#i just saw that ad 40 times

[barabones]

I forget exactly where I saw the initial post asking for volunteers, but on July 10th, I reached out to the listed email. Jane, the organizer, got back to me right away and within an hour I was added in their discord.

Up until this point, I had been maintaining an average 8 ESims myself, so I already had experience checking in on them on a daily basis. The folks there helped me onboard with the spreadsheets for keeping track, and now it's very easy for me to catalog new ones I buy and record daily data usage. The whole process takes me maybe 20-40 minutes a day depending now on how many ESims actually need to be topped off.

Jane has been very up front with lots of the group's information, with frequent announcements about the groups current funds and amounts of daily ESims sent out. She and the others have been super helpful with getting funds to us when needed, and I've almost never had to actually spend any of my own money for any of this.

In the time that I've been volunteering, they figured out how to run a Business account with the Nomad ESim company. Which means that now and then they can just send 15 or so ESims my way, and I just catalog them and send the QRcodes towards Mirna and the Connecting Gaza folks. No more wasting time with the purchasing process, while getting a bit of a bulk discount on top of that.

We also share updates on whatever brand of ESims are most needed. When folks on the ground tell us that one network doesn't seem reliable, we are able to switch over for a while until either the networking issue is fixed, or we all pressure customer service enough to replace them for us.

There's also lots of complaining about new UI updates an general website bugs. There's surprisingly a lot of them and it's good to know other folks are getting info from customer service when things go wrong.

In August they made a meme channel

Anyways....

Lets get into some stats for myself. In 2 months (July 10- Sept12) I have:

Send off 171 ESims

Maintained around 60 active ones

Topped up these active ESims 139 times

Spend over $6400 donated dollars

I have multiple power users who have burned through close to 100GB. 2 of them have broken 200GB. These are most likely being used as hot spots.

Why am I sharing all of this? Mostly to show how easy it has been to make a marginal difference. I have helped at least 60 people stay connected with the outside world in just 2 months. Probably more if we assume some of the power users becoming hotspots for other folks. This is 20-40 minutes of my time a day, and I honestly regret not signing up to do this sooner.

I was specifically limiting myself to this workload because I wanted to test the waters. Those stats was me specifically not wanting to push myself and see what impact a normal person could make with 20 minutes a day. At this point I think I will be taking more advantage of Nomad's Tuesday discounts to really bulk up my numbers. It's pretty easy to buy 15 or so every Tuesday, and then send em over.

If you would like to join us in this endeavor, please reach out to Jane at cripsforesimsforgaza(at)gmail

We are specifically looking for people in European time zones, since a lot of us are in the Americas and that's quite a difference between us and Gaza. If not, that's no problem!

If you can't participate, that's totally fine, but please donate what you can! Folks like you are the ones who keep us going!

I hope this information has been useful in some way. Like I said, I wish I had heard about this group sooner, with how easy it has been to do. I can track my direct impact of what my daily time is doing for folks, and seeing the data be used up a little bit more day by day gives me hope for everyone in Gaza. Thank you for your time.

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

--

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

—

UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[bluesidez]

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane. 

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway. 

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up. 

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself. 

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head. 

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying. 

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door. 

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband. 

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display. 

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button. 

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming. 

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island. 

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips. 

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response. 

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest. 

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined. 

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips. 

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting. 

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment. 

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you. 

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading. 

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back. 

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection. 

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you. 

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it. 

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama. 

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom. 

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early. 

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door. 

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself. 

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did. 

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues. 

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day. 

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek. 

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.” 

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time. 

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven. 

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet. 

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly. 

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.  

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10. 

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit. 

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure. 

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone. 

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away. 

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.  

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner. 

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight. 

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths. 

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms. 

You couldn’t ask for anything better. 

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think. 

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it. 

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good. 

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much. 

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped. 

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn. 

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you. 

You’re starting to think the worst. 

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working. 

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time. 

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with. 

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had. 

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house. 

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom. 

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.  

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand. 

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat. 

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry. 

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp. 

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back. 

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.” 

So much for communication. 

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides. 

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout. 

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel’s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight. 

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length. 

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers. 

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep. 

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length. 

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face. 

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better. 

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him. 

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls. 

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically. 

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time. 

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it. 

It was all too much. 

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message. 

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper. 

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you. 

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[geekforhorror]

kiss it better

pairing: dbf!james kelly x fem reader

description: james kelly is one of your dads oldest friends who has a thing for you…especially in that short skirt of yours.

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), dom!james, sub!reader, established age gap (james is 40, reader is 21), skirt fucking, james has a thing for your ass, pussy slapping, slight objectification, praise, degradation, corruption kink, unprotected p in v sex, fluff, etc.

word count: 2.5k

James knew what you were doing.

Currently, your dad was out buying some propane fuel for the barbecue grill outside because he had forgotten to get some beforehand. However, he had left you alone with his best friend James.

You had developed quite a crush on the older man a few years back and you’ve wanted him ever since. You didn’t know what it was about him that you found yourself attracted to the most. Maybe it was the faint stubble on his face, his piercing blue eyes, or his tattoos. Perhaps it was all three. You thought you were being subtle all this time about your little crush on James. I mean for christ sakes, you had even picked out the skimpiest crop top and tight skirt you owned when your dad told you he would be joining the two of you for the mini backyard barbecue.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to James at all. He always saw how you would bat your doe eyes at him all innocently, the way you swayed your hips while walking past him, and how you tempted him. At first he thought he was looking into it too much, but then he saw it happen again…and again…and again. His need for you grew every passing day when you teased him and you were just adding more fire to his need for you.

That’s what was currently happening.

Your dad had texted you saying he would be back soon and told you to get the pack of beer out from the cooler in the kitchen.

“Can you come with me, Jamie?”

That was new. You had never called him Jamie.

“Sure, honey,” he says, trying to be nonchalant when all he wanted to do was smirk in your face. Plus, he wants to see the selection for himself. Classic James.

As you get up from the couch in the living room, he trails behind you, not missing a step before the two of you find the freezer where the blue cooler labeled ‘beer’ was located. Before you know it, you’re walking back to him and like always, you make sure to sway your hips for him. He was addicted to the way your pretty little body moved and couldn’t help but wonder how it would move while fucking you. His restraint was wavering.

Just when he thinks it couldn’t get any worse for him, you bend over. Doing this allows James to get a glance up your skirt and what he saw was enough for him to get hard in his faded blue jeans. Not only had you bent over for him on purpose, but had also worn the thinnest lace panties known to man. He swore he was going to blow his load right then and there.

Opening the box, you present it to James as if nothing had just happened. “Is this good for you Jamie?” you ask him sheepishly.

“I know what you’re doing, sweetheart,” he admits.

“What do you mean?” you ask with the fakest, most insincere tone you could possibly ever use.

“Don’t play dumb with me, doll. I see the way you act around me…acting all innocent after,” he says, calling you out with no hesitation.

“You did?” you ask.

“You make it hard not to notice when you’re parading your tits and ass around me every time I see you,” he says.

“What are you going to do about it?” you say with a smirk.

That was it.

Within seconds, he pounces himself onto you, his carnal desire for you getting the best of him. His lips latch onto yours, fueled with unwavering passion. He had waited for this moment and now it was happening. His tongue finally finds its way into your mouth and you don’t find yourself disgusted by it. All you felt was the desire for him to do unspeakable things to you.

“James…I need you,” you plead, whining into his mouth

“Already so desperate f’me and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he coos.

You could feel the arousal seeping through your panties at the sound of his silky smooth voice. The effect he had on you was profound. Melting over his voice? You were screwed.

His hands found purchase to your clothed ass, but that wasn’t enough for him. Taking initiative, he rolls the dainty fabric up to your hips, now allowing him to grope your ass with those fucking tattooed hands you loved so much. If he only knew the amount of times you had touched yourself while imagining that they were his hands on your body.

He hoists you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist before breaking the kiss. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, sweet girl…how many times I’ve had to hold myself back out of respect your old man, but fuck it. I want you.”

With that being said, he holds you with his arms and takes you out of the room. Before he can lead you up the stairs that lead to your room, you stop him.

“Where are you taking us?” you ask.

“To your room, angel,” he says to you.

“What’s wrong with the couch in the living room?” you implore.

“Sweetie, I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’m gonna fuck you the way you deserve, not on some old couch,” he says before finally going up the stairs with haste, but also making sure he didn’t drop you in the process. You guys finally make it to your room and he wastes no time before placing you gently down on the bed, moving you backwards so there was enough room for him to successfully tower over your body. The sight gave you chills, but in the best way possible.

His lips latch onto your warm skin surrounding your collarbone before sucking away at the tender flesh of it. You let out a breathy whine at the newfound sensation. You could feel how soft his lips were…just like you imagined they would be.

“James…” you say.

“Yes, baby?” he asks back.

“Can’t take anymore teasing…need you inside me,” you beg of the older man.

“Shhh…patience, pretty girl…be patient for me, yeah?” he says in a soft voice at which you nod at. “Such a good girl.”

He can’t even stop himself before he starts stripping you of your clothes,..if you could even call them that with how short and dainty they are. “Raise your arms for me, angel…wanna see those pretty tits,” he coos. You do as he says and within seconds, he’s met with the bare flesh that had been hiding underneath your shirt. He was in heaven.

“Should’ve known you weren’t wearing a bra,” he smirks.

He had imagined your tits so many times while jacking himself off. He always imagined the way your tits would bounce when fucking you, the way he would suck them.

“These are fucking mine, got it?” he enunciates, now pinching one of your sensitive nipples with his slender fingers, then rolling it accordingly.

“Fuck Jamie…” you say, lost in the feeling.

“My baby’s already whining for me, hm? You haven’t seen anything yet,” he claims. You had no idea him saying that would lead him to now suck at your pebbled areolas to prove his point.

“Such pretty tits on such a pretty girl,” he praises. He decides to tease you even further by pulling down your expensive lace panties before throwing them aside like they were nothing. “And an even prettier pussy…so wet for me, baby.”

The anticipation for him to slide into you was truly killing you. It was always on your mind when you knew it shouldn’t be. “You’re fucking perfect…need to have you,” he says, almost sounding a tad bit desperate.

“I’m all yours, James,” you assure him.

“Glad to hear it, doll.” he smiles. Finally, after what seems like ages, he starts throwing articles of his clothing off his toned body before he’s only in his black boxers while on top of you. You couldn’t help your curiosity as to how hard he was and looked down at the sight below you…and god, he was huge. The outline of his hardened bulge was more than prominent, leading you to question whether you could take him or not. He notices your lingering stare and can’t help but grow a little cocky.

“Eyes are up here, baby,” he says before grabbing your chin with his veiny hand.

“I’m sorry…” you trail.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I think it’s quite cute seeing you get all flustered,” he says with a chuckle.

“I want your cock…please,” you beg, not even caring how desperate and whiny he had made you in this moment.

“Gonna fuck you so good until the only thing you remember is me and my name,” James promises you. “Gonna ruin you for anybody who thinks they have a chance with you.”

He slowly slides the fabric covering his cock down to the floor, where the rest of your guys’ clothes laid sprawled out. It only took a mere second before you saw the way his cock sprung towards his defined stomach. Fuck…he was gonna split you raw.

“You ready f’me, baby?” he asks you.

“Yes please…need your cock so bad,”

“Such a good girl for begging,” he praises while caressing your messy locks.

Suddenly, you feel his cock intrude your warm cunt, causing a moan to escape your lips from the sensation of him stretching you out with his thick cock.

“Shit…squeezing me so well, pretty girl… just like I thought you would,” he admits.

“Please move, James…” you whine.

“Anything for my girl,” he says before complying with your ever so desperate command. He begins thrusting into your tight hole without showing any signs of mercy or slowing down anytime soon. He wish he could take his time with you, but he knew it was only a matter of time until your dad was set to return.

“Just like that!” you scream out, your well manicured nails digging into his shoulder dimples as he fucks you into oblivion. With every inch inserted into you, the more dumb you could feel yourself becoming. But guess what? You didn’t give a fuck.

“Poor girl…already becoming dumb just from her daddy’s friend fucking her like the slut she is,” he degrades.

“Fuck…” you moan in response.

“Such naughty words from a girl like you,” he tuts in response.

“Need it harder…” you say in between raggedy breaths.

“You’re going to take what I give you and you’re going to like it, princess. Now behave,” he orders. You follow his instructions as explained before continuing with his erratic movements inside you. Your guys’ hips collide with one another, providing much needed friction that had both of you moaning. Sounds of your slickness began to fill the room and James couldn’t help but savor them. You felt his cock scrape your sensitive nerves that had already begun twitching around him.

He took in the way your chest heaved with every single thrust he made while inside you, the way you were panting for air…everything. You looked absolutely beautiful all fucked out for him and he would remember that sight below him for as long as he lived.

“Such a little cock slut, hm? So desperate for my dick that you dressed like this for me instead of asking me for it. Thought your daddy raised you to know better…guess not,” he tuts in disapproval. You felt yourself getting closer to your inevitable climax just by listening to his degrading words. You felt ashamed for getting off to someone speaking to you as if you were nothing, but you couldn’t help yourself. “Don’t fret baby, that’s what your new daddy is here for.” he says before slapping your pussy, guaranteeing that there would be a fresh mark tomorrow. The impact left a stinging sensation afterwards, but instead of wanting him to stop, you found yourself wanting more of his harsh blows. This was made crystal clear to him when you let out a moan.

“Look what we have here…a filthy slut moaning over getting treated like a fuck doll. My fuck doll,” he teases.

“Please…want more of it,” you admit.

“Of course you do, baby. Because you’re a pathetic little thing,” James mocks while still sheathed inside your sopping cunt. His hand lands another harsh hit to the irritated flesh, making you grip your sheets so hard that they were turning white.

“Fuck Jamie…’m so close,” you whimper.

“Hold on for a bit longer if you wanna prove you can be a good slut for me. Can you do that for me, baby?” he asks, hoping you would provide him with the right answer. You frantically nod your head, which was a good enough answer for him to keep bullying you and your pussy. Before you know it, he sets a new pace, one that was nothing short of animalistic. He wanted to be so deep inside of you as physically possible and that was what he was doing right now.

You can feel his cock twitch inside your warm cunt, which only makes him rock harder into you. Your vision becomes painted with stars as he was doing so and it felt fucking fantastic. He was the only man ever to make you feel like this. Safe to say, he exceeded any of your wild expectations.

Suddenly, you feel yourself becoming unraveled to the point where you can feel the hot coil start to unwind deep inside your fluttering stomach. With each additional movement he made, you felt the sensation become even more undeniable to feel.

“Please let me cum James!” you scream out in ecstasy.

“That’s it pretty girl…cum for me” he praises.

That’s all it took for you to splash your warm release all over his cock. You felt like you were on cloud nine while he was fucking you through your orgasm. The feeling of you coming undone on his dick finally made him ropes of his hot, sticky seed into your sensitive entrance. He groaned while doing so, which you found to be the hottest thing ever.

After the two of you come down from your heaven sent orgasms, he pulls out of you and lays down next to you. He positions himself so that he’s now looking at your pretty face in awe.

“I love you sweet girl and I hope you know I didn’t mean anything bad I said” he admits.

“I love you too James,” you say to him with a chuckle.

James smiles at your confession of love before pulling you in for a slow and gentle kiss, unlike the one you guys had shared before. The two of you found peace and solace in the kiss and you guys wouldn’t stop until either of your lungs gave out…or in this case, when your father comes home, which was now.

“Let’s not tell your father about this,” he says with a laugh.

“Agreed,” you say with a laugh back.

This was one for the books.

tag list: @zapernz @mortalheartache @midnight-raine @camiemorgan8 @myheartwillgoon2022 @demieyesore

[milla-frenchy]

The green flannel shirt

817 words | Joel Miller x fem reader Summary: Joel comes back home from work and finds you asleep wearing his shirt

Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap (reader in her early 20s, Joel in his late 40s), infidelity, twisted relationship, daddy kink, possessiveness, spanking, rough sex, oral (f), rimming, anal play, piv, creampie

a/n: same “couple”: Owned collection. Can be read alone, but I recommend to read the “Owned” ficlet first Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 and @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏 Mood board @aurorawritestoescape thank you so much baby it's beautiful ILY 🫶💕 (pic for mood only)

Masterlist | ao3

Your car was parked in the driveway when Joel came back home from work. His son’s car wasn’t. 

He quickly entered the house and when he checked his son’s bedroom, his hand on the door, he saw you asleep in clothes that weren't yours. 

You weren't wearing one of his son's t-shirts either. You were wearing Joel’s green and red flannel shirt, unbuttoned, and your panties. The roundness of your breasts was slightly visible between the two sides of the garment.

His cock twitched painfully in his pants. He looked at his watch. He had time.

He entered the bedroom, walked over to the bed and took off his t-shirt, letting it drop on the floor. He unzipped his jeans and quickly pulled out his hard cock, and spat in his hand before jerking it firmly two or three times. He just pulled his jeans down under his balls, before lying down between your thighs and spreading them firmly with his knees. He needed to fuck you, to take what was his.

“Daddy?” you said in a sleepy voice, awakened by his heavy body on yours, and his big hands surrounding your face.

“Hey, baby. Missed me?”

“Yes, daddy… I was waiting for you to come back.”

He pushed your panties to the side and breathed down your neck then nestled his cock in your entrance, pushing lightly to let your sleeping walls accept him.

“I love seeing you wearing my shirt. I love when you smell like me. ”

“Mmmm… me too.”

“You’re so tight, Jesus Christ. Always so fuckin’ tight for me. Even more when you’re barely awake, baby.”

He pushed a little more, and your body gave way to his fat cock, like it always did. He groaned as his shaft thrust in and bottomed out.

“Oh, fuck… I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

Soon, he was pounding you like you loved it: hard and deep. Filling your pussy like only he knew how. His hand came to squeeze one of your breasts, after roughly pulling aside his shirt. His jeans were rubbing roughly against your skin, adding another touch of desperation to your physical need. He grunted, feeling like he was almost ready to shoot his load between your delicate folds. 

But it was too soon, he wanted more. Needed more. 

He pulled out abruptly, grabbing your thighs and manhandled you so that you were lying on your stomach. 

He spanked you and asked roughly, “Who’s your daddy?”

“You! You are”, you whimpered.

“Damn right”, he growled. 

He was becoming more and more possessive of you. He just wanted to fuck you as many times as possible. And until you told him you wanted to stop, he wouldn't.

He quickly slid your panties down to your knees, just enough to be offered to him the way he wanted. Grabbing your hips, he pulled your hips up, diving his tongue in your cunt, then lapping from your folds to your ass. Swirling his tongue over your tight ring. He pressed against it, testing the resistance of your little hole. He wanted to fuck it but he wasn’t sure he had time to get you ready for his cock. Reluctantly, he moved back down slightly, licking your dripping pussy. Your face was buried in the pillow and your clenched fists gripped the sheets.

“Make me cum daddy, please”, you whined. 

He smiled, as his nose was pressed against your perfect ass. You were so good for him. Always ready to take his cock. Always ready to be fucking ruined.

His tongue focused on your clit, just like he knew you needed it, and his thumb rubbed your ring. Unable to resist the tightest of your holes. You whined in the pillow and came on his tongue. Your boyfriend’s father tongue.

Quickly, he grabbed your hip with one hand before thrusting his cock deep, making you whimper against the bed. Finally, he was feeling the sensation he had been thinking about all day. All day he thought about you. About your holes.

Your tight pussy. You mouth which sucked his cock perfectly, until he spurted in your throat. Your ass, which he was the only one to fuck.

He wanted you for himself, and at the same time the taboo of your relationship was driving him crazy. 

His thoughts became blurred, and now he couldn't think of anything at all. Just feeling your cunt swallowing him, and listening to your sweet “daddy, daddy, daddy.”

He was chasing his orgasm, railing you, his hands buried in the flesh of your hips.

“Daddy”, you whimpered. 

“Say it again” he commanded, as he spanked you twice.

“Daddy…Daddy, please, fill me.”

He growled and pushed his thumb into your ring just before his cum filled your pussy. He stayed buried deep in your cunt until you milked his cock. 

“The bed smelled like him. Now it's gonna smell like me.”

Same "couple": Owned collection

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[storiesforallfandoms]

making amends ~ bucky barnes;marvel

word count: 2528

request?: no

description: in which she finds out that their three year relationship started by him trying to make amends for his brainwashed past

pairing: bucky barnes x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angsty angst, use of y/n, mentions of bucky’s winter soldier past, mentions of an incident that left the reader in critical condition

masterlist (one, two, three)

(Y/N) placed the basket of clothes on her and Bucky’s bed. Bucky was away, and she had the day off, so she decided to do a clean of the whole house. She had just finished a load of laundry that had been waiting to be washed for at least two weeks. That included Bucky’s laundry, which he usually did himself but he had also let it pile up the last few weeks.

After folding it, (Y/N) turned to Bucky’s dresser to put his clothes away. When she opened the top drawer, she noticed something tucked away. She pulled it out and found it was a small moleskin journal. She hadn’t seen it before. Before she could consider what it might be for, or why Bucky might be hiding it away, she opened it.

It was a list of names. (Y/N) didn’t recognize any of them, but they were undoubtably written in Bucky’s writing. There were pages of names, some of which were crossed out. (Y/N) knew about Bucky’s past - about being a man out of time who was once a brainwashed weapon for Hydra. She began to wonder if these names were people he once knew. Maybe family of his old friends from the 40s, or whoever was still alive from then.

