#'this is exactly the kind of work he'd want to do'

[saltwaterburns]

who do you think is more likely to cry during sex: Dick or Jason

Okay, okay, so. Hear me out. It's 100% Jason.

BECAUSE. Now listen very closely. Jason isn't some super sexy and hunky sex god who wants to tie you up and overstimulate you and call you kitten. Jason Peter Todd is a boy in a man's body, in his head still skinny and scrawny with lanky limbs and no experience in the romance world whatsoever.

Jason Todd is so, so inexperienced for his age, and you would have to teach him. Teach him how to kiss a girl, how and where exactly to touch. Where to be gentle and where to apply a little more pressure. He'd listen to you with wide, unblinking eyes, taking in every word like you're spreading gospel. He'd rather die again than to touch you wrong because you've been so patient with him, so forgiving and kind that he wouldn't, couldn't dream of touching you wrong.

And when it finally gets to sex, you know so well that he's a whimpering, gasping mess above you. Holding himself up on his hands, you caged between his arms. His cock is working inside you, in and out in slow, deep thrusts and you're so warm and wet and tight he's trying so hard not to bust before you. But you're an angel under him, hands brushing over every inch of his skin you can reach, kind reassurances spilling from your lips.

"So good, baby. Just like that; you're makin' me feel so good."

And he becomes so overwhelmed with every sensation surrounding him: your touch, your scent, your voice, your cunt. It feels so good and he feels so undeserving and before you know it, hot tears are rolling over your collarbone, the boy man above you silently letting tears fall down his cheeks.

And you love him for that. More than anything.

[everrinsly]

life with sae vibes.

until the water runs cold with sae. smut. nsfw. very suggestive. mature. mdni. fem!reader. | not proofread.

more reads!

~~~~~

Sae loves to ruin you in multiple positions, spanning multiple rounds.

But his favorite is always the last—

Because he knows that's when you're too wrecked, too limp to even hold on. He knows that's when you want him to use you. And he knows that you absolutely love it.

The bath Sae starts for you is steaming, rose petals floating, and a soft playlist barely audible over the ripples of the water. You're still twitching from the care he gave you before, but it's the good kind of twitch—the warmth, the lotion, the soft towel over your shoulders. He'd kissed your jaw and called you his good girl.

It's romantic, even.

But Sae?

Sae is far from romantic.

He's done being gentle.

You’re draped languidly over him in the tub, back to his chest, thighs spread wide and floating—all the most intimate parts of you curving perfectly into the most intimate parts of him. His arms are tight around your waist, lips hot against your neck, cock already hard and nudging against the dimples of your back.

Your body is gone, so wrecked, muscles melted into a fucked-out pile of limbs. Your eyes barely open, and your head lolls back onto his shoulder like your bones don’t work anymore. Yet still, you're pliant for him. Your lips part to give him the softest kiss on his jaw, as if to say 'I'm here. I love you. Please use me.'

And use you he does.

“Still warm,” he mutters, voice like sin against your ear. “Still wet for me.”

Your breath hitches.

And then?

He lifts you slightly, fingers splaying over the curve of your hips before sinking in, sighing like your body was home. You're full to the brim again, cunt stretching wide, so sore it makes your eyes blur with unshed tears.

But Sae doesn't stop.

Because once he's in you, he never stops.

“Mm—S-Sae," you whimper. All soft, all shy, all sweet.

God—he adores the sounds you make for him.

But he doesn't want soft, shy, sweet. He wants fiery, fervent, filthy.

He trails a hand over your spine, reaching up to grip the root of the hairs on the base of your neck. He tugs. Just once, just enough to make you whine out a broken sob he loves so much.

"You begged so pretty earlier, baby. Gave me all those nasty moans. What happened, hm? You too cockdumb now?”

His voice isn't kind. It's condescending, ending in ruthless mockery, but it only makes heat pool at your core.

You shiver with every slow, slippery thrust, water splashing softly around your hips as he bounces you on him—drags you back and forth, up and down, back and forth—

He's not fast, but he's deep, cruel, and unrelenting. The kind of pace that's addictive and leaves you broken and begging for more.

And when he pulls his cock out until just the tip catches at your entrance, then slides all the way back in, pressing a hand on your stomach, you moan—high and cracked.

"There we go—fucking hell, baby."

Your thighs tremble feebly, toes curling against the marble edge. You can’t move. You’re too sore, too tired, too used. But he knows. That’s why he has you like this. Because deep down, you love this.

“Don’t need to do anything,” he whispers against your neck, voice low and wrecked. “Just let me use you, baby. Just be good for me."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a little broken gasp. You feel pathetic—and it's exactly how Sae wants you to feel.

His hand trails up to your chest, playing with your sensitive nipples—pawing at every inch of skin he can grab as his cock ruts into you again and again. Your breath shudders when he leans down to suck on the curve of your neck.

“So soft like this,” he growls, mouth now pressed to your cheek. “Barely able to stay awake, and still letting me fuck you.”

Your hips twitch, back arching slightly. He catches it.

“You like that, huh?” His voice darkens. “Being my little fucktoy even when you can’t speak? Just lying here, letting me ruin you?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice barely there.

And he snaps.

His hand grabs your throat—not tight but just enough to lock you, to keep you close—and he starts fucking up into you faster, rougher, water splashing over the sides of the tub as your body bounces in his lap.

“Sae—!”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Take it. One more time, sweet baby. Just give me one more.”

His thrusts pick up pace, even harder now—slamming into you as your whole body convulses around him and bucks away. The wet smack of skin against skin echoes off the marble walls, mixing your choked cries with his low, breathy groans.

You’re so full and stretched past beyond your limit. The water does little to dull the heat of your ache as Sae’s thick cock grinds against your walls over and over, raw and deep, like he’s trying to mold your body to fit only him—every vein, every ridge, every indent is yours.

One hand slips down your stomach, sliding through the water until he finds your clit, all swollen and puffy from hours of free use. His fingers are ruthless, teasing and circling, slapping it lightly just to watch you jolt in his arms.

“Made for me,” he mutters into your ear, filthy and reverent. “Look at you. Letting me fuck you half-asleep. Letting me use your pretty cunt like it’s mine.”

You moan, a sound that's honest and tears straight from your throat.

“Say it,” he snarls, fingers rubbing your clit fast. “Say it’s mine. All of you is mine.”

“I-it’s yours—Sae, I’m yours—!”

“Damn fucking right.”

You’re close again, unbelievably, impossibly close. Your whole body tenses, clamping down around him, and he groans deep in his chest, fucking you harder, chasing it the high.

“That’s it. Come for me again. Milk my cock, baby. Wanna feel you flutter while I fill you up.”

Your orgasm sneaks up on you. It's slow and blinding and all-consuming—

You shatter.

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his forearms, eyes crossed and mouth open in a silent scream as you fall apart. Your whole body tenses, sobbing out his name as you ride out your high. Your cunt tightens violently around him, dragging him over the edge right after you.

He slams into you one last time, cursing into your shoulder as he spills deep—hot, thick, endless pulses of cum filling you until it leaks out around his cock and into the bathwater.

He holds you still and kisses your temple.

The bath goes quiet.

Your breathing slows.

Your eyes flutter shut.

And Sae wraps both arms around you, holding you against his chest in the now-still, now-cold water, still inside you, like he never wants to let go.

[iamthatonefangirl]

oh look it's me again but uh winter soldier with an exhibitionism kink👀

-🍒

I love u queen

public - nsfw winter soldier

okay so obviously these two are so fucking weird but I really want to explore this fuck ass relationship dynamic, so that’s kind of what I’m doing here. for the sake of writing this scene the way I want to, assume they've never been out in public together before.

fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship.

~~~

when he grabbed your hand and started dragging you to the bedroom, you assumed you knew exactly what was about to go down.

except when you got there, he didn't immediately pull you into bed. he let go of your hand halfway through the room and walked over to the closet, leaving you stunned. what was he doing?

in a second, he was throwing something at you. you quickly grabbed whatever he'd tossed to you, some article of clothing, and you looked down at it to unfold it.

your little black dress?

you confusedly looked up at him for confirmation, and he nodded, pointing to it.

okay, so he wanted to fuck you while you were wearing the dress, apparently.

~~~

you were way off, apparently.

he wouldn't just tell you what he wanted, of course he wouldn't. when did he ever...

so after you finally realized you were going out, you were floored. he grumbled something about going to a bar, confusing the hell out of you.

so you decided to treat it like any other night out, do your makeup real heavy, thick eyeliner and dark lipstick. you could almost hear his whole body stiffen when he saw you all done up.

so you could still surprise him.

~~~

he took you a fairly decent bar, not one of those dingy crapholes you imagine he might go to while out on a job, looking for whatever sustenance he could find while working.

but still shoddy enough for him to be seen there.

that's when you knew for fact that there was an ulterior motive. sure, there always was with him, but now?

what was the plan here?

he didn't like to be seen, but he seemed to want to show you off. his hand never left your waist once, from the second you walked out the door until the point you ordered your drinks. and even then, he still held you like someone would try to take you from him.

regardless, he wanted the sprinkling of men in the bar to see you. to see that you were all dolled up, dressed nicer than anyone else there, and you were his.

so it's a power trip, you think. to have power over the other men in the room, that he had something they could look at but couldn't touch; could desire but couldn't have. to have the power of knowing he owns you, not only within the walls you live in, but everywhere you go.

you'd never seen him like this before.

you soaked up every second of it, of being the only person he directed any attention to in a room full of people. of finally having the chance to somewhat show off that you were, in fact, taken.

since you'd never have the chance to have a normal relationship with him.

