#GLORIOUS FINISH TO AN EXHAUSTING DAY

[thebusylilbee]

JUST FINISHED MY THIRD EXAM OF THE DAY AND THE TEACHER SAID I DID THE MOST DEVELOPPED ANALYSIS IN THE ENTIRE CLASS AND IT WAS EXCELLENT

[pseudowho]

Operation: Babymaker-- Wet Dreams

When it comes to trying for a baby, Nanami Kento always works overtime. And the reader had better be ready 💛

When the busy days and exhausted nights keep you and Kento apart, things get a little...creative 💛

💜 💛 Part 1 LINK HERE: A Trip to the Tailors

💜 💛 Part 2 LINK HERE: Benchpress

💜 💛 Part 3 LINK HERE: Ditch the Party...again

💜 💛 Part 5 LINK HERE: Honeytrap/Maid Café

💜 💛 Part 6 LINK HERE: Grapple

Warnings: 18+ throughout, breeding kink, fertility/infertility discussion, somnophilia (m receiving and f receiving)

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"I miss you. So much. I'm going to be home so late, I know it."

Kento could picture you now, leant against the wall, the heel of your palm pressed to your forehead, trying to massage away the impending headache. Eyes drifting closed, he sighed, craving you back home.

"I'll wait up for you," Kento assured, smiling as you sighed, feeling that soft breath whisper over his ear instead. You had been gone for days, and Kento had resisted every urge to stroke himself to the thought of you, knowing he should save himself for when you were home.

Images of all that cum, dripping from you, and being pushed back in with his fingers, and the sound of your voice, had his cock swelling embarrassingly fast. Picturing your disappointed face over the last two months, the small pile of negative pregnancy tests, he felt a competitive surge, a challenge. Kento shivered, jaw clenched, cracking his fingers in anticipation.

"And if I do fall asleep," he half-joked, wicked, "do feel free to have your way with me."

A giggle, a hushed moan ("Kento, stop-- you'll give me ideas"), making him twitch against his pyjamas. Kento reached down, trying to squeeze his cock into submission. Hand shaking, hooking himself out of his pyjamas to sit, hot and heavy, leaking onto the honey-blond hair of his belly, Kento begged, low and husky.

"Tell me more," he hummed, edging himself with no intention to finish, stroking his slit with one pre-cum wet thumb, "about those ideas."

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You were right about being late home.

At 2am, you crept through the doorway, stripping all the way to the bathroom, moving seamlessly from front door to shower, finally feeling the grime of the day wash off you in glorious wet heat.

You heard soft snores from your bedroom as you stepped out, hair wrapped and drying. Reaching out to where you knew Kento had left his t-shirt for you-- clean, but with just enough him smell on it to make you feel deliciously his, your face softened at his sleeping form.

Half upright, propped on pillows, Kento's hands rested on a folded book across his chest, face sideways, warm and relaxed in his slumber. You crept over to him, needing to touch him, scratching your nails languidly through his sleep-mussed hair.

Kento groaned, his chest rumbling in his sleep, and you felt a stir of want in your belly to see his hips twitch upwards, as if he were between your legs in his dreams.

Biting your lip between your teeth, remembering your conversation on the phone, you ghosted your hand over Kento's bare navel. Scratching your fingers down his happy trail, you were delighted to see his belly twitch, his eyebrows pinching together.

Possessed, you climbed slowly onto the bed, your hips either side of Kento's knees as you reached into his bedside drawer, retrieving the little remote control vibrator he hid there.

"God, Kento, you're so beautiful," you whispered in the dark, lowering his pyjamas just enough to free him, soft in your hand, "you don't even know it."

Leaning forwards, lightly squeezing Kento's cock, you slipped the vibrator inside your underwear, sliding it between your rapidly wetting folds, switching it on. You hushed your own moan by opening your mouth, and sealing it around Kento's twitching cockhead.

His mouth had dropped open in his sleep, one hand slipped from his chest to fist at the duvet, a shivering gasp in the night. You let the spit collect in your mouth, tonguing his cockhead, wet and warm, sucking the blood to his length. Awash with the eroticism of him hardening, completely unaware, inside your mouth, you rolled your pussy against his legs, using the pressure to rock the vibrator against your clit.

You swiped your tongue around him, feeling him grow between your lips, his tip hitting deeper with each bob of your head around him. You tasted salty pre-cum, licking it down with a swallow, thrilled by his unadulterated twitches, gasps, and slow sandy moans.

Half-hard against the roof of your mouth, you released Kento, and he whimpered in protest, fucking himself up into your spit-wet hand. You were captivated by him, obsessed with the way his body reacted so viscerally; hips twitching, brows furrowed in anguished pleasure, pre-cum dripping out into your hand...

...you could have cum then and there, jerking him off faster and harder to have him spill in your hand. Instead, you slowed, stretching out your tongue to taste him again. Spitty, mewling around his length as you edged yourself with the vibrator humping against his legs, you moved your mouth fluidly as you pictured Kento awake, knuckles deep in your hair while he fucked your mouth.

Solid and throbbing in your mouth now, Kento panted, hair mussed, cheeks flushed as one hand fisted the duvet, and the other reached up behind him to squeeze the pillow, his fingers rolling over something absent mindedly in his dream.

"Is it me?" You whispered against him, painting your lips against his cockhead while Kento shuddered, "Is it me, in your hands? I hope so." You felt his thighs and back twitching rapidly, feeling his impending orgasm, desperate to feel full with him, desperate for the day you could finally surprise him with his morning coffee and two sweet blue lines--

Giving him one final lick as his hips bucked up towards you, you stripped your underwear, holding your vibrator in place as you held his cock upright, rubbing it against your entrance. Kento's gasps were shuddering and desperate now, words ghosting over his lips, his hands shaking, white-knuckle-clenching the sheets.

You quickly lowered yourself, taking his whole length in one smooth drop onto his hips.

"Oh fuck, Kento--" you mewled, not pulling him out at all, rocking him inside you and feeling his tip kiss your deepest walls, already fluttering around him and desperately close to orgasm, "-- feel so good-- so full-- cum inside me please please please--"

You begged him like this as you pleasured yourself on his cock, circling the vibrator over your clit in trembling little movements. Kento mumbled, your name on his lips, teeth gritted as his pleasure began to peak, lost in the wettest dream.

Rutting yourself down onto him, hips wiggling just a little harder to feel him in your belly, Kento grunted, euphoric and convulsing beneath you, and you encouraged it as you came with him, clamping down around him, lost in a blissful haze with his reflexive orgasm inside you.

"Fffuck.. that was amazing," you smiled to yourself, full of admiration to see Kento relax, marshmallow soft and slumped against the pillows. You pressed a kiss to his chest, slipping him out of you with a shiver, legs clamped together, snuggling yourself under his arm as you put his softening cock back into his pyjamas.

You fell asleep like this, ecstatic that you had shared your wicked little ideas with him before you got home.

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Kento woke early, to the birdsong dawn and you, soft and snoring, under his arm. Wakefulness came to him slowly, unsure why he felt sticky inside his pyjamas, why there was a pair of your underwear on his belly, why the vibrator he liked to pin between your legs was now under the covers, pressed against his thigh--

All the puzzling couldn't stop the way his cock answered the question for him, that morning testosterone whoosh making it rock solid against his belly in seconds.

"What have you been up to, you dirty little minx?" Kento whispered, low and conspiratorial as he snaked one arm under your head and neck, the other lazily lifting your leg over his hips as he shucked his pyjamas down, kicking them off.

Kento's other hand grazed down the front of your body, moaning to feel your thighs and pussy, soaking wet and dripping with more than just your arousal.

"Did you fuck me while I slept?" He whispered against your ear, feeling your body squirm against him, far away in your lavender clouds, "How...presumptuous of you. I should rather have been awake." Kento's fingers dipped between your folds, sliding easily into your entrance, fingering you with his own cum. He groaned to feel your walls flutter around him, pressing three fingers into you as you mewled, twisting against him.

Kento laughed softly, deep and sleep-gruff, "Come now...you've had bigger than that," he teased, teeth clenched with the taboo thrill of using you while you slept, "and just a few hours ago, too...shall we fill you up some more?"

Kento was possessed, overtaken by the squelch of his fingers pistoning into your sloppy cunt, biting his lip with husky groans to feel you jolt and wiggle, whining against him. Adding his thumb over your puffy clit, tightening his arm over your neck and chest, Kento felt his cock leap against you as you sank your teeth into his arm, mewling in your sleep.

"Good girl," he encouraged, "we'll fill you up again, hmm? Have you all fucked-out and dripping, all tucked up in bed..." Kento moved his fingers faster, reaching as deeply as he could, pressing against your spongey sweet spot, "...and then I'll make you breakfast...and fuck you some more."

You cried out, twitching weakly as you came, wet and clenching around his hand, and Kento was so far gone, lost in how good you'd feel, all pliable and blissful in his arms. Locking your thigh over his hip, Kento began to push easily into you, clasping you against him with his other arm across your chest.

Feeling you, floppy and sleep-warm against him, had Kento biting into the back of your shoulder, nuzzling and nipping, resting his cock in your tight walls for just long enough to pull himself back from the edge.

"...haaah, darling-- too good...s'too good-- fuck, 'm not letting you out of bed today--"

Kento started to move within you, drunk on the wet drag of himself through you, moaning, shuddering into your neck. He kept this torturous pace, fast enough to feel you shiver with pleasure, and slow enough to keep you from waking.

Kento's hand roamed your body unashamedly; squeezing the soft pouch of your belly, trailing fingertips lazily along stretch marks and cellulite, the softness of your hair, the full plush of your breasts and thighs, rolling your nipples in a way that brought him faint, distant memories of his dreams that night.

Eyes closed, deep in the sensual little cocoon of your bed, Kento whispered dirty little thoughts to you, the sunlight warming his back, casting shadows on his hips as they rolled into you; "--send to you work tomorrow-- haaah, fuck-- cum dripping down your legs-- your panties in my pocket-- lock the staffroom door and-- and--shit--"

Hips stuttering, groaning and burying his nose into your soap-scented hair, Kento came, holding you by the belly as long spurts of seed painted your cervix white. Feeling you shuffle and whimper, Kento bit into you with a growl, instinctively trapping his cock inside you. Grunting as his cock twitched weakly, emptying him of the last few spurts of cum, Kento felt you twist your head towards him, sleepy as you nuzzled the side of his head.

"...mmmm...morning, gorgeous."

Receiving a fractured little groan and hot, fast pants in response, the rest of your body began to wake, and you wiggled with a smile to feel Kento's cock, warm inside you.

"...sorry," offered Kento, sheepish, "...couldn't resist." You giggled, accepting musty morning kisses from him as you pictured him the night before, fast asleep, irresistible, book folded open on his chest.

"I know what you mean. Want to go out for breakfast?" Kento groaned, eyes still closed as he manhandled you onto your back, pressing sloppy kisses onto your face as you giggled, being rocked from side to side.

"Another day," he begged, voice low and persuasive "you're too busy today-- got a baby to make."

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My pussy wrote this, and she hopes you liked it 💛

[multifariousqueer]

Sex in the bathtub with Felix Catton.

Ofc, lovie 🩷🩰

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, fingering, oral???, PIV, unprotected s3x, br33ding, implied consent(also explicit consent), pet names, I think that’s it

It had been a long, treacherous and tedious day and you were exhausted. You had stumbled into Felix’s dorm and threw your head back in fatigue as he peered at you through questioning eyes.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked softly

“Mmmmm I’m tired” You replied

“Yeah you look it. Do you need something?” He asked

“A massage and adderall” you chuckled

“I could give you both if you want” Felix said with a smirk

You smiled and said:

“Maybe just the massage”

He smirked and you took off your clothes. He picked you up and took you to the bed where you lay flat. He sauntered into the bathroom where he pulled out a bottle of baby oil. Your eyes looked to him and the bottle before you let out a giggle.

His cold, soft hands roamed your body as you sighed at the relief. The oil only relaxing your muscles more and removing the friction between him and your back. Moans escaped your lips as his hands continued to travel and a trail of pleasure was left in their wake. Felix’s lips were parted as he was entranced by your warm body, mesmerized by his reality of touching your being. He felt a soul connection to you in that vunerable moment and decided that he wanted you to experience the pleasure that he knew you needed and deserved.

Felix’s hands traveled down to your ass as you let out a small gasp, only for you to look back and see your boyfriend with a dopey smile on his face. He was always so cute and attentive when he wanted to be. His hands slipped lower as his hand came to your already wet folds as he wet them even more through the oil. He let out a groan at how warm and soaked you were for his fingers alone and Felix felt his pants grow tighter. Your head came up and Felix’s face was hovered over yours:

“Can I make you feel good?” He breathed

“Always” you replied

Felix’s lips connected to yours as his hands continued to pleasure you and slip in and out. He was exceptionally skilled with his hands and it never took long for you to reach an orgasm with him and this time was no different. Butterflies made their way into your stomach as you whimpered for your boyfriend to let you finish and give you the relief you so desperately craved. Your juices leaked out and your moans were increasing in volume as you felt yourself creep on the edge of a glorious orgasm, only to be brought back down by Felix.

“What happened?” You whimpered

“This isn’t how I want my princess to finish” Felix smirked

He got off of you and went into the bathroom where you heard the tub run. A mixture of negative emotions cascaded throughout your body but the one that was the most prevalent was lust and sadness. It wasn’t anything personal and Felix always wanted you to have good orgasms but you still felt empty and like you missed out on something.

The echo of the tub running and the smell of eucalyptus and a lush bath bomb permeated the room as Felix came back without clothes. He ushered you into the bathroom where he sat you in the edge of the tub:

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. You’ll get your orgasm, I promise” he whispered into your needy pussy before he placed a kiss upon your clit.

You spun around into the water which was the perfect temperature and smelled magnificent. Felix got in after you, his dark brown eyes peering at you with desire and lust as he pulled you into his lap. His cock practically begging you to touch it and poking you in the back as he groaned at the sudden exposure.

“Tell me about your day” he said, his hands roaming on your body

“Uhh well I- ugh” you stopped. Felix had reached his hands down to your pussy as he began to finish the job.

“Don’t stop” he smirked. His tortuous game now coming to light. He wanted you to talk your way into an orgasm.

“Tell me how good this feels. tell me how bad you need my cock, baby” he whispered into your ear, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

“It feels so good, Felix. Oh my God I’m so close” you breathed

Felix chuckled at this as your body started caving around his fingers. Your walls tightened around his fingers and his lips found your neck as he nipped and kissed at the delicate skin. Pleasure waves overtook your being and you came around his fingers, with a moan and your body going limp:

“Good girl” he said into your hair

Felix pulled you around him and inserted himself inside of your plush walls, savoring every part of you inside and out. A groan escaped his lips as a moan escaped yours; you were incapacitated so he lifted your hips and ass as your hands found his hair. A coil started forming inside of your stomach again as he whispered more sweet nothings to you:

“Mmm fuck baby, you’re so tight”

“You were made for me”

“This perfect pussy”

“I can’t wait to own this pussy forever”

The coil in your stomach was tight as ever and your eyes were filled with pure desire as Felix’s movements became sloppier and sloppier. Your mind was fogged over as his mouth found your nipples and your head went back. Another huge wave of pleasure washed over you as butterflies had emerged again in millions in your stomach and a loud moan escaped your plump lips. Felix’s body stiffened and his hands planted your hips flush against his pelvis, as his hips bucked every now and again. His eyes were sealed shut as his groans escaped from his pink lips. He trapped his seed inside of you as you felt the hot ropes escape inside of you. A gentle smile appeared on his face as his glossed over expression registered in your mind:

“I’m his forever”

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Two

SUMMARY: another day, another visit to joel’s little coffee shop. he’s as miserable as ever, and you’re probably the only person brave enough to want to spend time with joel outside of his work.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k , i’m afraid this is v. short. </3

WARNINGS: fluff. angst. our luke danes-y joel is having a hard time trying to mentally confront his feelings. you’re just as annoying and oblivious to it all as always. mentions of food consumption. reader refers to her parents verrrrrry brief. mentions of reader’s hair blowing into her face, but otherwise nothing to note.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s back is flush to the counter when you amble through the door this morning, hair strewn across your face, strands set into sticky peach gloss. A few strong gusts of wind—and a stupid confidence in your locks to stay in place—has led you into this precarious position.