That seemed like a reasonable explanation, until she saw her name was one of the ones crossed out.

She backed up until her legs collided with the bed. She fell back to a sit, staring long and hard at her own name.

Why am I included in Bucky’s journal? she thought. Was he looking for me? And if so, why?

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear Bucky coming home. Suddenly, he was stood in the doorway to the bedroom. (Y/N) looked up at him, still with a look of confusion on her face. Bucky had been smiling, but when his eyes fell onto the book, his smile faded. His reaction made her heart sink. She would feel guilty for looking through his stuff under different circumstances, but now all she could think of was what the journal was for.

Bucky broke their silence first, “Where’d you find that?”

“It was in your top drawer,” she replied. Quickly, she added, “I found it while putting the laundry away. I didn’t think...” She trailed off, looking back down at the book. “What is this?”

Bucky ran his hand through his hair and sighed. There was no use in lying about it. He had to come clean eventually. “You know how we’ve talked about my time as the Winter Soldier? All the bad I did while I was under their control?”

She nodded. Of course, how could she ever forget? He had opened up to her very early on in their relationship about what he had gone through under Hydra’s control. He told her because he said he didn’t want to keep secrets from her, and he wanted to give her the opportunity to leave before the relationship got too serious if what he did changed her opinion on him. It was a shock, especially since she was a former SHIELD agent who had heard plenty of stories about the infamous Winter Soldier, but she assured him that her opinion on him hadn’t changed. “You are not that person,” she ahd told him.

“When Shuri deprogrammed me,” he explained, “and when I started going to therapy, my therapist suggested finding a way to make amends for all the bad I did. That book is a list of people I hurt...or-or killed as the Winter Soldier. I’ve met with most of them, or their remaining families, and done whatever I could do to make amends.”

(Y/N) looked at all the names again. All people from Bucky’s past. People he hurt when he didn’t even have control over his own body and mind. The crossed out names were people he felt he had made amends with.

Her name was one of the ones crossed out.

“Why am I here?” she asked. Her voice was so soft he may not have heard it if he didn’t have enhanced hearing.

“Do you remember that mission you went on that resulted in you leaving SHIELD?”

(Y/N) tensed. She remembered, although very slightly. She had some gaps in her memory from that night, but she remembered the most important part: that she had almost died.

The details of the mission were one of the foggy things. All she could remember was being sent to a supposed Hydra base with other SHIELD agents. She had gone off by herself. She was moving down what she thought was an empty hallway. That’s where her memory stopped. Next thing she knew, she had woken up in a hospital bed days later. Fury didn’t tell her many details, just that she was attacked and nearly lost her life. Another agent had luckily found her before it was too late.

Fury had offered to let (Y/N) be off as long as she needed. He assured her that her job would be waiting for her when she was ready to come back. Instead, (Y/N) quit on the spot.

When she finally dared to look up at Bucky, she saw that he was crying. She had been holding back her own emotions, but seeing Bucky break was enough to make her finally break too.

“It was me,” Bucky admitted, his voice breaking. “I did that to you.”

(Y/N)’s hands clutched the journal. She was tempted to rip it to shred and leave the pieces scattered all over the bedroom floor. Their bedroom floor. The bedroom in the house that they had bought together nearly a year ago.

“Was any of it real?”

She didn’t mean to say it out loud. It was a thought that slipped through her filter before she could stop herself. But it was also a question she needed an answer on. She had already spent three years of her life with Bucky, and had planned to spend the rest of it with him, too. But if all of this was just a way for him to “make amends” with her...that would’ve hurt her worse than finding out that the man she loved was the reason she almost died.

Although, that wasn’t Bucky. That’s what she had been telling him since he first told her about the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t in control, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was made to think he was a weapon to be used against anyone Hydra viewed as an enemy, and at that point in time, (Y/N) was the enemy in question.

But it was Bucky who had lied to her for three years. Post-brainwashed Bucky, who knew this whole time that he had hurt her when he was under Hydra’s spell. Who had sought her out to “make amends”, and just so happened to end up in a relationship with her.

Bucky seemed hurt by the question. “Of course! Of course, all of it was real. All of this is real.”

“You say that like it’s an outrageous thing to ask, but how can I not think that maybe this is how you decided to ‘make amends’ with me?”

She was standing now. She didn’t even notice she had stood, but now she was looking Bucky in the eye.

“Three years, Buck,” she continued. “We’ve been together for three years. You had so much time to tell me this, and you never did. Were you ever going to? Or were you just going to let me believe that we met by chance in a grocery store and fell in love and it was all happily ever after?”

“I tried to tell you,” he said. “When I first told you about my past, I wanted to tell you then. That was the whole reason I told you. But then you were being so understanding and kind, and you were making me feel less like a monster, I just...I couldn’t. I thought if I told you then...that you wouldn’t have been as understanding.”

“Bucky, I’m not upset or mad or scared of you because of what happened. I know that wasn’t you. That’s what I’ve been saying for ages, that you’re not the Winter Soldier. What I am upset about is that you didn’t tell me about this amends thing. You didn’t even mention that it was something you did. I had to find out three years into our relationship, which now has me questioning whether or not this whole thing was just a way for you to make amends with me.”

“No! No, (Y/N), it’s not - ”

He reached out for her and she took a step back. They both paused as (Y/N) realized what she did. She had done it out of anger, but the look in Bucky’s eyes told her that he was afraid she was doing it out of fear, too. That one look was enough to make her anger turn to sympathy. She was still angry, and she was sure that anger wasn’t going anywhere, but she could understand Bucky’s hesitance in telling her about the attack. That just wasn’t the issue she was currently having.

“How did you plan to make amends with me?” she asked. “Because if taking me out on that first date was your plan, I’m going to be so upset and hurt - ”

“No, not at all,” he cut her off. “We met ages before I asked you on a date, remember? You said it yourself, it was at the grocery store.”

“Had you been looking for me, though? Was that actually a chance encounter, or did you look for me?”

He hesitated before responded, “I had looked for you. You were one of the few people who were already in New York, so I went looking to find out where you lived and figured out which places you were likely to visit in that area. I didn’t follow you or anything, but I did go to some of those places frequently to try and run into you.”

(Y/N) didn’t think about the slight creepy and stalker way that sounded. She had to remind herself he was saying he didn’t do that to try and start a relationship with her.

“We got to talking, and you told me about the issues you were having in your apartment,” he said. “You said your landlord was a piece of shit and didn’t offer any help whenever you needed it. So, I offered to help. Remember, I was there basically a whole day just fixing whatever issues you had?”

She remembered. She had been hesitant to accept the offer from a strange man she had only met moments before in a grocery store, but her old apartment was basically falling apart. She had done the best she could to fix whatever she knew how, but there were still so many issues, and her landlord kept blowing her off whenever she had talked to him about it. She was desperate. Not to mention she still had her SHIELD training if Bucky had ended up trying to pull anything while he was there.

“That was my amends,” he told her. “I knew it could never measure up to what I did to you, but it was something you needed done and I helped you. I crossed you off the list then and there, and I completely left you alone. I hadn’t thought about you for months after that, until...”

“Until we ran into each other on the street,” she remembered.

It was three or four months after Bucky had fixed up her apartment when she saw a familiar face walking the packed sidewalk of New York. She had been the one to initiate the conversation then. Bucky hadn’t even seemed to notice her until she waved him down and called out his name.

“And you basically begged for my number so we could keep in contact,” he reminded her. “I tried to stay away. I knew it was wrong, sick even, for me to get involved with you at all. But you had these big, pleading eyes, and you wouldn’t really take no for an answer. And then we got to talking, and one thing led to another and I found myself asking you on a date.”

When Bucky stepped towards her, reaching for her again, (Y/N) didn’t pull away. Instead, she let him take her into his arms. He was slow, giving her the option to pull away if she wanted to, and when she didn’t he pulled her all the way to him. She rested her head on his chest as he put his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m so sorry I never told you,” he said. “I know I should’ve. It’s eaten away at me for so long. But at time went on, I just fell more and more in love, and I was scared. I was selfish. You never should’ve had to find out this way.”

(Y/N) sighed. “No, I shouldn’t have. You should’ve told me when things really started to get serious. Especially about the amends stuff.”

“I know. I’m sorry, doll.” He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. “I understand if you need time to process everything. Like I said, I know it was wrong to pursue a relationship after what I did to you - ”

“How many times will I have to remind you that you are not the Winter Soldier?” she asked, pulling away so she could look at him. “Honestly, knowing that doesn’t affect our relationship. I fell in love with Bucky Barnes, the kind man who is carrying such a large burden on his shoulders because of other people who are actually evil. That part of the story isn’t what upsets me. It’s finding out that I was on an amendment list and not knowing how much of this relationship was actually real.”

Bucky cupped her face with his flesh hand, almost like he was afraid of her reaction to his metal arm now that she knew the truth. “All of it is real. I love you so, so much, (Y/N). I can’t imagine my life without you.”

She leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, but she pulled away. “You’ll have to add me back to that list.”

He looked at her, confused. “What?”

“After learning about all of this, you have to make a new amendment with me. Say, breakfast in bed? Oh, or maybe that puppy you keep conveniently forgetting we agreed to get?”

He smiled and pulled her to him again. When he kissed her, she didn’t pull away.

“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll give you the whole world if it proves to you how much I love you.”

(Y/N) giggled. “Let’s start smaller with the puppy instead.”

Bucky chuckled. “Deal. We’ll go to the pound next week.”

“Tomorrow.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

[cherry-luvz]

Cockwarming with K.MJ.

Genre - Smut and fluff.

Warning- G!P Minji, just cockwarming, Don't be a dud- wrap your bud.

Paring - GP!loser!Minji x gf!fem!reader.

Synopsis - Its winter, and Minji needs warming up. You’re her only option.

Word count - 1.4K

MINJI - Red.

READER - White.

It was a chill einter eveling and Uni had just broken off for two weeks of holiday to enjoy Christmas with loved ones.

You where on your phone when you got a text, It was around 07:45PM when your phone pinged you decided to check as saw that it was your gf texting you.

Min Min 💬

-> Baby? 🤭

-> Yes, minji?😑

-> Can u come over, to my place? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

-> no. 😾

-> PLSSSSSSS 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

-> still no, Its freezing cold outside! 💀💀 I ain’t walking in that cold ur crazy ☠️☠️

-> PLSSSS BABY PLSS!! 😿😿

-> Give me one gd reason y I should go to ur house..😑😑

-> Bc yk 😏😏

-> Ik? Wdym..? 🥸

-> 🙇🏻‍♀️🙆🏻‍♀️ ❤️😏

-> 😰😰😰😰😰

-> so watcha say bbg? 😼😼😼

-> nty I’m gd fr 😊👍

-> 😔😔😔😔 please love 🥺

-> Bro u just wanna get freaky min.😑

-> That’s not true! 😞

-> Yh sure. 🙄

-> please!! I’ll give cuddles..! 😖❤️

-> U promise? 😑

-> I prowmiss🥺

-> Fine i’ll come but u have to come pick me up.😑

-> YAYYY.. wait do I really..?😽😦

-> yh u do i ain’t walking in the snow🙄.

-> okay okay i’ll be there in 40😖.

-> aww ty see ya!

-> See u soon bbg, luv u😽😽

-> Ily too ❤️

You sighed and got up from your bed, you put on a pink skirt, nude coloured tights, a crop top, a white puffer jacket with a scarf and you small bag which held your phone, lipstick, lipgloss, Vaseline, mini perfume and your purse.

You styled your hair and then put on log warmers with socks then you put on your Ugg’s. You grabbed your keys and exit your apartment complex

It was snowing outside and you waited for your gf to pick you up as she said she would. Around 10 - 15 mintes later a black BMW pulled up in front of you.

The person rolled down the window, “Hey baby, hop in..” She said with a smile and leaned over to the passenger side opening the door.

“New car..?” You said, climbing into her car.

You then closed the door and put on your seat belt, “Yeah, my nice new sweat baby!..”

“Hmm but I thought i was your baby.?” You pouted looking up at her as she put her hand on your knee, her touch was cold, you shivered.

“You are, but this is my like.. ‘car’..”she said and you nodded.

You looked out the window, watching the snow fall, Minji had her left hand on the wheel and her right on your lap.

40 MINUTES LATER

Minji parked outside the gate, minji was from a wealthy family so she lived in the luxury apartment.

You watched as she beeped a black card and ths gates open. “We’ll be at my place soon..” She said gently gripping your thigh.

You nodded, “Okay..”

She drove for another 5-10 minutes and you guys reached a huge luxury apartment. “Were here baby..” she said as she parked the car in the in the parking lot.

You undo your seat belt at the same time she does hers, she got up and got out of the car doing a quick jog to your side opening the door for you.

“Thanks luv,” You said getting out as you held her hand, “Ha anything for my princess..”

She closed the door and you waited for her to lock the door, she then took your hand and you guys walked into the building.

After a few minutes You where at your gf’s house, she took off your shoes for you, put on your puffer jacket down as well ad you’re scarf and sat next to you.

Minji were cold from the snow so she shivered, you look at her. “You cold.?” You asked her and she yawned.

“Yeah.. i’m freezing..” she leaned back in her chair and you looked at her, she the smirked looking at your thighs.

She like you wearing skirts, it was a complete turn of for her. You looked her hear, feeling her gaze on yo, “What are you looking at, luv?”

She wrapped her arm around your waist, squeezing it gently. “I love your skirt baby~” she said looked at you with a smirk.

“Perv.” You muttered as your face heated up, she chuckled. “But you love it don’t you..?”

You did, you did love it. You felt as she pulled you closer, her gaze going towards your lips. “Mhm so soft..” she rubbed the bottom of your lips.

You blushed as she came closer, leaning in to kiss you. As you guys lips met you blushed even more, you felt as she pulled you into her lap making you straddle her.

You guys continued to kiss as she placed her hands on your waist while you had your hands on her shoulders. She pulled away and smiled at you, “You’re so pretty baby, but I’m a little cold.. you wouldn’t mind cock warming me?”

You felt the boner she had your breath hitched. “I-i..” you stumbled over your words. “..o-okay..” she smiled and pulled down her sweatpants.

You looked down as you saw her cock, it was a pretty pink colour. She smiled and kissed your neck.. “A-ah b-baby..” you whimpered as you clutched onto her shirt.

You felt her move your panties to the side and teased her cock to your hole. “Hmm so wet for me princess.. so fucking wet..”

She pushed into you and you sat down on it, “a-ah!” You moaned.

“Fuckkk princess..” she grunted.

You sat there cock warming her, you wanted to move so bad. You felt her hold your hips down not letting you move at all.

You whimpered as you clenched around her, placing your head on her chest. “Oh gosh thats a dangerous game to play bbg..” she said gripping onto your hips.

You clenched again, “Ahhh.. hmmpf..” you moaned.

She gritted her teeth, “if you do that one more time I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk..”

You clenched around her one last time and she, keeping to her words, pinned you down and pulled up your crop top up and sucked on your breast as she pounded into you.

“Hmmpf a-ah! Mommy fuck.. ah” you moaned and your eyes teared up from too much pleasure. “You’re my cock slut isn’t it? Fucking slut.”

You nodded as she continued to pound into your tight cunt, “Ah mhmpf.. mommy..”

“Hmm oh gosh baby..” you felt as she pulled you closer and pounded into you deeper and deeper.

You felt her cock touch your cervix, “Oh gosh ah.. yeah mommy ahh hungggg right there hmpff!!..” your eyes rolled back.

Minji noticed, she had hit your g-spot and continued to do so, “Mhm your so gushy and warm~”

Your mouth formed a ‘o’ shape as you felt a knot in your stomach. She continued to bully her huge cock into you tight cunt, you whimpered and felt her grip getting tighter.

“Hmpf mommy..” you moaned as you felt the knot slowly coming undone. “You gonna cum?” She asked you and you nodded, slowly opening your eyes.

“C-can i cum mommy..? I’ve been hunggnnggg.. a g-good hmpfffff g-girl..” you clenched more onto her shirt.

She leaned down next to your ear, “Hmm go on baby girl, cum for mommy..” she whispered as she moved even faster.

You felt the knot come undone and you cumed, “Oh gosh minji fuck..” your body shivered and you cumed all over her cock which she was still moving in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

“Now let mommy cum you.. ya?” You nodded and felt as your vision became hazy and she smug, she knows you were brain fucked.

It was a bit sore at first until you felt another orgasm creeping up apron you, “M-mommy i-I’m gonna a-ah cum.. a-ah..a-again..” you mentioned.

“Me too, get ready for mommy’s fat load.” She said as you fell her cock twitch a bit in you.

You felt as her thrusts become more and more sloppy. “H-hmpf.. baby.. mommy’s gonna cum..” she whimpered.

You whimpered, “Fuck cum with me baby..”

And you did so, you felt as her load filled you up as your leg twitched, your cunt throbbing and Minji lying on top of your chest.

She then sat up after catching her breath. “Fuck”

She gently pulled out watching as your pussy gently pushed out you and her’s cum mixed together. She saw the creampie and chuckled.

“Hmm.. best sex ever babe. Loved it..” she said as she put your panties back on. You rolled your eyes and gently sat up, “I feel sticky..” You said and got up but your legs gave away.

Minji quickly caught you. “Gosh..” you muttered.

She chuckled, “Hmm i did really fuck you till you can’t walk..”

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳“15 missed Calls”—Geto Suguru

Synopsis: Suguru wasn’t a jealous or angry man but then you usually didn’t flaunt your ass a round in a tiny dress either- but hey, Halloween’s every girl’s pass at being a whore, right?

── ˚₊✩‧₊ A/n: ok yeah I’m late to post for Halloween but it’s like barely anything to do with it so <3 also I did stray away from what I’d planned to write but then hehe👉👈 also, thanks to @romiyaro for beta and in general (I swear I’ll get pouty! Reader in some Drabble now💀)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ word count: 3.9k

── ˚₊✩‧₊ warnings: MDNI!!smut!!fem! Reader x Suguru; pussy inspection; degradation; jealous (but totally not toxic) Suguru; orgasm denial; hinted power dynamics; reader is more or less a brat; spitting; Suguru is almost a soft dom? It was supposed to be just smut but idk (PWP)

“Crawl”

You stared at him blankly, “Now,” Suguru added, brows raised- a smirk wide on his face as you drop to your knees.

“I’ll be back late, don’t wait up on me Su’”

A nod he passed mindlessly—“Sure thing babe- just lemme know if I have to pick you up and don’t get wasted, send me a message if you change locations and-”

A heavy pause settled in, you walked in skittishly—a bashful grin on your face, “This ok?” Question which referred your dress in place.

Mostly, it wasn’t ok—definitely not appropriate in the way the small little satin piece hugged your body, so short Suguru was sure you would flash somebody after two drinks.

But it was Halloween—every girl’s free pass at being a whore.

A sigh Suguru let out, “it’s gorgeous, you’re gorgeous…”

Your smile, guilty, only spread further, “..but?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “Nothing, just take care ok?” A step towards you and a turn of his finger to give him a spin—chuckling as you twirled excitedly and then hugged him—he was very sure it would be a long night.

-

15 missed calls, 25 messages with the same connotation of “are you ok?” And “where are you?”

A single slurred reply to you 40 messages with a “suguwu :)):) m’ kay. Pck me up im 20?”

And with all obviousness, it wasn’t well received at all—so evident in the way tension hung heavy in the car, your seat belt properly holding you in place—his piercing gaze, and the certain placement of his hand on your thigh that kept you as sober as possible.

“Mm sorry,” you slurred out again, head lolling to the side to look at him—stuck at the way his jaw clenched at your words.

Not a word he passed, not a word after that, did you.

And hence, ride back home was quiet, awkward and…in some way, scary.

Click- the door fell shut, locked, entrapping what was of you and Suguru alone in the house.

And just so suddenly, every stitch in the hem of your flimsy red dress began seeming interesting—“What did I tell you?”

You winced and groaned, internally at his tone—“The fact that I trust you to- to, gods,” he paused as if searching for the right words—but you saw it, the switch in his eyes as they darkened just the slightest—“To leave the house dressed as a cheap little whore, one thing I asked for. Your fucked out lil’ brain can’t even do that?”

You stood there in the middle of your apartment, frowning and loosely, berated as a little kid, it seemed.

“Mm’ sorry Su’ it’s just- the girls-”

A sharp glare from him, enough to make your excuses die down your throat—“The girls this and the girls that right? Why was there nobody when I picked you-”

“-I ordered them all Ubers,” you muttered under your breath, a silence resting again.

“And you couldn’t one for yourself, why?”

You paused, hesitated—never once looking at him, “I thought…I thought I had you so…”

That was when Suguru took notice of the pout you held—the one you did all the time, The one he mostly loved.

“Besides,” you began—attention strained on the memory as you thought hard, “I’m not a child to be taken care of, or someone who’ll get lost-”

What you had assumed would quieten everything down only seemed to uproar a side of him you barely saw.

“Excuse me?”

You gulped, hard—“well yeah-”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snapped, moving all so close—“You were down right freezing and shivering when I pulled up, I don’t care what your girls do but your tits were almost hanging out, like a damn slut. Hell, why did you have those 20 dollar bills stuffed in there?”

You almost wanted to chuckle at the last part- it would make for a funny story, but the look on Suguru’s face screamed that it would have to wait till at least, the next day.

“I was alright,” you scoffed, a hand pushing him away—not a budge that it caused in his stance, “The bartender…he was nice- didn’t even let no one come near our drinks and- and even offered me lemons after closing and-”

“-woman,” Suguru interrupted quick, a long sigh withdrawn, “it was me who offered you lemons,”

You waited—a pink tint already dusted your face, ears burning at his words, “oh.”