you basked in it as long as you could.

~~~

he watched you every second, like a hawk.

he eyed you when you put on the dress, as you did your makeup so boldly, as you stepped out of the black taxicab. he watched you.

he knew this was a bad idea. he knew being seen in public with you was a bad idea.

but he had an idea in his head, and he wasn't going to back down now. so he plotted it perfectly.

over the course of one or two drinks each, you slowly meandered over to a darker corner of the room, far more sparse with people. men's gazes finally drifted away from you, focusing back on their beers, drowning their thoughts and forgetting entirely about you.

when he pushed you up against the wall, holding you by the hips, you knew.

he's about to pull something. in public.

"James, no," you hiss, holding your glass close to your chest and looking around the room for any onlookers. you found none, and looked back into his eyes.

you'd gotten good at reading him, a man of little expression and even fewer words. you had to given how little he spoke.

so when you looked in his eyes, you knew. he wanted this, but he wouldn't do something so bold without you agreeing.

this is stupid, you think. a terrible, horrible idea...

it's arguably even stupider that you're already out in public together, being seen together. granted, there were no security cameras in the place (something he'd taught you to look for) and nobody that appeared to be suspicious (something you knew he looked for everywhere he went).

so you looked around the room once more before setting down your glass and inching both of your bodies closer into the dark corner. you pulled his chest flush against yours.

and then his hands were on your thighs, trailing up underneath the fabric that left little to the imagination.

this was stupid. he was being reckless.

but he was still a trained... don't think about that.

he's trained for the worst of the worst. if it wasn't safe, he wouldn't do this, wouldn't put you in danger.

at least, that's what you try to tell yourself when your breath hitches. you try to hold it to keep yourself from making any noise as he touches you.

a metal hand comes to grope at your chest, and you swallow down a moan before it can escape your lips. he notices, obviously, and gives you a small nod to laud you for it.

he's on edge, you can tell. still listening to everything happening in the room, prepared for anything that might happen. prepared to get you both the hell out of there at any second should he need to.

his slight distraction makes him act more gently. he eases the hem of your dress up your legs ever so slowly, making only the slightest of adjustments.

his hand on your chest touches you over your dress, pinching at your skin through the thin material to softly rile you up.

this is a bad idea.

this is so fucking hot.

his fingers trail up your inner thighs, gently kicking one of your feet to the side only enough for him to get his hand between your legs. he teases, his fingertips barely making contact with your skin. it's only enough to tickle you, and it makes you shudder the more he does it.

he lays his mouth against your collarbone, placing a bite just enough to surprise you, while his fingers move from your thighs to find where you're not wearing any panties under your dress.

you're sure you feel him smirk against you.

you scan around the room again as he begins to tease, gently testing how tight you are, how wet and ready you are for him.

there's nobody watching, not that you know of. this corner is so dark, and there's not that many people here, and...

he slowly sinks two fingers inside of you, in a room full of half-drunk men you can't trust. in fucking public.

yet there's something about this that you might never get enough of. maybe it's the adrenaline, or it's the feeling of knowing you're the only one he would do this to. the proof that this is real, he is yours.

you decide it's the adrenaline rush.

you lay your head back against the wall as he sucks a hickey over your collarbone, fingers moving so delicately in and out of you, trying to make sure you're making next to no sound between your legs or from your lips.

you do a pretty good job of keeping your composure, you think, as you let him fuck you with his fingers against the wall of a literal bar. he keeps sucking hickeys across your chest above the neckline of your dress, leaving proof that this happened, so you'll both have a reminder for the next week of the crazy, sexy stunt you pulled.

you're never doing this again, you think.

but you're fucking loving letting him do this to you while the rest of the world seems to go about their lives, having no clue of what's going on right under their noses.

his fingers work in perfect rhythm, controlling whatever he can in such an uncontrolled environment.

"gonna come?" he whispers into your ear. it's so low you almost don't hear it, but you understand the sentiment. you nod and whisper, "more," into his ear, hoping no one else hears and catches on.

he gets the point, rubbing his thumb over your clit, now paying close attention to your face.

"my name. when you come," he whispers to you.

all the attempts to be quiet, to keep this dirty secret between the two of you right now, and yet he's still asking you to affirm his claim on you. even while you let him defile you in public, he stills wants the audible confirmation that you're his.

so you dig your fingers into his hair while you're holding him in place in front of you to preserve some of your dignity. he lets you dig your nails into his scalp as you summon all the self-control in your body.

"James," you whisper, little more than an exhale, and you shudder against the wall while you bite down on your lip, refusing to make another noise as you come harder than ever before.

this is the hottest thing he's ever seen, he thinks.

mission accomplished. this is what he wanted, to do this to you right here, tonight.

but he didn't anticipate the thrill being so... enticing.

he grabs your hand in his metal one, leading you across the room, back into the gaze of every man here, and drags you out the door.

you barely fix your dress to cover your modesty before you're in the light again, and you're pretty sure you watch him suck his fingers clean in front of everyone.

you're barely out the door, expecting him to hail a cab, but you're once again proven wrong. it's been a night of nothing but surprises, clearly.

he pulls you by the hand down the road and into a dark, creepy alley on the side of the building where the bar is.

he just can't get enough of this.

he hauls you further into the shadows, and you think you see a rat run by when he pushes you up against the hard brick, holding your head in one hand so it doesn't hit the wall.

he's scrambling, overwhelmed with the desire to take you right here, right now. his hands yank and pull at his belt buckle, trying to hurry up and fuck you already.

your hands are immediately on his, helping him shove fabric to the side before hiking your dress up and wrapping a leg around him to give him easy access.

his metal hand returns to hold your head, his other tightly gripping your leg in place around him, and then he's pushing inside you harshly. this time, you make no efforts to conceal the loud breaths and noises he's evoking from you, and you moan uncontrollably as he rails you in this dark alley in god only knows where.

you can tell he's far more riled up than usual, less worried about taking the time to fuck you properly and more worried about getting you both off. he's growling and heaving, even letting out small little whines every here and there that he'll never admit to, chasing after a climax you're both desperate for.

you get so caught up in the thrill, in the idea of what you're doing and hot wrong but how hot it is, and you're not even aware when you fall apart. your orgasm hits you like a truck, out of nowhere, and you cling to him all while sobbing his name loudly.

"fuck," he hisses when he buries himself in you once last time before letting go, filling you until the point you feel him dripping down your inner thighs while still buried inside you.

you stay like that for a while, catching your breath, the heat of the moment passing and making you realize the reality of what just happened.

you look up to meet his gaze. you want to be appalled, disgusted by what you both just did.

but there's not a single regret between the two of you.

~~~

masterlist

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[lsunstreakerl]

catboy max and bondage or blindfolds!!

OG catboy max is back!! 1.7k, nico's POV of everyone's favorite menace.

pairings: lewis hamilton/max verstappen/nico rosberg (and all subsequent pairings n all that)

relevant heads up: catboy max, maxussy, bondage, mentions of lingerie but not actually present, toys, dubious consent, forced orgasm(s), max shaming, breeding kink, this list will be shown to me at the pearly gates

"Damn it— Max, you have to hold still—"

Nico snorts as he watches Lewis try to pin Max's squirming tail, an annoyed yowl escaping their boy.

"I don't think that's working, Lew."

Lewis groans, pinning Max by the hips.

"Listen, I'm not letting that lingerie deal go to waste, so he needs to get over it—"

He gets his hand across the back of Max's neck, scruffing him. There's a plaintive meow from where he's face down in the floor, and Nico ducks his head with a laugh as Max pushes his hips up, tail curling around Lewis' wrist.

"Aww, give him a break. He's never done sponsor photos before, he just thinks you want to fuck him."

Lewis has an exasperated expression on his face when he looks back over at Nico.

"That's because he's every kind of slut in the book."

The words are accentuated with a slap at Max's ass, and the catboy splays his thighs wider, the curve of his spine becoming even more pronounced. Lewis sighs, rubbing his fingers roughly across Max's clit as he squirms underneath him.

Nico taps his finger at the edge of his jaw, considering.

"You could always tie him up? Let everyone see how cute he gets when he's halfway to heat in lace."

Lewis hums thoughtfully, two fingers scissoring into Max's cunt, spreading them wide.

"That's not a half bad idea."

Nico grins, watching Max uselessly try and push his hips back, slick glistening between his thighs. He's supposed to have a heat coming up anyways, and while they'd been considering letting Carlos' dogboy have another run at him, the temptation to secure the sponsorship deal is great.

It's a good offer, and the company has been thoroughly vetted by them both— a pet-focused brand, currently highlighting their feline hybrids line.

Max is a pretty boy too, all lean lines, fat tits and curved hips. He'd be a good model— and they'd been joking that he'd finally pay his share of the rent.

"We'd have to buy a bunch of shit, babe. It's not like you and I tie each other up frequently."

Lewis grins, flexing a bicep at him.

"What, you don't want to see all this in some leather? Vanilla, Rosberg."

Nico rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and navigating to his email. He's not actually going to buy anything— the brand sells bondage gear as well, and he's sure they'd be thrilled to send some over.

------

"Well. He's your catboy."

Nico glares as Lewis says it.

"Convenient how he's only mine when he's misbehaving."

Lewis shrugs, perfectly content to make it Nico's problem.

"I'm sure as hell not pulling him out."

Max has sequestered himself in the back corner of the closet, and is proving extremely adverse to letting go. At all.

Blue eyes blink at them from where he's buried himself back behind old clothes, narrowed into suspicious slits.

Nico sighs, crouching down to eye level.

"Max, baby, it's just a few pictures. You can play FIFA after."

Lewis shifts behind him.

"Right, because negotiating with the enemy always works."

"He is not the enemy, Lewis, he's just pissy because the last time you said the brand name out loud, you also edged him for the rest of the night and then put him on the sybian. That's not exactly a positive connotation."

Lewis grins.

"I did do that, didn't I? Ah, but he was so cute after, you have to admit."

"Not the point."

Even as he says it, Nico's thinking of the way he'd crawled into their laps, desperately pressing against them for the rest of the night, crawling into the middle of the bed. He'd been so puffy and raw the next morning that he hadn't wanted them anywhere near his pussy— and he'd cried so pretty when Nico ate him out anyways.

He winces, trying out one of Max's— occasional— favorite things.

"You want to go see Danny?"

Blonde ears swivel forwards as Max's eyes widen, recognizing the word. It's been long enough since his last tussle with the dogboy that he's apparently forgotten how wrecked it leaves him, and only remembers what it feels like to be knotted for hours at a time.

Convenient for when Nico and Lewis are busy and need Carlos to watch him, and equally as convenient for getting him out of the closet.

Even if he's lying.

Max creeps forward, tail twitching at the end as he gets just close enough—

Lewis gets a firm hand across his neck, ignoring his indignant yowl as he pulls him the rest of the way out.

"Gotcha!"

He's quick to wrestle Max onto the floor, and Nico drops down to get a good grip on his wrists, briefly pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Maxy, you like when we make you cum your brains out, remember?"