Typical. On a morning where you’d like to feel good about yourself, you’re suddenly left feeling like hot garbage.

“Coffee. Now.” Guttural and bone-tired, you hurl at him. But he doesn’t move. His eyes affixed to the chalkboard above the strategically placed syrup station, arms folded over. You’re lucky if he’s even heard you for his attention is wholly deployed to the new menu that he’s spent the better part of thirty minutes creating.

You trudge—cold and dishevelled—through the cafe, feeling eyes on your back. The woman whose face, outfit, and attitude is always put together, is currently struggling through her morning no thanks to the glorious October weather. And the fact that last night’s date went to absolute shit is no help to you today, either.

“Joel.” Exhausted from the day already—despite it barely pushing eight twenty—you squeak. He grunts in response, pointing to the coffee pot that’d just finished brewing as he awaited your inevitable appearance at his door.

Still, he doesn’t move. So you take it upon yourself to shift from one side of the counter, to the other—dropping your purse on it as you do so. It’s weird, being here. Being in Joel’s territory. It gives you a random power trip, more than anything.

But that’s short lived when you realize that your favorite pink polka-dot mug is too high on the shelf—and Miller is too enamoured with whatever it is that he’s doing—so you settle for the less appealing yellow butterfly one, and begin to pour in the liquid that’s definitely comparable to black tar heroin.

You take a swig, before you’re traipsing away from the carafe that you’ve been so gratefully acquainted with.

“I’m so over today already.” You moan, walking over to your seat. You’d have liked to have been sipping on a fresh maple hazel latte today, but you’ll take what you can get so long as you’re not having to actually make it yourself.

You lean over the counter—zoning in on the miniature cake-case—and lift one of those beautifully round cinnamon rolls. You take a bite, and all seems to be right in the world. Aside from the man whose bun you’ve just stolen.

“Joel, are you even lucid right now?”

“I am.” He mumbles, wondering whether the specials should be placed before or after the main menu. It’s a predicament he didn’t think he’d be faced with at this time on a Friday morning. But here he is.

“Whatcha doin’?” A little bit intrigued—because Joel has never struck you as a perfectionist—you ask. He doesn’t respond straight away, and you don’t mind because you’re raking your fingers through tangled strands, wondering why you never carry a hairbrush with you anymore. You’re also munching on your illegal cinnamon roll.

“Just tryin’ to make this stupid place look a little better.” He exhales a deep, exaggerated breath. Joel’s line of sight meets yours when he swivels around, a wonky smile pulling at your lips and a sheen of sticky buttercream icing twinkling beneath yellow spotlights.

He takes you all in. The black dress that you’re donning, your favorite double-breasted woolen coat—that you pull out of your wardrobe each fall—the collection of bracelets decorating your wrists. You’re a marvel, despite feeling less than adequate. A different kind of beauty.

Joel bites back any feelings, and blinks at you.

“Did you just take that cinnamon roll without paying?”

You nod, swallowing down the last mouthful, followed by a long sip of coffee. “I did. And I’d do it again.”

Yeah. He thought as much.

“The specials board looks good.” Striving to change the subject, you tell him. You look up at it, impressed by his handwriting and ability to draw little pumpkins and maple leaves. It’s sweet. “Why’d you change it?”

He glances at it with you, noticing too many imperfections. He sighs.

“Was boring me, the old one. But now…”

“Now this one isn’t up to scratch either?” You pose, setting your lips into a straight line. “But I think it looks great. And I come in here every single day, so I think that I’m qualified to say that.”

Joel chuckles. He supposes that you’re right. He also supposes that you need another refill.

“How’d last night go?” Almost as if he doesn’t want to know the answer, he asks. All the while pouring enough coffee into the mug to drown a small town. “Was Costco guy a hit?”

You groan. Dramatically. Joel grimaces.

“I take that to mean no, he wasn’t.”

Wordlessly, you nod. You take a long, drawn out pull of your coffee. Again. And Joel checks you out. Again.

The apples of your cheeks appear to be slightly more subdued, now. No longer blazing red. And your smile—despite faltering at the mention of your date—is as bright, and toothy as ever.

She’s so beautiful.

I wonder whether or not he was a jerkoff.

Soft spoken, Joel asks about Marcus for the last time when you swirl the remnants of coffee about in the mug. He’s curious. Maybe a bit too much.

“Ugh, I don’t even know what to say.” Slightly depressed—completely unlike you—you start. “It was so crappy, Joel. I had high hopes, but he was just so…eh.”

“Eh?”

“Yeah. Eh.”

“Meaning?”

“Boring. Irritating. A literal life-sucking, soul-destroying, personality vacuum.” Blunt, you tell him. “I’d rather sit and watch an entire room of paint dry, than have to spend another waking minute listening to him ramble on about his vapid life.”

Plump lips contort—against his better judgement—into a little smirk. Satisfied, perhaps. Content with the fact that your date—the one that you unintentionally rubbed into his face—went so awfully bad, you don’t even want to talk about him.

Very, very satisfied.

“But my lunch with Maria was great.” Starting to smile again, you explain. “She told me that she and Tommy are heading to Cancun next summer. And that they’re hoping to start trying for a baby—“

Joel grimaces. He hates this.

So. Much.

“Come on, it’ll be cute. Uncle Joel.”

He stares at you, a few loose curls poking out from above the backstrap of his hat makes it almost impossible to take him seriously.

“I’d rather not think about my brother and his wife trying for a baby.”

Your eyes roll. “Grow up, you prude.”

Joel’s hands fuse to his hips, a light sheen of sweat coating the skin of his forehead. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s hot, or starting to get annoyed.

“How is that me being a prude? I just don’t wanna think ‘bout my brother having—“

“Enough.” Warning—though fighting a giggle—you say. “I can’t believe that when I say that you’re brother is trying for a baby, you automatically envision Tommy having sex. That is not normal.”

He supposes that you’re right, but still. The mental image haunts him.

Maybe it’s just a girl thing, to think of that so positively. Like it’s something to share with the entire world. But to him—a guy—it’s the most inconceivable thing.

Perhaps it is a little bit prudish.

“Moving swiftly on…” Hands placed gently against the newspaper left at the spot to your right, you make eye contact with him again. “Maria said she’d cover tomorrow night.”

Joel says your name, letting his head tilt back a little bit. He seems annoyed at you for going behind his back like this. You can’t find it inside yourself to care, though.

“She said she’ll be happy to. ‘Cus you never go out, and have no friends, and no social life, and—“

“I get it.” His baritone is low as he growls. It’s almost primal. It’s actually a little bit seductive, you feel.

Despite being handsome—almost painfully so—you’ve never thought about him like that. It’s never once crossed your mind to harbor these feelings about your friend, but that has completely unintentionally awakened something inside of your already chaotic—much too busy—brain. And your vagina.

You feel very Bridget Jones-y, now. In a strange position, but wholly comfortable with the fact that you’re stuck here. In fact, you don’t hate the thought of pushing some more.

“And considering that you never get laid, neither, I said that I’ll be happy to help out.”

Joel’s dick twitches. His face falls.

“With setting you up, of course.” You finish, watching fifty different emotions flit over his hardened features. One of which being complete unadultered fury.

Fury for the fact that, maybe, you’ve teased a little too close to home. and getting to grips with being single stings. Or fury because he wants you, and you’re trying to push him onto another body.

Regardless, Joel looks pissed.

And so, with that, you take the morning paper, and stuff it into your little purse. He watches intently, and the little adjustment to your panties through your dress absolutely does not go unnoticed as you stand to attention beside the barstool.

Your coat is being shrugged on in a heartbeat.

“I’ve gotta shoot. My parents are coming to stay with me Monday for a few nights, and I needa stock up on tea leaves, fresh linens, and enough red wine to get so drunk that perhaps I’ll be able to tolerate an hour with my mother.”

Joel forces a laugh.

“See ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He watches you leave—like each day before this one—and smirks. “See ‘ya tomorrow. Maybe.”

Your head whips around as you get to the door, eyebrows fused together. With eyes squinting, you point at him. “Thin. Ice.”

The next evening rolls around faster than what you might’ve liked, and is considerably colder than before. A black scarf wrapped around your neck really tampers with the vibe of your very put-together outfit for movie night.

But you suppose that if you were to leave that at home, then you’d absolutely die of frostbite. And then the question of who’d annoy Joel if I was six feet under? rattles around your head. And you can’t possibly carry on with the prospect of death.

So the scarf stays on. And so does the matching hat.

“You look like one of the snowmen that the kids build on the green.” Is what he greets you with when you enter the coffee house. Neck and chin swathed in faux cashmere.

“Very funny.” You mumble, pulling down fabric to reveal your perfectly plush lips. “Let’s go. I’m starving, and it’s cold.”

“Don’t forget your coal ‘n carrot.” Maria jokes from behind the counter, and Tommy is almost doubled over laughing at his wife.

They’re so cute together. It makes you sick.

“Don’t poke the bear.” Joel murmurs to his brother. “I’ve gotta spend the evening with it, and I’d really rather my head stay intact—“

“I can hear you.”

Joel glances over his shoulder shrugging on his denim jacket with the white borg trim, and stifles a laugh at the sight of you; completely clothed from your cheeks down. It’s adorable.

“Sorry.” Murmuring again, he says. He gestures for you to go out first, before he’s turning to his brother and Maria, mouthing a quick thank you.

She simply smiles in response, and turns to her husband when the two of you leave the building.

“He’s totally into her.”

“Oh, no doubt about it.” Tommy replies. “Just hope he’s not too chicken shit to do anything ‘bout it.”

She agrees with a soft hum, making tracks to a table of new customers to take their orders.

Per Joel’s request, the two of you grab a burger from a very—very—greasy joint a few blocks away from the movie theatre, and you find it being one of the best you’ve ever had in your life.

Piled to the absolute high-heavens, it’s safe to say that you’d never seen such a creation before. Cheese, bacon, lettuce, tomato—a boat-load of pickles—and, like, six onion rings, had that monster very deserving of its title of gut-buster.

But the way that you absolutely mangled that thing had Joel way more impressed. He’d only ever watched you devour cinnamon rolls and the odd stack of pancakes. This was like a fever dream.

And the fact that you then decided on grabbing a purse-full of snacks to take into the screening of Beetlejuice with you, has you very deserving of a few freebies from his humble cafe.

“That movie never fails to make me smile.” You say as the two of you walk—arm in arm—back into the cold, dreary night. “But it always begs the question; if the Maitland’s died by drowning, then why aren’t they wet throughout the movie?”

Joel laughs and shrugs, finding himself tightening the grip that his arm has on yours. Neither of you mind.

“I just think that Keaton plays a demon super well—“

“Don’t call him that.” You defend. “I mean, I know that he technically is one, but still. He’s a stand up guy.”

“He’s a total jerk—“

“Joel.” You whine. He’s one of your favorite fictional characters, and it’s killing you to hear this slander. “He’s my—he’s my boy. I love him.”

He blinks at you. His respect for you is dwindling, mainly because you’re essentially saying that Keaton’s portrayal of a green-haired gremlin is better than his version of Batman.

Blasphemy.

“He’s hot.” You say after a few moments of silence, feeling your cheeks heat at the confession. “In a dilf-y way. I think.”

Two brown eyes almost bulge out of Joel’s head, and he literally cannot help the laugh that bubbles from the fissures of his throat. You are very troubled.

“That’s concerning.”

“The fact that I like older men is concerning to you?”

His heart thumps. He’s not sure why, but it does. It’s a strange sensation—one he’s not able to describe in so many words—but he enjoys it. He thinks.

Maybe.

“No.” He clears his throat. “The fact that you find Michael Keaton—as Beetlejuice—hot is concerning to me, kid.”

You throw your head back laughing, motioning to a bench that looks fairly dry. You’re not ready for your evening to end quite yet.

“Why’d you always call me that?”

Joel unhooks his arm from yours, taking a seat as you plop down onto the birchwood. He lets out a little grunt as he goes down, something about his back and knees hurting from slaving away alllllll day.

“Call you what? Kid?”

You nod.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, leaning back. Joel extends his legs, just watching the city lights pass him by. “I’m a lot older than you. It’s habit, I ‘spose.”

Dallas is bustling, tonight. A cold, foggy evening will seldom stop the population of Texas from stepping out on a Saturday night. Phil’s Line Dancing club is packed, as per usual. Wall-to-wall with people just looking for a good time.

The atmosphere is unmatched, to you. Nothing feels as good as your state. Especially on weekends and football days. You get a little wet just thinking about the Cowboys playing AT&T.

Your home is so vibrant. So colourful and beautiful, and you’re happy to be seeing Dallas in all of its glory with Joel by your side tonight.

Many a drunk couple stumble past you both as you sit and chat on the bench, the thought of his last sentiment still hanging over your head like a little rain cloud. He may be a lot older than you, but you don’t mind. You still see him as a friend.

A good friend, as a matter of fact. Great, even. The best, perhaps.

A friend who despite seeing every single morning—and sometimes evening—you still feel like you cannot fill in the blanks on the sordid details of his life.

“Can I ask you something?” You turn so that you’re facing Joel, eyes searching his face for an answer. He smiles. The lines around his mouth, crows feet and forehead wrinkles have your eyes softening.

He’s so handsome.

“Yeah, shoot.”

Fiddling with the chain on your wrist—the one that Maria got you from Toronto—it’s a struggle to find your words. The right words, anyway.

You clear your throat after an awkward juncture, finally able to verbalize what you want to say.

“Did Tess leave because of me?”

It comes like a ton of bricks to the chest. Joel didn’t think you’d ask such a heavy question, least alone after spending the evening—outside of the shop—together. It’s a very jarring—painful—position to be thrust into. But it’s a question that he knew he’d have to respond to first as last.

His heart wrenches. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t know whether you do.

“I won’t be offended. Honest.”

“Where’s—uh—where’s this comin’ from?” He stutters over his qualm, hand reaching for the back of his neck. He rubs at the skin, feeling his heart pound. “Did someone say somethin’?”

Your head shakes. “No. I’ve just been thinkin’…”

“Why?” Comes a little bit curt. He kicks himself, but you don’t seem fazed by his tone. “People talkin’?”

Again, you’re shaking your head. “No, Joel, I just wanna know.”

Inquisitive as ever.

He swallows thickly the acrimony that’s rising to the surface at the thought of Tess and the day that she left. Trying to keep it suppressed hasn’t done him the favor that he thought it would’ve.

“She left ‘cus she had enough.” He spits, doing the most to avoid eye contact. “Of me. Of Birch Grove. Of everything that I fuckin’ did.”

You gasp. You don’t think that you’ve ever heard Joel curse.

Raw with emotion, his voice sounds barren. Bare. There’s nothing left to say, on the topic, but so much at the same time. But he owes this to you.

“She never liked you, y’know?” Almost guilty, he says. “Said you’re always too chirpy and flirty—hell, I think she was just projectin’ ‘cus I never saw her happy to see no one.”

“No way.” Not nearly sarcastic enough, you laugh. “I’m surprised that she never spat in my coffee.”

“Yeah, well. I’d never put anything past her.” A little bitter, he responds. “Hated all you girls that’d come in. Even scared off Josie—told her not to come back, or she’d tell her husband that she was tryna screw me—“

Genuinely shocked, your jaw hangs low. “Jesus.”

“Yep.” He watches over the stragglers stumbling out of Phil’s, and looks at you.

Your cheeks, nose and ears are stippled with a rosy blush. If he were to set his calloused palms against your tender skin, he’s sure that the cold would be almost bone-chilling. But he refrains.

“Nasty, nasty piece ‘a work. Glad she left, if I’m honest.”

“You two…You seemed so happy.”

“We were.” Honest comes his proclamation. “Until we weren’t. Until she started to get envious of every single female that walked through the cafe doors, and turned into a big blonde green-eyed monster.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly trait.”

He agrees with a tight-lipped smile and a nod, ignoring the fact that he was feeling that very emotion when you went out on a date. With a man who wasn’t him.

But now, here you are. With Joel. On a not date. But he’ll take what he can get, so long as the two of you can have some time together.