He sighed again, seemingly recollecting his thoughts as you bit your lip—gods how he adored you—especially when you wobbled slight, wrapping your arms around his torso and pulling yourself into him, head resting in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled softly, against his body—his hands resting on your sides, “I know you’re a big girl alright? I know you can look after yourself,” he pulled away slight, a kiss landing on your forehead, “but it’s my responsibility too you know? And it was majorly annoying to have you gone like that,”

A nod you passed, again an apology mumbled except this time you were met by the shake of his head.

“No you’re not,” he mumbled, “you do this a lot you know?”

And you do, not informing him of the late night work sessions and what not, not informing him on time of a date cancelled, he was rightfully tired.

“Now, here on I’ll just punish you doll, you can deny it and we’ll go off to sleep and deal with it another time or you can be a good girl, my good girl and take everything because frankly, I’m a little too mad to sleep right now,”

You looked into his words, it wasn’t a bad idea, particularly, you would of course never utter a no.

But then, you knew what it entailed, you knew how it ended last time, how embarrassing but then just how much you loved it too—a nod, all the affirmation provided.

“Strip,” a command from there on, “quick,” he added, eyes boring into your form as he did so.

And strip you did, it wasn’t anything new but just the way your fingers trembled, as did your thoughts as you pulled down the satin dress down—Suguru’s groan was loud, sounding throughout the apartment—your breasts well out easily, “No bra?” And you wanted to snort at the obliviousness of the question, of course, no bra.

“At least tell me you’ve got your panties still on,” you licked your lips, face warmed up at his words—it wasn’t anything new, but then why did that certain tone of condescension feel just so right?

Suguru held back another groan as the white g-string came to his view, the one that he bought, “such a slut,” he whispered.

Over the couch, he motioned you—the sound of his tongue clicking as you stepped forward.

“I’m sure only good girls get to be with dignity,” there on his face, he held a grin which you wanted to slap away too—but all to no avail.

“Crawl” everything in his voice assured you that a brat was not what he would appreciate tonight.

You stared at him blankly, “Now,” Suguru added, brows raised- a smirk wide on his face as you drop to your knees.

It was simply embarrassing, in the way your hips swayed a little as you moved, all that was your dignity remained flitted to that small piece of clothing that you knew Suguru would probably tear away.

Your gaze remained downturned, too ashamed, humiliated to even look him in the eyes—but just one glance and you’d see that amused smirk, the satisfied expression on his face as he took in the sight displayed for him.

You halted near his feet- a ginger lick of your lips, unsure, uncertain on the sequence to be followed, tugging on the hem of his pants in a confused manner.

“Hm? Don’t know what to do? My, and here I thought the big girl was all so smart to do as she pleased,”

You let out a loud whine at his words, startled a little too as he squatted down to your level—“sh,” he muttered, pressing a finger to your lips, “all I want to hear tonight is an actual apology,”

Another nod, tersely you snapped your eyes away, knowing that’s as all you could do tonight.

He hummed along as well, getting up and motioning you with a finger too, “on the couch please doll,” and you were sure what was to come here on.

Across the arm rest you lay, biting your lip—so exposed, so vulnerable and to think he hadn’t shed a single piece of clothing himself.

His fingers were gentle in the way they touched you, you knew he wasn’t mad—but you knew you’d also end up crying by the time he was done.

They traced you gently, over your back, feathery touches to your spine—tickling almost, he bent down just at that too, down to your ear, “Feeling ashamed hm?”

A hum was all to add to his words as you lay yourself easy, tension ebbing away with the way he massaged you—“you know,” he began, “you should be more ashamed of your actions, acting like a brat rather than being ashamed of your pussy and bare ass on display,”

Just at that you wanted the couch to engulf you, you knew that he knew you did—that was the purpose, “You deserve some punishment eh?” A squeal you let you as his pinned you inner thigh, pushing it apart—“should get your pretty little girlfriends too eh? Make em watch since all of you seem like a bunch of sluts to me,”

All in good humour, you reminded yourself, but a small pout found it’s way along your features, as it always did when Suguru got degrading.

“15 spanks,” he mused, “just pink enough right?” — the sentence was ended with another pinch, 15, you but your lip—there would be something more to it.

“15 and you thank me for each, yeah pretty thing? Your pretty head can do that f’me tonight?”

you bobbed your head, not daring to even turn your head and look at him once.

A patient quiet settled in, your body relaxed further—Suguru smiled wide as he looked at you, so perfect for him, “remind me why you’re here sweetheart?”

The sweetness in his vice was sharp still, condescending in every way, “b-because I uh- I…I was out late? Didn’t—did not call o-or inform you-ah!”

-smack!

Your words simply fell short as the slap landed hard on your ass, so sure to grab it right after and and squeeze—Suguru pulled back, and waited.

“Thank you, Suguru,” you sighed, and you waited right after, expecting the next hit.

“We can stop if it’s too much-”

“-I’ll take it, wanna be a good girl, please i-”

A sharp slap on your right cheek and then the left, aimed carefully, accurately proportional, “atta girl,”

“Thank you,” you groaned at his words, eyes clenched shut, surprised in the way he chose not to hold back in midst of your words—but then, typical Suguru.

Just so, many a times Suguru landed the flat of Palm down on your ass, dusty pink to a rosy one, the process was slow as your backside gained its hue, so pretty.

18 spanks in, Suguru never spanked just the amount he promised, always more—the 19th spank sounded like a crack against your warmed up ass, you didn’t bother showing your gratitude.

A small pause, Suguru chuckled, “nothing? Why don’t I just-” a sharp pain elicited in you bottom half as another slap sounded in the room- a hard spank on your pussy, just hard enough to have you gasping.

“Thank you,” you mumbled out—tears forming at the brink of your eyes now,, form slumping onto the couch, exhausted and spent, sore from the position he’d had you hold so long.

“Bet you are, especially from all this wetness,” another slap on your pussy, “getting wet from your punishment?” Another slap, the tears threatened to spill, at this point, “that’s how sorry you are?”

You wanted to scream at him, thatyou were sorry but it was Suguru and this conversation was nuts to begin with so you remained your quiet, the pout slowly turning to a frown.

“On the couch, legs wide apart,” scrambling to your feet, you detested the way he chuckled as you grabbed onto him for support, the booze never helped and the way you were all so sore from hefty time spent in that uncomfortable position, nothing helped at all,, but that was fine, Suguru was gentle in the way he helped you settle.

“Just a small inspection, ok doll?”

The words and the fate of it came crashing down on you fast.

You gritted your teeth at his words, you knew what that meant—he would find your arousal, shame you for it, punish you maybe and you loved the process, every bit of it.

Sprawled across the couch, feet planted to your side onto the couch, while Suguru rested in the place between, warm breath tickling you, making your hole clench around nothing.

“If I slip these panties down,” you’re weren’t sure why he even bothered asking, the wet spot was all so apparent, “will I find you wet?” Even so, you lay audacious—a shake of your head, his smirk widened.

Fingers hooked into the waist and of your g-string, he pulled quick, not a second wasted , he’d been wanting to do this all evening.

An amused raise if his brow, eyes stuck at the string of your juices that worked its way from your pussy to the gusset of your flimsy panties.

There, finally, in all its glory, your pussy lay glistening with arousal under his gaze—“liar,” he grinned as he stared at it hungrily, “such a fuckin’ liar,” he repeated, almost in a daze.

Subconsciously though, your hips rolled, almost lifting to feel his touch, another set of clicking sounds, “don’t act like a cheap whore, you think I’ll just touch your pussy like that?”

Your eyes watched him, confused, as they stared down at his form in between your legs, kneeling for you, hair tied back.

“Need to see if this pussy’s still worth it babe,” and soon enough, everything made sense—a whine of disagreement rose through you, a glare from him acted enough a filter.

“Please, I’m sorry-”

“-prove it doll,” was all he muttered as he dove his fingers onto your pussy, mindful to only cause discomfort as he prodded at your folds, no more or less.

“Let’s see…” he snickered, “gods,” he chuckled, “think I gotta clean all of this before I can even start eh?”

Your eyes bounced around ditzy, you wanted just him, anything—“but the question is do we do this the right way and I wipe you clean? Or…” and all before the statement even came to its end, Suguru had dived in, pressed his hot tongue flat against your folds, basking in the gasp that you let out.

A sharp inhale you took as he pulled away just as fast, his eyes stuck onto yours, “I think cheap whores like you shouldn’t get the better end of the stick so…” with that, you cursed internally at the box of wipes that Suguru and you kept on the coffee table all the time—you cursed as the pulled out three tissues with ease.

“It’s supposed to cause discomfort so be prepared for that but if it hurts or is too much, let me know, ok?”

You nodded at his words, nervousness flickering on your face and he chuckled, squeezing your wrist slight—little comfort that it provided.

The first dab was ginger, as if testing his boundaries, soon came the second and then the third—until Suguru was easily navigating and cleansing you, almost felt infantilising.

How so very humiliating indeed.

“That’s your apology hm?” The smile jo longer rested on his face, “look at only me when I’m down here,” he added, noticing the slight hang of your head and almost closed off eyes.

“Such a naughty girl that you are,” he mused, “am I to believe you got this turned on from a spanking? Or was it something your girls did hm?” A sharp smack that ended on your hardened clit, he stroked it a little while he was there, “how absolutely pathetic doll,”

Shame blanketed you slight, not covering all of what you wanted for you still remained absolutely naked and open on for him, a satisfied hum he passed, tossing away the second tissue after dragging it from your slit all the way down to your other hole.

“Now that I begin inspecting my girl,” he chuckled at the pout you’d held the entire while, “you brought this upon yourself baby,”

And you had, but particularly, Suguru did think you held up better than most times.

You watched as he eyes your pussy, unsure of how to embarrass you further—he grinned, “my my, it’s so pink underneath all that slick hm? Almost as pink as your sweet ass,” with that he landed a sharp slap to your ass, just as a reminder—giggling at your squeal.

Thick fingers spread apart your folds slowly, tracing it over your pussy lips—a tickling sensation, “is your cunt clean enough to be used hm?”

You let out a sigh as he pulled at your folds, making sure to not once lay a finger on your clit—yet accurate enough to just pull back the hood of it.

“Is it clean enough that I can use your little hole now as a cum dump?” His fingers patted down onto your bare cunt, relishing in the wetness that seeped out your hole—“maybe you don’t deserve it all hm?”

With that, Suguru spit on your cunt, the wetness only ever grew as he Smeared it around, “had to make sure,” he snickered mischievously, “that this pussy’s still mine.”

You wanted to whine and groan, shove his head into your pussy so he eat you until you cried—but you know, you knew all too well that any attempts would only get your hands tied and mouth gagged with your soiled panties.

Suguru hummed, snapping his fingers, “eyes on me doll—now, I think, from the outside, you’re ok,” he smirked, “but I’d need to check the inside too right?”

You nodded at his words mindlessly, of course anything he said would he correct, “you’re lucky I’m not mad at ya, would’ve made ya bounce on that dildo of yours till ya’ cried,”

And by now, your patience was running low—Suguru was a tease, apparent from the way your clit itself twitched for his contact, your hips rolled and hole clenched uselessly—you were dying to fight back.

But you wouldn’t, because Suguru demanded a good girl tonight.

A finger moved into you slow, very slow, hips bucked only to be pushed down harshly by Suguru at that—“Take only what I give you,” he warned, loving the feel of your walls clenching about his finger.

You were to watch him, sure but nothing mattered anymore as your head fell back—“please,” you whimpered, “just a little more.”

He smiled at the way your face contorted about his thick finger, slow as he moved it about, a circular motion and then pushing it against your walls before pulling away entirely.

The slick coated his finger just as before, only this time He brought to his mouth still, tasting you right there and humming.

“Good as always,” he muttered, eyeing carefully your ministrations, “please Suguru,” you cried out, “touch me p-please,”

Tricky slope.

Suguru was going to touch you anyways, of course he would but your statement only ever pushed away the ebbing orgasm he would’ve provided.

“Of course, my love,” he grinned—slyly before pushing in two fingers roughly into your hole—loving just how you gasped and mewled about it.

Then again, nothing mattered to you anymore.

"S-S—Suguruuu, harder... please. Moremoremore!" your begs fell in a hoarse voice.

“A sweet spot already?” A toothy grin he held as he pumped the two fingers into you slowly, loving the way your eyes rolled back at his touch.

Your thighs were spread out wide on the couch — raised now in the air as he leaned his body close, reaching knuckle deep and curling his thick fingers up into a gummy spot that made you shudder and grip a cushion.

"Ouh, Fuck! Sugu—"

“Ah, ah, ah, only apologies I said, right?” His tone was so soft even so, almost heavenly that you felt.

You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth as he hits deep strokes and massages his fingertips into your gummy walls— sticky juices are all over his hand because of all that cleansing he worked out of you earlier. Suguru smiled to himself, knowing you wouldn’t appreciate getting that couch wet with your juices in the morning—to hell with that.

You looked cute, as you gasped and moaned in his fingers—he took note of the ever present pout on your lips, oh how he wanted to fuck it out of you—but then, the mean thrusts diluted down to gentle strokes soon enough, boy was he soft for you.

Suguru was doting still, knowing that no way you could’ve taken his cock without prep—struggling with even his fingers tonight, he loved being bigger than you.

Bigger, faster, harder and merciless as they pursue your orgasm.

"Gonna cum and make a mess for me again? Yeah?"

"Yes! Please, pleasepleaseplease — make me cum!" you whisper frantically against him.

He chuckled when you moan, pumping his fingers faster and faster, fingering at your clit with his other hand to tip you over the edge.

“Nothing unless I allow it,” he announced finally, ah—that was why he’d been lenient earlier—gods how you hated him.

He studied you intently as your orgasm built up, if only that was his focus onto other things— maybe if he would have had the same determination in general as he does now when finding your G-spot, then he perhaps wouldn’t have struggled with daily life issues as much as he had to.

Suguru's dampened forehead rested against your thighs. He felt the radiating heat of your pussy in this proximity. Those dark eyes never stop staring at you, making sure you're as flustered as possible even in this pleasure-drunk state.

"Fuck... you're gushing..." he says in awe, " 'promise to lick my fingers clean after, yeah?" he rasps against you.

"Yes yes yes!" you say. He's pretty sure that you would have said yes to anything right then; you were so blissed by the way his fingers worked into your soaking hole, by the way they stretched you open just right.

The apartment was filled entirely, with the sound of your gushing pussy squelching with his thrusts—so tempted to attach his tongue onto your cunt but he knew you’d never be able to control yourself after that.

But to tease you was the goal—just slightly, almost a feathery touch he lay on your clit as he began rubbing it again, “shit doll, I do think your pussy’s worth turning a cum dump into,” you groaned at his words—mind almost mush as you chased your high, clenching at his fingers—until he pulled out immediately.

Until your high entirely ebbed away.

A confused and betrayed look you passed him, “wa-wait what? Suguru-! I-”

He simply giggled at your state, slapping your ass one more time as he got up and away, “you’re an idiot if you thought you’d be cummin’ t’night,”

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[mortiskiller]

Pignapped

Content warning: Contains violent language, physical harm, non-consensual feedism and other acts. This is just a story, don't be weird.

A commission for @collegefatty10

He was on the way back to the car after grabbing a pizza. It was routine at this point in his life. Eating all day without regard to his ever-increasing weight had led to some interesting eating habits. A breakfast sandwich in the morning had become three sandwiches with hash browns and two doughnuts. Lunch steadily grew into a multi-hour affair with trips to multiple drive-thru visits, door dash orders, desk drawers filled with snacks, and not to mention a new habit of pre-gaming before dinner. Driving to get his pizza led to stopping for fries, or nuggets, or a combo meal, or all of that, before he picked up his next greasy calorie bomb. This routine made his day predictable, pigs are simple after all. The same places and employees watched him fatten from the low 300s to his heaving 430 pounds. Day after day, pound after pound he kept ordering more. As his waddle slowed, his gut hung lower and lower, his face getting red and sweaty from the 20-foot walk from the car to the pizzeria, he was an easy target.

I had seen him months before on a lunch break. My eyes shot open as saw a hanging lard pile of a man puff his way into McDonald’s. It was a passing horny thought that I would see him again, maybe add it to my mental bank of images and memories to jerk off to later. Yet, he kept coming to the same places again, and again, and again till it was too much to resist. I mapped out his route, timed him as ordered, and ate his feasts. Noted how he favored his right leg as he waddled, his arms struggling to carry the ever-increasing amount of food he ordered. As I watched him, I couldn't help but notice the way his right leg bore the brunt of his weight, the limp a constant reminder of his indulgent lifestyle. I wondered how long he had been living like this, how many times he had ordered a pizza and not once thought about the consequences. I knew he would be easy to take. Easy to keep docile, dumb, and growing.

I waited till the moon was just a sliver in the night sky outside his favorite pizzeria. Checking my watch, as it ticked over to 8:40 pm, his sedan pulled into the parking lot, the front driver’s side sitting low as my soon-to-be pet pig drove. I watched from my hiding spot as he struggled to haul his massive frame out of the driver's seat, grunting and wheezing with the effort. The scent of greasy pizza wafted through the air as he waddled towards the entrance, his heavy footfalls reverberating on the pavement.

Once he was safely inside i made my move, slipping silently into the shadows and following him at a distance. Inside, he placed his usual order - a large meat lover's pizza with extra cheese and a side of garlic knots. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he paid for his meal, oblivious to the predator lurking in the darkness behind him.

As he turned to leave, I struck swiftly and silently, wrapping a thick cloth bag over his head. He struggled weakly for a moment before I pushed him back to the car. With ease, I kicked his right knee from the back and watched as he tumbled into the truck. His muffled moans of confusion and fear barely registering over the hum of the engine. He was mine now, another victim added to my collection.

I paused for a moment, considering my next move. He was a strange yet fascinating addition to my collection, and I relished the thought of having him under my control. I could see him squirming in the back, his heavy breathing and muffled cries a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.

I parked the car in a secluded spot, away from any prying eyes. The moon now a hazy glow, bathing everything in a sickly light. I approached the car, opened the rear door, and lifted my newest prize out of the vehicle.

He was heavier than he looked, his bulk making it difficult for me to handle him. But I had experience, and I was patient. I carried him to a nearby abandoned warehouse, the cold metal of the hinges echoing as I pushed open the door.

Once inside, I placed him on a table, still wearing the cloth bag over his head.

"Hey, buddy," I cooed to the pig, my voice low and sinister. "You know, you're not going to like what's going to happen to you. I've got some pretty wicked plans for you. I'm going to fatten you up, relentlessly, until there's barely anything left of your dignity or self-esteem. You see, we're going to use you, and we're going to pleasure you in ways you can't even imagine."

The pig let out a soft grunt, the sounds muffled by the cloth bag still securing his head. I chuckle, a dark and twisted sound that reverberates through the cold, empty warehouse. Taking a step closer, my shoes scraped against the rough concrete floor.

"I've been collecting things like you for years," I whispered, running his hands over his captive's plump body. "I've come across so many of your kind, just like you, loving your comfort and your food. And I've had my way with them all. Oh, I've had so much fun, and you're next on my list."

As I approach the pig, who is still covered in the bag, he lets out a soft whimper and shakes his head, trying to free himself. His body wobbles with each attempt as he struggles against his bonds. Belly aching with his last meal the movement causes an unintended blech from beneath the bag. Swiftly, I remove the bag from the pig's head, revealing a face red, sweating, and fearful. The pig's eyes are wide and terrified as he stares up at me, taking in his new surroundings - cold concrete walls bare of any decoration, a king-sized bed next to a small bathroom, and a large full-body mirror.

"Look at you," I say with a hint of disgust mixed with fascination, "just look at what you've become."

"You know what you are now?" I ask quietly, “You are my plaything, a toy, a fat weak blubbery toy!” my digs deep into his belly hang, bringing a painful whine from the pig’s mouth.

"You are mine, completely and entirely," I continue, my voice growing menacing, "and I'm going to do whatever I want with you at my command." The pig tries to struggle again, but his movements are weak and pathetic. "Oh, but first things first," I say, walking over to the bed where I had left a set of handcuffs.

I restrained the pig on the bed, at once reluctant and terrified to yield to such volition.

"You'll get used to it, trust me," I say, my fingers tracing curious paths over his bulging form. "Maybe then you'll even enjoy it."

With the pig cuffed to the headboard and footboard, I began to study him, taking in every last curve and fold of his form. He looked so helpless and vulnerable like a lost child in desperate need of a firm hand to guide him.

Noticing the glaze that had settled over his eyes, I thought, 'Now we're getting somewhere.'

Methodically, I began to examine him as if he were an exotic creature, taking note of each flaw that had been revealed by my rough handling.

He would be my plaything, my plump and innocent pig. And I would use him, treat him, and abuse him in ways that would break him completely. I would fatten him up and weaken him until his body could no longer bear the weight of his own flesh. I would use every inch of this vulnerable creature, making him my own personal toy.

As I stood over him, watching him squirm pathetically on the bed, my mind raced with all the ways in which I could degrade him. My hands moved over his flesh, feeling him shake beneath my touch. I could feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of his fur, the weight of the fat that filled his body. It was all so delicious, so intoxicating, that I found myself growing hard at the thought of what I could do with him.

My fingers brushing feather-light against his skin, teasing him with every passing second. It was then that I decided upon the next part of his degradation. With a smirk playing on my lips, I retrieved a bucket from the floor, its contents sloshing against the sides with every move I made. It was filled to the brim with a half-gallon of lard-filled slop, designed to both fuel his growing hunger and make him feel even more vulnerable in his restraints.