Lewis snorts, locking a cuff in place across Max's ankle.

"He's not smart enough for that. But he's cute when he's fucked stupid, even if his brain is too tiny to remember it."

Max lets out an annoyed meow underneath them, writhing under their hands as Lewis gets him all cuffed together before hauling him into his arms and standing.

"See, that wasn't so bad. Good boy."

He's complaining loudly as he's carried into the living room, and Nico flips open the bondage box, trying to decide what might look best.

"You called the photographer, right?"

Lewis nods as he settles Max temporarily on the couch, wrangling him into place.

"Yes, they should be on their way."

Nico eyes the spreader bar contemplatively before passing it over to Lewis.

"Oh, I like how you're thinking."

There's another annoyed meow from Max as Lewis secures it in place, spreading his legs apart wide. It leaves his cunt on display, not yet ruined for the evening.

"They're wanting to save the lingerie for another day though, correct? I think that's what the email said. Bondage today, lingerie next week."

Lewis hums, lightly tracing at his clit as Max struggles against the bar.

"Yeah, that sounds right. Did we leave the vibe over there too? I think maybe he can come once or twice to warm up."

Nico pokes his head into the toys basket in the hallway closet, checking the charge on the vibrator before tossing it to Lewis.

"Don't overstimulate him too much before they get pictures, Lew."

"Yup."

He leans against the edge of the couch to scratch at Max's ears as Lewis flicks the vibe on, hovering it just above his clit.

Max's eyes blow open, ears pinning as he struggles against the bondage again, desperately looking up at Nico.

He shakes his head, tracing the fine fur at the back of his ears.

"I'm not saving you here baby, we just want you a little bit relaxed for your pictures."

Lewis presses the vibe down as Max wails, jerking in place. His eyes squeeze shut, hips trying to buck away from the toy, but Nico presses a hand down onto his stomach, pinning him in place as Lewis moves it in slow motions over his cunt, already starting to drip slick.

"Good boy, there you go. You're so sweet when we play with you."

Max's hips jerk again, breath coming in harsh pants as he lets out a pathetic whimper, fingers digging right into the couch.

Nico presses a kiss between his ears as Lewis bumps the intensity up, pressing it into him and holding it there as Max's muscles ripple and flex, straining against the cuffs and the bar.

There's nowhere for him to hide as his mouth drops open, eyes rolling back. He's trying to jerk away from the vibrator, but Lewis won't let him, lightly slapping at his cunt when Max won't stop moving.

He locks up when his orgasm hits him, back bowing off of the couch. Lewis doesn't move, notching the intensity up again as he slips two fingers inside of him, adding a third a moment later.

Max whines, high and long as he tries to collapse back, wrung from his orgasm— but Lewis' fingers inside of him and the vibrator against him immediately has tears at his eyes, lashes dark.

Nico gets his fingers tight into his hair, tugging roughly.

"Come on, one more. You love doing this, you're so well behaved after."

Lewis grins, twisting his fingers inside of him as Max sobs.

"Biggest slut I've ever seen, baby, you're so desperate for it. Absolutely dripping wet, I bet you'd love a dogboy right about now, wouldn't you?"

Nico shakes his head incredulously, pressing two fingers inside of Max's mouth against his tongue. It muffles the crying, and he's rock hard as he watches the telltale signs of another orgasm start to creep up on him, hips flexing as he tries to jerk away.

"He really does love a knot, doesn't he? Size queen. He's lucky Daniel's midsized— imagine what one of those big working breeds could do."

Lewis lets out a sharp laugh, sliding his pinky into Max with a wet noise, cunt stretched wide around his fingers.

"I think if he got stuck on one of those knots, it would somehow magically beat out the spay. Those boys can breed."

Nico coos, brushing a tear away from Max's cheek.

"Would you like that? Getting fucked so full you have a litter? You'd probably love getting fucked into the floor, honestly. You're perfectly happy letting Daniel do it."

Max spasms wildly in the cuffs as his second orgasm hits, sobbing as his ankles yank at the spreader bar.

Lewis withdraws his fingers. Two back to back is more than enough to get Max in an agreeable mood, and three is slightly pushing it. They'll save it for if he acts up while the photographer is here.

The vibrator shuts off, and Nico whistles low at the state of their catboy, cunt puffy and open, slick all across his hips and thighs. There's wetness up Lewis' fingers and wrist, and he taps his fingers against Max's bottom lip until he starts licking at them, carefully cleaning them off.

"See, there's our sweet boy. You're better when you can't use your brain, Maxy."

His pupils are wide, staring at him unseeingly, but a soft purr starts up in his chest, and Nico gently strokes between his ears.

"Photographer should be here soon."

Lewis nods, pressing a kiss to Max's nose.

"Time to earn your rent, sweetheart."

[bam-monsterhospital]

god dammit rigurt.

you show up on altmer island and here i am playing as my altmer, all ready to do some diplomacy with you, but all you can talk about is the hoity toity shitty high elves and how they're the worst and you're sick of dealing with high elves... TO THE HIGH ELF YOU ASSUME WILL HELP YOU.

summerset dlc, you're better than this. your writing acknowledges player species all over the place (not just altmer vs non-altmer, but stuff like extra dialogue for reguard players talking to the redguard man at the alinor docks, and josajeh in artaeum), but somehow you slip up here?

"I've been sent to extend a branch of peace to snooty, rude, and very tall high elf peoples".

rigurt, I'm one of those snooty rude very tall high elf peoples.

"you really need to reconsider the company you keep"

I wholeheartedly agree. Let's throw rigurt into the ocean.

so far this quest has been a slew of grossness (lookin at you, 'i think of people from other lands/cultures as creeeaaatuuuurrreessss' sapiarch shitlord), but then i recieved a sign to not bother with this quest from zos themselves!

the game crashed and kicked me out.

[yeonban]

Just saw Blu's hc post about Lucian & Tobias from Lucian's POV and HIGHKEY... I adore how Tobias gives off the vibe that he'll understand you. Which, he will - sometimes even more than you yourself do, but the fact that people see him going about life and immediately get the urge to hover around him in search for someone who #understands them is so peak to me. If I had a dollar for every time this happened I'd already be able to afford a meal,

[teh-nos]

For anyone keeping track (no one), I have started watching the first Avengers film (MCU not the 60s TV show) but only while eating lunch so it's gonna take a while. So far Nick Fury has been assembling the Avengers (the film was initially released in the UK as Avengers Assemble - because of that 60s TV show - but it's not called that on D+ so I'm calling it what the Americans called it, just FYI) even though there's not yet anything for them to avenge as That Suit Guy (j/k I know his name too!!) isn't dead yet, and now they're on THE FUCKING VALIANT FROM DR WHO and I assume we're gonna continue assembling for a while as they're not all there yet.

MEANWHILE Loki (who is neither an alligator nor a woman in this???) is in a SECRET UNDERGROUND LAIR with a bunch of his stans who are... idk something technobabble that involves irridium and anti-protons. He is there looking for the tesseract on behalf of ???? who I know will be revealed 47 films from now as... no, wait, it wasn't, was it? That was just announced on a website or something? So it could be LITERALLY ANYONE. The Avengers (in-progress) also seem to be after that thing, but I have already forgotten why everyone is wanting it, assuming it was mentioned (it probably was).

Thor hasn't shown up yet, but Arrows Hawkeye is working as a Loki Stan and there's Steve Rogers and THE HULK and The Only Woman One, whose power is that she's a Cold War assassin (??) and I think this one is the film where she gets called a cunt (!) and honestly I am not sure which of the men she's getting officially shipped with, I think Arrows Hawkeye though? Fairly sure, as the alternative is that a man and a woman like each other as people but not in a lusty way, which would never happen obviously. (Hey I may ship mostly het* pairings but I don't always like it!)

Based on the Valiant (if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!) I am guessing that the film ends with Loki dying in Thor's arms romantically but then I remembered that I know it can't because one of Loki got kidnapped from... either the end of this film or the start of the next one or POSSIBLY just from a later film's time-travel bit (???) but like... maybe they've edited this film secretly and I was right after all? But nobody else has watched it on Disney + recently so nobody knows yet? IT COULD HAPPEN.

Not sure what to make of this film so far, a lot's been going on yet also not much has been going on, and the one I like best so far (Suit Guy) is gonna die (NOT EVEN IN THOR'S ARMS ROMANTICALLY) and god Iron Man really hasn't aged well now that we have that one tech billionaire being a twat in public all the time to remind us what such people tend to be like. WHERE IS THOR????

*I say het but everyone in everything is bisexual, I know this because I thought of it and announced it on tumblr and will now say "I don't make the rules" to make it an objective FACT. I don't make the rules!!!

[astr-owl-ogist]

"I'm not--" His cheeks flushed as he caught the medicine and towel. "I'm not some.. utter degenerate who creams himself over every bruised shin! Pain between lovers is very different, and I can tell you from experience that despite my restraint in the moment while trying to mess with you, a blessed dagger is fucking torture like you intended. I have permanent wounds under my feathers that ache constantly and have yet to heal fully." The pills would be examined but gently return tossed to him despite his raised temper. "Those would interfere with my regular medicine. Thank you, but I'll take something when I get home."

He dabbed the towel at himself, unsure what to do with it exactly. He didn't sweat, his kind had other means to regulate heat. Sweat would be terrible for feathers. "I met a man in a bar, we had an enlightening conversation that eventually got a little physical." Not a word of untruth. Misleading, certainly, but no lies. "They may ask for more details but I'll refuse to elaborate and they'll fill in the blanks on their own." It wasn't like anyone would look close enough to see bruises until his dark grey-blue feathery cover.

"To be clear the gun was never intended for you," Stolas carefully attempted to fold the towel as he spoke. "I most certainly wouldn't have drawn it on you while you were actively trying to help me. But I didn't want to draw attention to it, in case a misunderstanding happened. I.. will unload it before the next lesson, but bring it loaded." Safety first, after all.

He paused, awkwardly offering the towel back. He had done his best effort. "I.. have been doing calisthenics for strength twice a week. Doing some jogging to build endurance three times. Random days, random paths--no established routine so I can't be jumped easily." It would be stupid to be known to be at any one place alone at a regular time. "I've been increasing the length of time whenever I don't feel about to fall over at the end of my current time running. The book I found said not to overdo one's fitness journey all at once, to allow your muscles to heal between work-outs. Do.. you think I should cut back a little to recover from these lessons? Or maybe just play it by ear and pay attention my soreness levels?"