“God, Joel. I couldn’t imagine my life not coming to see you every morning.”

He smiles.

“What?” You blush. But it’s not apparent, what with the way your skin is already flush.

“Nothin.’” Joel’s teeth show beneath the scratchy hair of his mustache. You smile back. “Just couldn’t imagine mine if you didn’t come ‘n bleed me dry of lattes ‘n cinnamon rolls, either.”

That’s wholly the truth. Something he didn’t think he’d ever find himself letting you become privy to. Yet, here he is.

“That’s sweet. It’s nice to know that you have a heart beneath all the band shirts, and flannels.”

“Yeah, well.” He stretches his arms out and you slide closer to him—taking the man completely by surprise—nestling comfortably into his side. A perfect fit, actually. “It’s hard to get to, but it’s there.”

You smile up at him, eyes twinkling beneath the streetlights above.

“That’s good to know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze is averted to the sidewalk, now. Focused wholly on the night passing you by. “Hopefully I hold a tiny little place there.”

Joel hugs you into his side, silently reassuring you that there’ll always be a tiny little place in his heart just for you.

[leclercstars]

ROCKSTAR. [pt. 3]

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: It's the same thing as pt. 2 but from Lando's POV so it's even SMUTTIERRR!!

Warnings: 18+! Sexting, masturbation, mention of various sex acts, slight dom!Lando.

Lando was exhausted. He laid face down on his massive hotel bed, his boxers pulled low, hanging off the edge of his hips.

While his P3 finish was exciting, that wasn’t even the best part of his day. Some hot girl in the crowd had the best tits he had ever seen, and the fact that she was strutting around with his signature emblazoned across one of them was thrilling. And Oscar’s signature on the other? It doesn’t get much hotter than that, he mused to himself. 

He finally mustered the strength to open up his phone, and was taken right back to that moment at the paddock walk when he opened the photos. Her tits sat so perfectly, and her nipples were barely peeking through the fabric of her papaya-colored tank top. What he wouldn’t give to have his face smushed between them right now. If he was to die, that’s how he wanted it to happen. Suffocation by titties.

His phone buzzed and he noticed a notification pop up on the top of the screen. A text from the girl. It felt flirty, and he honestly could not resist the thought of seeing more of her. He shot back a response, essentially implying that he absolutely needed to see her naked. A few minutes passed. Fuck, had me messed this up by being too forward? He didn’t want to come off as desperate either. 

But his phone buzzed.

And it was the most glorious thing he had ever seen. 

Every curve was on display. The way her waist flowed so effortlessly into her hips. And most importantly, her perfect tits were fully on display, nipples hard, pressed together as she leaned forward in the mirror. His and Oscar’s signatures were still visible, the faded words giving him a sense of ownership in the best way possible. He responded, hoping she would send more for him to gawk at. He couldn’t wait much longer though, as he felt the pressure of his erection growing under his boxers. Fuck it, he decided. If she sends more, awesome, but he knew just the one photo could get the job done.

He took his throbbing cock out and spit on his hand, stroking himself slowly. He relaxed his body back into the pillows, throwing his head back as his hand rubbed along his shaft. He was so fucking hard just because of a photo of this random girls tits that he felt like belonged to him and Oscar. He imagined how perfect they would look bouncing while she rode him, or how great it would feel to flick her nipples with his tongue. Precum was slowly starting to leak from his slit as he got closer and closer to the edge, an orgasm burning in his taut abs. He writhed with pleasure as he imagined tittyfucking her, playing with her nipples as he slid his wet cock between her soft boobs. 

His soft moans were turning into gasps as he edged himself, wanting to draw out the various scenarios that were running through his mind. He could hardly take it anymore, his unruly curls beginning to stick to his forehead as he circled his thumb around his tip.

Explosions of heat shot through his entire body, making him nearly scream as his cum shot all over his abs. The white substance was splattered all across his perfectly tanned abs. He slid his boxers back on and grabbed his phone. She must have fallen asleep while he was jacking off, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Plus, he thought the morning was the horniest time of day anyways. He took a picture of his cum-stained skin. “Thanks!” was all he wrote. He hoped she appreciated his cheeky response. He didn’t even know this girl’s name- but he was in Austin for one more day. And he would do a lot to have his hands replace her bra.

part 1

part 2 linked at the top ;)

PART FOUR??? IDKKKK I KINDA LOVE THIS SERIES

[ronearoundblindly]

okey dokey, I've had *a day* and will use this glorious...🥴 idek which body part to reference 😮‍💨...and merge it with your previous ask about cooking or baking for Steve and giving him a nice, comforting, home cooked meal. And his response to that act of service and caring. Because this is me, I will obviously be starting with ::gasp:: an argument. Don't you love how predictable I am?!?!

To Tire Is Human

No warnings, uhhh, canon language (sh*t)? Written in drafts so no exact word count. It's not long (2k maybe, very much unedited)!

"The hustle? What does that even mean?" Steve gripes as he finishes up various chores around the property.

"It means I do the work."

Your boyfriend rips apart the wood log he was about to start chopping. "Do the work? Do the work? For nine hours? After leaving home early enough to be at work for an hour before the actual work starts? Then staying at least a half hour to clean?"

"Unless I also have to restock," you add quickly just to really turn the knife.

"You have got to be shitting me," he nearly snarls, eyes down toward the pile.

You don't blame him for not understanding. He's from an era where people worked to live, the point was the living. This...is not longer that era, and you are not of that generation.

Of course, it frustrates him, too, because your work makes living almost impossible. With all that he just mentioned, the commute, and attempting to offer yourself the basic self-care of eating and washing, you don't have the energy to do chores, and you've certainly struggled to find energy enough to show Steve love.

"That's the gig nowadays. That's how us super-average humans do it."

The thing is that you are also so tired of having this conversation. You are tired of the guilt for not magically considering yourself the center of your universe because, despite jokes about every kid receiving participation trophies, it is deeply engrained in you that you are replaceable.

If you don't perform above and beyond, fired. If you ask for too much and offer too little, gone. If you don't constantly learn how to outpace others, useless. It never ends.

And, finally, Steve Rogers might not get this but you age. You aren't powerful to begin with, but day after day, you get weaker and older, while someone else on Earth gets smarter and stronger.

You don't want to hear the spiel. You can see from his pinched face that Steve wants to give the spiel.

You sigh in exhaustion and prepare to hear the whole Cap speech before you two go pick up dinner in town.

One day later that week, your work schedule falls apart and lands you back at home hours before Steve is due to return. Antsy to accomplish something--and looking for a snack,--you notice the perfect combination of ingredients, something saucy and salty, hearty, just like Steve melts for, and a fruity baked good.

It's a lot of steps, there's a lot of mess to clean up as you go, and then there's still a lot left behind. You're hastily rushing around to set the oven timer and yank a skillet off the burner. Perhaps the whole endeavor has gotten you in over your head.

Steve appears out of nowhere.

Well. Not nowhere, but all the chaos in the kitchen is making enough noise, you didn't hear the door.

"I have everything under control," you automatically say.

His expression morphs from one of surprise and concern to utterly overwhelmed. His eyes look glassy as he approaches and scoops you into a quick hug, hands tucking themselves beneath the hem of your shirt so he can feel your skin as he breathes you in.

He quickly releases you at the sounds of oil popping and sniffs, reverting to Cap mode.

"What do you need? What can I do?"

All you can think is that the table hasn't been set.

Steve eats his whole meal--entree and dessert--with his non-dominant hand just so he can hold yours.

He had one of your days.

He spent the drive home listing all the things he needed to do in his head, more energy for each tick, more time for sitting still, more of him to give...

...and then he got to enjoy a lovely dinner with you.

You spent your energy on him, on you both. You spent energy specifically to spend time with him, and Steve could cry but he won't. He keeps smiling, making happy, pleased noises with each delicious bite.

An hour ago, he wasn't sure he could feed himself or wash up. He's simply too tired.

You start playing with his hand, drawing patterns in his palm, lightly dragging your nails on the sensitive inside of his wrist. It makes him shiver.

There were at least four things he was supposed to do outside before it got too dark, a load of towels and sheets needs done, a basket of clothes waits to be folded and put away. He does not want to do any of it.

His fingers close around yours.

"Thank you," he interjects softly, "I was so tired."

You lean forward and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, whispering in his ear, "you wanna leave the dishes to soak and watch a movie instead?"

Steve chuckles, turns his head to quickly kiss your lips, and nuzzles his nose to yours.

"Oh, you're a naughty minx, aren't you?"

Playfully racing up the stairs, ignoring the plates and glasses still on the table, you call back to him.

"Show some hustle, big guy! We got a whole lot of nothing to do."

He twitches, just for an instant, before finally deciding that grabbing the spare pillows from the guest room will add more to the movie experience than doing the dishes.

You're both going to do the work tonight: the work of taking care of each other, enjoying each other, and being human together.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓛𝐄𝐆 𝐂𝐔𝓡𝐋𝐒 ／ park jihyo

➛ g!p jihyo x fem!reader ➛ 2.8k words ➛ smut ➛ public setting, spanking, squirting, creampie, praise ➛ part of SWEAT&TEARS. ➛ you thought going early meant you would be the only one there. you thought wrong.

4:30 A.M.

It might be insane to willingly be at the gym at this hour, half-asleep and dreaming of being in bed again.

But here you are, dumbbells in hand while staring at your reflection in the massive mirrors, wondering how you were able to do this before.

Once upon a time, you were an avid gym goer who was on top of her nutrition (and honoring her cravings) and an inspiration to her friends for maintaining a well-balanced lifestyle.

After getting laid off, you had all the time in the world to work harder. To cook for yourself, for your friends who were heavily reliant on takeout, and to dedicate more time to the gym. You didn’t think you’d get back into the workforce so quickly but you did, and this job was going to consume much of your time and energy.

Just cooking right after work was exhausting for you. The few days that you intended to take a break from the gym became a week.

Then, it became two weeks.

Three weeks.

Three months.

If it weren’t for incompetent management, you would’ve been able to manage your work-life balance already. You wouldn’t turn to freezer meals and fast food for sustenance. You wouldn’t have to rely on caffeine to get you through the day. It took some mild threats and a long, colorful discussion with the directors to hire more people but now that the new hires have been trained and settled, you could focus on getting your life back on track.

The avid gym goer is still in you somewhere. She just needs to be lured out again, and what better way to make a comeback at the gym than to resume your journey at an all-women’s gym that just opened down the block last month?

Having a safe space accessible to you is enough encouragement for you to pick up your gear again and return to the active life you once knew. You had to reason with yourself to get up this early and you were fortunate enough to still have some level of self-discipline to do so.

While you don’t mind working out with other women, you would much prefer to be alone. Not only is the crack of dawn the only time you have to fit in your workouts, but it’s also when it’s not crowded. You hoped you would have the gym all to yourself until you walked in and discovered one other soul on the premises.

You weren’t in the mood to interact or be perceived so early in the morning but upon making eye contact with you, she beamed and greeted you with a quick wave. Of course you had to wave back, even with how obviously dead you looked. It would be rude to ignore a pretty woman, and you weren’t that rude.

At least until you realized how often you were sparing a her a glance (specifically at her behind) while you were warming up on the treadmill. That was disrespectful.

You shake your head and assume an exaggerated wide stance, your feet planted a fair distance apart. You adjust them while observing yourself in the mirror to ensure that you won’t strain your hips. When your legs are wide enough to feel the burn but not a straining pain, you hold both dumbbells in front of you at waist level. Your eyes close, your head lowers, and you drop down into a front squat. 

You steadily drive back up while squeezing your core and proceed with the next several reps of sumo squats, unaware of the only pair of eyes in the building skimming over you.

Jihyo is no longer performing her routine. Her headphones are now sitting around her neck, and she’s more focused on the glorious view in front of her than on finishing her workout.

It’s not like she’s never seen a woman squatting before. She has.

Dozens of times.

And it gets her rock-hard every time.

She notes that today must be leg and glutes day for you due to the various squats you’ve done, and how you barely targeted any other part of your body. It’s a blessing (and a curse) for her since it’s been a week since she last got some action. That may not be long but as someone who has a decent roster of friends (and patrons) with benefits, a week without pussy is far too long.

And she’s not going to let this opportunity slip up.

She approaches you when you pause for a water break, forgetting that just because other people are up at the same time as her doesn’t mean they have the same energy as she does. “Hi!”

You crane your neck to look at her as you hydrate and greet her with a small nod. “Hello.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new?”

You nod. “I am.”

She clasps her hands with a grin. “How lovely! Welcome aboard. I’m Jihyo. Do you need any assistance or guidance?”

With pursed lips and a second to think, you slowly shake your head. “No thank you. I appreciate it though.”

She nods. “Let me know if you do. I’ll be happy to help!”

You’re lying face down on the leg curl machine, your mind slowly polluted by the images you didn’t think you’d see.

With how courteous Jihyo is with extending a helping hand, you had asked her to spot you at the squat rack. As you were performing your barbell squats, you didn’t miss her intent gaze on your behind as you were going down. You didn’t miss the way she licked and bit her lip. How shameless and disrespectful she was with staring, in comparison to the polite gesture of her hands only hovering over your hips. 

Not touching you at all.

What had really seared into the back of your mind was the view that you came eye level with when you bent down to pick up your water bottle: the massive tent in her joggers.

Jihyo’s boner has occupied your mind since then. You have been laying still for the past five minutes wondering just how big she is, how friendly she has been, and how innocent her intentions may (or may not) be. You’re not one to stare and ponder the strangers around you, but she caught your eye the very second you set foot into this gym and she now dominates your thoughts and fantasies.

It’s sorely obvious that you made her horny, and now you’re aching because the effect is reciprocated.

“What’s the matter?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when Jihyo’s voice snaps you out of your trance. You turn your head and, once again, come face-to-face with her pelvis. She’s standing too close to you. So close that you can make out the outline of her erection through her black joggers.

Face heated. Core clenching. 

You let your head drop back down, your grip on the side handles tightening at the thought of this woman taking care of you in.. other ways. “Nothing. Just resting.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “But you were doing very well.”

“I just need a little rest,” you whine.

A light smack on your rear surprises you, but her laughter insists that this is all in good nature. “Don’t slack off now.”

Another smack, and now you’re the one laughing. “I’m not. I promise!”

The empty gym reverberates with laughter and squealing. 

You don’t recall when, but it quickly echoes with solid thwacks as her playful smacks have progressed to full-on spanking. You’re no longer giggling. You’re gasping, moaning, and tensing up with each slap that targets your sore ass. Jihyo’s playful jabs have morphed into something darker and more threatening.

It’s exactly what your pussy is aching for.

Being in a lust-filled haze, you don’t budge when your leggings are yanked down. Its compression and tight fit takes your panties down with it, and both garments sit at your ankles, exposing all the intimate parts of you to her–and whoever will stumble through the doors.

As much as you want to be ruined by an insanely attractive woman at this very moment, you’re still in a public place. It would be shameful to be banned on the very first day.

“W-Wait,” you pant as you grab her wrist. “What if someone comes in?”

“They won’t.”

“Doesn’t the manager come in early?”

You’re confused by her hearty laugh.

“Oh darling,” she coos, her fingertips tenderly tracing your slick folds and spreading your arousal. “I’m the manager, and I’ll make sure no one else gets to see you like this.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as two of her fingers dip inside you. 

They shove deeper in the second time. Deep enough for her knuckles to graze your hole. You were always keen on being spanked and manhandled, and she is proving just how drenched it can get you. 

The squelches of her fingers being suctioned by your aching walls fill the silence. It should be embarrassing to be turned on by so little, but you barely feel any shame. You barely feel the shame of dripping all over the padded surface, dirtying the machine with your juices as Jihyo fucks you with her fingers. You barely feel the shame of allowing the manager to ruin you like this.

And she doesn’t feel an ounce of it either.

“Such a pretty thing,” she mutters, her slow but calculated thrusts doing a splendid job at making you feel full somehow. “It would be a shame to not get a taste.”

Much to your dismay, she withdraws her fingers and leaves you clenching around nothing. “On your back.”

The machine offers little real estate for you to move significantly but with your raging hormones and a rush of adrenaline, you manage to do as told. Jihyo wastes no second getting down, spreading you open, and flattening her tongue on your slit.

