thomas: …

(REBELDE) ¿Y por eso llegas tarde? /

(ENÉRGICA) Creo que la primera hora ya ha pasado, no deberíamos demorarnos más. -

(DULCE) ¿No te gusta madrugar? A mí, tampoco… +

Thomas: …

(DULCE) Siento que tengas que encargarte de esto… -

(REBELDE) Estoy de acuerdo contigo: el papeleo es un rollo. +

(ENÉRGICA) Es increíble. ¡Me atrevería a decir que no te gusta el papeleo! /

Thomas: Es de buena calidad y estás de frente.

(REBELDE) Vale… Pero es mejor poner en el pase la foto que he traído. -

(ENÉRGICA) En realidad, tiene bastante gracia… ¡Creo que me acostumbraré! +

(DULCE) Bueno… Tal vez podrías haberme preguntado mi opinión antes… /

Thomas: Es una foto tuya, se te reconoce, y estás guapa… ¿no?

En este caso concreto, no, la verdad es que no. /

¿Intentas arreglarlo con un cumplido? /

De verdad, ¿tú crees? /

Thomas: …

Mi madre es rica, pero yo no. /

Así es, mi madre es arquitecta, y es bastante conocida en el sector… /

Preferiría que guardaras tus comentarios para ti… /

Thomas: …

(REBELDE) Déjalo. ¿Puedo dar una vuelta, para conocer la oficina? IMAGEN

(ENÉRGICA) ¡Esperaba que al menos me presentaras a todo el mundo!

(DULCE) Quizá podrías enseñarme un poco la oficina… /

Thomas: ¿Qué te apetece?

Nada, estoy bien, gracias…

¿Qué te apetece a ti? /

Déjame mirar a ver qué hay… IMAGEN

Thomas: …

Un zumo de tomate. Es estimulante… /

Un chocolate caliente, si está bueno. /

Un café está bien. /

Amanda: Tú debes de ser la nueva. Soy Amanda de Lavienne.

(DULCE) (Le estrecho la mano sonriendo) +

(REBELDE) Deduzco que tú debes de ser la veterana. Soy Ysaline. /

(ENÉRGICA) ¡Sí! Me llamo Ysaline. ¿¡Me das dos besos!?

Roy: …

¿Qué te parece esta, en forma de dinosaurio? ¿¡No es muy bonita!? / ESCRITORIO PREHISTÓRICO

Mira, una verdadera silla de oficina: móvil, con buen apoyo lumbar, sobria… / ESCRITORIO ERGONÓMICO

La silla redonda es bonita, ¿no? Me gusta, y parece cómoda… / ESCRITORIO AGRADABLE

Brune: ¿Qué te hagamos un montón de preguntas?

(REBELDE) De momento solo van tres. Creo que podré soportarlo. +Elenda

(DULCE) Toda va bien, gracias. Y sí, ya he encontrado mi mesa. /

(ENÉRGICA) Lo ideal sería tenerlas todas por escrito, para poder responder a mi ritmo. +Brune

Brune: Yo creo que al final, estamos mucho mejor aquí.

La empresa en sí misma estaba bien… pero la gente que trabajaba allí… +Brune

Digamos que ha sido… instructivo. Pero quería cambiar a otra cosa. /

Yo también lo creo. Allí, el ambiente era insoportable. +Elenda

COMEDOR – ROY

Roy: …

¡Perdona, es que es muy raro!

Aquí todo el mundo sabe que haces… ¿qué exactamente? IMAGEN

Voy a dejarte entonces, antes de no poder parar de mirar esos abdominales…

Roy: Dos series de cincuenta. Tampoco quiero quedar molido…

(REBELDE) ¡Ah, claro! Después de hacer jogging, cien flexiones… ¡Qué menos!

(ENÉRGICA) ¿En dos series? ¡Eso es para principiantes! IMAGEN

(DULCE) Vale, no quería molestarte… Te dejo. /

SALA DE REUNIONES – AMANDA

Amanda: ¿Puedo hacer algo por ti?

Quizá… Aún me estoy adaptando… /

Pues… No. Pensaba que la sala estaba vacía… Perdona.

Amanda: Vengo de una familia privilegiada. No voy a renegar de ella por eso.

(REBELDE) No hay por qué avergonzarse, pero no me gustan demasiado los interrogatorios. /

(ENÉRGICA) Tienes razón. No me avergüenzo de ello, es más, todo lo contrario. -

(DULCE) No, por supuesto. Es solo que no me gusta alardear de ello. +

Amanda: …

(No me muevo. Mala suerte para la abeja reina.)

(Me precipito a ayudarla a recogerlo todo.) IMAGEN

(Por curiosidad, aprovecho para intentar leer los papeles…)

DESPACHO DE DEVON – DEVON

Devon: Ven, Ysaline, puedes entrar.

(Entro en el despacho y me indica que me siente) +

No, eres muy amable, pero no quiero molestar…

Devon: ¿Quieres que firmemos tu contrato, quizá? Lo tengo aquí…

¡Encantada! ¡Es increíble lo rápido que va todo esto! /

¡Estupendo! Casi me esperaba pasar una entrevista de trabajo.