He was serious about this, and genuinely working on staying alive. Not that he didn't have a vested interest in learning how to defend himself, but he wanted Striker to know he'd been making the effort and genuinely trying before bothering him. "I'll... need your phone number, too. In case, as you said, something happens. And you need to be seen defending me, at the very least." He patted his pockets before finding his hellphone, unlocking it and creating a new contact. A good code name..? [Bartending Badass]. The phone would be offered out.

Striker had been impressed with how they hadn't asked a single time for mercy or for him to go easy, even at times he had decided to go softer, he'd simply work over where he'd hit before, but the hit to this face did make him step it up a notch to remind Stolas that this was training, and the only restraint was Striker's current mood.

"The gun I noticed early enough, though I think you'd be wise to keep it hidden, unloaded when we train. It'd not clear leather before I'd had my fangs into your throat and was tearing it out if we were in a proper fight." He didn't pay much mind to it when he had first noticed it, if anything, it'd be good to train with gear on so Stolas could better keep himself aware of how to move with added weight on.

While Stolas was busy himself with getting their clothing back on, Striker would go and get a bottle of painkillers, some water and a towel, all but the water he'd be throwing to them.

"You might think pain is good, but recovery is better, I expect you learned something from today, because we're doing this next week, and that time you better have a set of training gear and another set of casual wear, fightin' means nothin' if you're only fightin' in the proper gear, you need to be in your day-to-day outfit too when we spar."

He'd take it seriously, pushing aside his dislike for royals, he wasn't going to treat Stolas differently than anyone else he'd train. He had morals he'd follow, as with the saloon, no one would be treated differently, even royals… Or former ones.

"I hope I don't get to see any of the IMPS sneaking around here, something tells me they'd not respect the saloon rules and try to kill me… So remember your story you're goin' to tell them."

[fionnaskyborn]

current mood:

[talaok]

Give up

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.

Warnings: big ass unspecified age gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie and he's nervous and he's not so very sure about this bc of how old he is + he's out of practice. smut| oral (m and f receiving) and swallowing you know what. sub!Joel vibez all around

Pt. 2

This wasn't anything new.

The fact that he was coming over wasn't at all surprising to either of you.

You always found a way to be around him, and no matter how he ignored your every attempt at flirting- he never said no.

It had taken all of two minutes.

You'd knocked on his door, your best little skirt and tight little top on, and faked a pout as you told him:

"There's something wrong with the shower again Mr. Miller"

To his defense, Joel really tried not to stare at your ass as you walked right in front of him to guide him to your house, but that fucking skirt seemed more of a joke than anything.

You both knew there was nothing wrong with your shower, the switch that granted the hot water had just mysteriously turned itself off once again.

This had been going on for months now, since he first arrived in Jackson... since you knocked at his door that one chilly morning to introduce yourself to your new neighbor-

All it took was one look, and you were hooked.

He was gonna be yours.

"there- 's hot" he nodded, shutting the water off once he'd made sure it worked properly again, before drying his hands on his pants.

"thank you so much Joel" you smiled wider than necessary "What can I do to thank you?"

And no, you didn't even try to make your words not sound dirty, quite the opposite actually.

He cleared his throat, his eyes breaking from yours in a nervous shift.

You always did that- had this annoying effect on him.

"'s nothing darlin'" he shook his head, "didn't even take five minutes"

"Still- I feel like I owe you," you said, biting down a smirk

Shitshitshit

"How 'bout some cake?" you suggested just as he was about to have a stroke.

"sounds good"

__ __ __

"'s real good darlin'"

"thank you" you smiled happily, watching him clear his plate in under a minute

Yeah... you were a great baker, what can I say

"you want another slice?"

"You spoil me sugar," he laughed, patting his belly "I can't"

"alright" You couldn't help but softly laugh as you placed his plate in the sink.

You caught him looking away just as you turned around, which made you smile to yourself, a smile that only widened when you noticed the chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

"Oh Joel"

"Mh?"

You sat beside him at the table, your legs brushing against one another as you leaned closer.

"You've got something... right here"

You swiped the chocolate off with your pointer finger, making a show of popping it into your mouth to clean it.

His eyes remained transfixed on you as your tongue licked your digit clean until you were finally done with a loud pop.

"Jesus"

"What?" you smirked, knowing exactly what  "that gave you some ideas?"

"babygirl-" he stopped you immediately, shaking his head

"Oh c'mon Joel" you pouted, your hand going to rest on his forearm "What's a girl gotta do to get you to give up?"

He blinked, looking at you intently and nervously altogether.

"Why do ya even care about an old man like me sweetie?"

You couldn't help but laugh "Have you ever looked in a mirror, Joel?"

You swore you saw pink flood his cheeks- the man was blushing.

"Plus you're kind... and funny when you want to.... and you make me feel-" you bit your lip, trying to find the right word "safe... you make me feel safe"

He scratched his beard, but you couldn't help but notice he hadn't used the arm your hand was still on.

"'m sure there's boys here that are funnier and kinder and make you feel even safer babygirl" he spoke gently "Pretty sure most of them are prayin' you give 'em a chance actually"

You hummed, raising a brow

"but what if I don't want them?"

"You want an old man instead?" he huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.

You rolled your eyes "How old even are you?"

"old enough to be your father darlin'"

God, maybe there was something wrong with you, but those words only made your need for him burn harder.

"so?"

"so I ain't even supposed to look your way babygirl- it ain't right"

"But why?" you pouted "Shouldn't I get to have a say in what's right and wrong for me?"

He sighed, not really knowing what to answer to that.

"What if I don't care?" you spoke softly, your pointer finger on his chest, circling his pec "What if I like you, Joel? what if I wanted to show you just how much right now?"

"sweetheart" he started, shaking his head

"You'd stop me?"

And there it was, the pause... your way in.

"Joel?" you called for him, your voice sickly sweet "Would you?"

He couldn't do anything but tell the truth when you were looking at him like that.

"I don't think any man in his right mind could or would ever stop you darlin'"

Satisfaction took over your whole body.

"no?" you teased, grinning like a cat "Not even if he's old enough to be my father?"

He sighed, what looked like resignation in his eyes.

"I'm just a man sweetheart"

And that- that got him the biggest smirk ever known to man.

There was no sound, it was like the word got quiet as you stood up, placed your hands on his thighs, and slowly kneeled between his legs.

He didn't know what to do, he was genuinely frozen, torn between guilt and attraction, the need to let go, to finally do this- that his brain was short-circuiting.

You took advantage of his silence, making quick work of his zipper, and pulling down his boxers just enough to free his cock...

All your speculations got proven right there- he was huge.

"oh wow," you bit down a grin as you watched your fingers struggle to wrap around his whole base.

You gave him a tentative squeeze, and the strained groan rumbling from his chest was just about the hottest thing you'd ever heard.

"y-you- f-fuck"

You stopped him before he could start protesting, your tongue sliding slowly on his tip before leaving a little kiss right on top.

"You're so big" you hummed, your tongue licking him up from base to head, feeling every vein and twitch of his member.

He was looking down at you just as you looked at him, and he seemed... mesmerized, like he couldn't believe this was really happening, that this wasn't another one of the dreams he'd get about you at night, and that it was really your lips wrapping around him.

Goddamnit

You had barely a little more than his tip in your mouth and he was already gone- and I mean gone gone.

He couldn't even remember why he'd spent so long ignoring your not-so-subtle hints-

Just a minute ago he wanted to tell you that no, you don't gotta do that, and ask you sure about this? - But now... now all he could do was throw his head back as he realized that his lack of practice these past few years had really gotten to him, and that he already had to grab at the chair beneath him with all his strength as he tried not to come embarrassingly fast.

You hummed around his cock, and he couldn't stop his hips from thrusting upwards, a small choking sound fleeing your throat.

"goddamnit, 'm sorry baby-"

But the moment he looked down at you, he saw everything but anger... you seemed happy- you were begging him to do it again with your eyes.

But he couldn't, and part of you already knew that.

He shook his head slowly, still trying to think as straight as he could given the situation, but while he was busy with that... you settled for the next best thing... you forced his manhood down your throat all on your own.

The groan he let out was damn near feral.

You couldn't actually get all of it down there, it was the biggest dick you'd ever seen in your life after all, but you swore that with a little bit of practice (that he'd hopefully grant you), you'd get there.

Still, he didn't really seem bothered or in any way disappointed by your inability.

It was an indescribable feeling seeing this tough, rugged man shiver with pleasure before you, his eyes shut and knuckles white with the effort of gripping onto something.

"I- fuck"

He didn't even know what he wanted to say, he just... it felt so fucking good

Your head was back on bobbing up and down his length, and what used to be groans had turned to moans coming out of his mouth.

"Y-you've gotta-" he swallowed, his sentence interrupted by the feeling of your fingers playing with his balls.

"Y-you've got t-" to stop

But you were choking on his girth again

"I-'m gonna-" come

You watched him struggle with his words, his breathing, and his self-control with what would have been a huge smirk on your face if your mouth hadn't been so preoccupied.

You knew he was about to come already, it really wasn't hard to understand,

You also knew that if you stopped now there was a chance you'd get to do more later- but really, this was something too perfect to leave halfway done, and besides... you feared that if you went with your initial plan of straddling his lap and riding the man to heaven, you'd leave him traumatized.

So you didn't stop, you kept massaging his balls as you worked his dick in and out your mouth, ever so often forcing him as deep as you could and choking while drool and saliva dripped down your chin.

"J-Jesus, sweetheart- I-"

All his words came out in rugged breaths, barely coherent- his eyes were back on you, shadows of lust and need darkening his iris as his right hand went to your cheek, a gesture almost too sweet considering what you were doing.

"F-fuck"

And that was it.

He groaned so loud you probably could hear him from outside the house as he reached his climax, rope after rope of his come filling your mouth and throat.

Joel Miller had come in your mouth... and it couldn't have been any more perfect.

You didn't take your eyes off him for one second. You greedily swallowed all his spent as he breathed heavily, eyes still closed.