The immediate touch of heat on skin is all that you need after months without action. She knows how to use her mouth, just like how you know where to grab to stay balanced as she eats you out. You didn’t think you’d ever find yourself in this exact position again at another gym, but you’re glad you do—and with someone attentive.

Your eyes roll back as her fingers fill you up again. You clutch tighter on the edge of your seat as your engorged clit gets catered to by her mouth, the sharp tugs between her teeth creating even more tension in your limbs. You don’t feel the burn of your core clenching from holding onto the machine, but you’re guaranteed to feel it later when it’s all over and you’re left yearning for more.

The lethal combination of her fingers buried in your cunt and her mouth spelling out filth on your clit is enough to rush you to your brink. You arch your back, colorful words threaded through breathy moans and pitched cries as her deep and steady thrusts work their way up in momentum. 

The lewd squelching of her knuckles brushing over your slit is deafening. It reminds you of the strength that you lack. The strength of keeping your head straight and not falling into the palms of a pretty woman. You don’t think your wet pussy can be any louder until she’s working quicker through you. For a stranger, she knows how to navigate your body a little too well.

“Fuck,” you pant, your grip on the sides of the seat squeezing tighter.

Jihyo replaces her mouth with her thumb on your clit, and you fall apart. She watches your drenched cunt cream her digits and make a massive mess on the seat. Your release streams down the surface and puddles to the floor, and the filthy view only makes her cock swell more.

She has waited long enough.

You fall limp when she removes her fingers. With your head spinning, you intend to recuperate from the ecstasy. Not a minute later, however, is your peace compromised when a massive intrusion slides inside you, prying your slick walls open and earning a loud cry from you.

You scramble to look down and find Jihyo’s cock stuffed inside you. You peer up at her with wide eyes, gulping at the smirk on her face. She slowly pulls out.

Agonizingly slowly.

You discover just how big she is before she drives it back into you. You fall back with a moan, once again reduced to a mess as your body is at her mercy. 

Your tits, confined in a low-impact sports bra, are squeezed together by her hands before she yanks the garment down to free them. Though she’s still and snug inside you, pleasure continues to surge through your limbs as she sucks on your nipple. Lips clasped and teeth nipping at the sensitive peak, she suckles and pulls and gets you flowing even more.

“Please,” you exhale. “Please move. Please!”

She chuckles and releases your nipple with an obscene pop. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Very nicely.

Nice enough for her to prop your legs over her shoulders, bend you in half (unearthing the flexibility you didn’t know you had), and fuck you.

Her pace varies between quick and mildly painful, to slow and deep and intoxicating. Your pain threshold can carry you through the phase of her drilling your aching cunt. When she suddenly slows down and her thrusts are drawn out, the brunt of the pleasure hits you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby,” she coos.

Another thrust, and she grunts. “Just a little more. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She fucks the words out of you. What you intend to say is disrupted by the lewd noises that leave your lips. You muster a stiff nod to acknowledge her and she responds by leaning forward, forcing your thighs up to your chest, and picking up her pace.

She’s so deep inside you with this new angle. You were going to bruise and stagger for days to come, but you can only focus on how this woman’s strict fitness regime is showing in the unforgiving momentum of her hips and her effortless grip to keep you balanced, Since you barely had a breather from your previous orgasm, you’re quickly driven to that brink.

As your eyes roll back and your body arches, Jihyo smirks. She digs her fingertips into the softness of your thighs, panting as she drills you. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

The machine is slick with your overflowing arousal. With how hard she’s fucking you and how much you’re dripping, the obscene squelches of her cock pounding your poor cunt echoes through the empty facility. If you weren’t so lost in lust, you would feel embarrassed about dirtying the equipment.

“Oh, fuck!,” you cry out, thighs trembling violently as you gush all over her.

The force of your release pushes her out, allowing all the room you need to spatter and spill all over the seat. She vigorously strokes your engorged clit while pumping her pulsing cock as she is just as close. She drains you of all you have before sliding back inside you with ease, courtesy of your ample wetness.

“God, yes,” she hisses as your slick walls immediately tense around her.

Your thighs lock around her neck from the sensitivity as you’re subjected to her endurance. Her persistence. Your stamina is nowhere near hers, and you wonder just how quick it’ll take for her to break you.

To destroy you.

Loud moans erupt from both of you as she bottoms out, stretching you with her girth and filling you with her load. She weaves a tight embrace on your thighs, draws out, then pistons back into you, pushing her cum deeper inside you. Your hips lift just slightly from her hold on your legs, and the feeling of her dick buried inside you is now burned into your memory.

You were going to crave it more than ever.

When she pulls out of you, you lay lifelessly on the machine.

Sweaty, ruined, and filthy.

Jihyo, on the other hand, has already straightened herself up. You assume she’s about to tell you to hurry up and clean the equipment before people start coming in. Instead, she lowers to your eye level and strokes your hair.

“You did so well, pretty girl,” she praises with a grin. “Go hop in the shower. I’ll clean up for you.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Let me know if you ever need assistance with your… workout.”

You giggle, and proceed to slide off the dirtied seat. You feel the impact of Jihyo’s strength now that you’re on your feet, and it’s even worse as you amble to the shower. 

If you’re feeling this now, you’re certainly not ready for the full soreness tomorrow.

[ariaste]

A Discussion on Book Endings

Hey, friends. Thanks for coming today. I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is an intervention. Please, don't get defensive -- everyone here loves you and cares about you. But listen... I'm gonna need book readers and reviewers to reflect on the idea that finishing a book and going "Oh, I loved it so much, but I wish it was just a few pages longer!" is not really a valid point of negative critique in the assessment of a text.

Let me explain.

When I read people's otherwise wildly positive reviews of books and they say that line, I don't interpret it in context as, "This story needed to be a few pages longer for the plot to work, structurally, and for the ending to achieve a solid resolution." Rather, they basically seem to be saying simply, "I loved it and I didn't want it to end." That's always a GREAT feeling, but then they're.... taking points off from their total rating because of that??? They seem to be penalizing the author because they weren't left with a feeling of "Ugh, thank god it's over"? It's like, "This would have been five stars if it had had just one more chapter but it made me sad that it ended, so four stars" -- Guys, do we understand that's an insane take? It's insane. A book has to end. If you shriek "NO!!!" that it's over because you were having such a great time, that's... that's a symptom of a 5-star book, babes. I'm not sure why there's such a fashion these days for penalizing authors for this particular thing in this particular way, but it's really baffling to me.

But setting aside the puzzling trend of "I'm knocking points off because it ended when it should have gone on until I personally was fully bored and exhausted of it, like the 11th season of a TV show that was only supposed to go until season 4" -- listen, I guarantee you that nine times out of ten, when you're out here longing for just one more chapter or saying "this could have used an epilogue" you... are wishing for something that would have actively ruined your enjoyment and the quality of the book.

Are you a writer yourself? Have you ever finished writing a book before? Have you done it more than once? Have you deeply studied the endings of books? They are HARD, let me tell you what. Endings are so much harder than beginnings, because you're looking for that beautiful final note, like the ending of a symphony, and you're trying to ride it for a few glorious seconds before the FLOURISH and dum-dummmmmm....! and the conductor collapses as the audience bursts into applause! Right? Yes? Except that chances are that one more chapter or epilogue would ruin the pacing and resolution of the ending and muddle up the summary of the theme and thesis statement, and all of this WOULD ACTUALLY fuck up your experience of the story as a whole. For example, please consider the last Harry Potter book as an example. We all hate JKR now for being a TERF but oh, children, how quickly we forget that back in the olden times, we used to hate her for that fucking epilogue that made everything that came before feel rancid and pointless and hollow and cheap. Y'all remember how sickening and infuriating that was? Do you remember the Hunger Games epilogue? Nine times out of ten, that's what you're inexplicably wishing for.

To see this point illustrated, let's do a quick exercise together. Go pick out a piece of classical music -- some of my best suggestions for this are Beethoven's Ode to Joy, or "Der Holle Rache" from Mozart's Magic Flute, or Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Listen to it all the way through. If you're struggling with scrolling addiction and your attention span has been severely damaged, fine, listen to the last two minutes ("Der Holle Rache" is the shortest, just 3 minutes). Then, after the song is done, click back to some random spot earlier in the piece, listen to another 30 seconds, and then stop. Consider: Did adding that last 30 seconds materially improve the piece, or did it undermine the overall emotional journey? Did it help the ending to stick the landing even more than it already did, or does it just feel weirdly stuck-on as an afterthought, like the "for more fun videos, check out the rest of our channel and don't forget to subscribe!!!" card at the end of youtube videos?

When you are wishing for an epilogue, my doves, you are wishing for something you do not actually want -- or which you probably would not want if you had the option to see it in practice and compare it side by side with the original. You are wishing for something that would more than likely make the story worse. You are holding the author at fault for something being wrong with the text only because you hit immersion and were having a lot of fun and didn't want to come back up for air. Like, I'm just not sure that's something that the author should be blamed for? It sounds like they were doing their job really well???

Please, just. Separate your feelings of "bittersweet disappointment that this wonderful book is over" from "frustration that the author didn't stick the landing, ugh what a flop" because they are two separate things. Before you say "I'm taking points off because I wish there was more", please take two seconds to ask yourself critical thinking questions like, "Why did the author choose to end the book here rather than in two more chapters?" because (other than a few wild outliers that should not be counted) the answer is never, "They got bored and just didn't feel like finishing the story." Chances are, they chose that specific ending for a reason. They ended it there because that's the point that underlines the thesis statement of the book, or because the emotions of that scene are the ones they want you to remember and walk away with, or because that marks the place where the story arc is genuinely over. When the author says, "And they all lived happily ever after," that means that what happily-ever-after looks like is in your hands now.

Nine times out of ten, you don't want one more chapter. Please. I promise you that you don't want one more chapter. The book is done; what you want now is either fanfiction or someone to talk about it with. Or maybe to start the book over from the beginning! Believe me, you would not want one more chapter if you had it. (Or, if you did have it and it magically didn't suck, you would just keep wanting more chapters because that's what "really enjoying the book" means. In which case, go read fanfic, that's what it is for.) I promise you, I promise you, the book would probably be worse with one more chapter and you would not like it as much. Please stop wishing for the author to be less good at their job. Please. A book has to end; so does this post. And we all live happily ever after*. The End.

----- * The post-canon coffeeshop AU sequel will be detailed exhaustively on AO3

[kimmie2me]

Lasagna Drama

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Brat!Reader

.....

You’ve been beat up enough times to know when you’ve hit your limit, but today? You feel like you’ve crossed some invisible threshold. Every single bruise, every single cut feels like it's been painted with the loudest, most obnoxious color of exhaustion. Villains really do have the worst timing—especially when you're just one bad decision away from completely losing your shit.

There’s something about fighting solo, about handling every explosive attack and every screaming villain on your own that drains you. But being the hero that you are, you keep pushing through, doing the job. The second you finish cleaning up the mess, though, the press—fucking press—are there, asking their stupid fucking questions like always.

They’re practically vultures, swarming around like they’re starving for something to tear into, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every question is like they’re poking at an open wound.

Questions..questions..blah, blah blahh.

"So, are we invited to you and Dynamight's wedding?" the reporter asks, voice overly enthusiastic.

What.

You tilt your head slowly towards them at the speed of a snail, your exhausted eyes narrowing with so much venom it could melt through steel. A bleeding cut on your forehead sends a reminder of how badly you want to snap, but you hold back, fighting for just one last ounce of control. "Can you come to the wedding? CAN YOU. COME. TO THE WEDDING?" Your voice is slow and deliberate, every word dragging with the weight of your exhaustion and irritation. "NO THE FUCK YOU CAN’T! AND WHO SAID I’M GETTING MARRIED, HUH??"

You’re practically spitting, the anger bubbling up as you point a shaky finger at the reporter—though it's less for dramatic flair and more because you're trying not to pass out from your head throbbing. The crowd watches, stunned by your bluntness. The blood dripping down your face is probably the cherry on top of this glorious shitshow.

"MATTER OF FACT, GET THE HELL OUTTA MY FACE!"

Another reporter, some idiot you didn't try to locate in this sea of absolute buffoons trying to ask about your condition, gets a response that’s just as brutal. "AND WHOEVER ASKED IF I'M OKAY—" You gesture to the bruises, the cuts, the swelling on your face. The swelling in your brain too, probably. "ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? ‘CAUSE YOU MUST BE TO ASK ME THAT SHIT QUESTION."

The PR team, their faces pale, looks like they’ve seen hell itself. They try to rush in and intervene, but it's too late. They’ve all seen this before—this version of you, who doesn’t take shit from anyone, even when she’s on the brink of collapse.

But this moment? It’s a whole new level.

A disaster.

A train wreck.

And it’s all caught on camera.

.....

Hours later, you walk into the apartment, expecting to finally see Bakugou at work on the lasagna, or at least close to being done. Because, god, you're hungry. You've been requesting (read: begging) him all week and it took a while, but you finally got him to say yes. Even if it was very reluctant.

Instead, you’re met with the sight of him lounging on the couch, his arms behind his head like he’s been living the life while you were off doing actual work. And today was his day off! He had all day to make it!

You freeze in the doorway, your eyes narrowing. “What the hell is this?” you snap, voice dripping with annoyance.

He doesn’t even look at you, just casually glancing at the TV where your earlier press meltdown is playing on loop. You’re there, in full glory, flipping the camera off and shouting at the reporters like you’re about to spontaneously combust from frustration. The volume’s up, and you can hear yourself getting progressively louder, each sentence punctuated by Bakugou’s quiet laughter.

"Did you seriously not even start yet?” you seethe, already feeling the heat of frustration building. "Where's the lasagna?"

“Yeaahh about that," he drawls "Yer not gettin’ that lasagna,” he says, his tone flat but with the faintest hint of amusement.

The weight of his words hits you like a ton of bricks, and you nearly stumble, caught off guard. “Wait—what? No,no, no. You said—..! But why!?”

His smirk deepens, and though he doesn’t laugh, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You go shoutin’ yer mouth off on national TV, actin’ like a brat, and you think I’m gonna reward that with lasagna? No way, Cupcake. Gotta teach you some self-control.”

Your heart plummets. The devastation is real, and you’re .3 seconds from a meltdown. "But—'Suki! They kept asking me stupid questions! Plus, I'm bleeding and hurt and in pain!” You point at your bruises, your puppy-dog eyes in full force, desperate to sway him. “You’re just gonna hold my lasagna hostage?”

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth flattening into a look that’s somehow both deadpan and amused. “Yup. Sucks, don’t it?” His tone is full of mock sympathy, but he can barely keep himself from chuckling when he catches the absolute betrayal written across your face.

Every ounce of bratty energy in you rallies to make your case, to somehow earn back the lasagna you’ve waited for. And you swear, from the way his shoulders shake, that he’s one second from cracking up, even if he’ll never admit it.

You start with the tried-and-true techniques, laying it on thick with a pout that would break any heart softer than Bakugou’s. He’s still ignoring you, now scrolling through comments about your press conference antics on his phone, his lip twitching as he takes in the spectacle you’d made of yourself.

“Kaaaaatttsukiiiii,” you draw out his name in a long, syrupy whine, leaning against the couch in a way that has you looking small and weary. “Look at me—don’t you feel even a little sorry for me?”

One look at you, with your bruised cheek and dark circles, and he does soften for a second, but only a second. His mouth tilts into something of a smirk, his eyes glinting with deadpan amusement. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You dug this hole yourself, Cupcake. Gotta learn somehow, right?”

“Learn?” you gasp, clutching your heart dramatically. “I saved a whole block of people! And all I wanted was some lasagna.”

He only raises an eyebrow, nodding at the TV where a rerun of the press conference plays. “Maybe if ya kept that pretty mouth shut, you’d be eating it by now.”

You press your lips together and shoot him a glare.

Fine. Time to step up your game.

You drag yourself into the living room and flop onto the couch, sighing loudly enough for him to hear. Then, even louder, you moan, “Can’t believe I’m starving in my own home.”

Still nothing. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. What a meanie. So, you ramp up the theatrics, muttering all kinds of melodramatic things under your breath, but every attempt only earns you a muttered, “Yer not starvin’, drama queen. Eat some leftovers or somethin'.”