As I drew closer, the pig let out a small whine, his eyes widening in fear and anticipation. He knew what was coming. I brought the bucket towards his mouth, and with a practiced hand, I tilted it so that the contents would flow easily. A funnel was inserted into his mouth, and with a cruel smirk, I watched as the slop began to pour down his throat, filling him to the brim.

End of Part 1.

[roguelov]

Scars and All

Summary: For a few years, you have been friends with Trafalgar Law. And for a few years you have harbored a crush on his dad, Donquixote Rosinante. You tried, and tried, to ignore such feelings, but perhaps it’s time to put it all out into the open. No more hiding, you will tell him how you feel. You only hope he will let you down gently.

Word Count: ~8.9k

Reader: fem/afab (reader referred to a sweetheart/sweet girl)

Warnings: SMUT (age gap (reader is in their mid 20s and Cora is 40), breast play, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cream pie, dirty talk, small breeding kink, mostly dom!cora), minor angst (denial of feelings), pining, fluff in the end

(Fanart and inspo for the fic by levikra)

The idle rumbling of the car was the only thing keeping you grounded, or was the irritable sensation propelling your already splintered mind into more of a frenzy? You pressed your forehead into the steering wheel. The sun’s ray heated the faux leather, unfortunately not bringing you any relief or comfort. Just more irritation.

This is stupid.

Grumbling, you lifted your head, peering up at the picturesque house. It was simple with a small porch with rickety chairs to recline in, and a worn down welcome mat. Shutters muted by the sun. Its attached garage had its mouths open revealing a sleek vintage car and a motorcycle parked inside.

Plain. Ordinary.

Yet, it was frighteningly daunting. You white-knuckled your steering wheel. Your heart pounded feverishly in your chest. Blood pumped so loud in your ears you could barely discern the jumbled voices from the radio. A song? An interview? Why did it matter? Why were you focusing on such trivial things when -

Dumb. This is so fucking dumb and stupid and - and I should just leave. He wouldn’t -

You banged your head - again - against the steering wheel, growing out in frustration. “What am I doing here,” you asked the rhetorical question in the lone space.

You tilted your head, glancing at your passenger and the reason for the afflictions to your spiraling mind: a plastic container of an assortment of cookies. The container sparkled in the sunlight as if smiling giddily eager to be delivered.

You grumbled to yourself, “Why did I talk myself into this?”

*****

“Ooo, it smells amazing in here!”

You peered over your shoulder, looking back at your friend and housemate, Evelyn. She hungrily eyed all the variety of cookies littered across the kitchen counters cooling and some already packed neatly in containers. Giggling, she snatched up a fresh one, biting into it.

She hummed, smiling at you, “It’s so good.”

Your cheeks warmed and you smiled bashfully, “Thanks.”

She plopped down at one of the dining chairs, happily nibbling on her cookie. “So why’d you make so much? And why did you ask me to help?”

You snickered at her tone and small pout. “Ah well, I wanted to make some chocolate chip cookies but then you saw we had plenty of other ingredients so it just spiraled out of control from there.”

She frowned a bit, deciphering your roundabout words. “Stress baking?”

Your eyes dropped to the side. Caught. “Yeah, kind of.”

“Why?”

You added some cooled cookies into another container. “Well … I was thinking about bringing some to Rosinante .. and I know Law is still doing his shift at the hospital.”

She beamed, finishing off her cookie. “Yeah, I bet they will like them.”

You said nothing, you just closed the container, sealing it tight.

Evelyn watched you for a moment. Your hand nervously patted on your pants, rubbing off the flour and sugar. Your eyes darted around counting and recounting all the cookies. “What’s wrong? What do you think they won’t like them?” She asked.

“Huh? Oh, uh … no, that’s not the issue.” You shuffled side to side. “I thought that maybe I could finally do it.”

She cocked her head. “Do what?”

You fiddled with your fingers. “That … that I could tell Rosinante how I feel.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Really?”

She had known about your crush on him, you had confided in her some time ago. She had even comforted you when a few tears were shed under the veil of night. It wasn’t right to have a crush on your shared friend’s dad. You knew this. You tried to drop it, to let him go, yet with every conversation you had with him you fell a bit more.

“I … I just … I don’t want to keep pretending,” you quietly admitted. “If he doesn’t like me, then so be it … maybe I could finally move on once I hear it from him … it’ll be awkward as hell when we go over there in the future but … I should do this.”

No more delusions or what ifs. Your mind tired of these endless running thoughts every single night.

Eve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled, a small one. You placed a hand on your chest, rubbing the spot over your racing heart.

I got this.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up a perfectly packaged container. You held the container close to your chest, however once you turned to leave you froze.

Seeing your hesitation, Evelyn got up and started pushing you towards the door. “Alright, go.”

You dug your heels into the floor. “But -“

“Nope, now shoo.”

“Actually I - I changed my mind. This is a terrible idea and I don’t want to do the adult thing anymore -“

“It’s a wonderful idea,” she urged you, opening the front door for you. “And he’ll love them.”

And you, she thought.

“I don’t care if he likes the cookies,” you grumbled. “It’s the other thing.”

“You can do it. I know he likes you back -“

You vehemently shook your head, pushing back on her attempts. “I can’t -“

She spun you around, grabbing your arms. Her eyes blazed with determination, far more than your own. “Yes, you can. You said you would do it, so no backing out.”

You hung your head, sighing deeply, “… fine.”

She beamed. “Great! And don’t worry, I’ll keep Law away … for a few hours.”

Your cheeks burned. “Whoa, it won’t -“

With one final shove, you stumbled backwards out the door. She chirped in a cheery tone, “Now, go. And good luck!”

The door then slammed in your face.

*****

Fuck it, just do it!

Shutting off the engine and snatching up the cookies, you hopped out of your car. Every step towards the front door, every time your heart jumped up into your throat. You wanted to turn tail and hide, but how could you go back home? Eve will certainly give you trouble.

I could just sneak inside and hide away in my room.

You muttered to yourself. It was at least a decent idea.

Wrong. All wrong, a voice hissed in the back of your mind. You’re a friend of his kid, why would he even see you like this? You shouldn’t have even entertained this for a second. It’s all wrong.

Your heart ached. You shoved that voice back, locking it in the far recesses of your mind. You didn’t need it whispering in your ear. Again. You just needed to get this all off your chest, you couldn’t bear the weight of this secret anymore. The rejection will sting, it will gut you, and you will cry, but then hopefully you could finally move on.

With a shaky hand, you pressed the doorbell. The chime cut through the silence. You flinched. Glancing over your shoulder, you wondered if anyone was watching this slow disastrous train wreck.

This is a dumb idea. Maybe I could -

The doorknob clicked then opened. You whipped around, staring up at the owner of the home, the father of your friend, and the owner of your heart: Donquixote Rosinante. With a cigarette hanging from his lips, he smiled warmly, “Hey, what brings you around here?”

Matching his smile, you held up the cookies. “I made a bit too much so I thought I would stop by and bring some.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Thank you, here -“ he moved aside giving you space to step in, “- come on in, you know where the kitchen is.”

You nodded, walking in. Smiling, Rosinante closed the door behind you. You passed by the living room and into the kitchen with Rosinante following behind you. You set down the cookies on the kitchen island. Rosinante circled around the island to the other side. He took his cigarette, flicking the ashes into a small glass tray. His eyes darted over to you. He saw the question written so clearly on your face.

“I know I’m trying to quit. Just please don’t tell, Law,” he said, taking a small drag. “I know the kid is almost a doctor now, but it’s hard to break such an old habit -“ he winked “- it can be our little secret.”

Your heart fluttered. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Joy, unbridled joy and elation, bloomed at the nickname. It brought a warmth unlike any other: sunshine on a snowy winter morning, bonfire on a cool summer night, or a warm blanket wrapped around at night. You couldn’t remember when it started, but you loved it. His deep voice mixed so lovely with the affectionate tone of the name. It was this small insignificant thing that made your heart cling to hope, hope that maybe - just maybe - he felt something.

“Do you mind?” Rosinante pointed at the container.

“Oh! Uh, no please go ahead,” you answered.

He smiled then opened it up. He inhaled the tantalizing decadent aroma. “Smells great.”

He plucked a chocolate chip cookie. Holding his cigarette between his fingers, he took a bite. He hummed. His eyes twinkled with delight. ”This is amazing! You’re a great baker.”

You smiled bashfully. “Thanks.”

Looking at him, your expression softened as he finished the cookie with a smile. However as he ate the last bite, your eyes caught something. “Hey, uh, you have …,” you gestured to a spot on your own cheek.

Rosinante tilted his head. His golden hair swept across his forehead. His innocent face made him appear decades younger.

How can a grown man look so adorable?

You reiterated, “You have some chocolate on your cheek.”

“Oh!” He swiped his thumb across his skin - to where you pointed - then gently sucked the chocolate off. He hummed, licking his lips. “Thanks.”

You kept your voice steady. “No problem.”

He really doesn’t understand what he does to me.

“Any reason you made so many cookies?” Rosinante asked, closing the lid.

You shrugged. “Just wanted some, but then it kind of spiraled into making a bunch of different batches.”

He smiled, leaning on the island. “Well, thank you for sharing. I might eat them all before Law gets a chance to try one.”

You mimicked him, resting your elbows on the island. “No worries, we have plenty back at the house … that is if Eve doesn’t eat them all.”

He snickered and took another drag of his cigarette.

Your eyes skimmed over him. He truly was a golden god, yet wrapped up with some boyish charms. You tore your eyes away. Your heart started to speed up again with the mere thought of spilling everything out in the open. He picked up the cookies, turning his back to you and putting them next to the fridge. It was out of sight, and somewhat hidden for a sweet treat for himself later.

Ok, fuck, breathe. Just - just say it. It’s now or never.

Clearing your throat, you spoke in a shaky voice. “Rosinante?”

He hummed, his back still to you,

I can do it. It’s fine - it’ll be fine.

You took a long deep breath. “I … I have something I want to tell you.”

He froze.

Instantly, he knew where the conversation would go before you could utter another word. The thing was Rosinante wasn’t clueless or oblivious to your infatuation with him. He will admit he didn’t at first, however it all clicked. He saw how you clung to each of his words, how you stared at him when you thought he wasn't watching, how you leaned towards him craving his warmth, or how you always sought out his company. He was surprised, yes, and in heavy denial for some time. But, as weeks passed, his observation and theory only solidified.

He could only hope your crush would pass.

Rosinante twisted around. “Please don’t.”

Most of all, Rosinante hoped and prayed his own attraction to you faded. It started as a small bud in his chest. Yet, the more and more you came around, the more you talked and laughed with him, the more the simple infatuation grew. It rooted its vines deep within his heart, taking hold and control of him. He craved your presence constantly, you were becoming his new addiction.

But, it wasn’t right.

Rosinante sighed heavily. Taking his cigarette, he smothered it out in the ashtray. “I know what you’re about to say.”

You blinked. “You do?”

Does he?

He glanced up, staring directly into your eyes. Why were his eyes so sorrowful? Or … pitiful? “You we’re about to make a confession, were you not?”

Embarrassment. White hot searing embarrassment coursed through you. Your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. You quickly dropped your head, hiding your boiling shame. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, nails burying into your palms.

“Please don’t.”

His haunting words replayed on repeat.

Fuck, I was right. Shit -

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing back the tears.

Rosinante frowned. Fuck. Maybe, he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe, he should have let you speak first. But, he was trying to save you some pain. He moved around the counter, hovering by your side. His hand raised to comfort you. However, when he heard the faint sniffles, his heart clenched and his hand dropped.

Damn it.

“Look, it’s -“

You snapped your head up. You smiled, an awfully forced one that didn’t convince Rosinante in the slightest. Taking a deep breath, you tried to swim faster than the typhoon of emotions hurtling through your mind. “No, you don’t have to explain yourself. I - I understand … I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

It was a long shot, an impossible chance. Why did a part of me believe it would work? How delusional could I be?

You spun on your heels to leave, but Rosinante caught your wrist. He tugged you back. His hands cupped your face, forcing you to stay and look at him. He searched in your frantic eyes to see if he overstepped. But, all he saw was pain trying to be bottled up. “I do owe you an explanation, it’s only right,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts, “sweetheart, it’s cliche I know but it’s not you, it’s me … I’m … I’m not right for you.”

Your heart - your conflicted heart - flipped. “… what?”

He sighed, “You are kind and wonderful and amazing -“

And everything I could ever hope for, he thought.

“- but I’m broken. I’m old. I’m scarred. I’m - I’m not whole.”

Unlike you.

His words swirled around in your head. Broken. Old. Scarred. “So?” You asked in a quiet voice.

Rosinante’s eyebrows furrowed.

Pushing down your nerves, you pressed on. “Not everyone is perfect and - and without flaws, do you think I am? Do you think I don’t have some sort of scars whether etched into my skin or across my heart?”

He blinked, taken back by your words.

Just spill it all. He … he already knows.

“Only you make me feel like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze. “Only you can constantly make me laugh and smile, and - and brighten my day. You make me feel seen, heard.”

Rosinante’s heart hammered. “Can - can you look at me?”

Your eyes wearily inched back up. Your eyes were glassy with tears threatening to spill.

He smiled sadly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “Hey, don’t waste your tears on this old fool.”

“Why not?” You muttered, desperately keeping your voice calm. “You’re amazing … why can’t you see that?”

Because I have a complicated past, he bitterly thought. I’m old, past my prime. You deserve better.

“Sweetheart -“

“Please,” you cut him off. “If - if you don’t like me, want me, or - or see me in this way then just please let me go. Don’t make me stay here any longer … but if you do … if you like me in some way … then …”

Your voice trailed off, leaving it up to him to interpret. An admission of his feelings? A kiss? It just had to be some obvious sign. You were trying not to crumble before him.

Please, just let me go.

Rosinante licked his lips. His heart raced sporadically in his chest. What should he do? What was the right thing to do?

To let you go.

To save you - one of his son’s friends - from this broken old man.

But what did he want? What did his heart yearn for?

You. He wanted you, he always wanted you. And maybe this was his only chance at happiness.

Why shouldn’t he at least try?

He leaned down slowly as if waiting for you to run, for you to get out while you could. But, you stayed firm. His face hovered inches above yours. His eyes bore into you searching and deciphering any signs, or tells, that meant regret. He couldn’t. He only saw hope, hope that this wasn’t a fantasy, hope that you could finally love and cherish him as you believed he deserved.

His eyes slid down to your lips, so soft and waiting so patiently. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. His eyes flickered back, locking with yours. “I want this, but tell me,” he whispered desperately; his hand now wrapped around the back of your neck holding you firmly, realizing he didn’t want you to run away now, “tell me you want this. I - I just need to hear you say it.”

You hesitantly reached up, touching the side of his face. His chin was slightly prickly unlike his usual kempt appearance. Your hand traced upwards, threading through his blonde locks - that nearly covered those beautiful rustic red eyes of his. “I want this,” you breathed out. “I want you, scars and all.”

Rosinante crashed his lips against yours. He claimed your lips, pouring all this untapped love into it. He wanted - needed - you to know how much you meant to him, how much he wanted this, and how long he had deprived himself of it. His lips parted, darting his tongue along your lips pleading for entrance. You shakily parted your lips, still surprised this was truly happening. Rosinante hummed, slipping his tongue inside. You whimpered faintly. With your head tipped all the way back to accommodate his height, you were truly at his mercy.

And you loved it.

He eagerly explored your mouth, swirling his tongue wanting to taste every part of you. You clung to him, feeling your knees about to buckle. Chocolate and hints of nicotine blossomed over your tongue. His tongue commanded your attention, yet so did his hands. His dexterous hands glided down your body. He awkwardly hunched forward, but he didn’t mind. He had you, he could hold you, touch you. His hands greedily roamed over you, mapping out the curves and lines of your body. He sneakily cupped your rear and thighs, making you gasp. Rosinante smirked against your lips. A quick squeeze and jerk urged you to jump.

And you did.

The ex-marine lifted you up quite easily. Your legs wrapped so wonderfully around his waist, and you threw your arms over his shoulders. However, he couldn’t make it quite far. Taking only a few steps, he stumbled into the wall. You were far too distracted by his lips and touch, you hadn’t noticed his quick reaction: one of his hands cradled your head, protecting it from the wall.

He pulled away from your lips, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you panted.

He smiled, wide and beautiful, making his eyes crinkled in an adorable way. He was enthralled with you, and this moment. How could you truly be here in his arms, in his grasp? It was a dream, a dream he didn’t want to ever end. “Can we keep going?” He asked, nudging his nose against yours.

“Please,” you answered.

He captured your lips again, but slower. He wanted to memorize the shape and feeling of your lips. There was precision to his movements, a dance. The ex-marine knew how to maintain control, and how to draw everything out. Each stolen breath, each push and pull of his lips, each slow drag of his tongue, each teasing nibble left you clinging to him.

One of his hands slipped under your shirt, skimming up your back. You shivered at his cool calloused fingers. He murmured, “Soft.”

His fingertips drew nonsensical patterns, or so you thought. He purposefully drew hearts and spirals, carving his unspoken love. His hand moved upward before dragging his blunt nails across your back. He so desperately wished to mark your skin, to put his scar on you.

“Can I take off your shirt?” He begged into your swollen lips.

You didn’t answer. Using the wall as leverage, you haphazardly wiggled out of your shirt and tossed it randomly onto the kitchen floor. Excited and dazed, you didn’t bother to wait for him to ask about your bra. You unhooked it, adding it to the pile. His eyes widened, staring down at your breasts with his slightly mouth agape.

Fuck, this is really happening, he thought.

You nervously bit your lip. Your mind began to second guess his silence.

Shit, did I go too far? What if he didn’t -

Rosinante quickly hoisted you higher up then craned his head down. His lips wrapped perfectly around your breast, sucking on it. You sighed, arching your back to better help him. Your fingers slipped into his hair, holding his head close. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach. His tongue circled around your nipple. Your lips and mouth had just learned his sensual dance. Every swipe of his tongue, your body shuddered. He teasingly nipped at the bud, making you gasp. He removed his mouth with an audible ‘pop‘ like he wanted you to know how good you tasted, how much it pained him to break away. Yet, he couldn’t neglect the other. He kissed along your chest, hungrily capturing your other breast.

“Rosi,” you breathed out.

Fuck, he loves how that sounded. How could his name send such intense pleasure skyrocketing through his body? His cock jumped in his pants. Gods, he needed to hear it again, and again, and again. His hands squeezed your ass both trying to hold himself back and as if you forced it out of you.

And it worked.

You whimpered.

Faint, yet so sweet.

Pulling away from your breasts, he rested his forehead against yours. Your chests heaved in an odd symphony. The thinnest space separated your lips, your shared breaths mixed together. His air was yours and your air was his, souls were mingling in such close proximity. His eyes shone, all his emotions now officially and completely bare.

No, more hiding. No more denying.

He stole your lips once again, unable to get enough of them. Humming, you arched your back, pressing your now spit covered breasts into him. The tiny bit of friction of your perked nipples across his rough shirt sent sparks of pleasure down your spine. However, and unfortunately, he broke the kiss far too quickly. You eagerly chased after his lips, needing them. Rosinante hid his amused smile. He kissed down your neck, swiping that devious tongue of his over your sensitive skin. He whispered, “You taste like sugar.”

“I - ah - I may have made a mess earlier,” you admitted. “Butter and sugar got everywhere.”

He chuckled. He wanted to say he expected no less from his sweetheart. Sweetness seemed to always pour from you, and he always wanted to drink from you - to always have a taste. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated taking you here. He could lay you across the kitchen island, pour honey across your skin, especially your breasts, and have his way with you. But, he shelved such an idea.

Not today, another time, he promised himself.

“Upstairs?” He asked into your neck.

“Up - fuck.” Rosi nipped at your skin, gently sucking and soothing the spot. His lips curled into a smirk, a smirk you felt burned into your skin. Your head tipped back into the wall as he continued his sweet assault. How could such a kind, sweet man be so conniving, so sly?

“What was that, sweetheart?” He teased in a low tone.

“Upstairs.” You breathlessly added, “Please.”

“Of course.” He pushed off the wall, delicately carrying you up the stairs.

However, since he was so focused on carrying you, you decided to return such delightful favors. You started by peppering his face in adoring kisses from his cheeks, to his nose, then his lips.

He chuckled with a growing smile, “Sweet girl, you need to stop or I might trip.”

“We’ll be fine,” you brushed him off.

Your lips trailed soft butterfly kisses along his prickly jaw and down his neck. Your sweetness turned sinister. You placed a single open mouth kiss on the crook of his neck. He let out a soft pleased sigh. Your teeth then grazed over his skin. His grip on you tightened. You lightly bit him, feeling a shudder run through his body. Smirking, you sucked - viciously and without remorse - on a sensitive spot ensuring you left your mark on him.

His reaction was perfect. He groaned and stumbled backwards into the wall by his bedroom door. The thud resonated through the still home, so much so a few pictures wobbled on the wall threatening to fall. “Shit,” he hissed.

You continued your attack listening to his heated swears under his breath. Once you felt satisfied, you pulled away, eyeing your red spot with a triumphant grin. It will only darken with time, a lovely reminder. Looking into his eyes, they were blown wide with lust and desire which mirrored your own. Smirking, you teasingly nipped his bottom lip. He swore again. Using one hand, he brought your head closer, attacking your lips with new energy. He pried himself off the wall and rushed into his bedroom. He used his muscle memory stumbling and swaying into the room until his shins hit the edge of his bed. Carefully, he laid you down on his sheets.