His dick was softening in your hand as you pulled his boxers back on top of it, a little wave of disappointment washing over your gut.

It's ok, I'll see it again soon

Just as you were plotting exactly how you were gonna get in his pants in the future, his voice startled you

"I-I don't know what to say"

A soft smile pulled at your lips

"You don't have to say anything" you reassured him as you sat back on your chair, your eyes inevitably falling back to where his boxers peeked from the unfasted fly.

"now- I won't keep you hostage any longer, 'm sure you have important stuff to do back at your house"

The frowns on his forehead deepened as his eyebrows came together in confusion.

"What?"

Now you were confused.

"I'm just saying- thank you for... this" You bit down a smile "You know how long I've been wanting it- and you can bet your ass we're doing it and more, again and again, and again" his eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount and you had to stifle a laugh "but... I'm letting you free for tonight"

He took his time to say something.

Silence wrapped around you for a good minute before he was able to mumble something.

"sweetheart-" he cleared his throat to try and clear his thoughts "I-I dunno how you're used to... bein' treated, but this ain't over"

A spark of excitement ignited in your belly

He couldn't mean...

"unless you want it to be, of course"

Oh my

"I definitely don't want it to be" you hastily spoke, almost breathless "but I would like to know what you... mean"

I mean, not to be prejudiced, but you very much doubted he could get it up again so quickly given his... well, age.

He cleared his throat again and you finally realized it was just a nervous tic and he didn't actually feel the need to.

"You should be on a bed" he avoided your question

You couldn't help but smile as you got up

"Such a gentleman"

"that's the last word that comes to mind right now" was all he grumbled

__ __ __

"sit"

that's all he said, and now there you were, sitting on your bed as he looked at you with a mix of lust and uncertainty.

Until he finally did it- he crouched between your legs.

He cleared his throat again, and you felt on the urge of cumbusting.

he was gonna eat you out

You'd only ever done this once, and even then you had to basically beg the guy, just for him to be god-awful at it.

Somehow you had a feeling Joel wasn't gonna be bad at all.

"You sure about this, yeah?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

He could probably ask you to put it up your ass and you'd say yes.

"Yes Joel, I'm 100% positive"

He gave you a little nod, and his hands- his big, strong hands- went to your thighs.

You watched him as if he'd disappear at any moment as he slowly- oh so very slowly- took your skirt off.

He swallowed tightly as his eyes fell on your clothed cunt.

If you didn't know any better you would have guessed he was holding his breath as he got rid of your panties.

"Jesus Christ"

I shouldn't be doing this- I really shouldn't be fucking doing this.

She's not even half my age- she's a kid for god's sake- I'm fucking disgustin-

Every single thought in his mind turned to dust the moment you spread your legs- the moment your wet, drenched, pussy came fully into view.

"Y-you-"

he didn't even remember what he wanted to say- and he didn't remember when his thumb had decided to find your folds, but it had.

He heard a whimper leave your mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening again.

It usually took him a whole fucking hour to get hard again

He looked up at you, and you looked hotter than ever before.

Your cheeks were flushed, your bottom lip was between your teeth, and you looked so... perfect.

"I haven't done this in a- while"

As he spoke those words he hoped you'd think he only meant this... as if you'd actually care about how he hadn't gotten laid in years.

"'s ok Joel" you nodded, smiling encouragingly.

He swallowed again, his gaze slowly lowering.

He couldn't believe you were this wet for him- a pretty thing like you.

His thumb moved, gently sliding up and up and up, until he found your clit, earning another little moan.

Fuck

He circled the little bud, and your cries got a little higher and he swore- he swore going to hell was worth it, worth this.

He had to taste you- fuck, he'd been dreaming about the taste of you since he first saw you- So with all the carefulness in the word, he bent down, his lips finding your soft thighs.

He could see your belly inflate and deflate with your exited breaths as he kissed his way closer and closer to your heat, until he was right there, and he couldn't help but leave a kiss on your mound, on the hair covering it so very nicely.

"Joel-" your voice was strangled "please"

If it had been twenty years ago he would have said something cocky like "'s ok baby, it's coming", his whole demeanor would have been very different too. He used to be in charge in the bedroom, always- he used to feel smug and sure of himself, but now... now he was old and out of practice, and he was... he was nervous.

But all it took was to look up at you, at those beautiful pleading eyes, to find the courage.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

And you tasted better than he could have ever fucking imagined.

A deep, feral groan rumbled in his chest as his tongue passed between your folds, as he gathered all your slickness on his taste buds, all that sweet sweet juice that felt like fucking heaven.

Yeah, now I remember why I used to love this so much

You were moaning like a desperate little thing above him, your thighs squeezing his face as your feet clung to his torso.

And he was gripping the outside of your legs, keeping you as close to him as humanly possible, his face as deep in your core as it would go.

His nose was rubbing against your clit in a way that made you see stars, and he was still lapping, not focusing on anywhere in particular, just aimlessly and desperately feeding off of you.

"Oh my god Joel-" you gasped as two of his fingers found their way inside of you.

His movements were slow, he didn't wanna hurt you, and he wanted to find what made you feel good, which is why he kept exploring until his digits curled up into that sweet cushy part of you, and he felt you squeeze him as you threw your head back.

"f-fuck!"

Your left hand had traveled to his locks, gripping them tightly as your hips frantically moved against his face to try and seek more.

His mouth was focusing only on your clit now, thoroughly sucking on it- and just when you thought this couldn't get any better, that this was the most pleasure you'd ever experienced and there was no way he would be able to top this- another one of his big, thick fingers pushed into you.

The cry you let out was something Joel would be thinking of until he was six feet under.

Three of his fingers were so much more than what you were used to.

"J-Joel" you whimpered actual tears staining your vision as you looked down at him "Oh my fucking g-god Joel"

Your gut had been right. He was really fucking good at this

He was watching you, studying every little face you made as the squelching of his fingers moving inside of you filled the room together with your moans.

"I-I'm coming"

You could barely finish the sentence that the world went bright, and the purest pleasure you'd ever felt erupted in your body with a million different blasts.

For a whole minute, you were in another universe- and Joel eagerly enjoyed the show, not stopping his movements for even a fraction of a second.

You feared the moment you opened your eyes you'd wake up in your bed after yet another dream about this man- and yet he was still here, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

He couldn't help but steal another little kiss on your core before he leaned away.

"well... wow" you smiled like an idiot, your breathing still a little labored "You know what you're doing Mr. Miller"

He didn't say anything, but you saw pink flush his cheeks again as he let your legs go, robbing you of his touch.

You would have been disappointed if it wasn't for the fact he was very clearly having trouble not having his gaze fall down to your heat.

You smiled to yourself as you accepted the skirt he quietly handed you.

Seeing you standing before him with it on when he knew you were bare and wet underneath made Joel's brain freeze for a moment, but that was of course, until you stood on your tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"thank you for this Joel"

Your voice was so sweet it sounded angelic to his ears- but the sweetness was replaced by something very different very quickly.

As you stood back down to your normal height, your body, being flushed against Joel's, came in contact with something that very much piqued your interest.

he was hard- very fucking hard

"no babygirl"

he was already shaking his head, crushing all your dreams

"but-"

"I can't" his tone was firm, although you could still hear restraint behind his words, like it was costing him a lot to say no.

"It feels to me like you very much can" you rebutted, smirking softly.

"I- it ain't right"

Oh my god

It took a lot not to roll your eyes "I thought we were past that whole thing" you said, cocking an eyebrow "Do I need to remind you what you were doing just a minute ago?"

"that's different"

"How?"

"it just is"

"what if I beg you Joel?" you purred, your best doe eyes looking up at him "What if I told you about how much I'd like to feel your cock inside of me? How desperate I am for it, Joel- how much I need it"

He was gonna go home and punch himself in the face for what he was about to say.

But it was true, he couldn't. It wasn't right- he needed... to think about it at least

"darlin'" he spoke softly "I can't... not right now"

there it is

The smirk that pulled at your lips was the most mischievous thing in the world.

"right now" you repeated his words, biting your lip as you played with the hem of his flannel "I can live with that- but Joel...don't even think this is over"

[gruesomejack]

The warmth in his cheeks spread across his nose and to his ears, leaving his face a bashful pink. Rabbit hesitated, but he picked the photo of the deer and held it gently in his hands like it was something too precious. Looking up at Alex, he laughed again and glanced away to sniffle.

"O-Oh! Yeah, right." He nodded for him and shifted in his seat. He peeked back over his shoulder at the officer manning the door, but shrugged. They couldn't exactly do much other than tease him and he'd been lucky enough that most of them left him alone when he wasn't having visits. Looking at Alex, he returned his smile. He thought he'd be more nervous about it all, but talking to the man was fairly easy. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like that around anyone.

Puffing out his cheeks, he let out another breathy laugh and hummed in thought. "Reading, mostly." He answered, "Though in the beginning, I didn't do very much at all. I'd been so... confused and scared that I kind of just stayed in my cell." Rabbit shrugged, "I did some work with a couple of doctors and they got me back to a point where I could allow myself to enjoy things again." Smiling, he set the photo down again and folded his hands. "Lately I've been picking up work in the facility's library and volunteering in the garden. I always had a bit of a green thumb, and I'll take any excuse to get outside for a little." He said, "It's not the same as a stroll on the trails, but the smell of soil and the plants is really nice." Rabbit's expression shifted to something close to proud, "I got my GED too. I never got to finish school, but I always wanted to." He said, "If I get out, I'd like to work too, and having the diploma helps."

Jen smoothed the front of her blouse and took in a deep breath. It wasn't that Jonathan made her nervous-- He didn't. He was a kind boy; one whose circumstances put him on the wrong path. She was just concerned with how her intern would take him.

Glancing at Alex, she offered a brief smile and nodded him along to follow her. In the short time she'd been working with him, she picked up on the bull-headedness he carried with him. She hoped after reading Rabbit's file, that he was keeping an open mind about him. The reason they were here was to help him get out of prison. He'd been in almost ten years, and she thought he'd done his time. While he was in juvie, he kept mostly to himself, but here he'd done a hell of a job keeping himself busy. Jonathan was working in the library, volunteering for the community garden, and was in a dog training program for the disabled. Other than his mass murder conviction, he was a near model citizen.