With a scoff, you sink back onto the couch, dramatically placing your hand over your face as if you might pass out any second. “Fine, then! I guess this is how it ends... Left to waste away, bruised and abandoned. And hungry.”

Bakugou snorts, completely unmoved. “You’re such a pain,” he mutters, shaking his head. But he’s only encouraged by the little grin he’s barely hiding, scrolling through the comments online with a wicked kind of enjoyment.

You’re about to give up—but not just yet. So, you put on your best big, teary eyes and head over to his side of the couch, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. “'Suki, please,” you say in a soft, pitiful voice. “Do you really want me to suffer after the day I’ve had?”

Without even looking down at you, he flicks your hand off, murmuring, “Don’t pull that pitiful act on me. Told ya, I’m not makin’ you shit.”

A few agonizing minutes pass, with him still ignoring your efforts as he scrolls on his phone like what he's watching is just the best thing in the world. Finally, with all your usual tactics exhausted, you pull out your last resort—the one card guaranteed to make him surrender his holdout. You hated (not really) to pull out the trump card when things didn't go in your favor, but hey. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Behold: The Mitsuki card.

A smirk plays on your lips as you grab your phone and sneak into the bedroom. Bakugou doesn’t even notice you’re gone, too busy scrolling through comments, probably snickering at people analyzing every part of your outburst.

You dial the number, and Mitsuki picks up on the second ring, her voice bright and full of concern. “Hey, sweetheart! You alright? I saw that press video today—those reporters looked like they’d been scolded by the damn principal!”

You sigh dramatically, just enough to paint the picture. “Oh, I’m fine… just a little sore, really. Sorry you had to see that. I took some hits, had a rough day. And now…” You add a slight quiver to your voice, “… now I’m barely getting by, Mitsuki ma'am. Katsuki refuses to feed me after everything I went through today. Said I don’t deserve it. He promised me too. It's okay though..I'll just have some leftovers. I wanted to just talk to someone who's on my side.”

There’s a deadly silence on the other end of the line, and you can practically feel Mitsuki’s rage building. “Wait, wait. He refuses to feed you?!” Her voice spikes with indignation. “That little brat. You tell him if he doesn’t get his act together, I’m coming over there right now! And of course, I'm on your side! Hell, I would've done exactly the same!”

“Thank you and, believe me, I’ve tried.” You sigh, putting every ounce of your frustration into it. “All I wanted was some lasagna, but he’s acting like I committed some crime.”

“Well, he won’t be actin’ smug when I’m done with him.” Mitsuki’s tone is so sharp, you almost feel bad for him. Almost. “You just hang tight, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.”

You thank her sweetly, ending the call and walking back to the living room with a triumphant smile, watching as Bakugou continues to chuckle at his phone. He raises an eyebrow as you sit down, looking suspicious. “What’re you so happy about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, a little too casually.

He gives you a long, side-eyed glance before turning back to his phone, mumbling something under his breath. He’s still grinning like a smug cat as he reads through more comments, clearly reveling in the mayhem you’ve caused. The seconds tick by, and you’re waiting, barely containing the anticipation.

Then—buzz buzz buzz. His phone starts ringing. His dumb grin drops at it, sees “Ma🤦🏼‍♂️” flashing on the screen, and he mutters something unintelligible. He lets it ring a few times, thinking she’ll give up, but Bakugou Mitsuki is nothing if not persistent.

Ring… ring… ring.

Finally, with a huff of exasperation, he answers. “What, old hag?”

“What?! That’s how you answer your mother? Especially after starvin’ that poor girl who’s had a rough day?” Mitsuki’s voice is so loud, you’re sure even the neighbors can hear it. Bakugou pulls the phone back from his ear, wincing, and you’re fighting every instinct not to burst out laughing.

“Ma, she’s fine—”

“Fine?! Fine, is she?!” Mitsuki snaps. “I saw that press video on the news! The girl’s out there practically bleedin’ her guts out, and you won’t even give her a plate of lasagna? You selfish little punk!”

Bakugou groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ma, she doesn’t need—”

“Listen here, Katsuki. You’re gonna give that girl a big ol’ plate of lasagna, and you’re gonna get her some damn ice cream to go with it, too, or so help me, I’ll come over there and make it for her myself!”

He tries to stammer a response, but she’s already launched into another tirade, laying it on thick about the importance of compassion, especially to those who put their lives on the line for others. By the end, his face is a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

Finally, she hangs up, and Bakugou stands there, completely defeated. “You just had to go and pull in the old hag, huh?”

You give him the sweetest, most innocent smile you can muster. “All I wanted was dinner, 'Suki.”

With a begrudging sigh and glare, he stomps over to the fridge, grabs the ice cream, and scoops a heaping bowl.

Bakugou thuds the bowl of ice cream down in front of you. “Here,” he says, and his tone drips with irritation. “Happy now?”

You flash him a saccharine smile, knowing he’s gritting his teeth behind that scowl. “Getting there,” you say, taking a huge spoonful of ice cream. You savor it slowly, letting him watch as you relish every bite. "This will help me stay alive while I wait on that lasagna you’re finally making.”

Rolling his eyes, he mutters something about “goddamn brats” and stomps back to the counter to get started on the lasagna from scratch. He’s measuring ingredients with an irritated efficiency, muttering curses as he moves between the stove and the counter, clearly making a point to be loud with every spoon clang and pan scrape. You can’t help but smirk, lounging at the table with your ice cream while he seethes his way through the prep.

“Y’know, you could just admit you’re glad to make me dinner,” you tease, trailing a finger around the rim of your ice cream bowl.

“Shut up,” he growls, not even looking at you. “Only doin’ this ‘cause you’re about two seconds from callin’ my mom back.”

You laugh, knowing you’ve won. He knows it, too, and you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. But he’s still at it, chopping, stirring, and layering with perfect precision. He even throws in extra herbs like he’s really trying to impress you—or maybe it’s just his stubborn pride refusing to serve you anything less than perfect, even if he’s fuming the whole time.

When the lasagna finally slides into the oven, he gives you a long, exasperated look, as if you’re personally responsible for the next forty minutes he’ll spend waiting for it to cook. Because you were. Meanwhile, you’re content, scraping the last of the ice cream and smiling as sweetly as possible.

“Looks like you’re the real MVP tonight, 'Suki,” you say with a grin, earning a deadpan glare as he slouches in the couch besides you, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, but he’s got a reluctant smirk, that little glint in his eyes betraying him.

As you savor the victory lasagna, taking big, dramatic bites and humming with exaggerated satisfaction, Bakugou watches you with a mixture of grumpy defeat and faint amusement. You’re absolutely eating it up—literally and figuratively—relishing how the whole thing turned out exactly the way you wanted. You even add a contented sigh, just to drive the point home.

“Happy now?” he mumbles, feigning irritation as he leans back in the couch.

“Completely,” you reply, all too pleased. “Though... later I might need a few cuddles to really recover from today.”

He gives you a look that could curdle milk. “Okay, now you’re pushin’ it.”

But you just grin, because you know damn well you’ll probably get your way. After all, you got ice cream, lasagna, and a little victory over Bakugou and his mom tonight. Cuddles? That’s just a matter of time.

All in a day’s work.

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Three

Of bar fights and ice blocks

Words: 4.3

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: slow burn to the point we might just be embers, eventual smut but next chapter I promise, teeny bit of blood, quite a lot of masculine nonsense, Joel is hot but remains grumpy

When you were in eighth grade you fell madly in love with Johnny Hocart. He was a theatre kid, wildly charismatic for a 14 year old boy, and smart enough to recognise that you had a crush on him and use you for it. You’d signed up to help out with the school play that year, Johnny being the lead in Death of a Salesman the only motivation for your sudden interest in the arts, and he turned you into his roadie almost immediately. You used your own money to fetch him chocolate from the vending machine, you carried his water bottle around behind him on the off chance he might be thirsty. The afternoon you applied his eyeliner for him, on tippy toes and terrified to topple over and take his eye out in the process, fuelled your first fumbled attempt at an orgasm (you wouldn’t get it right until eleventh grade, but you had fun figuring it out). He made you feel something heavy and relentless and heated in your chest, something that unfurled its wings and beat against your rib cage when he walked into view. The little shit let you dote on him hand and foot right up until the wrap party when he stuck his hand up Donna D’Marco’s skirt and spent the rest of the year bragging about it. You were crushed by it, the weight of the humiliation heavy on your shoulders, slumping you forward and folding you into yourself. You vowed to never forget it. But you had, until you met Joel.

Sitting in the mess hall you wondered what happened to Johnny Hocart on outbreak day. You liked the idea that he hadn’t died immediately, that he’d lived in fear for a few months before getting shot by a raider, or maybe that he’d been traded to a slaver and collapsed one day from exhaustion, from malnutrition. You hated to think of him as a clicker, because even though he was a dick no one deserved that, but at the same time you liked the kind of dramatic irony of him as a bloater, overblown as his ego had been.

You chewed your sandwich, one eye on the door, waiting for Marla and definitely not waiting for Joel. You thought instead about the clients you had booked in for the afternoon, and how you were going to finally sort out Peter Fletcher’s tennis elbow so that he could comfortably hold his rifle, and why didn’t they call it rifle elbow since that sounded so much cooler, and you considered all of this while you kept your head down, and very purposefully didn’t think about the hazel flecks in Joel’s eyes as he gazed up at you, one hand cupping and lifting his muscle while you stood square between his knees.

He’d been grumpy and dismissive, you reminded yourself, and the minute he’d felt some relief he had just up and left. You conveniently forgot the part where you had essentially ushered him out the door, suddenly keen to exorcise your living space of him. You weren’t even sure exactly what that was about, except that you had felt the first flutterings of a wing against your ribs, had recognised the feeling as something dangerous and done your best to quash it.

You were contemplating this when a shadow appeared at your table, and you startled.

‘Shit, sorry, just me,’ Ray said, and you craned your neck up to regard him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pulling at the chair opposite you, and you nodded while you tried to calm your heart. You could see something was up.

‘You ok?’ you asked, when he was finished apologising.

‘Me and my stupid glorious brain,’ he said, and you were tempted not to let him go on any further. ‘I intercepted a message that read like it was raiders, something about a big stash, an old pharmacy that hadn’t been hit yet. Coordinates, too.’

‘That’s great,’ you said, watching his face carefully, studying the lines across his forehead, his furrowed brow, decoding Jackson’s best decoder. ‘It’s not great,’ you concluded.

‘They called in a bunch of patrols to go check it out,’ he said, and suddenly you imagined Joel on the back of a horse, leaning to the left to try and protect his right side, gun strapped to his back and his neck muscles straining under the ache of it. You grimaced. ‘Marla’s was one of them,’ Ray finished, oblivious to your sudden turmoil.

It was a poorly kept secret that Ray was in love with Marla. Poorly kept in that the only person who didn’t seem to know was her. You suspected Ray would have happily stayed put in Chicago were it not for Marla going arse over tit for the idea of living on a ranch. She had barely had to convince him to come with you both, such that he had offered to trade and borrow to get the supplies you’d need, parting with his mother’s wedding ring that he wore on a chain around his neck in the process. You weren’t even sure if Marla noticed, as it had been lost in the service of gaining three passable sleeping bags, and Marla had wrapped her arms around Ray’s neck and kissed behind his ear when he presented them to you, and you had seen in that moment that for Ray it had been enough.

You could tell Jackson hadn’t been what he expected, not least of all now having to share Marla with an entire town.

‘Ray, you did a good thing,’ you said, reaching out and putting your hand on his bicep. He nodded his head, slowly.

‘You heading to the Bison tonight?’ he asked, and you scrambled quickly to come up with an excuse.

‘I was going to check on Maria,’ you replied, grateful for your guilt reminding you that you’d still not caught up with her. ‘It’s been a while since I saw her, and she’s due soon-ish I think. I was going to take her some dinner.’

He looked at you, his mouth downturned and his brows saddled over his eyes, and you felt yourself retracting from his sadness, from his regret. Johnny Hocart had painted your face in similar colours.

‘Yeah, ok,’ you said. You tried hard not to show on your face that the idea was making your skeleton want to crawl out of your mouth and try its luck on the road. But you could see Ray was struggling, that he was bouncing his leg up and down under the table. ‘Marla’s a fighter,’ you said. He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head.

‘Bison. Tonight,’ he said, with finality.

You didn’t ask if he knew who else was going on the expedition. You reminded yourself you didn’t care, taking a big swig of water to drown the butterflies.

—

Propped up at a table off to the side, you had a clear view of the bar on your right and the door on your left. You were sitting with Ray and his friend that you didn’t know, and you were trying to participate in conversation but your guts were churning. As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself scanning the crowd for threats. Someone smashed a glass over by the jukebox and you felt yourself startle, nearly knocking your own drink off the table. Over by the bar Chloe Bennett, owner of lumbar back problems and occasional sciatica, demonstrated how much her yelping laugh sounded like a woman being stabbed to death with her own stiletto, and you wanted very much to push your chair back and leg it, but Ray kept glancing at you to check you were ok, and his friend Simon seemed quite nice generally speaking, and if nothing else you might be able to drum up some more business out of him.

‘So you don’t charge anything?’ Simon was asking. Simon and Ray worked the radio together most days, Ray listening in to the white noise for any sign of covert communication, and Simon dutifully twisting the knobs beside him. Some part of you registered that he was conventionally attractive, and you wondered if the way he was leaning in to you as you chatted was what passed for flirting in an apocalypse, but also you were watching Ray scanning for Marla, trying to telepathically tell him it would be ok.

‘I mean, we don’t have money,’ you answered Simon.

‘You don’t barter then?’

‘I’m grateful to be here. My home is payment. My safety is payment.’

‘I don’t buy it,’ he said, and he was grinning and you knew that it was playful, but also you felt a wrinkle of frustration in the folds of your skin.

‘You don’t agree?’ Simon shrugged at you in response, and for a reason still not clear to you it made you want to slap him a little bit. You turned to Ray for help, but Ray was looking at the door, and when you looked too you saw Tommy and Joel had just walked in.

‘Fuck,’ Ray said, and you scanned his face for anxiety but found only awe. ‘They are so cool.’

Simon nodded in agreement, and you scoffed in surprise.

‘Are they?’ you asked, and your companions turned to you, confused, and Ray even slightly betrayed.

‘Tommy basically keeps this place going, him and Maria,’ Simon informed you as if this was news.

‘Peak Mama and Daddy Jackson,’ Ray chimed in.

‘Joel. He’s just…’ All three of you turned to watch him approach the bar, nodding to the bartender, who had started pouring him a whiskey the moment he walked in, and slid it over to him.

You weren’t sure how you wanted Simon to finish that sentence. Your eyes kept being drawn to Joel, the broadness of him, the salt and pepper in his hair in stark contrast to his strength, the power under his muscles and behind his eyes. You felt warm in your palms where you had held him, flexed your fingers to try and get the heat out.

You let the conversation move on without you, staring down at your drink, tracing the droplets of condensation first from the body of the glass and then down to the tabletop. If you hadn’t rushed him out would he have let you keep massaging him? Would you have peeled his shirt from his body and explored the planes of his skin? You wiped the water away before it could damage the wood.

‘They’re heading out tomorrow, first light,’ you heard Ray saying, and suddenly your attention snapped back to the present. ‘So I want to be on the radio early, before they go. See if we can find the signal again, make sure the raiders aren’t going in first.’

‘You said you thought they were further out,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That it was bouncing off the mountain.’

‘I know but we’re a day behind.’

‘That’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘Not on horseback,’ Ray reasoned.

‘We don’t know if they have horses,’ Simon replied. He held his hands palm up on the table, in appeasement, you realised.

‘We don’t know that they don’t, either. We’re sending seven of our people out there…’ your stomach lurched at seven, and your eyes flicked again to Tommy and Joel, and you wondered if tonight was last drinks for them, not knowing if they would both make it back, a time for two brothers to come together before heading back into war. ‘…including Marla, and I just want to-‘

‘What does Marla have to do with it?’ Simon asked, and you decided then he was either an idiot or heartless, and neither option was preferable. You exhaled slowly through your teeth, and watched Ray for his reaction, and wondered if either of them would notice if you just slipped away into the crowd.