So gentle, so delicate.

His lips skimmed down to your heaving chest, between your breasts and to your hips. His fingers followed after his lips, tracing down your sides. Your breath stuttered at his feathery touches. His breath fanned over your lower stomach, hitting the waistband of your pants. His eyes flickered up, peering through his eyelashes.

“Can I?” He whispered in such a loving tone.

You nodded, unable to muster up a single syllable.

He undid the buttons of your pants and tugged them down while you lifted your hips to help. He bit the inside of his cheek. So beautiful. His hands traveled up your legs, squishing your thighs. She’s really here. He then spread your legs a bit, and didn’t miss the dark wet patch on your underwear. His chest burned with desire knowing he was responsible. His finger hooked around the band of your underwear. If he could, he would have torn them off already.

“Can these go next,” he asked, continuing to ensure he had your consent with every step.

Your heart skipped. “Y-yeah.”

He pulled them off as calmly as possible, and tossed them aside. Your cunt was dripping. He swore his mouth started to water. Swallowing, he silently drank in your figure, still reeling you were here. He wanted to ravish you, he wanted to make love to you, he wanted to do it all.

However, for you, the silence pressed on for too long. His blank stare morphed into disinterest in your mind. Insecurities bubbled up as it dawned on you how you were now completely naked before him. Your hands covered your chest and you snapped your legs closed.

What am I -

Rosinante’s eyes widened at your sudden change. He immediately climbed onto the bed, over top of you, and removed your hands from your chest. “Please, don’t,” he breathed out. “I - I’m sorry … you’re just so beautiful.”

Your cheeks and chest flooded with heat. You quickly turned your head to the side, hiding.

He cupped your cheek, turning your head back to him. “You are. Please don’t hide from me.”

His soft expression and kind smile eased back the fears. You slowly nodded.

“Good. Here, it’s only fair.” He leaned back and removed his shirt, adding it to the pile on his floor.

Your breath hitched. Your eyes darted all over, taking him all in. So many scars. You propped yourself up on your elbow, reaching out. You carefully traced over each of them, outlining the rigids and harsh ragged shapes. Rosi watched you intensely. A shiver ran down his spine. You were so delicate, as if he were made of glass. Your face filled with some kind of concentration, one he didn’t fully understand.

You asked softly, “Can … can you flip over?”

Stunned a bit, yet Rosi complied. He rolled onto his back into the squeaky mattress. You swiftly straddled his hips. Before he could ask, you bent down kissing one scar by his ribs. His heart leapt up into his throat. You then methodically kissed every single scar - no matter the size nor how gnarly it appeared - all over his chest. You finished your endeavor by kissing the one near his heart, an almost fatal hit. His heart thrummed beneath your lips, and you felt the elated vibrations. You peered up to see his cheeks flushed a rosy red and his lips parted as he tried to calm his breathing. You had rendered this man - this near mammoth of a man - into an utter mess. He was putty under such touches, touches he had long deprived himself of.

You smiled, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a beat which your heart harmonized with. “I’m sorry, did I -“

“Don’t.” He let out a shaky exhale. “Don’t apologize. I - I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Your hand followed the curve of his chest to a scar on his right shoulder. You, once again, traced the shape. Rosi shuddered. At his reaction, a thought suddenly dawned on you. “Rosi, are your scars sensitive?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, mumbling, “Just a bit.”

Noted.

You held back a devious smirk. Sitting up, you placed your hands on his chest. Your nails raked down.

Maybe I could have some fun -

Rosi’s hands suddenly gripped your hips. He yanked you all the way up his body. A sharp gasp left your lips. Your hands flung out and collided with the wall for support. Your eyes - wide and somewhat confused - dropped down. You now straddled over his face, your knees on either side. His hands wrapped around your thighs and squeezed, letting the fat pool between his fingers. Most importantly, his grip indicated one thing: he was unwilling to let you go.

“Fuck.” He groaned, looking up at your dripping cunt like it was a meal.

Your heart sped up, “Wait, Rosi - I -“

“Sweetheart, I dreamt of this so many times,” he whispered. His breath, each puff of air, sent jolts through your body. “Please, can I have this?”

No one had begged before.

Trying and failing to keep your voice steady, you stuttered out, “I, uh, y-yes - ah!”

Rosinante eagerly yanked you down, unable to wait another second. Humming, his lips wrapped around you. The tip of his tongue swept over your folds, collecting and tasting you. Sparks burst through you.

“Rosinante,” you moaned. How could one single motion left you so vocal?

He smirked at your reaction as he weaved a spell over you. He moaned as he started devouring you. His tongue teasingly traced your folds. You shuddered. He did it once, twice, then pushed his tongue inside of you. He curled his tongue, hitting your spongy walls. You whimpered. Your hands balled up into fists, clawing at the wall. His tongue - long and thick - moved with precision. His age and experience truly showed in his moment. He knew how to work it, how to render you in his beautiful mess.

He hummed. The wondrous vibrations made you moan loudly and unabashedly. A noise you never expected you to make. One of your hands instinctively shot down and latched onto his hair. Mindless on your growing pleasure, you tugged on his strands, making him groan. More vibrations, more dizzying sensations, more of your juices coated his lips and face.

Rosinante nearly rolled his eyes back. Fuck, this was better than his measly dreams. His cock twitched in his pants at each of your sounds. And gods if you tasted and felt this amazing just around his tongue, then how would it feel to be buried inside of you? Precum spilled in his pants at the mere thought.

Pleasure built deep in your stomach. As his tongue expertly moved and curled in and out of you, you lowered yourself more and greedily rocked your hips to chase after the pleasure. He moaned. His fingers dug harshly into your thighs, possibly leaving bruises.

“That’s it, sweetheart, ride my face,” he purred.

Shit.

Rosinante’s eyes darkened. Your walls fluttered around his tongue at his blunt words. He watched your head tip back as a sweet whimper hummed in the back of your throat.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured with a devious smirk.

His words added to the insatiable heat burning you from the inside out. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pornogrpahic moans daring to escape. He continued to watch, unwilling to tear his gaze away. He loved how your breasts bounced, tempting him to feast on him again, how your back curled so elegantly, how your thighs slowly squeezed around him minimizing his world so it was you and you alone, and how your hips stuttered losing concentration at his words, his pet names, and his merciless tongue.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” his voice was low and commanding, drawing up such a tone from his former marine days.

You shakily glanced down at him. Your eyes drooped with lust and desperation, your chest heaved gulping down air, and your mouth hung open as whimpers and moans poured out. To him, you were picture perfect, a sight to behold and cherish.

He turned his head, kissing your thigh. “Good, now can you lean forward for me?”

With a tiny nod, you tipped your hips forward.

”That’s it, good girl.”

Your whole body pulsed. Such praise, such simple words shouldn’t set your body ablaze, and yet you nearly crumble. You already wanted to hear that honey tone pour from his lips again.

His lips wrapped around your swollen clit, sucking on it. You inhaled sharply. His hand then caressed down between your thighs. It trailed down with such a light tough until one of his slender fingers dragged slowly through your soaked lips. You lurched at the feeling. He gingerly pushed his finger in. You shut your eyes tight and bit your lip, almost drawing blood. His finger moved painstakingly slow, both wanting to be careful yet also wanting to tease you closer to that edge.

“More,” you begged, already pushing your hips back. “Please.”

Rosinante happily and easily added a second finger. The wet sounds echoed in the room from him hungrily sucking and licking at your clit, to his fingers being drenched in your juices. It was all too much. You pressed your forehead into the wall, closing your eyes. It held all of your support. You were panting, nearly drooling as pleasure claimed your whole body.

Fuck, Rosinante could come at the sight of you like a horny teenager. His cock ached to be free, to be buried within your walls, to be stroked by your delicate fingers, to be wrapped around your tongue, or perhaps to be smushed between your breasts. He wanted it all. But, he also wanted this. He needed this just as much as you did. His pleasure can wait, he wanted to devote all his energy onto you. He hummed again.

Another moan fell off your lips.

Cracking open your eyes, you were greeted with Rosinante’s red glowing eyes beneath you. He then kissed your clit, softly as if giving one a kiss on the cheek, and cooed, “Be a good girl and come all over my face.”

“Fuck,” you swore. He chuckled, a rich laugh. He crooked his finger, hitting a certain spot. You gasped, seeing stars. “T-There, fuck, right there.”

Rosi immediately zoned onto that spot. His fingers bullied into you with new purpose. Each curl, scissoring, of his fingers snatched your breath away. His tongue and mouth, however, could not be forgotten either. He sucked and swirled his tongue, guiding you closer to the edge. You tightened your grip on his hair, nails scraping along his scalp. And he could only moan. Pleasure and pain tangled so well together.

You mewled, “Rosi, I - I about to come.”

“Give it to me,” he growled.

The pressure built and built, and you quickly abandoned all caution and care. You began to grind back on his fingers, practically humping his face. A fog was casted over your mind, only able to think of your pleasure. Rosinante moaned, fueling your end.

Yes, use me, he thought.

A few more pumps of his slender fingers, mixed with his constant attack on your clit, you cried out his name gushing all over his face. The edges of your vision blurred with stars. Rosinante swiftly pulled out his fingers and greedily drank you up. He groaned, enjoying every drop. He feasted until your legs were shaking, ready to topple over and you were whimpering and jerking from the intense overstimulation.

He thankfully - and finally - stopped. He lifted you up and off his face, laying you down on the bed. He then littered your heavy tired body with kisses as you came back to your senses. He kissed your cheek then forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, tossing him a lopsided smile. “I’m good.”

Great. Fantastic. Amazing.

He smiled, giving you a short kiss. He continued his conquest kissing down your neck and chest. You sighed dreamily, threading your fingers through his hair. Your desires, however, were being reignited by every kiss. You still craved more, you wanted him all.

“I want you,” you whispered softly.

He lifted his head with some hesitancy behind his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t been more sure in your life.

“Ok,” he smiled, giving you a quick peck on your lips.

Standing up, you finally could drink in the full sight of him. The years had been so kind to him. He was like a Greek god: golden hair kissed by Apollo and Helios, a rugged physique that battled Ares’s, a booming laughter rivaling Zeus’s own thunder, a voice so rich and luscious like ambrosia poured directly from Dionysus’s cup, and all of it wrapped together and blessed by Aphrodite’s touch.

He was beautiful, more than beautiful he was ethereal.

He tugged down his pants, along with his boxers. Your eyes trailed down to chest, to his stomach, to the thin patch of darker blonde strands to his hard cock - long and thick, matching his already intimidating height. His tip red and swollen as precum leaked out, a sign of your effect on him.

You swallowed nervously.

Would he fit?

Rosinante’s ego inflated at your stunned reaction. He kicked aside the clothing, unfortunately his clumsy curse returned momentarily. Getting tripped up, he toppled sideways, crashing to the ground. You immediately sprung up. Before you could think to ask if he was okay, he propped himself up. His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. He huffed, resting his chin on the edge of the bed.

Smooth, he sarcastically thought to himself.

You bit your lip then bursted out into laughter. You know you shouldn’t, yet you shouldn’t have expected anything less. He perked up, and smiled at your infectious laugh. You crawled over to him, sitting back on your knees. You cupped his face, bending down kissing him softly. Pulling away, Rosinante looked at you as if you brought upon his salvation, as if you were an oasis in the desert of his life.

“Are you okay?” You asked, still concerned about him.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“Good.”

Still holding his face, you gently drew him with you, urging him back on the bed. He listened to your silent command. You fell backward, scooting up the bed while he slowly crawled over top of you.

“Are you sure?” He repeated.

You threw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him down. “Yes, I want you. Like I said, scars and all.”

His heart melted. He kissed your nose. His hand slid down your side, sending ripples of anticipation. He guided your leg over his hip. He gave your thigh a quick reassuring squeeze. He will happily take the lead in this dance, he will ensure you are cared for. There will be no misstep.

He lowered his hips, brushing the tip of his cock over your dripping folds. You shivered at the size and warmth of him. He teasingly rubbed through your folds and over your clit, enjoying how his precum mixed with your first orgasm. Your nails sunk into his skin. Crescent shapes adorned his body with more marks to come.

“We’ll take it slow, ok?” He whispered.

“Ok,” you mumbled, beginning to lose yourself all over again.

He reached down grabbing the base of his cock, and slowly pushed the head of it in. You bit the inside of your cheek. It stung. The stretch was unlike anything you had experienced or felt.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he spoke, reading your expression and feeling the tenseness of your body.

You panted, ”Keep going.”

You wanted this.

Listening, he pushed in further. A sharp hiss left your lips. You clawed at his back, red ribbons added to the jagged pale scars. Rosinante almost stopped, fearfully he was hurting you too much.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. The sting had begun to subside as pleasure whisked you away.

Rosinante again listened to you. He may lead this dance but he had a partner he must be attentive too. You whimpered, shutting your eyes and adjusting to his size. Your heel dug into the meat of his calf, pleading him to keep going. With one final push, Rosinante was completely in filling you to the brim. He panted heavily over top of you. He watched as your face contorted from minor pain to absolute pleasure. Opening your eyes, you were met with pure unfiltered love, a culmination of months upon months of locked feelings, of denial and heartache.

It was finally all unburden, and unchained.

Breathless, you both stared at each other unmoving. Neither of you could. You both desperately wanted to stay here, to preserve such a memory and feelings. He filled you, your senses utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of him. And your body welcomed him in return.

It was as if you were made for each other.

Rosinante hid his face in your shoulder, exhaling shakily. Shit, I feel like I could come right now.

“I’m going to move now,” he grunted into your neck.

“Please.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly moved his hips. His thick cock dragged through your walls before thrusting back in.

You whimpered.

“I got you,” he whispered. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

“Just - just please don’t stop.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. His hips increased in speed, spurring stars to burst in the corners of your eyes. Your mouth hung open as a silent moan spilled out. His cock stretched and filled you leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake. You wrapped your other legs around his hip, clinging to him. You were immediately becoming drunk and desperate on such pleasures. And Rosinante wanted to give you everything, to have you consumed by pleasure. He curled over you, pressing his forehead against yours. Lifting your hips, he hit a new angle, deeper and far more intimate.

“F-Fuck, Rosi,” you moaned. You clawed harshly at his back. An apology sat on your tongue, but every thrust left you mewling. You could only babble his name or curses.

Rosinante glanced down, seeing your stomach bulge at the size of his cock. “S-Shit, sweetheart,” he moaned. “You’re taking me so well. Look.”

You peered down. The debauchery sight left you speechless. His hips slapped deliciously against yours. Your stomach bulged every time his cock disappeared back in. And when he pulled out, you saw how his cock was slick and coated with your mixed juices. Not to mention at this new angle, the tuft of his snail trail rubbed wondrously against your clit only furthering your pleasures.

Fuck.

Whimpering, your head fell back into the bed. You bucked your hips, matching his thrusts. Rosinante whimpered, almost unnoticeable. “Fuck, just like that.”

He grabbed your hands, prying them off his back and pinning them to the bed. His fingers interlocked with yours, and squeezed your hands. He captured your lips, kissing you sweetly and pouring all of his love into it. His mouth, his hands, were passionate, and yet his hips were so sinful. The trio constantly stole your breath, leaving you in such a messy state.

Breaking the kiss, he smiled down at you. Still boyish, despite the years on him. Hearts danced in his eyes, and you knew you were the same. Every movement, every thrust, every shared breath, every touch - no matter how minuscule - was written with love.

And he was beginning to love watching you squirm on his cock.

He bent his head, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your eyes rolled back. The stretch of his cock, the grinding on your clit, the swirl of his tongue on your breast, each sensation brought you closer and closer to the edge. Each delicious friction melted your mind, and your body could only react. Your own well-timed thrusts started to waver as desperation sunk into your bones.

You whined faintly, “Rosi, so close.”

He popped off your breast. “I know, sweetheart, come on. Come around my cock.”

You shivered, lolling your head to the side.

“Be my good girl,” he purred into your ear, rolling his hips. “Come on, sweet girl, come on my cock.”

Your walls fluttered around him, warning him. He gritted his teeth, holding back his own pleasure. He needed to feel you come first. He snapped his hips with new fever, hitting the perfect spot. You gasped loudly. Blinding pleasure covered your senses. Rosinante saw your beautiful reaction and continued to hit the same spot over and over. His pace was unwavering, he needed to see and feel you come.

“Make a mess on me,” he moaned.

You tightened your grip on his hands, digging your nails into him. You squirmed and writhed on his cock. You whimpered as your orgasm approached quickly. Rosinante groaned in your ear, whispering such sinful things. You bucked your hips up just as he snapped his hips, and it all came crashing down.

Shutting your eyes tight, you walls clamped down as you cried out his name. He kissed you, swallowing up your moans and cries. He then kissed your cheek where a tear glided down, to your forehead, and finally nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “I got you, sweetheart.”

His hips continued to pump into you, letting you ride out your orgasm. It was a beautiful sight. Your body convulsed as pleasure consumed you and as each additional pump stole your breath. Your eyes fluttered open to see your god still hovering above you, giving you everything.

But, it was his turn now.

“Fill me,” you muttered weakly drunk on pleasure.

“W-What?” Rosinante’s eyes widened and his hips stuttered at your words.

Freeing your hands, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You dragged him down pecking his lips. “I want to feel you, Rosi,” you whispered.

His cock twitched inside of you.

“Please,” you begged softly. You arched your back, trying to take him deeper. Your hands glided down his back, pressing into his chest. Your hands roamed touching his scars, the ones you had memorized only moments ago. Your thumb grazed over his nipple, making him hiss. You nibbled on his ear, “Fill me, Rosi.”

His jaw clenched. He kissed you heatedly, pushing his tongue inside to re-explore your mouth. His large hands grabbed your hips, most likely bruising them in the process. But, you didn’t mind. He guided your hips, matching his new pace with more vigor and unrestraint. You moaned, drawing your nails down his chest.

A mere taste of this side of him was addicting. He could be loving, but he could be a monster. A monster you wished to learn in full some day.

Abandoning all his resolve, he pumped wildly into you. He couldn’t help it. Your words let a fire inside of him, and he had been holding back for so long. He muttered out an apology, afraid he might be hurting you. Yet, you took it all. You smiled up at him as he used you.

“Please, Rosi, I want to feel you,” you moaned.

He shuddered. Fuck, how could someone so sweet be so sinful? With a few more deep thrusts, he came, moaning out your name. He slowed down his pace until he buried himself deep within you, coating your walls.

Just like you asked.

Taking a second, you both stared at each other sweaty and out of breath. Rosinante carefully removed himself, and you squirmed at the abrupt emptiness. He rolled off of you, flopping onto the bed. But, he snatched you up, bringing you with him. You yelped, surprised by it. He settled you onto his chest, and your shock vanished. Sigh deeply, you nuzzled into his chest savoring this moment. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, listening to how his heartbeat slowly evened out. His fingers soon skimmed up and down along your spine.

It was peaceful, it was heavenly.

You each shared one thought: mine. Each of you unbeknownst to the other swore the same vow, to always make sure the other smiled and is to be loved for eternity. Perhaps, later down the road, such vows will be spoken aloud. But for now, you kept these secret promises to both of your chests.

Unfortunately, serenity was short lived for you. A thought, a more drastic one, occurred to you. Lifting your head, you nervously said, “Rosi? I - I think there’s still one thing we should at least talk about.”

He hummed, peering down at you.

“… like how are we going to tell the others? Especially Law?”

Rosinante flinched. He sighed heavily. His arms wrapped around you, firmly drawing your head back down. “We can worry about that later, I just want to stay right here a bit longer.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. You buried your head back into his chest whispering, “Ok.”

Your eyes spotted a scar near your face, specifically the one by his heart. You began to trace over it, memorized by the feeling and knowing you alone could do this.

“I like them,” you admitted quietly.

His heart skipped. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “It means you survived and you’re here.”

With me.

He gave you a gentle squeeze. His lips brushed over your hair, kissing the top of your head. “And I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Closing your eyes, you smiled and kissed his scar. “Good.”

*****

“Law, please!”

Law huffed as Evelyn tugged on the back of his shirt. She had called him after his shift, asking him to come over. He wanted to go home, and into his bed, but she kept insisting. He agreed, however, as time dragged on doing little to nothing at her home, he decided to leave.

And for some reason, she decided to join him.

She begged the whole time to turn the car around, to go somewhere else, but he kept on driving home. He didn’t care, she could catch a ride back to her own home. Once parked, Law hopped out of his car, marching up the driveway with her bizarrely pleading.

“Look, I’m tired and …,” he paused, spotting a familiar car. One he didn’t see at her home, but oddly was parked here. “Why is she here?”

Eve flinched.

Law peered over his shoulder, staring down at her. But, she avoided his piercing gaze. He glared at her obvious guilty expression. She knew something. “What do you know?”

She blurted out, “Nothing!”

He tsked, “Lair.”

Law shook off her grasp then opened the front door. Stepping in, Eve quickly darted around trying to push on his chest but to no avail. Law walked further into the home. He didn’t see anyone, and nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Where …,” his voice trailed off when he stepped into the kitchen. His eyes instantly spotted something on the floor: a shirt and bra.

Eve whipped her head around. Her eyes widened at the pair of clothing, both shocked and happy for you.

Law’s face, however, scrunched up in disgust at the thought of what his dad had been doing. He huffed, clicking his tongue, “Idiots better not have done anything in the kitchen.”

Scanning the floor, he luckily couldn’t find any pants which brought some relief. Sighing, he spun around, heading back towards the front door.