Stopping in front of the meeting room, Jen gave an irritated look to the correction officer outside it. "You gonna open if or not?"

The officer blinked at her, but stepped aside to unlock it. The room inside was a clinical white with nothing but a table and a few chairs in the center. The was another exit on the other end of the room, and another officer placed in front of it. At the table sat a young man, no older than 25, his hair cut short against his scalp, and his folded hands shackled against the surface. He was large, both in height and stature, but his face was boyish and soft. He perked up when the door opened, even smiling a little as Jen walked in. However, his expression shifted into something curious as another body followed in after her.

"Good afternoon, Jonathan." She said, smiling back as she moved to take her seat. "This is my intern, Alex. He's learning, so be nice to him."

Rabbit watched him, his lips twitching. "Don't worry. I haven't bitten anyone in a couple of months."

@purposefully-lost

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[darkacademicvibes]

Kiss It Better?

Theodore Nott x Fem!Slytherin Reader

CW: Blood is kind of vividly described, slightly obsessed/dirty minded Theo

Theo entered the Great Hall grumbling.

He sat down grumbling.

And he glared at his utensils grumbling.

You share a look with Pansy, curious and amused, "Theo? What s'a matter?" you ask, leaning in to speak quietly.

The smooth, albeit grumpy italian falling from his lips trails into silence as he glances at your shared friends, unsure whether or not he was willing to tell you - and realistically speaking, the others - about the frankly humiliating situation that had him in such a foul mood.

He knew he was probably being dramatic, but he'd never fucked up like he had this time, and a part of him was deeply - though probably unreasonably -embarassed."Tell you later" he mumbles, his right hand picking up his fork as he stabs at the beans on his plate.

He ignores the questioning looks of the others, the stinging, and most of the loud conversations in the great hall as he keeps his left hand firmly beneath the table, wiping blood on the low hem of his white uniform shirt. He'd never cared much for it anyway, this way he had a reason to wear something other than the stuffy hogwarts shirts in the hot classrooms.

So perhaps there was somewhat of a silverlining to the situation he found himself in.

Eventually, students begin to trickle out of the Great Hall and towards their prefect or head duties, or their common rooms - You and Theodore amongst them - he hesitates as you both enter the slytherin common room, gently grasping your wrist and leading you up to your own dorm. Your first aid kit never stung as much as his, perhaps because you got the good products, and none of them were expired, which he wasn't particularly aching to hear about the riviting affects of not taking proper care of his bumps and scrapes for a third time this month.

He also really didn't want you questioning the flowers tossed (delicately placed) alongside the thin drips of red against his green covers.

"Theo?" you mumble, letting him lead you along as he continues hiding his left hand from your view. He doesn't answer, stopping only to drop your wrist and open your dorm door, you allow him to tug you wordlessly into your dorms bathroom, repating yourself.

"Teddy?"

He groans, reluctantly showing you his hand, blood dripping down his fingertips from the mean cut along the back of his pointer and middle fingers, he'd bled a decent bit, but the drips were more of an occasional trickle of red against his tan skin. "I.. fuck- I got distracted dethorning roses in herbology" he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes as you guide his fingers over the sink, running a gentle stream of warm water over his bloodied fingers, the watery red dripping down your palm as he watches, something about it making his jaw tick.

"Why were you dethorning roses? I thought you were meant to be trimming venemous tentacula?"

For you.

For your halloween - or, really autumn solstice - ball outfit you'd been mentioning to Pansy that morning at breakfast.

That's exactly what he didn't say.

Couldn't say.

"I did, and then I got bored" he grumbles, itallian accent thick as he winces, watching you clean out the jagged marks along his fingers with your own before gently drying them off. The bleeding has entirely stopped now, but it still stings terribly as you disinfect them, getting ready to place two fresh bandaids over them. He pulls back his hand slightly, and it makes you pause.

"Do you want me to kiss them? So they get better?" you ask quietly, your fingers tacing his palm soothingly.

He swallows the lump in his throat, his baby brown eyes dropping to your lips.

"That works?" he nearly croaks. Fuck - if Mattheo could see him now he'd have a fit. Maybe he'd laugh so hard he'd choke and die so Theo wouldn't have to kill him for it.

You nod softly, gently tugging at his sleeve. "Mhm, my mum used to do it when I was little" you tilt your head.

"Yeah, s'alright then" he grumbles, just trying not to sound like he was about to lose his mind over the fact she was going to fucking kiss it better.

Shit, maybe he should ask Mattheo to punch him in the dick.

You press gentle kisses to both cuts, wrapping bandaids around his fingers after.

"All better" you hum, smiling up at him.

He nods stiffly, his newly fixed up hand tangling into your hair as he guides your head to his chest in a hug. "Thanks, doc, 'nything else I gotta do?" he mumbles, mostly joking. He'd do anything for you, maybe that was a part of the reason he was so fucked in the head, 'cause he couldn't get you out of it.

"Mh, just be careful, Teddy" you huff, and he has to hold back a groan. He had to leave before you called him that again, before you said anything that would make him want to drag you to your bed and make you ruin your sheets.

"I will, I gotta go meet Mattheo, love" he lies through his teeth. He needs a smoke before he goes fucking crazy. He places a lingering kiss to the top of your head before bidding you goodnight and leaving the girls dorms.

There wasn't a lot of things you loved more than your friends, but perhaps the way Theodores low murmur of italian slips through his lips against your forehead could be one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's driving himself fucking mad, the memory of your lips against his ripped open skin replaying in his mind like a fucking charmed camera had snapped in his brain at the perfect moment.

His knee bounces quickly as he sits with Mattheo and Draco, blowing through cigarettes like they're candy straws. You'd given him candy straws once - muggle ones he'd split with you. He'd taken the lemon, cherry, and blue raspberry ones and you'd kept the rest.

"Fucking hell, spit it out- before you drive us up the wall with you" Draco mumbles, flicking his cigarette butt over the side of the astronomy tower, and it makes him glare. You didn't like when people did that, it was why he stopped.

"I can't get her outta my fuckin' head" Theodore breathes, inhaling the poison into his lungs near desperately. Mattheo smirks, distracted by the few people millng about the ground below, "what's new?" he breathes, exhaling the smoke in his own lungs.

Theos knee stops bouncing as a wild, stupid, fucking genious idea slipped into his mind.

"Draco, I need you to do somethin'" Theo sits up, flicking his cigarette onto the floor and stepping on it before exhaling the last of the addictive smoke.

The boy in question groans, "fuckin' depends. what." he snaps, and a cheeky smirk tugs at Theos lips.

"Punch me in the mouth."Mattheo sits up, looking oddly like he'd struck gold as he inhales.

"What the fuck? Why?" Draco scoffs, and Mattheos eyes widen in a near giddy excitment.

"'Cause Theo's a fuckin' freak that knows if he goes to Y/n she'll kiss it all better" Mattheo taunts. Draco raises an amused brow as Theo shrugs noncommitally.

"You sure?" Draco muses, and Theo can only shrug again. Draco and Mattheo share a look and suddenly Mattheo's on his feet, brown eyes wild with excitement.

"How hard?" he grins and Theo follows suit, tugging off his sweater, leaving him in dark jeans and a white t-shirt.

"As long as I bleed, I don't fucking care"

Mattheo cracks his knuckles."How many times?"

"Twice."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second you saw Theo you were on your feet and practically running to his side, much to his obvious delight as you examine his split lip and the bleeding cut along to bridge of his nose. "Teddy, what happened?" you ask, worried, as your thumb traces the bruising around the cut on his nose.

He tips his head down, pretending that the way he presses his cheek into your palm is an accident as he 'reacts' to the light pressure you're appyling to his (very, very, hurt - if you asked) nose.

His eyes flicker to Mattheo for barely a moment, and he has to bite harshly at his lower lip to keep himself from smirking, the familiar metal taste flooding his tongue.

"Just an argument, ragazza dolce" (sweet girl) he nearly coos the nickname, and you don't know what it means, but it makes you flush a subtle pink nonetheless.

"Can you fix me up, love? Hurts" he grumbles, practically chewwing on his split lower lip as you take his hand. He intertwines your fingers as he lets you lead him up to your bathroom this time.

He leans against the edge of the counter, spreading his legs for you to stand between as you tip his chin down so you can properly fix up his nose.

He waits patiently for you to clean his nose, gluing it up and applying the thin white strips of whatever properly. He never took as much care of himself as you do, that's why he goes to you. He loves how much you care - loves watching the worried way your teeth tug at you own lip whenever he winces. It's never as bad as it looks, not that he'd ever tell you that.

You move to begin on his lip and he leans down slightly, gazing at her warmly, "c'mon love.. not gonna kiss this one better? S'hurting" he mumbles, and you can't help but mumur an apology as his hands find their way around your lower back to press you just slightly closer to his chest as he dips his head to allow you to lightly kiss the cut along his nose.

He knows he's being greedy when his hands fall to the backs of your thighs and knead at the skin as your fingers gently clean his bleeding lip, and when his eyes watch your teeth chewing on your lip he knows asking you to bite his instead would be too much for such a sweet, worried, thing like you.

The last thing he wants is to spook his angel, but when you lift his chin slightly to double-check your work, he can't help the faux-innocent pout on his lips and the pleading gaze he doesn't have to fake.

"Not gonna kiss this one better?" he mumbles, and the butterflies in your stomach melt into a violent stampede urging you to do as he asks, no matter what he wanted.

He hums, leaning close enough for his nose to bump against yours playfully, "s'not gonna heal if you don't, y'know" he teases quietly, and your eyes meet his. They're dark in this lighting, or perhaps it has something to do with the way you could imagine your own skin bruising if he grips your legs any harder.

Something in the chocolate brown softens as you hesitate, and you see your Theodore, the one that listens to what people say and doesn't bother to ask if someone needs help - just doing it for them. Your Theo that has only let you call him teddy for as long as you can remember and who listens to quiet music with you, and doesnt complain when you talk endlessly about whatever had captured your attention that week. Your Theo that stopped smoking in class and throwing his cigarette butts anywhere except into bins, and always let you wear his spare quidditch jersey when the weather is less than stellar, and who was there for you when your ex cheated in fourth year and hasn't let himself leave your side since.