You watched Ray gather himself. ‘Marla is a good shot,’ he said, eventually.

You could feel Simon preparing to argue but suddenly there was yelling, actual yelling not imaginary traumatised-by-the-end-of-the-world yelling, and all three of you turned to the bar.

Jacob and another man you didn’t recognise were standing at the other end of the bar, pointing fingers at Joel and Tommy. Joel had already stepped around his little brother, squaring off with them, and you could see that his body was braced, a tightly wound spring in a flannel shirt and jeans. You picked your glass up off the table and cradled it to your chest, as if that would solve it.

You didn’t know Jacob. He was one of the men who had already decided he didn’t own muscles, or feel pain. You knew that he was younger than the men he was squaring off with, that he was full of bravado and empty of brains, the type to shoot first and think later, and it wasn’t lost on you that back in the day he would have made the type of cop that was the subject of several enquires and a few unflattering news items, who would have been shunted off to be the deputy of a shithole town that’s biggest crime wave was when a couple of cookbooks went missing from the local library, a town that he nevertheless tortured until he retired.

Jacob was currently yelling so hard spittle was flying across the bar, and you could make out the carotid artery along his red neck.

‘All well and good for you two,’ he was saying. ‘Sitting back while the real men go out and defend this town.’ Joel was moving forward towards him, despite Tommy pulling on his sleeve to bring him back, and everyone in the bar was now frozen, watching. Jacob continued, because he was as dumb as he was hateful. ‘Oh I’m on the fucking town council, that means I get to decide who lives and who dies without having to put my own arse on the line. Fuckin’ weak, pathetic-‘

‘Lower your voice,’ Joel said, completely calm and also utterly terrifying. Jacob laughed, actually laughed, in Joel’s face.

‘Fuck off old man,’ he spat, taking another step towards Joel, who wouldn’t back down. ‘You don’t get a say either, ridin your little brother’s dick all the way to retirement.’

‘It’s men and women,’ Joel continued, undeterred and still deathly calm. One afternoon on the road you’d come across a snake on the path, big and brown and poised with its head up, watching you. It had taken you ten minutes to back away from it, so sure it was about to lunge. Watching Joel now, inching forward towards Jacob, you had the same feeling. Jacob wasn’t following Joel, made too stupid by his misplaced entitlement, his anger and his impotent fury. ‘We are sending the real men and women to defend this town, and Tommy and I’ll be here to keep it safe while you’re gone.’

You exhaled for the first time all day, the tension you didn’t even know you were carrying with you suddenly releasing. But Jacob was more angry now, and Tommy was backing up Joel and squaring off too, and you felt the heat in the room ratchet up.

‘I’m having a baby, you fuck,’ Tommy said, and Joel raised his hand to calm him. Tommy immediately settled back behind his bigger brother.

‘Not to say we ain’t grateful,’ Joel continued, but Jacob had noticed that the whole bar was watching, that Joel was about to talk him out of an argument, that he was about to be alpha’d by a man twice his age. He took three steps forward toward Joel, who had already reached back to push Tommy out of the way, and Jacob’s arm was swinging just a fraction slower than Joel’s, who clocked the younger man hard in the jaw and sent him spinning, landing hard on the top of the bar and shattering glasses and bottles underneath him. He was only down for a second before he was back up and swinging, landing a blow on Joel’s eye socket before he and Tommy had him by the back of the collar. You realised you had stood up and had moved towards them only when you were close enough to hear Joel grunt ‘a fuckin bar fight, really? You that fuckin clichè?’

Jacob just grunted, his airway constricted by his shirt that Joel was now using as a vice, and even in the middle of the violence you could see he was careful not to compress harder than he needed to, holding him sturdy but without gripping so hard as to injure.

The four men headed for the door, Joel pushing Jacob through first and then following, using the momentum to swing the younger man out and down the stairs and into the dirt below. His friend rushed to him, pulling him up and away, and as you followed them out you heard Jacob spitting threats of his return. Joel was puffed, leant against the railing to catch his breath. He turned to his brother, checked on him, and then to you, where his eyebrows shot up and you realised he was seeing you only now. Your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what you were doing there, either.

‘You’re hurt,’ you said after a moment, gesturing to his fist. You could see a scrape of blood pooling on the knuckle.

‘Ain’t broken,’ he said. Turning to Tommy he more or less ignored you. ‘You ok?’ he asked. Tommy nodded, before he also nodded to Joel’s fist.

‘Take him to ours,’ he said to you. ‘We got ice in the freezer. Time to work some more miracles.’

You were alarmed, pretty much constantly, but especially so when Tommy turned back to go inside.

‘You’re not coming?’ you asked, and you hated that your panic had carried through into your voice.

‘Gotta make it right here,’ he said, without turning around.

—

The walk to Maria’s was three minutes at most and still you would have flayed your own skin clean off not to have to do it. You could feel the wings now, beating hard against your rib cage, and you swallowed only to taste acid on the back of your tongue. Joel was silent, but it was the type of silence that belies being pissed off, a general curmudgeon-ing, that set you on edge.

You thought again back to your teacher. When the clients in pain, keep them talking.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ you asked, into the darkness in front of you instead of looking at Joel’s face.

‘Thought it wasn’t my shoulder,’ he said, and it took a second for you to realise he was teasing you, not goading. ‘S’ok, I hear it’s all connected,’ he pretend to console you, and you squawked out a surprised laugh, wondering if you’d ever, up until this moment, made a sound like that before.

At no point had you considered that Joel Miller could be funny. Now, though, you discovered you had even less of an idea of how to talk to him.

‘You’re not going out on the run?’ you asked, and you hoped not to sound too relieved, too hopeful.

‘Got things to look out for at home,’ he said, and you stayed quiet in the hope that he would keep talking. ‘Ellie and me, we had a rough time of it…she’s been quiet. Thought best to…’ he trailed off.

‘Maria said you went to Salt Lake?’ you asked, and because you were still unable to look at him you didn’t see him flinch. ‘Why did you have to go there?’ you continued on.

‘Didn’t realise Maria liked to gossip so much,’ he said, and you heard it then, the hardness of it.

You rushed to defend her. ‘I was just curious,’ you started, and Joel stopped you, stopped walking altogether. You turned back to him.

‘Dangerous thing,’ he said, and you wanted to tell him that you knew that, that you weren’t normally like that, that you were clever and you had survived this long because if it, but he was already turning up the path to Maria and Tommy’s place, and all you could do was trail behind him, like a fucking lap dog, worried he’d lock you out if you took too long to get inside.

From the couch Maria called for Tommy, and when Joel responded she pulled herself up to stand. You were surprised by how big she’d gotten, trying to remember the last time you’d seen a pregnant woman. Let alone a pregnant woman about to pop.

‘I know, I’m huge,’ she said, when she saw you staring and you snapped your eyes back to her face.

‘Radiant,’ you said, and she snorted.

‘Thank you for lying,’ she replied, and you felt the warmth of genuine affection between the two of you, thought for a moment of sunshine on your skin, of your sister.

‘Tommy said you had ice,’ Joel cut in, and Maria noticed Joel’s hand, her face hardening.

‘They started it,’ Joel said, and you nodded behind him to confirm that this was indeed true. You saw the suspicion in her eyes, the way she was careful with him, and you stepped forward, taking his elbow.

‘I’ll sort it,’ you said, smiling with what you hoped was confidence. Joel looked down at your hand on his arm, then up to your face, where you ignored his obvious indignation at being herded like a child. ‘On we go,’ you said, feeling like a deranged grade school teacher, trying to get her class of unruly six year olds through to 3 pm unscathed. You didn’t see the bemused look on Maria’s face as you pushed Joel down the hallway, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway.

Once again you found yourself crammed into a kitchen with Joel. Sitting him at the table you put some ice in a cloth then plopped down into the chair beside him and held out your hand. He stared at you, unmoving.

‘I can do this,’ he said, and you were tired then, having dealt with quite a lot of male bullshit in just the last two hours, and so you groaned and pulled his hand to you, holding him firm by the wrist lest he try and patriarchy his way out again.

‘I can do it better,’ you said simply, and he huffed out a laugh.

‘Now that I don’t deny,’ he said, and it was quiet, just barely muttered between the two of you, and when you looked up into his eyes you found that they were crinkled with something like amusement, something like affection.

You looked down, flexed his fingers for him, heard him hold his breath when you inspected the knuckle.

‘They teach you this in school, too?’ he asked, and you heard again that he was ribbing you. You decided it was a good sign.

‘No this is purely growing up with a daredevil older sister,’ you replied.

‘Family resemblance, then,’ he replied and you looked up at him sharply, angry for a second that he was calling you meek, that he was deriding you for a perfectly normal reaction to the collapse of society, but you saw nothing on his face that belied any aggression. If anything, you saw warmth.

‘This sore?’ you asked, just gently wresting a fingertip on the bone. His hands were big, with thick and powerful fingers, and you were doing your absolute best not to consider what they could do to you, if you let them.

‘S’alright,’ he murmured. For a moment you saw outside yourself, watched you hunched over inspecting the paw of a lion, a little mouse reaching in to extract a thorn.

‘Here?’ you said, hushed under the light of Maria’s kitchen. You pressed down slightly, on exactly the same spot, and heard his breath stutter. You realised the makeshift ice pack was too bulky to fit between his knuckles, so you opened it and took a block out, resolutely not looking up into his face.

‘Tell me if this is too cold,’ you said, holding the block between your fingers and running it gently over his skin.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed, gently. You kept the ice moving, your eyes watching his hand for any sign of a tremble, but he stayed resolute under your touch.

The heat of his skin started to melt it, cold water running down and snaking under his palm, between his fingers. It washed away the blood, so that you could see only scratches, surface abrasions, from where knuckle met jaw. You watched the pink of it, mixing with the water, little rivers of something precious, something Joel. You were aware only of your finger tips, the push of wings against your chest present but forgotten, as you witnessed him, his essence. As you gazed down on the thing that made him, that kept him, the life in his veins. As the block melted down to just a wafer, as it healed, sealed over the hurt, you lifted it to your mouth to taste it, wanting the iron and the tang of it, the sharpness of the cold mixed with the heat of him, of your open mouth.

You heard his breath hitch. Your eyes flew open, not having realised you’d closed them, and landed on his face, where you gasped when you saw the look of pure wanting, of pure desire, painted pink and red over his features. You dropped his hand in your panic, your face burning, your legs moving before your brain had even taken a moment to collect itself.

‘Thanks Maria I gotta go think Joel will be fine I hope you’re ok will drop some food around you’re the most beautiful pregnant lady I’ve ever seen take care bye’ you vomited, gathering your coat tight around your shoulders and wanting but not wanting, terrified but hoping, to hear footsteps down the hall behind you. You wrenched the door open, felt the welcome rush of cool on your face, already halfway down the porch before you heard it slam shut behind you.

You sprinted, shuffling over ice but not slowing, back to your home. As you went you followed the wall, wondering how it could have made you feel safe now that you were trapped behind it, wondering how you could possibly live with the snake poised to lunge at you, how you could outrun it when it had taken up home inside your belly, beside your breath.

Tag list (just learned what these are, lemme know if you want me to add you)

@orcasoul

[fallenneziah]

I loved your story "Flicker" with Optimus so much, I like to read it as a comforting thing ❤️ can you do like a part 2, but this time reader being the "stressed" and "exhausted" one, reader and optimus going (again) for a drive, maybe going out holding hands just killing time

Thank you!! ❤️ Have a good day!!

Ps:. If you're not taking requests ignore this.

Thank you, I'm really glad you enjoy it. Here is a little part 2 to Flicker.

You sighed heavily. You rubbed your temples, your paperwork looked no more enticing than it did half an hour ago. You knew you needed to get it done, but there was just too much going on.

Everything in your small world seemed to get more stressful. You'd think with the prospect of giant Autobot life walking amongst you you'd feel less alone, but that wasn't much the case.

Your pen fell from your hands, having fidgeted it too much between your fingers.

You sigh again and close your book, shoving the work back in your bag. Whatever. You just couldn't do it now.

Bumblebee whirred happily, jumping up and down around the yard, talking with Optimus. Although Optimus kept a very watchful optic on you.

He could point out the stress in your body and the very clear sadness that lingered with you.

Optimus put his servo up to calm the young scout. "Take a breath Bumblebee, perhaps you can go talk to Crosshairs??"

Bumblebee revved his engine at the prospect and looked over where the green Autobot was talking away with Drift. He crossed his arms and turned up his helm.

Optimus chuckled. What would he do with those two. No matter, you were walking away and he needed to catch you.

You know, because he was almost 30ft tall, catching up to you wasn't a problem at all.

"Y/n, may we talk??"

You looked up at him and nodded. "Hey Optimus."

Optimus got down on one knee and looked at you, examining your face.

"Are you alright young one??"

You huff at the nickname and approach his servo, placing your hand on his digit. "I'm just having a bad day. There's a lot of stuff going on,." You shrug.

"You do seem very distracted. It is stressing you out." He says matter of factly.

"I know, but it's not a big deal."

Optimus, not entirely satisfied with your current state pulled away and transformed, opening the door of his truck.

"Oh?" You hum. "And where are we going??"

"That is a secret." He replied.

You shrugged and tossed your backpack in the front seat. You climbed up to his passenger door and got comfortable in the passenger seat.

The seatbelt came down and clicked around you, locking you in.

He set off down the road, the end of the day coming soon, looking out the window at the evening light took your attention in the silence.

"So, what is this paperwork you must complete?"

You look over at the steering wheel. You assume that If his face was anywhere it would probably be there.

"It's just for work."

"It seems to have you stressed."

You nodded, scratching at your arm.

"I have to have it finished soon. It's no big deal."

Optimus hummed.

You drove down the road a long way, into the city and then back out. The sun was really setting by the time Optimus decided to pull over. Along a deserted road out in the fields. Somewhere both of you could go, not be seen and just hang out.

He transformed and looked out across the dusty land.

"Where are we??" You walked along the road, squinting to see if you could find where you were supposed to be going.

Optimus bent down and held out his hand for you to step onto. You did so, settling in his palm and looking around at the world.

Optimus walked into a small field along the road as the sun set just right.

Orange and deep red streaked across the sky. Pink flaked off and dyed the surrounding scene a beautiful color. Bathed in the glorious light of the dim night glow.

You relaxed in his servo, watching the sun set. You held onto his index digit, smoothing your hand over the rough metal.

Optimus watches you, curious of everything going through your mind.

"I understand that work among humans is demanding task sometimes," He says. "But all humans deserve to be relieved of their duties for a time. You especially."

You look up at him and smile. You lay back against his palm, letting your legs dangle over the edge.

Optimus finds a place along the grassy area and sits down, careful not to rattle you too much.

He relaxes, holding you in his palm, close to his chest. You both watch the sunset, admiring it as it went down and took all the beautiful colors with it.

It did relax you. And for a while you forgot all about the stress of your work. You loved these moments with Optimus no matter how long or small they came.

"I enjoy your sunsets. We did not get many sunsets on Cybertron."

"You didn't?"

"The many moons and planets often blocked the sun by the time it fully orbited around your planet, and would keep us from seeing the glow I suppose."

"That and it was always very far away."

You hummed. "Well, I'm glad we could see one together."

You held his digit as tightly as you could. The exhaustion from the long work day finally starting to catch up with you.

"I am glad I get to spend this time with you."

Optimus noticed your eyes fluttering closed and smiled. The sun is fully setting, darkness bleeding into the beautiful colors and setting the tone for the night. "Shall we go home, you're looking about ready for recharge."

You nod slowly, rubbing your eyes just to stay awake a big longer.

"Thank you Optimus, for bringing me out here. I always love doing this."

"As do I, your presence is always a comfort."

You smile and slide off his hand when he brings you back to the ground. He transforms and pops open the driver's side door, letting you climb in.

He straps you in and you lay your head back against the headrest.

"I think your my favorite Autobot Optimus."

He chuckles. "You think? Who should I be worried would take my place??"

You smirk. "Drift."

Optimus scoffs playfully. "Of course it's Drift..."

You chuckle and pat the steering wheel. "Optimus, I'm only kidding, you are my favorite 'bot."

"I can accept that. Thank you Y/n."