Eve blinked, “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Do you want to stay and find them?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

She blushed, “Um, no … not really.”

“Figured, now let’s go.” He glanced back at her. “You can buy me dinner.”

She gasped, “I will not.”

“I’m driving, so either you stay here and find them or you pay.”

She pouted and grumbled, following after him. However, Evelyn sent you a kind thought as she left.

I’m happy for you.

[billthedrake]

I've been wanting to write a chubby chaser story for a while, and this is what I came up with. It's not everyone's cup of tea, I know, but for those into it, I hope to do a follow up to go deeper.

CHASER BAIT

I reracked the weights and sat up on the bench. I'd have a better workout with a spotter, but I also enjoyed the quiet of the Stanford weight room at moments like this. It was summer session, and the football team was starting their summer pre-season camp. I'd have some consultations with a number of the athletes later on that afternoon, but for now they were all in a morning-long meeting.

All except for one.

"Hey Coach," came the familiar voice, though it took me a half second to place it. But I looked up to see Tyler Mills, all 6 foot 3 of him. Tyler was must have been a senior now. I'd worked a lot with him in his sophomore year, after he got his knee banged up pretty bad and had to rehab after surgery.

"Tyler," I said. "How's it going, man? How's the knee?"

I saw a look of sadness sweep behind the bright affable smile. "OK, I guess," he said, shuffling some on his feet. He was wearing shorts and an oversized Stanford T, and even beneath the draping shirt, I could tell that trim, buff Tyler Mills had put on a few pounds. "A lot better, actually, but I'm not on the roster now. They still let me come get a work out in, you know, hang out with the guys."

My heart ached for the guy. They hadn't taken away his scholarship, but the injury had taken away his football dreams.

I gave a sympathetic nod but mostly flashed a buddy kind of smile. "You know, if you want me to take a look at your knee, I can."

I was surprised by the flash of thrill in his brown eyes. "For real?" Then catching himself, he added, "I don't want you to have to do anything you're not supposed to, Coach."

I wasn't one of the main coaching staff. Instead I'd been brought in to do a combination of strength coaching and physical therapy for all the big Stanford teams, but football especially. Half the jocks called me Mr. Carson, half just Coach C. Tyler was in the Coach camp.

"You can see how busy I am right now," I joked, gesturing around to the near empty weight room. "How's this? You can spot me for the next couple of sets, and then we'll go get set up in the back room."

He bounded over behind the rack like an excited puppy.

He wasn't the only thing excited. I had to will my cock to stay soft or at least normal sized as I lay back and could see up into that oversized shirt. Tyler Mills had a classic ex-jock beer belly. Probably a solid twenty pounds that hung in a perfectly round swell just over the hem of his shorts.

I channeled that flash of lust into a great set, even with the extra weight. And I forced myself to be normal as I made small talk with Tyler as I rested a second.

Most of the time I'm professional as can be. I'm an out and proud gay dude, even if I keep a low profile at work. Even though I'm around very in-shape young athletes, there's generally not my type. It took a number of years to fully admit it, and many more years to fully explore it, but I'm a chubby chaser. A couple of the D-line guys have the girth that might capture my attention, but generally I was safe, no matter how hands-on I might be in my job.

Tyler Mills wasn't a chub, but something about that belly made that sense of safety go out the window.

He spotted me for a max-weight rep, then encouraged me like I was one of his gym buddies. "Beast!" he grunted.

I rubbed out the soreness then stood up from the bench. If I didn't know better, I would have thought Tyler was looking at me in that way, but he made some comment about how in shape I was. "You're definitely giving me goals, Coach," he said.

I was in shape. I'd been a lacrosse player at Maryland and after doing some personal training after college, I'd gone for my PhD in kinesiology. I was now religious about working out and eating right. I was 39 and not going to enter my 40s without doing my damnedest to resist getting older.

I led Tyler back to the room that was set up with a table and some basic rehab equipment - bands, small weights, balancing balls and the like.

I had him get on the table and asked him to update me.

"I've been doing my exercises, Coach," he said. "Maybe not religiously, but you know..."

I nodded and sat down in a chair next to the table. I was thankful for the XXL T-shirt and the way it didn't show off Tyler's belly. Tyler's legs were still big and tautly muscled.

"You able to do leg day now?" I asked, my hands massaging the right quad muscle and working down to knee.

"Yeah," he said. "With some adaptation."

"How's this feel?" I asked. A year and a half ago, the wide receiver would be wincing in pain the moment I touched anywhere near his knee.

"Normal," he said. He was looking down at me seriously, and I could tell the memories of our earlier rehab sessions were coming back to him.

I worked closer to the joint and pressed in with my fingers.

"Oh!" he gasped. "That hurts."

I let go and massaged down his calf. Then back up to the hamstrings. His legs were hairier than last time I'd had a PT session with him. I loved how soft his light brown fur was.

"Your hamstrings are way tight," I observed.

I pulled back and patted his thigh. "All right, let's do some simple body weight squats."

I worked him through a number of diagnostic exercises. He did them well, but quickly we found where his range of motion was compromised and the spots that gave him a sore pain.

He looked at me expectantly. The ex-jock had a soft scruffy beard now, kept trimmed, and he looked about five years older than when I last worked with him. But he still was young and had that innocence to his face.

"I can give you some new exercises to work on," I said. "What do you think of a weekly PT session... to check in?"

That surprised Tyler. "God, Coach, that would be incredible."

"It'd have to be bright and early," I said. The Athletics Department had a full day for me, and I knew I couldn't prioritize a kid not on the roster. But I could take an earlier train. I was probably crazy to volunteer this, but I was thinking with my dick, I knew. Besides, Tyler was a nice guy. One of those jocks who could be a beast on the football field but a sweetie off.

"I got nothing else going on, Coach," he agreed affably.

I gave him a bro-ish fist bump and told him I should get back to my workout. I had only twenty minutes or so before the morning team huddles were over.

The whole ride home I was questioning myself. Certainly my professionalism was going out the window. But at least Tyler Mills wasn't on the roster. And I really was helping the guy out.

I got home and even though I was hungry for dinner, I set down my keys and went to my bedroom, where a comfy bed and some lube was ready for a quick stroke. I kicked off my shoes and pushed down my joggers. My prick was already ready, jerking up into a rigid spike as I pulled down the covers. A couple of squirts in my palm was just the right amount for a good JO. I lay back and visualized Tyler Mills' belly. That twenty pound belly sticking out above me. I imagined him lifting his shirt for me, showing off that magnificent round girth, that ex-jock gut.

I shot hard.

****

I spend my teen years in denial and my college years sure that I was majorly fucked up for my kink. I'd grown up in a small town, with a bunch of Southern bubbas and men who were just big guys. My high school football coach, the vice principal, the neighbor dad next door, my boss at my summer job. Men who were thick all over but especially their bellies. They were the stars of my masturbation fantasies. To this day, I have a fetish for big guts filling out a button-down and hanging over a pair of khakis, especially framed by a Sunday-best blue blazer.

I moved away, away from the Southern bubbas and even from blue blazer country. But I eventually made peace with the fact I was almost exclusively into overweight guys. I discovered chubby porn and the chub/chaser subculture. I had my first real job with the Packers organization, learning and apprenticing there before getting a promotion. There was a lot of Wisconsin beef around that was fun to look at, but I didn't get to play with big guys as much as I wanted. I'd take trips to the city, to Chicago especially, where I lined up new chubs to fuck each visit.

I was in demand, too, as a chaser. Most chasers tend to be either twink-thin, or else have mild bellies themselves. I actually tried to gain weight once, until I realized that I had better luck attracting chubs with a fit, muscular jock body.

I started doing videos and developed a following. It was my man whore period. I wasn't always nice to the chubs I fucked. I regret that, and I took some time to learn how to be better. It was a tricky song and dance. I was attracted to them for who they were, but the power differential was a real turn on for me, too.

I got the job at Stanford and moved to San Francisco. It was incredible. I dated casually and slept around a lot. I got to know some fellow chasers, who became friends and competition all at once. Even in a big city, the chub/chaser scene could feel incestuous.

I had one experience with a superchub, a genuinely obese guy. It freaked me out a little, actually, but it was also thrilling to try it. It felt taboo as fuck.

But lately my lust swung the other direction. I got tired of the "chub" look and began getting more into regular guys. I'll call 'em dadbod-plus. Men with big beer bellies who reminded me of some of the hometown bubbas. I had about three off-and-on fuckbuds, mostly married guys from the Bay Area who'd come in, plus an occasional businessman hookup.

Life was good.

****

Or at least I thought it was good until Tyler Mills.

Something about that college senior got under my skin. He wasn't even that big. On his muscular 6'3" body, he carried that bulk well. And compared to the men I normally slept with, Tyler was actually kind of normal.

It was the third PT session when I asked him what his goals were.

He blushed. "To lose weight," he said. "I guess I got kind of depressed last year and put on some pounds."

I gulped. That horny knot was forming in my chest but I tried not to be weird. "It happens," I said nonchalantly.

"Not to you," Tyler beamed. His eyes sweeping up and down my 6-foot-and-buff body. "You're an inspiration, Coach." Then as he did a one-legged dip, he asked, "You got a girlfriend or anything?... Sorry, that's really fucking nosey."

"It's all right," I assured him. "No boyfriend," I said pointedly. If Mills was going to ask about my personal life, he could deal with the answer. "Maybe I'm not the dating type."

I expected surprise, but the former footballer was doing his best to act cool. "Like I said... sorry for being nosey, Coach."

Still Tyler had a more relaxed posture and his eyes seemed to be seeking out something from me. Approval, an opening, or something.

"I sometimes think it would be easier to be straight," he said.

It was my turn to be surprised. I know I didn't hide it well. Tyler grinned as he noticed.

"How so?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Girls can be into the whole teddy bear thing," he said like he'd been giving a lot of thought to it. Maybe he had. "Gay dudes have pretty high expectations."

My hands were on his waist now as I assisted his body weight squat. I really wanted to actively feel up the love handles but kept my calm.

"Can I give some real talk, Tyler?" I offered softly.

"Sure thing, Coach." I could tell he was nervous about what I was going to say.

"There are a lot of men open to some extra girth..." I said, letting that idea sink in. "And even if not... a guy doesn't have to be a chaser to go for a good looking dude like you."

"Oh," he said. I'd said the wrong thing.

"You know what a chaser is?" I asked.

I could see Tyler blush. "Yeah," he said. He seemed almost sullen now. "You think I'm a fat guy, Coach?"

"Hardly," I said. Trying to keep my lust in check, since I knew I was dealing with a fine young man's real emotions. "God's truth. And there are plenty of guys who'd be into the ex-jock package."

I'd probably said the wrong thing there, too, since I knew Tyler felt bad he was no longer playing. But he perked up. "Yeah? I should get up to the city sometime." He paused before admitting, "Before I got injured... I met some guys online. It was fun."

"You're, what, 21? You should be having some fun, Tyler," I said. I didn't even mean it to be lecherous. But this young man deserved to have sex.

"Thanks, Coach, for the pep talk."

I patted his shoulder. Trying to make it a normal pat. "Any time. You know... I know you don't need me to show you around, but if you're ever up the city and want to hang out...."

I half regretted saying that, but you don't hit the shots you don't take. And my cock was definitely running the show.

"Yeah, Coach," Tyler said.

****

We'd wrapped up the PT session as normal. He had my cell number to text, but I was't going to push anything. I'd laid it out there, and Tyler could decide if he wanted to come into the city. He probably thought I was making a platonic offer, kind of a mentor big gay brother thing. I'd do that, too.

A week later I got a text to see if I was up for company on Saturday afternoon. I cleared my plans and moved my Saturday workout earlier.

Tyler looked like a million bucks when I met him for a late lunch. Gone was the oversized T shirt and he had on one of his older shirts that stretched snugly across the beer belly. Tyler Mills still wasn't in chub territory, but I had underestimated how much the guy had packed on his mid-section. Even if Tyler and I didn't fool around, I'd have a great JO with that visual.

Better was how the guy seemed to be more comfortable in his skin. We grabbed tacos in the Mission and hung out in the park. Even from behind his sun glasses Tyler seemed to be eyeing me up. I guess my own snug T-shirt and shorts were showing off my buff build to good effect.

"Can I ask a personal question, Coach?"

"You can call me Steve," I said. "And sure."

His smile grew serious. "Are you a chubby chaser?"

I thought of not telling him the truth, but I'd spent too long not embracing that part of me. I didn't like lying about my kink now. "Yeah, I am, Tyler."

He expected that answer but maybe not the direct confidence with which I answered him. He was letting it sink in. "I wouldn't have thought... a guy like you."

I shrugged. "I was about your age when I realized I could become the man I wanted to have sex with. Or be the man who'd get the guys I wanted to have sex with."

"Do all those chubby guys..." he lowered his voice. "Go for thinner dudes?"

"Not all," I assured him. "And some like more twinky types. But I do pretty well."

"I bet," Tyler said. Then catching himself, added, "Sorry Coach... Steve."

I laughed. "Am I freaking you out, buddy?"

"It's weird," he said. "Especially if you think of me that way." Leave it to this sweet jock to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

I gave him the most reassuring look I could. "You're not a chub," I said. "And it's not about labels... actually lately I've gotten more into regular guys with a little extra around the middle."

That seemed to put him at ease. He leaned back and nodded down to his stomach.

"Like mine?" he asked.

My dick was chubbing up. No stopping it. "You have no idea."

"I guess I had a little," he admitted. "After our last conversation. It got me going online," he chuckled. "I decided to wear something tighter fitting."

I tried not to sound like a creep. "I've very glad you did, Tyler."

That made him smile. "You know, this is the first time I've felt sexy in two years."

"You are sexy," I assured him. "Sexy as fuck."

"Coming from you, Steve, that's amazing." He spread his legs out some and seemed to be showing his gut off for me.

I wanted to kiss him, bad. But my greater head prevailed. "You know, in my position..." I started.

Tyler seemed almost scared of my rejection. "I wouldn't tell anyone, Coach. Promise."

This was going to happen. "Wanna come back to my place?"

He nodded like an excited kid. God, Mills was adorable as fuck.

We were both smiling goofy grins as we made out way to my condo.

"Nice place, Steve," he said as he looked around. "Hopefully I can move to the city after graduation."

"You should," I said. "You'd have a blast."

That made him smile. He stepped up to me, waiting for me to take the rest of the initiative. I did, pulling Tyler into me and claiming a soft kiss. Even if I wasn't the dating type, I was very much the kissing type.

This ex-baller was too. He responded with soft caresses of his tongue against mine, gently sucking me into his mouth before pushing back.

Meanwhile, my fingers were tracing beneath the hem of his shirt. I'd dreamed of touching Tyler Mills' gut for weeks now, and I was now doing it. His belly was firm and fat at the same time. I was rock hard and moaned into his mouth.

For his part Tyler was feeling me up, my arms, my chest, my back. He was just as turned on as I was.

I pulled him back, silently stepping us back toward the bedroom. We wouldn't make it all the way there that way, but Tyler got the idea. Breaking the kiss, he let me lead the way.

I think I gasped when he pulled that shirt off. The chest and arms and shoulders were football solid - Tyler hadn't neglected his weight training - but the belly was round and heaved as he undid his shorts and peeled them down.

My cock was hard and I enjoyed Tyler's gaze on my naked body as I got into bed first. He was actually showing off his belly to me as he got in on the other side.

Our mouths met and we both responded to each other's nakedness with an amped up fervor. I could now feel Tyler's thick dick below, humping into my hip. We made out hungrily, and felt each other up and lived out several weeks of pent-up lust. It was all coming out forcefully.

Particularly as Tyler rolled his big body on top of mine and began kissing along my neck, his hardon humping into me and his hands holding me down gently. I'd experienced this before with guys I hadn't met online. The wrestling for top bunk. Tyler Mills wanted to fuck me.

I was 90 percent top, but I wanted to give Tyler his wish. He needed the confidence boost, I decided, and his bulk felt pretty damn nice on top of me.

I felt his love handles getting more and more excited to take this ex-wide receiver's dick.

"Can you give me fifteen minutes, bud?" I asked. "I can get cleaned out for you."

I wasn't sure of Tyler Mill's experience, but he wasn't totally green. His eyes lit up. "Oh yeah." He rolled off me, letting me get off the bed and to the master bathroom.

I cleaned out and showered off and came out to see the college guy waiting expectantly, his prick not having gone down a bit. Tyler wasn't hung overly long but it was a decently thick tool that looked amazing riding up the swell of his beer belly. Mills might not have been a chub but I had a flash of excitement imagining him getting bigger.

"God Steve, you're amazing." He gave his prick a couple of tugs as I got into bed again.

"You too stud. Fuck."

I could see that confidence boost working on Tyler. Two years of injury and recovery and depression had taken a toll on the guy, but the fact I wanted him, really wanted him, had him brightening up visibly.

We kissed again, hungrily, and Tyler unleashed the inner beast. His kisses were more fevered against my neck and chest and even lower.

I lifted my legs back. Tyler wasn't skilled in rimming but he loved going hog wild. That worked for me. It had been too long since I'd had my ass eaten, and the fact it was this young big-bellied stud doing it had me wanting to put out.

I finally handed him some lube. His grin was big as he flipped the lid and began prepping me with his fingers. Eyes on my body and my face more than my hole.

"You do this much, Coach?" he asked with heavy lust.

I shook my head. "Usually I'm top," I said. "But I want you in me bud."

That made his prick jerk. He was so horny but also wanting to be respectful. He now worked in two and three fingers in me in alternation. My hole was feeling good.

"We, um, need protection or something?" he asked.

"I have some," I answered. I had one married fuckbud who insisted on condoms. "But I'm on PREP and get tested."

"Fuck," he hissed. He pulled back his fingers and slathered the excess lube onto this cock. Before I could react he was scooting up and stuffing it into my hole.

"Easy!" I urged. The entry was quick.

"Sorry," he said. He was clearly carried away. But now he held steady.

I looked up at him, his scruffy handsome face and his strong build and that round gut. And I opened right up for Mr. Mills.

"Fuck!" I hissed as his slick bone slid into me. "Yes..."

"God Coach," he grunted.

We weren't verbal. I don't know if Tyler was naturally the verbal type. But we didn't need sex talk. We were both in thrall with the other's bodies. Tyler's round 20-pounds of gut flesh swelling out between my spread legs, jiggling slightly as his whole body thrust into me. Maybe I should bottom more, I thought, because my insides felt alive at that moment. Not just my p-spot but all of it.

Tyler was cumming before I knew it, his face hardening into a determined top face as he drove in faster to get his nut. It was intense, but in a good way. I jerked my dick and rode the crest of my own orgasm.

We were hyperventilating as we uncoupled.

"Damn," he hissed. Resting his head on my shoulder and snuggling up to me. "Thanks for that."

I kissed his forehead. "Thank you, stud... I needed that more than I realized."

He smiled, and leaned forward for a kiss. I was happy to give him one.

We lay in bed and talked about men and sex and life. I didn't give him my whole life story, but Tyler got some hints about what being a chaser meant for me. He was still dealing with the closet and learning about sex beyond porn.

****

We had a mini affair, until Tyler got freaked out. I think some of it was wanting to play the field. But he still didn't like thinking of himself as fat and didn't like that's the part of him that I responded to.

I said something that triggered him, but it was probably bound to happen anyway. He stopped answering my texts, and if he came into the city, it wasn't to see me.

My fortieth birthday came and went. I wondered what I was doing with my life. Maybe it was time to become the dating type. But I had two fuckbuds on the regular now. A big extra-beefy coach from South Bay and a pot-bellied married guy from the suburbs. Occasionally I got DMs on my old twitter account, and I hooked up with a couple of chubs who came to town. I heard from a superchub who was a big fan of my old videos, but I wasn't sure I wanted that experience again.

I didn't expect a text out of the blue. But one spring day, Tyler texted me. "How you doing, Coach?"

It was the right text at the right time. I perked up at my desk. "Doing well. How about you Tyler?"

"Can't complain." Then "Sorry I went no contact."

"No expectations," I said. "For real."

"Cool." A minute passed then. "Can I see you sometime?"

"I'm out of town the next couple of weeks," I wrote. Spring Break was coming up, and I had a vacation tripped planned. "But I'm around after."

"Nice. I'll reach out."

****

We picked up right where we left off. Sort of. When Tyler showed up at my place, he was bigger. The twenty pound gut had become a thirty pound gut. He had some amazing genetics that concentrated the extra fat into his belly. He wore a polo shirt that showed off the round swell to good effect.

"Hey," he said with a nervous smile as I led him in. He was clean shaven now, and as adorable as ever. The baseball cap topped off the collegiate look, but I playfully took it off him and tossed it aside before leaning in.

Our kiss was soft. I grunted as I felt his hard-soft stomach press against my flat one.

I wasn't sure what to expect but as we made out and pawed at each other, I knew we were going to have sex. First thing.

"Bedroom?" I asked.

Tyler nodded excitedly. "Yeah. One of these days I'd love to do it elsewhere... try every room in your place."

I pawed at my crotch. "You look so hot, Tyler," I grunted.

He grinned and puffed out his chest some. Gone was the kid shy about his weight. At least for now. "I tried to lose weight Coach, but figured, fuck it."

My fingers were now tugging at that polo shirt. Tyler helped me take it off the rest of the way. His chest was meaty as ever and that just made his big gut hotter. I openly ran my hands over all of it, shoulders to stomach and back. Tyler relaxed and let me.

"I've never been fucked, Steve," he said.