"Please?" he murmurs, and realize that, somehow, you've never been more comfortable with anyone than you are when you're with Theo. He's sweet, and funny, and you've always thought perhaps you could live in the way his clothes smell when you borrow them.

You've always thought of your best friend as safe, the warmth from him when he let his arm rest over the back of your chair, and the way he places his palm against your hip to guide you out of the path of excitable first years or redheads with matches and fireworks nearly tumbling from their pockets.

He feels like he could live forever in the moment your lips brush the dull sting on his, his fingers winding their way into your hair as he kisses you properly, his other hand cupping your cheek so sweetly it makes your knees go weak.

It's unbelieveably soft, nothing like the way he kisses the girls at parties, this kiss is important to him. He wants you to want to kiss him again, so lets himself slow down. It's the first time he's ever cared enough to want to.

His lips trace yours, and a metalic taste seeps into your mouth as you part your lips.

He only kisses you deeper, hating himself for needing to breathe when he pulls away, he could die breathless on your lips and it would be the one thing he'd never regret - not even if he got the chance.

His thumb follows, sweeping over your lips, collecting the messy red he left there and sweetly tracing, rubbing it into your lips like lipstick, his touch never forceful as blood drips down his chin.

He lets you clean him up again in silence, and when you're done for the second time, he smiles down at you, his hands thumbs tracing lines on your hips.

"Hey" you meet his eyes, bright, and so Teddy you almost can't stop yourself from smiling back.

Almost.

You smile at him anyway.

He nearly melts, like he was Draco when Hermione kissed him in sixth year.

Mattheo would laugh at him for this too, but Theo would simply wait until the H/R/S/G Mattheo was scaring himself falling for smiled at him for the first time after their first kiss.

"Are you sure that first 'get better' kiss worked?" he asks, and you know he's asking if you would ever want to kiss him again.

"I don't think so" you whisper, leaning up to gently place a short kiss to his split lip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's too hot to bother playing quidditch as everyone sits together in the middle of the grassy pitch, nobody had expected for the last day of summer to be this hot - not when it had already started cooling into autumn, but nobody was complaining about the break from winds in corridors just cold enough to make you shiver as it crept up sleeves and skirts and under woolen jumpers.

Theos arm was around your shoulders, unlabed but each others, as he places a flower crown of dried red roses and pressed rosemary leaves into your lap.

"What's this?" you muse, gently picking it up and admiring it, how he'd crafted it was brilliant, a permenant sticking charm keeping the flowers and leaves together on a rose vine.

"That is why I was dethorning roses" he mumbles into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple through your hair.

"For your autumn solstice ball dress" he adds, nuzzling his nose into your cheek to make you laugh.

"Thank you, Teddy" you smile, and he hums, "always, amore" he mumbles, placing his chin on your shoulder. "You'll go with me, won't you? To the dance?" he mumbles.

You smile, "I thought you weren't going?" you tease, and you feel his shoulders move in an unbothered shrug.

"If you're there, I'm there" he grumbles softly.

You might not have been his first anything, but you were the first one that mattered, and that'll never change.

[tommysversion]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 1] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: he's been watching you for longer than he can remember, thinking he's too old for you, too dangerous. It's easier to keep people at arm's length, and he isn't the roughened lover he used to be. Turns out you don't care much for what he used to be.

Warnings & Contents: age difference (unspecified, can be as large or small as you'd like) | unsafe sex | Vaguely misogynistic language (not from Joel) | past Reader x Tommy mention | dirty talk | praise | pet names | size difference implied IE Joel's hands are larger than Reader's | unprotected PIV | Enthusiastic consent | Fluffier than expected | creampies oops | guaranteed happy ending

Note: I got this out before episode two dropped. There are no spoilers here, just old man Joel being loved.

Word Count: 3.8k. || Part Two Here

- x. -

Joel knows that deep down, he's not the good guy that he tries to be in Jackson. That no amount of hard work and somewhat begrudging neighbourly behaviour will truly ever mask what he really is. 

He does a damn good job hiding it, though. Looks almost unassuming with his greying curls, the crows feet forming round his eyes, the glasses he wears more often than not. 

Then there's you. God knows how much younger than him - does it really matter, when he's pushing sixty and you're clearly not - and full of life. 

He sees you around and just one look at you gets him half hard; you don't even have to fucking do anything, just be wandering past and give him a friendly wave, a half smile. 

He finds his eyes glued to your ass more often than not, given your standard attire of a pastel plaid shirt and jeans does nothing to hide your figure. He feels like a dirty old man each and every fucking time, but he can't help it. Especially when you wander past to get ready for a patrol, an honest to god cowboy hat perched on your head, a lasso and a gun on your hip. 

It makes some deep buried dark and depraved part of him wish he was still the cocky, confident bastard he once was. The kind who would have no problem whatsoever with talking to you and getting exactly what he wanted. Age has made him hesitate, though, and so he sort of just contends himself with trying to be as subtle as possible with his stares. 

He'd be lying if he said he thought of anything else when he fucked his own hand each night, though. 

Imagining you. How you might look spread out beneath him. On top of him. How you might sound with his name on your stupidly pouty lips, which he absolutely hasn't made note of or anything. 

Joel likes to think he's completely subtle in his interest in you, thinks he might just be burning up inside with his own desires and need, until Tommy calls him the fuck out for it one night. 

They're in the bar long after closing time, just the two of them, perks of Tommy being on the governing council, Joel guesses, and two or three glasses of whiskey deep. 

"Don't know why you don't just go after her, y'know." Tommy takes a long sip of his drink. Gives Joel a smirk that he never thought he'd see again, given his younger brother is all settled down now, married with a kid and whatnot. 

"You know damn well why not." Joel snipes back, refills his glass with a narrowed gaze. "'M too old and I'm too fuckin' dangerous. She'd probably break or something." 

Tommy just laughs. But it's more like his old laugh. The slightly dark sound that Joel hasn't heard in years that makes him goddamn certain his brother knows something he doesn't. 

"What?"

"Nothin'," Tommy says, tossing another cube of ice into his glass, swirls it around. "Don't blame you for lookin'. Girl's got a sweet ass, and damn, she can ride, too."

There's that tone again, the one that says he definitely knows something. More than knows something. So Joel gives him that look he does that always inevitably has Tommy spilling the beans. 

"And how d'you know the girl can ride, huh?"

Tommy snorts, drags a hand through his messy black curls. 

"Wasn't always with Maria, ya know. Back when I first came to Jackson... girl can handle her way around a saddle. Ain't half as cocky when she was gushin' all over my cock in a hay bale. Tell y'somethin, never seen a prettier sight than a cockdrunk woman." 

He downs the rest of his drink before he shoots Joel a crooked grin. 

"And trust me on this one too - she loves her an older man."

Joel doesn't want details. Doesn't care much about something that happened six or so years ago. 

What he does take from the conversation stays worked into his head over the next few days. He's just thinking he might make some excuse to leave his office early, to go home so he can either drink himself senseless or fuck his own fist until he has some semblance of self control again. 

He's still debating which it'll be when someone knocks on his office door; he looks up, about to tell whoever it is to fuck off, and instead stops. Because there you fucking are, your hair pulled off your face, still windswept. Dressed in a pastel purple and blue plaid shirt, another pair of jeans that should be fucking outlawed and worn cowboy boots. 

“Hey, Joel.”

Vaguely, he wonders if this is the first time he’s actually registered you saying his name; he likes the way it sounds in your voice.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He can’t help but sense some sort of mischief, wonders whether Tommy has decided to interfere, again, in something he has no business in.

“Oh, uh, Tommy said you were the one to go to if the barn door got caught again?”

Joel registers what you’re saying, can’t help but listen to the way his brother’s name sounds in your mouth, as if he’s looking to see if there’s any hint of any sort of affection in it, but he finds none.

He also thinks his goddamn brother is full of shit, because he knows damn well that Tommy is just as capable of fixing the stupid barn door. But Joel is nothing if not an opportunist, and he sees exactly what’s being offered here – an opportunity.

So he gets up out of his chair, pockets his glasses, and gives you a nod.

“Sure. Let’s go get that fixed up before dark.”

-            X     -

You’re aware of the sheer size of the man beside you as you help him lift the barn door back onto the track it usually slides in. He must be at least sixty, and yet he’s so big and broad that it doesn’t quite show. That doesn’t mean you’re oblivious to the greying curls, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You’re not blind. Maybe you’re just fucked up, because you’ve always preferred older men, at least, since the outbreak.

Maybe it’s some convoluted thought that someone older might be able to keep you safe. As if you aren’t a damn good shot yourself. As if you aren’t entirely capable of keeping yourself safe.

You haven’t been as oblivious to his stares as he thinks. No, Joel Miller is not a subtle man, not anymore. Never has been.

That, and you’ve seen a similar look on his brother’s face, once upon a time. The kind of look that says they want to devour you. To do things to you that’ll make your toes curl.

Like you haven’t been watching Joel since he first set foot in Jackson. Figured maybe you were too young, too out of range of his usual type, whatever the fuck that was.

And then you’d noticed him watching you, dared to perhaps hope, but never make the first move. Until now.

“Thanks for the help,” you say as you test the door, pull it open and closed to make sure it isn’t stuck again.

“’S fine,” Joel answers, shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Walk you home?” You offer, and the hint of a smile curves his mouth.

“Don’t know that I’m the one who needs a chaperone to walk round after dark.”

You laugh lightly as he falls into step with you regardless.

“Ah, Joel, nobody would be stupid enough to lay a hand on me.”

You don’t entirely believe that, but confidence is certainly part of it, and the last thing you want is for him to think you’re someone weak and scared.

“Why, you got some scary ass husband or somethin’ I don’t know about?” Joel asks, and you can hear the hint of jealousy in his tone, even if he thinks you won’t; it lights up something in your belly that trails all the way down to your core.

“Pff, no. No husband. No boyfriend. Just me, and apparently I’m scary enough.”

You give him time to take all that in, but that means you arrive at his house far too soon with very little progression in conversation. You’re almost feeling disappointed when he speaks again.

“Comin’ in for a drink?”

Joel isn’t sure where that confidence came from. Maybe the way you’ve confirmed there’s no significant other in your life. The almost flirty way you’ve spoken to him. The way you had seemingly no issue getting up in his space as you fixed the barn door.

He notices, too, the way your eyes flicker with something like triumph at the offer, before you just nod, follow him up the steps and into the house.