You hum, your eyes starting to close. The world starts to slow down as you sink back into the seat and let the exhaustion finally catch up with you.

"You're welcome..."

Optimus feels his spark swell with love. Something he hadn't felt truly for a while. But having you around was refreshing, hanging out with you always brought him joy.

And he got to help you, just like you helped him.

Hope you enjoyed your part 2 anon 😊

[under-sedationnn]

Mike Schmidt x reader where she’s pregnant?

mike schmidt x pregnant fem!reader pt.1

summary: a day in the life with mike and abby as the reader navigates the ups and downs of the much dreaded (and much anticipated) third trimester. 

“Mike, I'm going to be honest, there's no way I can tie my shoes.” 

"Abby-girl! Come on, breakfast!"

I hear the sound of small, bare feet skittering down the hallway and halt to a stop at the edge of the dining table. Abby, hair still unbrushed and pajamas wrinkled, smiles at me from her seat by the window.

"What did you make this morning, y/n?" She leans across the table to see the bowl I'm holding, and I give her a sympathetic look.

"Oatmeal," I say, and she wilts slightly. "With nutella, and bananas! Made special for you."

I set down the bowl and she inspects it, picking up the spoon by the small end and poking at the slices of fruit. I shift on my swollen feet, and pray that she decides it's not poison, after-all. Besides, I need to eat something soon, too. And take a bath. And online shop for baby clothes, on clearance.

"I guess it's fine," she mutters, but digs in anyways.

"Well," I start, heading back into the kitchen, "I bet if you are a super star today that Mike will take you to get pizza tonight. And if he says no, I'll tell him the baby said we need it."

She smiles widely, and I pour myself a small cup of coffee. I sit down across from her at the table, and prop my feet onto the seat beside me, settling my coffee cup onto my bump to rest. Abby is fully invested in eating her oatmeal now, and I anticipate the need for a snack when she finishes.

Settling into domestic life with Abby and Mike wasn't difficult, one could say it was the exact opposite, but there are ups and downs. For one, I had to drop myself into a semi-stepmom situation, and pretty soon afterwards found out I was going to be a mom for real. But Abby is a good kid, and Mike is the kindest man I have ever met, and we're making it work day by day.

"So, Abs," I say between sips, "what are we feeling we want to do on this glorious day of all days, Saturday?"

She thinks for half a second, and opens her mouth to answer when the door begins to unlock. Mike steps into the living room, backpack slung over his shoulder with deep bags under his eyes. He smiles when he sees us nestled in our little corner of the room, and shuts out the bright morning light behind him.

I move to stand, but he puts his hand out to stop me.

"Woah woah woah, remember what the doc said, no unnecessary walking, right now. How are your feet feeling by the way?" He leans down to kiss me on the forehead, the cheek, a peck on the mouth, and moves to put his backpack and keys by the door.

"Eh, they're doing okay, but they definitely don't feel great," I respond, and he kneels down beside me.

"Want me to take a look?"

I nod my head, and he peels my socks off. The swelling is a little better, but I still hiss slightly when he pokes at the top of my foot, and the pit stays in my skin.

"Not the best, but not the worst," he says, not too sure of himself, "but you're not doing anything today, you need to rest."

I sigh. "Mike, you just got off of a shift, I know you're exhausted, and the house needs to be cleaned. There is no way I'm going to let you-"

"There is no way I am going to let you clean the house today, or do anything that is going to make you feel worse." He moves his hand to my stomach. "We're in this together, remember? 'Til the very end."

I place my hand over his own, "The very end, I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, what's first?" He kisses my fingers once and stands up. Abby joins him in watching for my answer.

"Breakfast, please."

"Agreed." He smiles and turns to the kitchen, presumedly to make us each an equally bland bowl of oatmeal.

"What were you saying you wanted to do today, Abby? You never got a chance to finish what you were saying, sweetheart."

Her bowl is empty; she wipes the leftover nutella from her lips, and moves towards the fridge to get out some milk. "One of my friends at school is having a birthday party today and I wanted to go." She pours herself a precariously full glass of milk from the carton, and slowly walks back to the table.

"You can still go Abs," says Mike, "and I could drive if you want me to."

"Well, her mom is carpooling for other kids and said she could come and get me," she adds between gulps.

I look at Mike over the kitchen bar, and he smiles at me slightly. "Abby, do you have her mom's number? I can call and see if she'll come and get you."

"Sure! Hold on, it's in my back pack." She hops up from her chair, stumbling in her excitement, and races to her room.

"Mike, if she goes, we could have a day all to ourselves."

Not that we don't love having Abby around, but a day alone would be well-deserved.

"Yeah, we could take a nap." He chuckles, and brings our breakfast to the table. Oatmeal, with just a little bit of nutella.

I nod my head in agreement as Abby races back to the dining room and shoves a piece of paper with a phone number in Mike's face. He calls, talks for a moment, and places down the phone while saying, "Abby, go get dressed, she will be here in 20 minutes." She turns on the spot and speeds down the hallway, once again.

We give each other a silent high five, and look forward to a day of relaxation together.

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i'm going to be honest, i kind of want to continue this blurb into a second part where the day continues. i was really enjoying making this into a small, domestic fic and I didn't want to just make it about the pregnancy but the life that it would lead to WITH mike (which includes abby).

thanks for reading!!! <3

[sytoran]

pretty woman | teom part ii

You receive a nice welcoming gift. Feelings you thought were long gone begin to surface.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. established wandavision, heavy flirting, thirsting, unresolved sexual tension, reader uses she/they pronouns, tommy and billy ship it

──── WORD COUNT. 2.0k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

“Mom, mom! Let’s go and meet the new neighbour!”

“Can we show her Sparky? Please?”

Wanda nods to her boys, trying to get them to calm down. Her seven-year-olds were far too energetic and lively, and sometimes taking care of them was excessively taxing. But of course, Vision was rarely there to help.

Shooing the boys away for the moment, despite cries of protest, Wanda escapes into the kitchen to finish her housewarming gift for you.

It had been a day since that incident, and Wanda had just gotten over her initial embarrassment.

Wanda wipes the sweat off her forehead as she uses oven mittens to take the baked cookies out of the oven. She sighs in relief to see that they turned out alright. It took Wanda about three tries to get it right. (No, she wasn’t trying hard to impress you. Obviously.)

The scent of the melted chocolate chips wafts over the house. “Want one!” Billy screeches, bounding over to the kitchen in record timing at the smell. He goes to grab at a cookie, before letting a cry and dropping it when he realizes just how hot it was.

Tommy, following closely behind his brother, bursts into shrieks of laughter. “You’re so stupid!” he yells, as Sparky — their dog — barks vehemently in agreement. Billy pouts.

Wanda rolls her eyes, letting out an exhausted huff. All this over a woman you held eye contact with for three seconds. Way to go, wanda. Your marriage with your husband is thriving.

After about half an hour, Wanda deems herself presentable enough to show up next door without foolishly embarrassing herself. The boys sprint over in record time, ringing on their new neighbours’ doorbell.

“Oh, hang on! gimme a moment!” A voice yells from inside. Wanda holds her breath in unexpected anticipation, internally dying to actually see you for the first time. Would you remember her staring from your window? I mean, of course you would, there was no doubt about that — but you had just looked so-

“Pretty.”

Wanda chokes on air, and you’re pretty sure you do as well. The word that had filled the silence was words of your own, blurted out the moment you set your eyes on her.

“Yeah, my mom’s pretty,” Tommy says nonchalantly, flicking his dark hair with a childishly aloof expression. Billy merely giggles, shoving his brother, raising his eyebrows at you like he knew something.

You, on the other hand, are lost in your trance of checking out your neighbour you briefly saw the previous day. Naturally, you just had a stronger attraction to women older than you, with their curves and edges and breasts and motherly eyes and the way they cared for their young children — Wanda was currently ticking all of the boxes in your fantasy like she could read your mind, and your eyes kept going back to her damn cleavage, because who the hell allowed her to wear such a low-cut shirt that pulled at all the right angles?

“I’m Y/N L/N, pleasure to meet you,” You manage to spit out after what seemed like an eternity. Your voice was definitely too hoarse, but you played it off like it was due to sleep deprivation in the morning.

When you try to make eye contact with the woman again, you realise she’s looking elsewhere. The ‘elsewhere’ in question, happens to be your partially-clothed body. You smirk inwardly, for you hadn’t been the only one ogling.

Wanda had been running her experienced eyes run over your messily-tousled hair and black sports bra and the glorious artifact that is your sculpted torso. She harbours the criminal urge to run her palms all over it, and trace your chiseled v-line that goes into hiding beyond your grey sweatpants. Wanda’s mouth dries up. she has to consciously snap her jaw shut or else she would’ve been ogling at you for an eternity.

Finally managing to tear her eyes off your distracting physique, Wanda’s greeted with the sight of your mischievous grin and twinkling eyes. Caught. The brunette woman shifts her footing in embarrassment, brushing at a stray lock of hair.

You chance a quick wink at her, just like the day before, and Wanda flushes from head to toe. Cute.

This time, you choose the safe option, to send the boys a friendly grin – they're her children, you deduce. “I’m Tommy,” a blonde boy announces cheekily, and his dark-haired brother shoves him in retaliation. “No, I’m Tommy.” he corrects, folding his arms and then sticking his tongue out at his brother. “His name is Little Prat.”

“Oi! That’s rude!”

“You started it, dude.”

“Boys!” the woman calls out in exasperation, looking at them with a mildly disappointed and evidently tired expression. She glances at you wearily, and you smile in understanding.

“Why don’t you guys come on in and watch some TV? There’s still some boxes around, but I’ve cleaned out the place and the sofa is pretty comfy,” you suggest, meeting Wanda’s eyes in search for approval. She nods, letting out a sigh of relief for the escape.

Almost immediately, the boys stop arguing and sprint inside with shouts of ‘my show!’. The brunette looks at them fondly, a small smile on her face. You think you’d like to make her smile like that. Gratefully, she turns to you. “Thank you for that,” she murmurs sincerely.

“My pleasure. Also, am i going to get to know your name, or am I going to be kept in the dark?” you tease.

“Right,” Wanda responds sheepishly, forgetting she hadn’t introduced herself yet. She clears her throat, determined to get it right this time. “I’m Wanda Maximoff, and we live just next door. But you already knew that. As a housewarming gift, I actually baked some chocolate chip cookies, if you’d like them.”

“Oh wow, Wanda,” you say, as she hands over a paper bag with containers of cookies. “Damn, if I get food like this all the time I’ll stay here forever.”

Wanda giggles, then grows internal fear at the fact she just giggled. Like, what was that? A giggle? Seriously? Way to impress the hot neighbour, Wanda. Wait, why am I trying to impress the hot neighbour? I’m married!

You move to hold the door open for her. Chivalry, Am i right? As Wanda walks past you, your eyes fall to the curve of her ass. Nope, still a whore for hot moms.

After pulling back a chair for Wanda at the dining table and bringing her hot coffee, you sit down beside her, glancing over at the boys. They’re invested in an episode of Phineas and Ferb. You recognize it as the one from Season Three where Doofenshmirtz creates the Stain-inator to ruin the town mayor’s painting. Hey, don’t blame me for having a young soul — Phineas and Ferb is for all ages.

“You’re so good to the kids,” Wanda says softly, hauling you out of your temporal trance. Once again, you’re reminded of Wanda’s effortless beauty, with her small hands cradling the steaming coffee mug, long eyelashes fluttering as she blows at the hot beverage.

“Is that hard to believe?” you respond slowly, eyes trailing over her expression. Wanda’s face morphs from a relaxed one to another that is clouded with trouble and burdens. You frown in concern.

“Well,” Wanda hesitates. “I suppose so. I’m not used to someone caring for my boys so blatantly and openly. Their father…… is not always present. He’s busy all the time. His head is always tucked down, and I’m just scared that by the time he looks up again, the boys won’t be waiting with an eager smile anymore. Sometimes I wonder, if he’s married to me or his job.”

You absorb this information with a growing frown, jaw clicking as it clenches. You decide that you do not like Wanda Maximoff’s husband.

For the first time in a long time, your chest flares, and your inner demons crawl, clawing in…… Possessiveness? Jealousy? Anger? You physically shudder, and Wanda notices.

“Sorry,” she says hurriedly, looking down in shame. “I shouldn’t have told you all that, you must think of me as a terrible mother now. I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t be,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her thigh. “I just…… your husband sounds like an asshole, with all due respect.”

Wanda laughs, a trinkle of a melody, and you calm down. “Thank you,” she murmurs softly, batting her lashes while looking at you. You’re pretty sure she doesn’t even know what it does to you.

Well, you could have your fun as well.

You take your time with it, using your thumb to brush against the skin of her thigh, under the guise of comforting a friend. You pretend not to notice how wanda fidgets under your touch, pressing her legs together and blushing a whole lot more.

This hardly does anything to satiate your true urges. Wanda turns to you with a curious gaze, almost innocent. You try to shove it down, try to quell it, but you’re growing ravenous. She opens her mouth, asking you something. You don’t hear it, you’re too busy staring at her lips.

“...Are you even listening to me?” Wanda asks with an adorable smile, shaking her head at you in faux disappointment.

“Nope,” you answer boldly with a cheeky smile, sliding your hand further up her thigh, knuckles brushing against the hem of skirt. You delight in the way Wanda’s breath hitches, conflicting emotions flickering across her pretty face. You want more.

Your left foot hooks around the leg of her chair, dragging it closer to yours. Wanda looks up at you, frozen. She still hasn’t moved from your grasp.

“Tell me more about you,” you ask, with an innocent smile, As if you hadn’t been the causation of Wanda’s inner turmoil. “I’d like to get to know my neighbour better, hm?”

“Uhm,” Wanda begins, not knowing how to act with the close proximity. She hates how her thighs are clenching, how she seems to be sweating abnormally. “I-”

“Momma! It’s time to go home, Sparky needs to go for his walk,” Billy states, shattering the moment in a matter of milliseconds. Wanda doesn’t know how your hand disappears from the territory of her thighs so quickly, but she already misses your fleeting touch.

When she snaps out of it, you’re already chattering excitedly with boys, playing up to their energies exceedingly well. It’s highly evident that her boys enjoy your company, but Wanda is at a loss of how you’re acting as if your hand hadn’t just been inches from her underwear a few moments ago.

What’s more jarring is the fact that her panties were damp, even, with the evanescent presence of your ring-adorned fingers.

‘You’re a woman with needs, it’s normal,’ Wanda tells herself, shaking off her intrusive thoughts. ‘Vision doesn’t want sex, but you have to respect that.’

But then Wanda looks at the way you scoop up both Tommy and Billy with an effortless ease, then spinning them around, your biceps seemingly blinding with the reflection of the light. Or maybe that was her own wilding imagination.

Wanda clears her throat in an attempt to find a semblance of composure. She ushers Tommy and Billy out the door with a newfound haste, disliking the storm of conflict within her. “Be sure to give me a call if you need anything,” Wanda adds, daring herself to make eye contact with you. You’d exchanged numbers earlier.

“Oh, I’ll call you,” comes your witty reply, and a quick wink.

The brunette looks away, knowing the tips of her ears are burning. Damn it, get it together, woman.

You lean against the cashew-coloured doorframe with your arms folded across your chest, watching Wanda chastising the boys’ rowdiness as they walk back to their own place.

As you expect, just before she escapes back into the comfort of her own home, Wanda chances a look back at your front porch. When the brunette realizes you were still watching, she fumbles flusteredly.

‘Pretty’, you mouth to the older woman once again, then lifting up a hand to blow her a flirtatious kiss. You duck back into your house before Wanda can even react, unable to stop the sides of your mouth from tugging up into a stifled chortle.

With Wanda Maximoff living right next door, your time spent at Westview was guaranteed to be a rather eventful one.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @girllcver @natashaswife4125 @godsfavouritelesbiann @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @kellyc30-blog @eatkobi @cqllarbones @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigobities

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[inexplicablymine]

GET RECC’D - TRANS DAY OF VISIBILITY

welcome to “get recc’d” my themed fic reccomendation lists if you follow me on Twitter, you might recognize that I do threads and fic recs quite often ~ thought I would bring it over here as well for some more fun.