Devon: No aceptaba un no por respuesta.

(DULCE) Estupendo… Una vez más, mi madre es quien lo ha hecho todo. +

(REBELDE) Ya te digo. Habría podido comprar toda la empresa.

(ENÉRGICA) ¿¡En serio!? ¡Si es así, prefiero ir a buscar a otro sitio!

Devon: Y cuando lo hayas leído, podrás firmarlo…

(ENÉRGICA) (Me tomo un minuto para leer rápidamente las páginas.) IMAGEN

(DULCE) Vale, bien. Confío en ti.

(REBELDE) ¿Te importa si me lo llevo a casa para leerlo más tranquilamente?

[richincolor]

Ode to the Olympics: Books & Sports

I'm a big fan of the Olympics and have absolutely let responsibilities go in favor of watching amazing sport. And I thought, as the Olympics come to a close that I'd share some books that focus on athletes aiming to be their best all while dealing with the trials of adolescence. 

Rez Ball by Byron Graves

These days, Tre Brun is happiest when he is playing basketball on the Red Lake Reservation high school team—even though he can’t help but be constantly gut-punched with memories of his big brother, Jaxon, who died in an accident. When Jaxon's former teammates on the varsity team offer to take Tre under their wing, he sees this as his shot to represent his Ojibwe rez all the way to their first state championship. This is the first step toward his dream of playing in the NBA, no matter how much the odds are stacked against him. But stepping into his brother’s shoes as a star player means that Tre can’t mess up. Not on the court, not at school, and not with his new friend, gamer Khiana, who he is definitely not falling in love with. After decades of rez teams almost making it, Tre needs to take his team to state. Because if he can live up to Jaxon's dreams, their story isn’t over yet.

Check out this trailer for Rez Ball coming next month!

You Don't Have a Shot by Racquel Marie

Valentina “Vale” Castillo-Green’s life revolves around soccer. Her friends, her future, and her father’s intense expectations are all wrapped up in the beautiful game. But after she incites a fight during playoffs with her long-time rival, Leticia Ortiz, everything she’s been working toward seems to disappear. Embarrassed and desperate to be anywhere but home, Vale escapes to her beloved childhood soccer camp for a summer of relaxation and redemption…only to find out that she and the endlessly aggravating Leticia will be co-captaining a team that could play in front of college scouts. But the competition might be stiffer than expected, so unless they can get their rookie team’s act together, this second chance―and any hope of playing college soccer―will slip through Vale’s fingers. When the growing pressure, friendship friction, and her overbearing father push Vale to turn to Leticia for help, what starts off as a shaky alliance of necessity begins to blossom into something more through a shared love of soccer. . . and maybe each other.

Chasing Pacquiano by Rod Pulido

Self preservation. That's Bobby's motto for surviving his notoriously violent high school unscathed. Being out and queer would put an unavoidable target on his back, especially in a Filipino community that frowns on homosexuality. It's best to keep his head down, get good grades, and stay out of trouble. But when Bobby is unwillingly outed in a terrible way, he no longer has the luxury of being invisible. A vicious encounter has him scrambling for a new way to survive--by fighting back. Bobby is inspired by champion Filipino boxer Manny Pacquiao to take up boxing and challenge his tormentor. Then Pacquiao publicly declares his stance against queer people, and Bobby's faith--in his hero and in himself--is shaken to the core.

And Other Mistakes by Erika Turner

Aaliyah's home life has never been great, but she thought she'd survive her last years of high school with at least her friendships and cross-country stardom intact. That is, until junior year she got outed by a church elder and everything came undone ― including Aaliyah. Now, senior year is about to start and she is determined to come back faster and wiser. No more letting other people define her. No more losing herself to their expectations. Except... well, with new friends, old flames, nosy school counselors, and teammates who don't trust her yet, the route already feels rough. And what's with the new girl, Tessa, who gives Aaliyah butterflies every time she looks at her? Regardless, everything is fine. She'll be fine. Because this is the year to prove to everyone―and most of all, herself―that she's more than her mistakes. After all, even Aaliyah can't outrun everything.

[sasyscarborough]

https://sasyscarborough.com/2024/11/30/scoot-no-one-owes-anyone-a-sale/ Did you know that if you CTRL ALT F1 you can hide your UI in Second Life. This is very handy when sharing screens live, doing tutorials, or just screen recording for various reasons... #SecondLife

[selfishpresley]

Cuando Calienta El Sol/Hentai/Desafió

Her bite reflex got worse when he looked so good. And Judith knew that he loved it when she lost control and just started biting. 

But she couldn’t do it now, she had to give him a massage for working so hard. Pushing himself to get on that podium and place a hand over his heart for her. 

Sergio’s usually tanned skin getting darker with the sun. Her hands were massaging some luxurious and amazing smelling sunscreen lotion. All over his arms. Then shoulder. Then abs. Then his chest. 