-            X     -

Joel watches the way your lips curve around the glass tumbler, and he really thinks he should be more focused on his own liquor consumption at his age more than the way it looks, but he can’t help it.

Unbidden, his mind gives him a picture of your lips wrapped around something else entirely, and for the first time since Tommy shared his little bit of “wisdom” about you the other night, he resents his brother for it. Because of fucking course his goddamn brother would have had the balls to just make a move. So why doesn’t he?

As he’s pondering this, he’s oblivious to your gaze, focused on him over the rim of your glass. They’re so alike, and yet so different, the Miller brothers. You haven’t quite worked out what makes Joel tick yet, can sense a sort of brooding, shut off darkness in him that you aren’t entirely certain you’d like to see unleashed.

What you do know, though, is that you’ve caught his eyes on you more than once. That you want him, even if it’s only for one night, that you don’t care if he shreds your heart to pieces after, so long as you get one single night where you can see what it’s like to be his.

And so while he’s still lost in thought, you down the rest of your drink and cross from your chair to his, straddle his lap and tap him lightly on the cheek.

“Hey, still with me?”

Not a lot takes Joel by surprise; he wasn’t sure what to expect when you moved, but to find you in his lap is definitely unexpected. He puts his half-finished drink to the side and just looks at you for a second, tries to will his cock into behaving, but it’s too late, he’s already hard as fuck, uncomfortable in his jeans with you pressed against him, and you both know it.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” He manages to get out, because he’s got to be sure you’re not just fucking with him, or making some poor decision fuelled by liquor, even though he doubts the single drink has even touched the sides.

“What’s it look like?” You can feel how hard he is, can’t help but rock into him slightly, taunting, teasing, because God forbid you actually want this.

“Makin’ a real poor decision?” Joel regrets saying it as soon as he does so, and it shows on his face; luckily you ignore him.

“You want me to stop?” you ask instead, your hands at the buttons of the flannel shirt he always wears, a well loved dark green thing that you think sets off the olive tones to his skin perfectly.

He shakes his head so fast he almost feels dizzy, because there’s no way in hell he wants you to stop, but he wants you to understand what you might be getting yourself into.

“Fuck, no,” he almost growls it out, leans in to press a kiss to your bare collarbone where your shirt has fallen. “More just… I'm an old man, darlin', but I've never been good at bein' gentle."

You just laugh, because you don’t want gentle. You don’t want young and sweet and inexperienced. You want whatever the hell is lurking behind his tired gaze.

Still, he doesn’t move until you lean in first, press those pouting lips against his, part them so he can taste liquor and strawberries on your tongue. It’s not until you grind down against him again and moan into his mouth that he reacts.

Then whatever control he has left (which isn’t much) snaps, his hands pushing up your shirt; glad he had the foresight to build a fire when you got in, because the last thing he wants is you shivering for any reason that isn't good, isn't at his hands. 

You figure he isn't moving fast enough, help him shed your layers of clothing one by one until you're in his lap in just your emerald green panties, and fuck if Joel doesn't think the colour looks good on you.

His hands are wandering, up from your hips, slowly, cupping your tits and rubbing his roughened thumbs across your peaked nipples. You almost wish you could get him naked, but the most he'll allow is a few buttons of his shirt undone. Not that you're about to complain, so full of want for him that you'll take whatever he gives you.

You can feel the fabric of your panties getting damper with every hungry, open mouthed kiss, your little moans muffled as he slowly draws circles with his thumbs around your nipples, humming when he feels you react.

"Sensitive, huh?" His dark eyes stay fixed on yours as he pinches your nipples gently, making your back arch slightly. "Yeah you are, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You just nod, grinding yourself down against the thick length of him, your hands finding his belt buckle.

He doesn't stop you, too preoccupied with playing with your tits, the way you lean into his touch. Your hand unzips his jeans, frees his cock from the too tight confines, and slowly strokes, drawing a low groan from his chest.

Fuck, but you know what you're doing, slow practised strokes from base to tip, gentle twists of your wrist when you reach the thick head of him, spreading the precum that drips heavily along his length.

"Fuck, sweetheart, don't make me cum before I've got you there-" he warns, and you laugh, not at him, but because you're so fucking pleased that you're having that much of an effect on him.

He shuts you up effectively though, slides one rough hand into your panties and almost immediately finds your swollen clit, rubs circles on it with his thumb, smirking at how soaked he finds you.

"Christ. Don't even need t'get you ready for me, do I?"

You shake your head, but he does it anyway; nobody can say he isn't merciful, Joel thinks, as he slides his index and middle finger into your wet heat, drawing a filthy sound from you as he curls them deep.

He kisses you again, rough and needy, thinks about how if he was five, ten years younger he'd pick you up, carry you to the nearest horizontal surface and fuck you into it. The thought makes his cock throb painfully, but even this is enough, having you in his lap, writhing on his fingers...

You're aware of his mouth on you; on your throat, your collarbones, your nipples, then he moves his fingers a little more and you're aware of nothing beyond your own pleasure, your cunt weeping onto the thick digits as he continues to move them, not stopping until he's absolutely certain you're through it.

"So fuckin' pretty for me, baby. You want to come sit on my cock now?"

Slowly, slowly, he slides his fingers out, enjoys the dazed look on your face as you nod; your ruined panties are dragged down, tossed aside, then you're there, intimately close as he lines himself up, catches the tip of his cock at your soaked entrance.

He lets you sink down onto him with little to no guidance; groans when your hips meet far sooner than he expected. 

"Fuck, there's a good girl-"

You make a sound of assent, wriggle in his lap to get comfortable, only serving to make his cock twitch inside you and drag another pretty little sound out.

"You like how it feels?" He knows you do, can tell by the way your pussy tightens around him, trying to pull him in deeper, but he wants to hear you say it, almost needs the ego boost.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, then, "Joel-"

His name is drawn out, a half plea for something that he isn't quite sure about.

"What d'you need, honey?"

"Need you to move," your voice is almost demanding, somewhere between pleading and insistent, but you'll get what you want regardless.

Joel keeps his hands on your hips, giving you some semblance of control still, but he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips up as you rest your forehead against his.

So maybe it's not what he first pictured, not what he'd have done to you ten years ago, but it doesn't quite matter to him, not when he can feel how wet and tight you are around him, hear every single pathetic little noise you make for him.

Your fingers drag through greying curls, tugging lightly; you're rewarded with another low groan, more like a growl, as his hips snap upwards sharply against yours. You don't get to savour that victory, too preoccupied by the suddenly rougher pace.

"Fuck, Joel-" You gasp and he laughs, tightens his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock just that little bit harder, faster, hitting all the right places inside.

"That's it, good girl," he presses greedy, open mouthed kisses to your throat, keeping up the pace, feeling you tightening around him and knowing without a doubt that you're close already, so worked up for him that tipping you over the edge will be almost easy.

"Such a tight, sweet little cunt, baby, made to take my cock, weren't you?" The filthy words pour out before he can stop them, but you're responsive to those, too, clinging to him, moaning as his cock hits your sweet spot again and again,  getting you closer; you try to hold it off, don't want this to be over yet. But God if it isn't difficult.

Joel can feel you trying not to cum, can feel you holding yourself back.

"C'mon, sweetheart, go ahead and cum for me.  Y'really think this is gonna be the only time I give you my cock, sweet girl? Fuck, gonna keep this pretty pussy full of me til you get sick of it."

You gasp a moan, because there's no way in hell you could ever get tired of this, of the hint of roughness and the burning passion with which he handles you. 

Regardless, once he gives you that permission, even though you didn't need it, your resolve breaks; he presses in deep, grinds his hips against yours so the coarse curls at the base of him brush your over-sensitive clit, and then you're gone, spots in your vision as you cling to him, your cunt fluttering and throbbing around the thick cock splitting you open as your release drips down him, soaking his lap. 

Joel groans, almost cums right there, because he can count on both hands and feet how long it's been since he made a woman cum so hard, felt a pussy spasm around his cock and gush fluids into his lap.  Fuck, if he doesn't love it.

"Not gonna last much longer, sweetheart," he warns, voice low and rough as he rubs circles on your back, trying to get you through it whilst holding back his own release.

"Please-" Your voice is hoarse, eyes wide and pleading as you look at him, not bothering to finish your sentence and instead leaning in to kiss him.

It's the kiss that pushes him over the edge; years of rough, emotionless encounters, against walls. Bent over surfaces. And here you are, younger than him, softer somehow, kissing him like he's someone good and deserving.

He knows he should pull out of you but it's too late, his cock aches and twitches inside you as his release fills your still fluttering cunt, breaking the kiss only so he can rest his head on your shoulder and try to breathe.

Then your hands are in his hair again, stroking through the soft curls, getting him through the aftermath of his climax with the same gentle touch he gave you.

"Joel," you whisper his name and this time it's not a plea, not an impassioned moan, just your voice being gentle as you continue to stroke his hair.

"Hm?" He's content to just stay like this, actually, even if his joints are starting to protest. He'll deal with that later for another five, ten, fifteen minutes of this with you.

"You don't fuck like an old man." Your voice is soft. Sleepy. Like he's fucked any fire inside you out of you, lulled you into a sense of safety.

Joel can't help it. He laughs, a proper laugh that barely anyone gets out of him these days.

"Guess not, huh."

He feels his softening cock slip out of you, wraps his arms around you and tucks you against his chest.

"Can we do this again?" You dare to ask, because you're feeling sleepy and stupid and high on him, on the feeling of his seed slowly dripping down your thighs as he presses little kisses to your head.

Joel looks down at you for a moment, understands you don't mean right now, but in a sort of ambiguous future way.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you want. You want a blanket or something?"

Because inexplicably he's worried that you might be cold, as if he's only been watching you to think with his cock and doesn't actually, possibly, maybe care.

You shake your head and nuzzle back into his chest.

"Can we just stay like this for a minute?" You ask instead, and Joel nods, because he really does need to catch his breath, and even if his knees are protesting, he doesn't give a damn, because you're nice and warm in his lap and you fit there just right, like you were made to fit there.

"Yeah, baby. As long as you want."

It won't occur to him until maybe a week or so later, when you're picking strawberries in the greenhouse, that that should have been the moment he realised he was a total, utter goner.

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