Themed lists: Get Recc’d

Daily Rec’s/Weekly Rec’s: The Fandom Feasts

NOW THAT THE BOOKKEEPING IS OUT OF THE WAY

Happy Trans Day of Visibility!

Today I thought it would be pertinent to highlight some wonderful Trans!Firstprince fics, now this is a non exhaustive list as there are 154 fics tagged / mention “trans” in their stories (finished and in the English language) you can click through those here.

BUTTT WITHOUT FURTHER ADO SOME DRUMROLLS PLEASE (and in no particular order)

Longer Than Most by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (26K/E)

Seahorse Dad Henry and accidental Baby Daddy Alex, this work is handled with so much care and is the kind of soft emotional happy feelings that you just want to roll around in

You love me! You love me? by anarchyat4am (28K/T)

Trans!Alex College AU where Henry and Alex end up at UT Austin together and become accidental roommates, when I tell you this fic is one I come back to repeatedly? Yes this is so soft it made me cry in a good way the first three times I read it (back to back of course)

Anything You Want by somuchworse (5.7K/E)

This is where things pick up into steamy territory, transmasc Henry has never had the big O and Alex helps him see the light. The kind of care and conversation and delicacy in which the discussions are had on top of the steamy hot conclusion make this one a repeat offender on the reread list

say you'll see me again (even if it's just in your wildest dreams) by @coffeecatsme (21K/T)

The softest shmoopiest 5+1 of Henry coming to terms with who he is and Alex falling in love with him the entire way through

the reason comes on the common tongue of you loving me by ncfariouvs (3K/E)

Henry brings back so many people to the apartment but according to him he never gets off, Alex is there to help, a trans!Henry roommates, friends to lovers speedrun that is delicious

T4T First Prince by @cactusdragon517 (10K/E+G)

THIS SERIES my lord go run skip jump dance on over to it and then just stay a while because man is this one of those series that makes you smile through the happy tears of how soft and happy and joyful it is. T4T Henry helping Alex post top surgery and falling in love + bonus second fic of them IN LOVE LATER IN LIFE

snapshots of you and me by @thedramasummer (7K/E)

Post Top Surgery Trans!Henry hires a Boudoir Photographer (shocking news it’s ACD) to do some self affirming photos, and this is such an affirming gorgeous glorious story of that process experience and of course the steamy happy ending

seahorse dad Alex by @jackzimmermemes (3.5K/G+E)

Another Seahorse Dad series! This time with Trans!Alex, take a look at these little slice of life stories of firstprince as they navigate their lives and parenthood and feel full to the brim with joy

long live (the walls we crashed through) by breakmytears (2.5K/G)

Alex and Henry’s son comes out to them as trans and let me tell you if you thought the tears were flowing before there is NOTHING on this fic for the soft unwavering support that is threaded throughout

I Wanna Swim Between Your Thighs by Alex20 (2.4K/E)

Teacher!Alex with a tremendous crush on single!dad Henry (also trans!Henry) and this is the delightful fun filled story of their coming together (in more ways than one)

If I missed an author tag here for their tumblr I tried to find them all but please let me know and I’ll add them in directly!

And with that I bid you good reading! Until next time I hope these recommendations recc’d you in the worst possible way, please support these authors when reading their works by giving kudos and comments! It helps vocalize support and show that readers love what they are doing!

[octuscle]

Changed circumstances

Jonathan Douglas was annoyed. His father and his older brother, the crown prince, had both been in a bad mood for days. His mother could not be reached, she had probably gone off to the Cote d'Azur with some lover. And Jonathan was bored in his penthouse in New York. The weather was terrible, his mood miserable. But then he had to change something. The family's permanent suite at Las Brisas in Acapulco had just been renovated and the weather forecast for Mexico was excellent. What was keeping him in Manhattan in the sleet?

He called his father's assistant and asked for a jet to be waiting at the airport. And he needed a helicopter, he didn't fancy the after-work traffic right now. And it would also be nice if she could inform Miguel from Las Brisas that he had an hour of personal training every morning at 09:00 for the next two weeks. The answer should have been a warning to him that something was wrong. There was no jet or helicopter available, but a driver would be waiting for him in fifteen minutes. And she had booked a flight for him with Netjets. He would have to contact the hotel directly about the personal training, but she didn't have time for that now. Jonathan was outraged! That was impertinent! But don't get upset, he would just have to get on with it. Even if he hated Netjet. The idea that anyone could have sat in his seat disgusted him.

His anger was somewhat dissipated when, after an exhausting journey, he was finally sitting in the hotel's beach club and looking out to sea. Friends always flew this route on scheduled flights. Unimaginable. He would need a week to recover from the stress.

The next few days were great. Miguel got Jonathan back in shape, the weather was glorious and the parties were great fun. Only his family was annoying. After days of no one being available or having time for him before he left for Mexico, he was now constantly getting calls and emails from his father and brother. But Jonathan was now on vacation. He didn't have time to deal with any boring issues. And he didn't feel like being reproached for not being involved in the family holding company. That was a mistake.

The debacle was already looming when he got up in the morning. 23 new e-mails from his father, his brother and various managers at the holding company. But not a single missed call. Funny, the phone was dead too. Only wifi connection. He had to take care of that after his manicure.

Rosalita got his fingernails back into perfect shape. In between, she whispered with a colleague. When the treatment was finished, she asked Jonathan to pay straight away. For technical reasons, he couldn't write the bill on the room. Damn it, why didn't any of his credit cards work? Exasperated, he put USD 100 on the counter for Rosalita and said that would be fine. Rosalita gave him back USD 20.00 and said that he might still need it. Confused, Jonathan pocketed the bill.

The day got better and better. His door card no longer worked. So Jonathan got into his jeep and drove to reception to have the card recoded. The receptionist asked him to follow her to the hotel manager's office. And then a nightmare began to unfold. The hotel manager informed Jonathan that, in view of the adverse circumstances, he would unfortunately have to demand that the current arrears be settled immediately. Jonathan looked at him questioningly. The hotel manager said that there were currently two months' worth of outstanding bills amounting to USD 60,000.00. And even if he regretted the development and even if Jonathan was a very valued guest, he would have to insist that he receive this money immediately. And if Jonathan wanted to stay in his suite, he would always have to pay the bill a week in advance.

Jonathan asked what the hell was going on. And the hotel manager handed him the New York Times. The spectacular collapse of the family empire was the subject of the front page. Jonathan turned pale.

An hour later, Jonathan was sitting in front of the staff entrance gate, surrounded by his suitcases and a few boxes of things from his suite. On his wrist was the Tudor that he would only wear on the beach at best. But he had left his platinum Rolex Daytona at the hotel to pay off his debt. He still had a little cash, a few watches, some jewelry… But apart from that, he was obviously broke. His cell phone was locked, so he could no longer listen to his voicemail. But there was still enough signal here at the gate to read his e-mails. He should probably have done that earlier. His family and the managers of the family companies on whose board he sat had been desperately trying to reach him for days. In a catastrophic chain reaction, the stock market value of the company had virtually vanished into thin air and the resulting over-indebtedness had led to its collapse. And apparently the family's entire private assets had been frozen as a result.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting here at the gate. He was hungry, thirsty and sweaty. But damn it, his fingernails were freshly manicured. Certainly didn't happen to many homeless people. "Hermano, I heard what happened to you. Can I help you?" Miguel stood in front of him. Not in his gym uniform. In jeans and an undershirt, with a red scarf wrapped around his head. He looked a bit like a little gangster. Jonathan was completely stripped of his sovereignty. He couldn't help it. He started to cry. Miguel took him in his arms and told him to wait here. He would be right back. And he came back with an old rusty pickup truck. Together they loaded up the rest of Jonathan's belongings and drove to Miguel's apartment. Jonathan could stay here for a few days.

The few days turned into weeks. Little by little, Jonathan, who had taken the precaution of calling himself John, sold most of his valuables. To pay Miguel his share of the rent. But also for tobacco and tequila. And for a few clothes that would make him less conspicuous when he hung out with his new pals in cheap bars during the day. By now, only a few items of clothing from his old life remained. Most of the rest had been sold.

When Miguel came home from work, he exploded. John sat in front of the TV again with a beer and watched some soap opera. "¡Pedazo de mierda autocompasiva!" he yelled at John. "Get your ass off the sofa and get to work." John burped and said he was depressed. "You're not depressed, you're just incredibly lazy and spoiled," Miguel replied. "I've got a job for you tomorrow. A rich American tourist is looking for someone to show him around the real Acapulco. I need someone who knows their way around here and speaks Spanish." "But I don't speak any Spanish," John whined. "Estúpido pedazo de mierda. ¿En qué idioma hemos estado hablando durante semanas?" Damn it, Miguel was right.

The kick in the ass was probably just what John needed. He was actually the perfect city guide for the rich and beautiful from Las Brisas. He knew their wishes and problems from his past. And he knew how to satisfy sensationalism in the slums. He knew who to avoid and where to recover stolen watches and wallets. He knew where to get an authentic lunch. And where to find almost every drug on the planet. And since he started showering and brushing his teeth regularly again, he was also occasionally given money to suck a rich tourist's cock and fuck his ass.

It had been a few years since Jonathan had to move out of his suite. Jonathan no longer existed. Jonathan had been flushed into the sewers of New York with the remnants of a corporate empire. Instead, there was Juan. And Juan was a celebrity among the guests at Las Brisas. He knew everyone in Acapulco, could organize everything and get everything. Anyone who wanted to break out of the hotel's artificial world of luxury would discreetly ask for Juan's contact details. Yes, his services were not cheap. But worth every dollar.

Inspired by @randomnobodyandfriends. Pics found @boytoyinrolex, @stargazerguy and @yeahthatsmypapi

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Second Chance 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Jonathan Pine

Summary: You move into your parents’ house as you try to rebuild your life, catching the attention of someone you never expected.

Part of the Brother’s Best Friend Universe

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The next day, you acquiesce to your mother’s whims. There was rarely a time when you could deny her and the times you did, had her often reminding you of your ‘rebellious’ teenage years. You don’t bother to mention that wearing black and not wanting to hold her hand in public wasn’t much of a rebellion.

You just have to remember that this isn’t about you. Tandi doesn’t yet know the storm she’s marrying into. You’ll let her have her grace period before it truly sets in. It could be seconds, it could be months, but eventually, your mother will turn the screw.

You walk behind the pair through the crowded rows of the farmer’s market. They almost seem to forget you but that doesn’t bother you. You prefer it.

They stop at the soap booth and the battle of scent threatens to trigger a migraine. You hold your breath until Tandi finishes her purchase; some body scrub and a piece of soap that looks like a fruit parfait. Your mother opts for her own collection of cinnamon heart soap bars. You wonder where she’ll hide them as she only ever allowed white items in the bathroom; down to the soap and the shampoo.

“Do you have friends coming for the party then?” Your mother asks as they stroll along.

“Uh, yes, hopefully they can make it,” Tandi answers, “work and all that.”

“Of course, that’s understandable but it’s a very important event,” your mother chirps back, “do you have something to wear? You would look marvelous in rose.”

“I have some options,” your brother’s fiancee flick her hair back. “I was thinking it might be nice to do a brunch, rather than a dinner.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. And of course,” your mother pauses, peering back over her shoulder as she recalls your mournful existence, “we can help.”

“That’s so sweet,” Tandi purrs.

“Well, you know, we haven’t much going on.”

You frown. It’s an obvious jab at your current predicament. It isn’t as if you haven’t been trying. You filled every open job posting you can find and haven’t heard back from a single one. Yet, your mother would never believe you to be helpless, just lazy.

“I’m going to find the bathroom,” you mutter but neither seems to hear or care.

You break away from them and delve into the crowd. You feel desolate in the roiling crowd. You don’t miss Ransom, or Hugh, or whatever he wanted you to call him that day, you just miss having someone else. Someone by your side to face the outside world. 

He never really was that, was he? You just convinced yourself he was. He settled for you and you thought that was good enough. You made yourself believe you were good enough.

You find the bathrooms and hide inside. You don’t need to go, you just need to get your shit together. You take out your phone and put on your rationed data so you can check your emails. Junk, junk, junk… ‘Invitation to Interview’. Huh.

You quickly scroll and scan the email, not wanting to waste the data. It’s nothing special, nothing as glorious as your previous job. It’s a customer service role at the local travel planner, a vibrant business among the burgeoning retirement community. It’ll have to do.

You flip the switch to disconnect from the network and emerge to wash your hands. You make your way back into the market and search among the tides. You wander in circles until you find the duo. They sit at the cafe bar in the corner, drinks in front of them, and a set of half-eaten scones. They didn’t wait for you or even think to grab you something.

You shrug it off. You think you might have been wrong. Again. Your mother isn’t going to bulldoze this daughter, no, Tandi is going to be the daughter she never had. Jaydon always was her favourite; the infallible baby boy.

💋

You accept the invitation. The pay is barely above minimum wage and the role is tedious but it’s all you’ve got. You don’t tell your parents, not wanting to disappoint them. It would be better to surprise them with good news, not let them down with another failure.

You find the nicest skirt you could salvage in your hasty retreat from the city. You sneak out through the back as the rest of the house delights in their perfect fairy tale. You’d rather have a stuffy interview than to bear another day of fake smiling and dulled blades aimed at your throat.

The agency isn’t very far. The bus takes you to the core of the town and your heels click down the half-block to the storefront painted with palm trees and beach umbrellas. You peek inside before you enter and check the information on your phone just to be sure. You’re early.

A woman named Brenda greets you and tells you to wait in the seats meant for clients. You fidget as the clock ticks in the quiet office until she finishes with the old couple at her desk in the tight cubicle. They leave, happy, and she invites you back.

It isn’t anything beyond the usual; what will you bring to this job? When’s a time you had to be spontaneous? How would you handle a disgruntled customer? You recite the acceptable answers and at the end, she offers you the job. You don’t think it’s because you’re anything exceptional but judging by the two-hundred days the posting’s been up, there hasn’t been much interest. You both are ready to take the first thing that comes along.

She sends you off with a smile and you try not to let your fake one fall before you’re out of the office. Out of the sight of the windows, you let your shoulders drop and sigh. It’s good news, you got a job, but somehow you think your parents will find a damper. ‘How much does it pay? What do you do? Oh, that’s a starter job.’

Well, dad, mom, I am starting over. I fucked up. I built nothing but a disaster.

You round the corner and stumble as suddenly you hit a wall you don’t expect. You stagger until you’re caught by firm hands around your upper arms. You gulp and your eyes round as they meet another pair, blue and bold. Jonathan grins as he issues an apology and your own tumbles off your tongue.

“I wasn’t… looking,” you murmur.

“Quite alright,” his hands linger on your arms and you wriggle. “Neither was I.”

He laughs at himself and you look down at his hold on you. He squeezes before he lets go and drops his hands to his side. He tucks them into his pockets. He’s dressed effortlessly in a pair of gray slacks and powder blue pullover.

“Special occasion?” He wonders as he looks you up and down.

You peek at your skirt. It’s nothing special. Pinstripe, black, pencil cut. It doesn’t fit you the way it used to. You think Ransom noticed that too…

“Job interview,” you shrug.

“Oh, exciting. So when do you hear back?”

You rub your neck and sway. He’s just being nice. He’s always been polite, on the outside, but you saw the antics he got up to with Jaydon. He always had that charming grin for your mother but never hesitated to cause chaos with your menace of a brother.

“You don’t have to ask. Really. It’s not a big deal.”

“Mm, well, what if I genuinely want to know?” 

There he is, that oppositional twerp. You blow out between your lips and smile, “I got the job. It’s at the travel agency so… big whoop.”

“Big whoop indeed,” he remarks, “I’d say we should celebrate with a drink but I’d also say you sound like you need one. Desperately.”

You meet his eyes again. You squint. Was he always this handsome? Or is that another trick of time? You pack on some love handles and you look chronically tired, but his lines only refine him, his age becomes him.

“That’s nice but I should head home.”

“Why? So you can listen to Jay brag about his convertible? Even I’m over that. He’d do better with something economic but he always knows best, doesn’t he?”

You scoff, “wow, sounds like you had quite the reunion.”

“Well, time changes us all,” he says, “but you always were more fun to drink with.”