My hands paused. "Yeah?" I asked expectantly.

Tyler was nervous as fuck. I got that. "I've been thinking about it. A lot."

My hands more gently massaged him. Not in a chub chaser kind of way, more in a reassuring caress kind of way. "I've broken guys in before," I said softly. "I know what I'm doing." God at that moment I knew I'd kill to get into Tyler Mills' ex-jock hole.

He gave me a playful grin. "I know... I, um, came across some of your vids, Coach," he said. "Actually a lot of them."

I blushed. I don't even know why. But it was a part of my life that was kind of behind me. "Hope you liked them."

He nodded. "I thought of being one of those guys you did." That impish look grew stronger. "Damn, some of those guys are BIG too," he laughed. "You really are into that."

I nodded. But patted his stomach which was still hard-fat but had more give these days. "You're more my speed for now, Mills," I grinned. I don't know why his last name came out, it just felt right.

Our lips were softer touching again. But Tyler's hands fumbled with my jeans and greedily reached in to grip my boner. He had a good touch. I suspect Tyler had fooled around with other men over the last year-plus. I was glad.

"You're big," he finally said as we broke. Tyler was looking down at the cock in his fist.

"Not too big, Tyler," I said.

He thought about it. "I jerked off so much to your vids. Just watching you..."

I patted his arm. All solid. "The real thing will be hotter," I said.

He crouched down in front of me. Tyler wasn't going to suck me to completion. I wasn't going to let him. But from our previous affair, I knew he could. Slowly he sucked down several inches and worked up a nice, slow bob. I enjoyed the foreplay and finally pulled him up.

Then returned the favor. I love sucking a fat guy, feeling the belly press against my forehead as I work my mouth closer to the base of the dick. Tyler now had enough to let me know I had some real girth on my hands.

I finally spit out his cock. "Turn around," I urged.

Tyler had a football player's ass. Round, hard but not a bubble but. Tyler was just now starting to get the fullness a fat dude has, particularly along the upper part of the glutes where they meet the love handles circling around the lower back.

It drove me wild. I parted those muscle buns and dove in. Licking up and down that lightly furry trench.

"Yes," Tyler hissed. He clearly loved having his ass eaten. He liked it even more when I really went at it, drilling in with my tongue. Tyler was clean as a whistle, and I knew he'd prepped for me.

He now leaned over which made those love handles squish some. I growled into that hole and ate him out more eagerly.

I finally pulled out. I slid my finger along the spit wet trench but not penetrating him. "I'll take it easy, stud. But I gotta get inside you."

He nodded. His nerves coming back. But he accepted my kiss when I stood up and let me guide him back to my room.

"I'm at 240 now," he boasted as he got into my bed.

Between the videos and that admission, I realized Tyler had absorbed at least some of the chub/chaser kink, at least enough to use it to turn me on.

"Incredible," I said. I grabbed some lube and fisted my cock, in full view of Tyler's hungry gaze. "I hope you're feeling good about your body."

"Yes and no," he answered truthfully. "But I'm really glad you like it."

"You have no idea, buddy," I said.

"I have some idea," he replied, glancing at my cock.

We kissed and embraced. I felt him up but no more than he gripped my toned bulked muscle. I applied more lube to my fingers worked them in between his buns. Probing and teasing until it felt right to enter him.

He hissed but I could tell he enjoyed it. Our faces were close and our bodies touched as he angled his beefed-out body so I could get access. I took advantage. One finger, then another. Slowly working him open. Eyes locked on his the whole time.

"Feel good?" I asked.

"Yes, Coach."

A third finger pushed in. It was a lot for Tyler, but after a minute I could tell that was feeling good too.

"Can I ride you?" he asked.

"It's actually tougher for the first time that way," I explained. "Let me take the cherry and then we can do whatever position you want. OK?"

He seemed to trust me. So I guided him on his back, that round stomach perfectly resting. I slid a pillow beneath his hips and rested his legs on my shoulder. He was nervous now, but I fingered him some more. Like five minutes more, before I lined up and pressed in.

He gritted his teeth and winced but the feeling didn't hurt like he expected. I took my time then finally pressed past the tightness of those first three inches.

Tyler's eyes opened. THIS felt good to him. I slowly pumped, my movements gentle even as my eyes fixed his with a controlling gaze. Silently urging the ex-jock to take my dick.

He relaxed into the fuck, a look of gratitude on his face. I was showing Tyler a new way to be a man.

I pumped out some lube on to his palm and when he stroked in rhythm to my stokes, the lightbulb really went off.

"I can feel it," he said. "My prostate."

I fucked harder now, and the guy nodded up with excitement, his hand going faster on his thick dick. His belly jiggled now which was going to get me off, soon.

"You like my body," he said. Or maybe asked.

"I love it. Love fucking that thick ex-jock body, Tyler."

"I thought you might prefer me bigger," he hissed, softly. Embarrassed at the admission.

I didn't care. He was getting me out of control. I pounded him, making all that excess flesh move and jiggle wildly. His face turned red then his whole body and I watched streams of cum jet out in thick ropes onto that beer belly.

I nutted. Matching Tyler's cumload size, deep inside his once-virgin ass.

Later, as we showered and made out, I told him that just was about the hottest sex I'd ever hard. I wasn't exaggerating.

He leaned into my hands as I worked the suds over his girthy flesh, trying not to fixated on his midsection.

"I know you're not the dating type, Coach, but can we go on a date some time?" he asked.

I gave him a kiss. Not quick, not slow. "It's the least you deserve, Mills," I replied. My cock chubbing up a little again.

[tired-duckling]

Wanna bite? (WBB players x Reader)

Ok I’m so ready to come thru w the prompt I wrote last night hihi: players and you try the “Tabs” chocolate that went viral all over tiktok which is an aphrodisiac. I can’t write smut well rn so pls enjoy some scenarios hehe.

Paige Bueckers: edited

New addition/s: Kate Martin :))

Note: topics related to consent and intimacy, we do NOT have bad miscommunication on here people !!

Paige Bueckers

You came across a tiktok about them, ordered a pack and told Paige about it. She was shocked at first when finding out what exactly was special about the chocolate you ordered, but was excited to try nonetheless. 

Both of you agreed to try it out first, only one of you would have the chocolate. To properly gauge the effects and all. It came after a few days in a little box, you were home when the package arrived so you excitedly opened it up. You read the instructions it came with, it said the recommended amount is half of the bar for an adult and that the effects can be felt around 15-30 minutes after consuming the chocolate. You pulled out your phone to check the time, it read 3:40 pm, Paige is usually back by 4pm these days. As if right on cue, Paige texted you that she was on the way back from practice. Smiling at her text, you replied “Good, because I have a surprise for you when you get home”.

You thought to surprise her with this experience so you gathered some courage and opened the box. You opened a bar, ate half and tossed the other half in the fridge. You kept the box and the other bars before hopping into the shower. “It would take a few minutes till these would affect me anyway”, you thought, unprepared for what it truly felt like in the next minutes.

When Paige got home, she called for you right after shutting the door closed. She heard the shower running so she figured you were in the bathroom. She set her things down before heading into the kitchen, craving a sweet treat. She saw the inconspicuous half eaten bar of chocolate, and thought it was the perfect amount so she munched on it immediately. Unbeknownst to her, you were already feeling the effects of the bar in the shower. 

You breathed in deeply as you started to feel hot, a heat just enveloping your body, it was a different but welcome feeling. You stepped out of the shower quickly, feeling that you might faint from the steam of the hot water along with the building heat from your core. Quickly patting yourself dry with a towel, wrapping another around yourself after. You turned your head towards the door, hearing footsteps, smiling in relief as you opened the door calling for Paige. 

Paige walked into the bedroom, munching on the last bite of the chocolate. She smiles as she sees you at your current state “Hey baby-“, she greeted you before cutting herself off at your widened eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”, she asks. You shook your head, trying to calm yourself, “Nothing it’s just- P, did you get that from the fridge baby?”, you ask pointing to the wrapper in her hand. Paige’s brows furrowed as she answered, “Yeah, it tastes good but Tru Fru tastes better. Why? Is there a problem?”. You chuckle, knowing full well about her addiction to Tru Fru before looking up at her as you took the wrapper from her hand, “Do you remember the chocolate I told you about? The one from Tiktok?”. She nodded as she pulled you closer by the waist, “Yeah, the ones that make you horny”, she said with a sly smile. 

You nodded, “Yeah those, they arrived today actually”, you said abashedly. “I ate half of it after texting you and left the other half in the fridge”, you finished as you showed her the logo on the wrapper. Paige’s eyes widened as it clicked on her head, you could tell she was about to panic so you tried to calm her down. “Baby it’s fine, the recommended amount is half a bar so I think we would be fine, hopefully”, you added lowly by the end. 

Paige nodded as she calmed down before looking down to you, “Are you ok though?”, she asks her eyes full of concern. “You mentioned you have taken your half a while ago, meaning you would be feeling the effects right now”, she muttered lowly as she stares into your eyes. Nodding your head quickly as you have been trying to play it cool while explaining to Paige what happened. “It feels weird, but like in a good way?”, you answered in a whisper. Gasps leaving your lips as the throbbing heat in your core gets hotter, Paige’s touch on your body not helping your case either. It makes you want to take the towel off, it was hot, too hot even. Breathing in slightly harder as your grip on Paige’s shirt tightened, feeling the pressured heat reach your abdomen. Paige’s hands, roaming your towel clad body before settling back to your waist. “You ok baby?”, she asks with a small smirk on her face. You hummed yes, looking into her eyes, “Hope you can handle me P”, you say teasingly with a sly smile. Paige’s smirk widens at your words, “Hmm yeah, I might do more than just handle you sweetheart”, before giving you a deep kiss. 

Kate Martin (The muncher)

It is honestly diabolical at this point how addicted she is to seeing how the chocolate affects you. After finishing the first bar, she immediately ordered another box which you scolded her for before letting it go after she pulled out the puppy eyes and pout. 

While trying out the chocolate, you both consumed half each, which honestly with Kate’s stamina and overall want for you made it impossible to have her take a break between rounds. You remembered being awfully sore the whole day after with Kate being the cutest and sweetest partner by showering you with care and attention as she made sure that you had your rest and have eaten well. It was decided by both of you (mostly you), that Kate would not have any more of the chocolate for both of your sanity, and mostly out of concern of your ability to walk. 

Though ever since she saw how needy you were and how pretty you looked as you desperately tried to get any release or touch from her, she knew she was going to have to convince you to try it again.  She meticulously planned, making sure to not annoy you or do anything to frustrate you before popping in a request. 

“Hey so, do you remember those chocolate bars we bought from that Tiktok?”, she asked you as she tried to pull off a nonchalant tone. You raised your brows as you watched her put away the dishes after dinner. “Uhh yeah, I do. Why?”, you asked skeptically.  She wiped her hands on a dish towel before turning to face you, “I was thinking we should try them out again”, she said lowly, shrugging her shoulders as if to say it’s a small request.

You chuckle before clearing your throat, “Baby, we agreed that we wouldn’t try them again-“, she cuts you off. “No, I remember this conversation, we both agreed that I would not have it again”, she said putting her hand up before pointing to you. “Which means you, could still have it”, she finishes with a wink. 

You scoff before realizing, yeah she was right. You both negotiated to also not waste the money spent on the bars that it would only be Kate who would have to abstain from the aphrodisiac. Quickly shaking your head, “But babe, you are called to go to headquarters tomorrow”, you try to reason. Kate shook her head, “Cancelled, had it rescheduled. But if you feel uncomfortable with it, it’s fine-“, you cut her off this time. 

“No! It’s just-“, you paused as you tried to calm yourself down. “I just don’t like the feeling of being out of control of what I’m doing”, you confessed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do trust you and I know you wouldn’t push for anything I wouldn’t want. But it’s just harder for me to let go of this want to control everything. I really liked our first experience but I can’t lie and say it didn’t slightly freak me out”, you muttered lowly by the end. 

Kate pulled you close to her, pulling you up to sit you down on the kitchen counter. She pulls your face into her hands, her eyes full of concern as she looked into your eyes. “I appreciate the honesty baby, I’m grateful that you trust me and I’m sorry if you felt pressured to have this experience with me once more. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, I thought you were just hesitant about it because of how sore you were the morning after”, she says in a low voice. “I should have asked you the morning after, how you felt about the experience. I’m sorry baby”, she says in a soft whisper as she caresses your face.

“No, I did like it. It just freaked me out a little that’s all. I actually want to do it again, it’s just-“, you paused once more trying to piece together what you needed. “I think I need you to be more verbal with me when I’m under it”, you say in a low mutter. Kate nodded, understanding what you meant, “Of course, whatever it is you need to be comfortable”, she says before continuing, “So how do you want me to do it? Do you want me to narrate everything I would do, give you instructions?”, she asks further. You tilted your head as you thought about it, “I think both would help, to give me a slight sense of control over what I’m doing”, you say with a small smile. Kate’s eyes brightened once she sees your lips turn upwards slightly. “Of course, princess. Will even give you the best aftercare of your life every time after”, she says dramatically by the end. 

You giggled at her antics resting your arms on her shoulders before leaning down to whisper, “So where did we keep those chocolates again?”. She pulls back a little, “Right now baby? Are you sure”, she asks you, looking into your eyes, her heated gaze trained on you. You nodded before tilting your head once more, “Why? Too tired to handle me today?”, you added with a tease. She scoffs this time, picking you up from off the counter and hauling you over her shoulder making you squeal. “Kate! Put me down, I can walk!”, you exclaimed with a giggle. She chuckles at your words, “We are going to change that real quick baby”, Kate walked towards the bedroom, knowing full well she kept the chocolates in her nightstand.

(genuinely feel like Kate Martin is for the oldest daughter lesbians out there who need to always feel like they have their shit together or are in control, so yeah, sorry if this scenario is too realistic)

Hey guysss, sorry my brain is running out of creative juices so pls forgive me for this slow turn out, I also want to try and improve what i'm publishing because i do feel somewhat disappointed in my work when I know i could do better. Hope you guys enjoy!

[honeyedmiller]

Checkmate | Joel Miller

pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader

warnings: dbf!joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s, joel mid 40’s), reader is depicted as shorter than joel but otherwise has no other physical description (picture in mood board is for aesthetic purposes only), mutual pining, making out, smut (thigh riding, brief mentions of f oral receiving, unprotected [bc] piv, slight cockwarming, riding), reader’s best friend’s name is hailey, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.

huge thank you to my baby @party-hearses for beta reading this for me. i love you to a million pieces 🖤

a/n: also this is my 900 follower celebration?! i still can’t wrap my head around the fact that so many people follow me and enjoy what i reblog / write. i love u all so, so much. i also feel kinda bad bc i hyped this one shot up a lot only for the smut to not be that descriptive, but this is more about joel and reader’s feelings than what they essentially do with each other. hope y’all still enjoy it :’)

word count: 4.6k

synopsis: you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.

dividers by the lovely @saradika

You wiped your sweaty brow on your forearm as you lugged a fifth box into your new apartment. You’d finally saved up enough to move out of your parent’s place. Your master’s degree had paid off after all, landing you a job in the heart of Austin, Texas. You were only a thirty minute drive from your parent’s house, which your mom totally loved. She couldn’t wait to help you decorate your place and hand you down the pots and pans that’d been in the family for quite some time. 

The move wasn’t necessarily a tough one, because you were ready to get out of your parents’ hair. You all got along well, but you were dying for your own privacy and space that you could call your own. You couldn’t be happier now that you had it. 

In the midst of the move, your dad insisted he’d phone his best buddy, Joel. You’d only heard about him a handful of times while you were away at college, and in the months you’d been back with your parents, your dad always went over to his house to watch sports or hang out. When the whole family was invited over to his house for barbecues, you always found yourself either already having other plans with your friends, or you were working. Today was finally the day you’d meet the mystery man that is Joel Miller. 

And that’s when you saw him. Tall, broad, ruggedly handsome, body clad in an army green shirt that showcased his biceps and veiny forearms, dark jeans that showed off the muscle of his thick thighs, and scuffed up boots from plenty of days, weeks, hell–months of hard work that added an inch or two to his already towering height. 

He must’ve been in his forties if you had to guess. His dark brown hair was dusted with slight specs of gray, the  scruff on his jawline mirroring the hair on his head. His nose was strong, and was perfectly fitted with his face. He had dark brown eyes that were kind yet held some kind of sternness—a look that made your panties easily dampen. His mustache framed his lips that were pursed into a slight frown, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like all over your body. 

He looked at you just the same, all but hungry eyes roaming your body as he caught a glimpse of you for the first time. Like a damn deer caught in headlights. 

He was your dad’s best friend?

Oh, you were truly, utterly, royally fucked. 

You introduced yourself to him and he shook your hand, the calloused pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin sending a string of butterflies through your stomach. 

You genuinely don’t think you’d ever been this attracted to someone at first glance. 

After he and your dad helped you move all of your stuff into your new place, you’d concluded two things: one, Joel Miller was a man of very few words–at least, around you that is, and two: you were sure he was attracted to you just as you were to him. 

Was it so wrong to want someone a little bit older? Perhaps not. What was wrong was that he’s your dad’s best friend. You shouldn’t want someone like that. Someone you were absolutely sure could handle you in the best way possible. 

About a month after you’d finally gotten settled into your apartment, you invited your best friend Hailey over a movie night and a glass of wine. You told her about your predicament, to which she couldn’t help but be the little devil on your shoulder and encourage you to go after Joel. 

“Look, I know he’s your dad’s best friend n’ all, but what he doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?” She questions, legs tucked underneath her body as her lips curl into a sly grin before she takes another sip of her wine. 

“I mean yeah, but I’ve never done something like this before. An older man, who’s closely acquainted with my dad? I oughta be out of my damn mind.” You sigh, rubbing your temple. 

“Live a little, babe. You’ve been a good kid to your parents your whole life. It’s time you do something for you for once and go after it. Make a subtle move on him next time. That might spice things up a bit.” She suggests, pursing her lips. 

“You’re right. But if I make a move and it backfires, I’m completely fucked and I’m moving to the other side of the country.” You laugh exasperatingly. 

She reaches over to pat your thigh softly. “Only one way to find out.” 

-

You hadn’t seen Joel as of late, but you weren’t phased by it. It’d been a really busy couple of weeks at work, and you were joining your coworkers tonight for a celebratory t.g.i.f. drink. 

Hailey was over at your apartment getting ready with you and you both were already two shots of tequila in. You weren’t much of a drinker, but truth be told, you needed this night out. 

“So I’m either between this dress or this one.” You explain to Hailey, and she studies the options you held up for her to thoroughly inspect. It was either between a black satin mini dress with sparkly straps, or a strapless maroon bodycon dress 

“This one,” She points at the black dress. “With your red kitten heels.” 

You toss the maroon dress onto your bed and take the black one off of the hanger, changing into the dress after Hailey goes to pour herself another shot. You slip aforementioned heels on and give yourself a once over in your full body closet mirror, satisfied with your appearance. 

You wanted to look and feel hot tonight, and it was safe to say you achieved just that. Maybe you’d pick up some hot guy at the bar tonight. He may not be no Mr. Miller, but anyone to take the tension of the past couple of weeks away would suffice. 

You were applying one last layer of lipgloss when Hailey’s knuckles rapped on your door twice, head peeking into your bedroom. 

“Uber’s here. Let’s go get fucked up.” 

You laugh at her enthusiasm, hot on her trail as you locked up and headed down to your Uber. 

The ride was only fifteen minutes before you pulled up to the bar that was already packed. You both slipped inside, spotting your coworkers at a table. They were laughing about something when you and Hailey walked up, and they all cheerily greeted you with hugs. 

It wasn’t long before the DJ was playing some line dancing songs, and multiple people made their way to the dance floor to move their bodies. You and Hailey were the only ones left at the table as you laughed at your coworkers trying to keep up with the beat of the song. 

“Mr. Hottie over there has been checking you out for some time now.” Hailey leaned into you, nudging your side with her elbow as she jutted her head toward a man at the bar. 

You felt your body drained of warmth as you saw none other than Joel Miller standing at the end of the bar, sipping on his beer tentatively. His eyes were locked on you, and the stupid butterflies rumbled around in your stomach once more. 

“Hailey, that’s him.” You say, swallowing thickly. 

“Who?” She gives you a questioning look, the drinks she’s had tonight making her mind a bit fuzzy. 

“My dad’s best friend. That’s Joel.” You say, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head. 

“Oh, girl, if you don’t make your move I’ll force you to make one. He’s a fucking hunk.” 

Your eyes trailed back over to him, taking in his appearance. He switched out the green t-shirt for a gray one, dark wash jeans, and the same boots he wore when he showed up to help you move into your place. 

The way he was looking at you made you want to do extremely sinful things with him. Fuck. Now or never. 

“I’ll be back.” You tell Hailey, and her expression brightens up and cheers you on as you slip off of your seat. 

You saunter over to Joel, drink in hand, and you sip on it through the straw as you approach him. He looks down at you amused, eyes nearly black as he scans you from head to toe. 

“You stalking me now, Mr. Miller?” You tease, leaning up against the bar top. 

Joel scoffs a laugh and sips on his beer once more. “Y’think I don’t have something better to do with my time than to see where you are on a Friday night?” He retorts, but it wasn’t mean. You were sober enough to hear the hint of playfulness in his tone. 

“Mm, not really.” You shrug, feigning an innocent smile up at him. 

So you could be a brat. He bet he could fix that attitude in no time. 

He chuckled at his own thoughts, finishing off his beer as he set the empty bottle down on the sticky bar top. 