She squeezed his pecs and saw him raising a brow behind his sunglasses.

“Amorcito,” She started, hands moving by themselves as she ran her hands over the waxed skin and growing muscles. Her mouth watered. “Te voy a comer vivo. Te vez–” She shook her head in wonder. (Little love, I’m going to eat you alive. You look–)

He smiled his little shy smile. Embarrassed. “Ya estoy viejo.” (I’m old now.)

She rolled her eyes, her sweet man. “Pues yo también.” (Well, me too.)

“No, pero– Mirame.” He gestured to his body. (No, well– Look at me.)

All she saw, she wanted to bite and mark. If she brought her knife, he could be at her mercy. “Estas super sabroso. Te la quiero mamar.” She didn’t know which part of him she wanted to suck. Judith was in the mood to give him the sloppiest– (You’re super delicious. I want to suck on it.)

“Judit.” he looked around at the private beach. Red faced that made her worry that she needed to put some sunscreen on his cheeks again.

“Just the tip.” It was soo freeing being his cockslut out in the open. Knowing that she was the only person to taste him and touch him like this. 

The flush reached his chest, as under her butt, she felt him harden at the thought despite his disapproving frown.

“No querias cogerme aqui.” She tried not to pout. He hadn’t wanted to fuck her for the past couple of weeks. Being too tired from his sims and work. She understood and tried not to let it get to her. There were moments in their relationship where they cuddled and went to sleep. But now she was horny and riled up after he whined to her about not wanting to put on sunscreen. Laying there, being all sexy as she hovered over his lap and gave him a much needed massage. (You didn’t want to fuck me here.)

She loved this man. Loved him so much, and desired him. Wanted to consume him. Eat him up. Bones and all. She would be trying to burrow her way into his chest. Sleeping like a tinkerbell in his chest cavity. 

If she had a dick, she would be trying to get him pregnant at all moments. Now, he looked a bit unsure. “What’s wrong?”

“Me senti,” His downturned eyes turned sad. “No me sentí muy bien. Me estoy envejeciendo.” He shrugged, trying to shrug it off. (I felt, I didn’t feel too good. I’m aging.)

Her possessiveness had to be put to the side for this. “Sergio Michel,” God there weren’t many times that she cried but tears wanted to burst from her eyes. “Eres el hombre más guapo con quien yo he estado.” (You’re the handsomest man that I've ever been with.)

“Soy el único hombre.” He interrupted. (I’m the only man.)

“And for good reason.” She could have her pick of the assholes at the agency. The sharp suits, the senator’s sons. Prospective precedents. Millionaires. Billionaires that still had hair. “Out of all of the guys that wanted, I wanted the Mexican man with thick fingers and thick co–”

“Judit.” 

“Eres el mas guapo. Eres Tom Cruise sin la religion loca.” She thought about that. “Con una religión menos loca.” (you’re the most handsomest. You’re Tom Cruise without the crazy religion. With a less crazy religion.)

He laughed at that.

“Tienes– ¿Que? ¿Treinta tres?” People were talking about her retiring, back home. “Estás en la mejor etapa de tu vida. ‘Sos un adulto’.”(You have– What? Thirty three? You’re in the best stage of your life. ‘You are an adult.’)

“No me hables como Javi.” He groaned and covered his face with his large hands. Thick fingers, indeed. (Don’t talk to me like Javi.)

She pulled a hand so he would look at her again. “Eres un hombre, te sientes viejo porque no tienes veinte años. Pero te faltan muchos para que alguien te mire y diga que ya estas muy viejo.” (You’re a man, you feel old because you’re not twenty. But a lot of years are left until someone looks at you and says that you’re too old.)

The only wrinkles on his were on his balls and around his eyes. Crows feet from smiling. Judith didn’t tell him that. He knew how obsessed she was with every inch of him.

“A veces me siento como una pervertida, quererte tanto. Ser tan posesivo contigo. Porque sé que si posteas esas fotos de nuestras vacaciones, la gente se volverá loca.” (Sometimes I feel like a pervert, wanting you so much. Being so possessive of you. Because I know if you post the pictures of our vacations, the people would go crazy.)

He shook his head like what she was saying was ridiculous.

“Es la verdad. ¿Por qué crees que me enloco por estar tan cercas de ti siempre? ¡Alguien te va robar!” (It 's true. Why do you think that i get crazy to be near you all the time? Someone is going to steal you!)

“Estas loca.” He laughed. In a better mood now. Calmer. He exhaled and released some tension. “Me senti, no se–” (you’re crazy. I felt, I don’t know–)

Cont. in AO3

[ciscandocinza]

Poemas ao non pai. 5

I was born with two mothers. I was raised that way. Over time, I got to marry a good wife. Three mothers I would have then. Now I’m left with one. Gods were thinking, why having a dad? Given the circumstances, maybe it was better like that.

Nacín con dúas nais. E así me criei. Co tempo e un bo casar tres nais cheguei a ter. Agora unha me queda. Quizais os deuses, para que pai? Visto o percal, os deuses, deuses son.