“You caught me, darlin’. Any woman as ravishing as you is worth stalkin’.” The slight curl of his lip made you smile. You sipped on your drink some more as you watched the patrons of the bar dancing to the current song. Your eyes avert back up to his gaze, and you step closer to him. 

His eyes move down to your glossy lips wrapped around the straw, wishing so badly that your lips were wrapped around something else right at that moment. 

“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Miller?” You ask, reaching a hand out to touch his bicep. His body goes rigid at your touch, and you fear you’ve gone too far so your hand immediately drops. Joel does a quick scan of the bar before wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his sturdy body. 

“My brother’s best friend’s birthday.” He shrugs, and you nod. You felt like a fucking hummingbird with how fast your heart was beating, and you were sure Joel could feel it with the close proximity between the two of you. 

The air became thick and heavy. Your breathing accelerated, looking up at Joel and into his lust-clouded eyes. His grip on your waist tightened in the slightest, and you nearly whimpered as you felt his bulge through the denim fabric of his jeans. 

“Joel.” Your voice was merely a whisper, and he smirked down at you. 

“Care to line dance, darlin’?” He asked nonchalantly. Your eyebrows furrowed as disappointment shot through you. Were you reading the situation wrong? 

“I don’t really know how.” You say, setting your now watered-down drink on the counter. 

“I’ll teach you.” He shrugs, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor. He showed you step by step how to move, but your mind was so hazy with lust that you could barely even focus. 

It’d been months since someone touched you in an intimate way, and the burning need and desire was aflame through your body. All you could think about was Joel’s hands and tongue on you as you moaned his name. The thought nearly made you pout. 

“You even listenin’ to me?” Joel pulls you out of your daydream, and you look up at him with half lidded eyes. He was teasing and holding out on you and he knew it. 

His face held pure amusement as he watched you squirm under his stare uncontrollably, fidgeting like a little kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to stop by. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You sigh, walking back to the table Hailey was waiting at.

“What happened?” She asks, looking behind you at Joel who was burning a hole in the back of your body. 

“No idea. Guess I’m not getting lucky after all.” You shrug with a disappointed huff of a laugh. You looked back to see if Joel was still there, but he seemed to have disappeared. 

You grabbed your purse and made your way to the bar, leaning over it. The back of your dress rode your thighs significantly, barely covering your ass at this point. Before you could get the bartender’s attention again, you felt a hand on your shoulder pull you back and press you into their body. You were about to mouth off on this person before you realized it was Joel. 

“Fuck, c’mon.” His hand slid down to your wrist, gently tugging it. You looked at Hailey as you started to follow Joel and pointed at him discreetly, and she gave you a thumbs up. 

Joel led you out into the cool air of the night, immediately chilling your whole body. Goosebumps raised onto your skin as he led you to his truck, your heels clicking against the unevenly paved asphalt. 

“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask as you stop in front of a dark truck. 

“I’m about to give us what we both want.” He said before trapping your body against his truck and between both of his strong arms that landed on either side of you. You cocked an eyebrow up at him, eyes and lips glossy underneath the dim parking lot lights. 

“Can’t believe I’m fuckin’ doin’ this.” Joel murmurs before leaning down, smashing his lips with yours. You moan softly into the kiss, carding your fingers into his longer locks. You give the ends a slight tug and he moans into your mouth. You feel the arousal pool in your panties and your untouched core starts to throb. You whine into the kiss, and Joel takes that as an opportunity for his tongue to invade your mouth. 

He tastes like mint now, probably having popped an altoid in his mouth before coming back to get you from the bar. His hands travel downwards and find purchase on your thighs underneath the dress, rubbing circles into your soft skin. He starts to rut his hips into yours, the bulge in his jeans catching onto your clothed clit deliciously. 

“Joel, please.” You choke out as his lips disconnect from yours, hot kisses traveling down your neck and onto your collarbone. 

“Please what, baby?” He asks, voice raspy and muffled as he breathes against your neck. 

“Need you. Fuck, please, just touch me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound to him at this moment. His touch left a trail of flames everywhere his hands landed, and you couldn’t get enough. 

Joel wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you away from the back door of his truck, opening it and helping you slide in. He got in right after you, closing and locking the doors. Your chest was rapidly heaving up and down, trying to catch your breath from the intense moment. 

Joel didn’t give you much leeway, though, because as soon as he spread his legs to get comfy in the backseat, he was pulling you on top of him. You closed the gap between you two this time, rutting your hips forward so your heat sat right on top of his bulging crotch. He groaned lowly, looking down to where your dress had ridden up. He saw your pink lace panties that you had on, and god were you grateful you chose to wear those tonight.

Joel hummed in appreciation as he slid his calloused hands up the smooth skin of your thighs, looking back up to meet your gaze. Your lipgloss was nearly gone off of your lips and onto Joel’s, and he had to admit he liked the sticky cherry flavor. 

“Your daddy would kill me with his bare hands right now if he saw what I was doin’ with his darlin’ daughter.” Joel chuckles, shaking his head. 

“That’s why he won’t find out,” You shrug. “Besides, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions and decide what I want… and what I want is you, Mr. Miller.” 

Joel raises an eyebrow and huffs a small laugh. “That right?” He questions, grip getting slightly tighter on the soft flesh of your thighs. 

“Mhm.” You nod, hand cradling the back of his head. 

“What we’re doin’—this is bad.” Joel chastised, mostly to himself. 

“Relax, Joel. I won’t tell if you won’t.” You twirl the hair at the nape of his neck through your fingers, applying more pressure onto his groin. He grunts in response, adjusting himself slightly as the confinement of his jeans was nearly torturous at this point. 

“Fine. But we’re endin’ this whole hookin’ up thing if anyone gets even the slightest bit suspicious.” He negotiates, and you nod. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Miller.” 

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, leaning up to capture your lips into his once again. You hum against him, hands moving down to his chest as your nails scratch over the thin fabric of his shirt. 

You start to grind yourself onto him again, and he groans once more before separating his lips from yours to mumble against them. “Use my thigh, baby.” He shifts you onto his left thigh, and you steady yourself on him by gripping his shoulders. 

“I don’t wanna ruin your pants.” You sigh, the pressure of your clothed clit on his thick thigh already providing the tiniest bit of relief. 

“I don’t give a shit about my pants, baby. Soak ‘em for all I care.” He presses his lips to your neck once more, and you shiver at the contact. You’re shy at first, not ever having gotten yourself off on someone’s thigh before. 

Joel senses your hesitation, so he moves his hands back up to your hips and shifts them forward, causing your soaked cunt to glide along his jean-clad thigh. 

You take over yourself, rocking your hips back and forth at a languid pace. Desperate moans are falling out of your mouth as you fist his shirt into your hands, feeling yourself so close already. 

“Joel, feels so-so fucking good.” You whine, head dropping back. Your jaw goes slack and eyebrows thread together, picking the pace of your hips up. 

“Yeah? Such a good fuckin’ girl, takin’ what she needs to get off.” 

“I need you, Joel, please.” 

Joel moved his hands to fumble with his belt buckle and jeans button to take his jeans off in the slightest, finally relieving his erection. You moaned at the sight of his thick cock, pre cum gathered at the tip. You brought your thumb to his slit, gathering the pre cum onto your finger before bringing it up to your mouth to gently suck on it. 

Joel’s jaw ticked, resisting the urge to bend you over the back of his seat and fuck you senseless then and there. Luckily, he had a lot more restraint than he thought, because all he did was just stare at you sucking seductively on your thumb. 

You shifted yourself so you were straddling both of his thighs now, and you grabbed his cock into your hand to give it a few slow tugs. Joel sucked in a breath at your touch, head being thrown back onto the headrest of the seat. You tugged your panties to the side before you ran the tip of his weeping cock through your slick folds, a lewd wetness sounding throughout the cab of the truck. 

You moaned as Joel hissed at the contact. It’d been awhile since Joel had been with someone, so he prayed to whatever god was out there that he’d be able to last. 

“C’mon baby, don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” Joel grunts, fingertips digging into your hips. You look down at him with half lidded eyes as you sank down onto his length without much resistance. 

The stretch was fucking heavenly. Your lips parted as you puffed out a pant and sucked in a breath shortly after, reaching the hilt. 

“So fucking big. Fuck.” You mewl, fingers digging into his shoulders for balance once more. 

“Stay still for a little.” Joel’s voice was strained, sounding nearly pained as he choked out his words. You felt so good wrapped around him that he just wanted to appreciate your warmth. 

Joel slid the sparkly straps of your dress down your shoulders, tugging down the neckline of your dress to reveal your breasts. His tongue darted out of his mouth to briefly wet his lips, large hands moving up to gently squeeze the soft flesh of your chest. 

“So fuckin’ perfect.” Joel whispers, moving his head down to envelope one erect nipple into his mouth while his thumb and index finger toyed with the other. You moved one hand up his chest and to the back of his hair, threading your fingers through the thick locks once more as you pushed his face deeper into your pillowy flesh. 

The feeling of his expert tongue and heavy cock in you was beginning to be too much. You needed him to move, or at least let you move. You weren’t above absolutely begging him until he gave in, but he seemed to have the same idea as his hips thrusted into you. 

You took that as an initiative to move, so you began to slowly glide yourself up and down on him. You sucked in a sharp breath as the feeling of him repeatedly filling you made your legs shake. He took his mouth off of your swollen flesh to avert his gaze to yours, eyes locking as you moved up and down. He moved a hand down to generously rub at your aching clit, causing your cunt to deliciously clench around him. 

“Gonna ruin this tight little pussy. Just you wait.” His voice is throaty and deep, sending shivers down your spine. The dangerous glint in his eye let you know that he was dead serious. 

You wanted Joel Miller to ruin every other man for you. 

That’s how this, the dangerous thing—the game—started. 

You both were determined to win at something that wasn’t even tangible; something so lucrative to both of you that the consequences wouldn’t even fucking matter. 

It didn’t matter as he took over and fucked his hips up into you at a brutal pace, causing you to orgasm violently on his cock within minutes. It didn’t matter when the windows of his truck fogged up and the drag of your fingertips adorned the glass. It didn’t matter when you reassured him he could cum in you because you were on birth control. 

As months went on after that night at the bar, him fucking you up against the wall of his shower or pounding you into your bed or eating your pussy until you physically could not breathe anymore was all that dazed your mind. 

Fuck the consequences. 

None of it fucking mattered. 

Because, over the months, Joel Miller was the kind of man you didn’t mind having in your bed after you two’ve fucked. You didn’t mind when he slept over, or when he wanted to be the little spoon, or when you both went out on dates like a normal couple would. 

The euphoria of it all didn’t last forever, though. You knew it wouldn’t, but the heavy weight and reality of it all came crashing down on you one day when Joel was buried deep into your warm cunt, both of you teetering on the edge of a climax, when your dad came knocking on your front door. Pure panic seized your body and you had to make Joel hide in your closet like a fucking teenager. 

That’s when you realized you both were way in over your head with this whole thing. Getting caught was going to be inevitable if it kept up like this. 

You were eternally grateful that your dad was a man who didn’t hover. He left your apartment after fifteen minutes and when Joel came out from hiding, you told him that it was way too close and it was too risky to keep doing what you both wanted to never put a stop to. You’d silently promised yourself that was the last time with him. 

Joel tried to argue against it, but you put your foot down. That is, until you got slightly buzzed one night and begged Joel to come fuck you. Truthfully, you didn’t even really need the sex from him. It was just a plus. You just enjoyed being around him so much that having him in some way, even if only physically, was to suffice. 

Little did you know, he felt ten times stronger than what you felt. Joel Miller would worship the ground you walked on, if you allowed him to do so. 

He was at your doorstep in no time, pushing you against the wall and kissing you with such neediness as if you’d disappear right beneath his fingertips. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties to which Joel discarded immediately. His thick fingers rubbed against your slick heat, hips bucking to meet the languid pace he set. 

Joel shouldn’t be here.

You promised yourself the last time would be the fucking last. 

And yet, you found yourself willingly shoved up against the wall of your living room by none other than the man you swore you’d stay away from as he leaves hot, fervent kisses along the slope of your neck.

“Joel, we—fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this. We have to stop.”

“Yeah? Not what you were sayin’ when you were practically beggin’ me to fuck you again over the phone.” He grits. He sinks his fingers into your aching cunt, prying a strangled moan from your throat.

He’s frustrated with himself. 

Frustrated that he so easily succumbed to you, allowing himself to wrap himself in the greedy need and carnal desire he had for you. Frustrated that you were twenty years younger than him, and frustrated that you should’ve been off limits.

You were supposed to be off limits, god damnit, but Joel Miller was a greedy fucking man. He just had to have you in a way that nobody else could. 

He really didn’t blame your father if he strangled the man  with his own bare hands if he ever found out what you two did behind his back, in secret, and for months at that. 

Joel knew better. 

He fucking knew better and still decided to get a taste, get a feel, fuck you like no other man had. Something his greed deliciously sunk its teeth into, allowing himself to indulge in the forbidden realm you offered to give him. 

You knew better, too. But you did get one thing you wanted, after all. 

You’d be a fucking liar if you didn’t admit that Joel Miller had officially ruined every other man for you. 

The dangers of the game had sunk its teeth so deep into both of you. It was like the world’s most impossible chess match, and one of you was finally waiting for the other to say “checkmate.” 

 The thing is, Joel lost a long while ago. 

He fucking lost the game. 

He couldn’t stay away from you no matter how hard he tried, and when you called him begging him to fuck you tonight, his need for you practically drowned him in his weakness. 

Joel Miller was not a weak man. You had him under a fucking spell that he couldn’t seem to reverse. 

It’s like you were his fucking kryptonite. 

He was the one that royally fucked in the end. 

Joel wished he didn’t have these feelings that clawed at his fucking rib cage every time he glanced at you, some sort of animalistic creature trying to escape when you were under him, legs spread wide, your warmth wrapped around his cock as he buried himself in you.

Every single time he had you like that, had his lips on you, had you moaning his name like a prayer on Sunday mornings, saw your sweet smile, smelled your perfume that he loved so much, heard your contagious laugh, he knew he lost.

Checkmate. 

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @amanitacowboy ; @holesandlividity ; @planet-marz1 ; @joelmillers-whore ; @cool-iguana ; @janaispunk ; @freakygothgirl ; @survivingandenduring ; @clawdee ; @danaispunk ; @kiwisbell ; @untamedheart81

[666anxiety666]

sup dude, saw your post and i saw you‘re also in the roblox pressure fandom

how abouuuuuut you maybe write a (platonic!!!!) tickle fic between Sebastian and reader?

y‘know the flash bang gun? or maybe when you keep going back and forth through his shop, he gets mad? yeah, maybe write about the reader just annoying him too much

or headcanons about Sebastian

up to ya!

YES! I JUST ADDED THAT TO MY LIST! 💙 I'll also probably do headcanons at some point! 🙏

Don't. Do that. Again.

Sebastian x gender neutral reader

LEE: Y/n LER: Sebastian

Warnings: none :)

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You jumped into the locker quickly, just seconds before angler pasted you. You sigh shakily, quickly jump out of the locker. Already feeling the panic of being inside for too long, starting to set in.

You stumbled along the rest of the room, opening the door to room 50. You didn't even bother to check the drawers as you walked. Determined as ever to get this nightmare of a trip over and done with.

Suddenly, a vent bursts open. You jumped back, ready to defend yourself if needed.

"Psst! In here!"

A voice is heard coming from inside. You sighed. You know the drill by now. You crawl inside, only to be met by the one and only Sebastian.

"Ah! The one who can't seem to keep their coffin shut, huh?"

Sebastian said in an almost mocking tone. You roll your eyes. Already looking around the shop for supplies. You had barely picked up anything from the last 50 rooms. Only having a code breacher and a shitty and crank flashlight on your person.

"Jeez Y/n, you look rough."

Sebastian said mockingly. But he was right. You looked down at the contents on Sebastian's tail, instantly grabbing the medkit.

"I didn't think you'd be this bad still. I mean, you've died what? 40 times now?"

Sebastian commented with a grin. You looked up at him. Rolling your eyes once again as you feel the medkit started to take effect. You were already getting sick of him. It would take a while for you to be somewhat okay to head back out there. That means being stuck in here with *him* while you waited. great.

You sat down on a box, kicking your legs absentmindedly as you looked at the floor. Sebastian didn't say anything else, much to your relief. He just sighed, going through files and data.

You sighed as well, already bored as hell. You look around the shop. Glancing at the raido, the batteries on the table. But then, you spot a flash beacon on a shelf. Despite doing this over and over, you never really picked up one of these on any runs.

You fiddled around with it. Examining it from top to bottom. It still had batteries in it. You sighed again. just as you thought. It was useless. You were about to place it back on the shelve. When you dropped it. The flash beacon fell to the floor, landing in its side facing Sebastian, and it went off.

The room lit up. Sebastian's eyes widened before he quickly covered them, dropping the files he was looking at. You felt your heart drop right to your stomach.

Sebastian uncovered his eyes. Growling as he reached out and grabbed you. His massive hand wrapped right around you, trapping your arms at your sides. Your breathing started getting heavier as Sebastian leaned in closer with a growl.

"Don't. Do that. Again."

Sebastian snarled. You squeezed your eyes shut. Expecting to be thrown to the floor or even killed. It was an accident. You didn't mean for the beacon to go off! You waited, and waited, but nothing came. You slowly but hesitantly opened your eyes. You were still trapped in Sebastian's grip. But now Sebastian was chuckling.

"Jeez, you should have seen your face!"

He cackled. You blinked a few times. Still a little shaken up. Sebastian looked back down at you, still keeping you in his grasp.

"Oh, come on, buddy. *Lighten* up a little...~"

Sebastian teased. That was definitely meant to be a pun. Sebastian squeezed you lightly as he spoke. However, one of his claws dug into your side as he did so.

You jumped slightly. Your breath hitching as you let out a small noise, almost like a squeak. Trying to hold back any laughter that bubbled in your throat.

Sebastian paused for a moment. He blinked, a little worry seeping in, thinking that he had hurt You. But when he saw the look on your face. He grinned. Oh no...

"Oh... I see now..."

Sebastian chuckled, showing off his sharp teeth. He didn't even give you time to react or process before he reached out with his other clawed hand. Instantly digging into your side.

You sqeaked. Wriggling in his grasp as you giggled. Sebastian grinned his clawed hand, squeezing and raking up and down your side.

"What? Do you think I can let you go after flashing that thing at me like that? Not a chance, buddy~"

Sebastian grinned. You could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks. But you could deal with this. It's not like it could get any worse-

Sebastian moved his clawed hand to your tummy, raking his claws along it. You squealed louder, now kicking your legs desperately. It got so much worse!

"Jeez, you're so squirmy..."

Sebastian chuckled. He reached his third hand out. Squeezing just above your knee. Your squeals and giggles only got more high-pitched as it felt like little tickly electric shocks ran through your body.

"So squeaky too... what an odd place to be ticklish..."

Sebastian commented slyly. Keeping at the squeezing on your knee, the hand on your tummy now poking your belly button. Your face was bright red by this point. You didn't know if it was the tickles or the teasing that caused it. But right now, you didn't care as you squirmed and kicked. Your high-pitched giggles filling the shop.

His clawed hand moved down from your tummy to where your sides and hips met. Your eyes widened as he dug his clawed hand right in there. You squealed louder. Kicking your legs harder. You could feel the ends of your ears turning pink.

"What's wrong, squeaky? Does it tickle?~"

Sebastian teased grumbly. His voice getting lower at the end of his sentence. Your face burned red as you tried to squirm and kick. But he still had his hand on your damn knee, squeezing it everytime you kicked. You shook your head, the only thing you could really move. Sebastian smirked.

"No? Hm... well then..."

Sebastian pretended to think for a moment. His eyes lighting up with an idea. You didn't even have time to ask questions or speak before he leaned down, blowing a massive raspberry right on your tummy.

Your eyes widened as you burst into a fit of belly laughter. You struggled, trying to pull your arms out of his grasp to push his head away, but it was no use. Sebastian grinned against your tummy, blowing another raspberry.

It felt like it went on forever. You kicking and squealing. Your laughter filling the shop, Sebastian teasing you to know end. However, you started getting restless, and Sebastian decided he'd give *some* mercy and finally stopped. Leaving you panting and still giggling in his grasp. Sebastian chuckled down at you.

"There, there... that should teach you not to touch things you dont know..."

Sebastian smirked. Yet he didn't put you down, yet freed your arms. You looked up at Sebastian as you caught your breath, still giggling slightly as you half-heartedly glared at him. Sebastian chuckled. A little more fondly, patting your head.

"Your good, right?"

Sebastian asked. He tried to hide the concern in his voice but failed miserablely. You smiled slightly, nodding your head. Sebastian smiled a little too, averting his gaze from yours.

"Good..."

He paused.

"You'll still need to heal up though. You can stay in here and rest while you wait, or whatever..."

Sebastian mumbled. Moving you onto the floor, wrapping his massive tail around you gently. You blinked. He didn't meet your gaze. He looked almost embarrassed at his own actions.

"Just shut up and sleep or something..."

Sebastian grumbled. Picking up more files to distract himself. You smiled slightly, resting you back against his tail. You yawn, only now realising how tired you actually are. You looked up at Sebastian one more time as you got comfortable. Maybe Sebastian wasn't as bad as you thought. You looked up at him one final time before closing your eyes.

"Thanks, Sebastian..."

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DONE! I loved writing this! Definitely got me back into things! Also, it feels a little refreshing to take a break from writing about the mandela catalogue as much as I love it. 😅