#minor shirk

[hussyknee]

AO3 is probably racking up donations rn so won't be long before the AO3 Truthers come out with "OTW faked the DDOS attack to get more money and defend them hosting freak shit." If they even wait for the site to go back up first, I'll be surprised.

Someone did point out that AO3's surge in popularity in the wake of this attack might be used to deflect from and derail the End OTW Racism campaign which... does unfortunately seem likely.

If you wanna know why fans of colour hate both antis and proshippers, this is why. Y'all are two sides of the same derailing silencing coin.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

hear me out..what abt u and miguel in a hotub trying to hide that fact that you guys are literally screwing eachother in front of the others🤭🤭and he’s talking u through it..whispering in ur ear..telling u to be quiet while he’s literally roaming his hands all over u! 😋😋

this is a leeetle bit funny to me bc in real life, sex is the last thing i'd wanna do in a hot tub. But for Miguel..... 😍😍

Wandering Hands

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Husband!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: You're on a trip away with your husband, Miguel. He gets handsy. (Hot tub sex + Husband!Miguel)

warnings: 18+ , fingering, p in v, instructional, Miguel talks you through it, teeny tiny bit of f!dom, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, very very sappy. Minors DNI

a/n: this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy at some points - I kinda have to apologise in advance. I've had a rough week lmao

very big thank you to my beta reader @tianyhi <33

wc: 2.7k

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

Wandering hands: Miguel has wandering hands. 

It's your anniversary, and that's the thought you're left with as he kneads your thigh, eyes low at a fancy resort. A resort you practically dragged him to, mind you.  He's a workhorse; absorbed in his job and everything that comes with it. Your husband; diligent and devoted, as always; he needed a break. Somewhere hot, somewhere expensive. It’s what he deserved. And whilst he would never take the initiative to book one for himself, isn't that what a wonderful SO was there for?

To his credit, he's been 'unplugged' since the moment you got here - putting away his work laptop and ignoring all the calls he'd get from overbearing clients. His sole focus for this whole week is you; and he's made that abundantly clear. The lingering looks, gentle touches: everything about him screams love and warmth. And he's all yours - a fact that still sends you spiralling, every now and then. All yours. 

"You're not paying attention, cariño." He says under his breath, swirling the wine under his nose like the man in front of him. 

You're both at a wine tasting, like sophisticated adults (...who had made fun of the idea on the way over). Miguel's wearing pressed trousers that hang on his frame just right, and a tank top underneath an open button-up. The peek of flesh makes you hot under the collar like a Victorian housewife, and you flush when you realise you're staring. Miguel pinches your cheek with a laugh, soothing it with a simple kiss. 

Huffing, you take a sip of the expensive wine without thinking. There’s a gasp from the sommelier, and the small group turns to look at you. Your face heats up when you realise what you’ve done - shirking from the pack of eyes silent with sharp critique. A man beside you taps your shoulder with a slimy smile. 

“Miss, that’s a 1978 Monfortino. It probably costs more than your rent.” 

“...I thought this was a wine tasting. So eventually, we have to… taste. The wine.” Miguel chuckles into his drink, squeezing at your waist. You make a fair point.

The man laughs, smug. “With all due respect, it’s an experience of the senses… maybe this is your first time somewhere with this kind of price tag, but it’s quite rude to-”

Miguel clears his throat, flashing a disarming smile at the man to your side. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, with a dangerous veneer you’ve seen before. The smile he gives before closing a big deal at work, calculated and shiny – when he smells blood in the water. 

“With all due respect, watch your fucking tone.” 

His face drops just as quickly, and he downs the rest of his wine, standing up - hand outstretched to take you with him. Gladly, you follow, click-clacking in your heels and little dress; hand tight around his.

“...Pinche idiota…vete a la verga…smug little-” It’s under his breath, but his intensity makes you giggle. 

In the elevator up to your room, he stews, brow creased in little furrows. A force of habit, he pulls you closer, tucking away a stray strand of hair. With a smile, you knead his temples, smoothing the creases. He visibly softens and leans into your touch.

“You’re on vacation, Miguel. Relax, baby.” 

“S’not that simple.” He grumbles, but chases your lips with his own, regardless.

Defiant, you move at the last moment, chin up in the air.

“No, I’m being serious.” He snakes a hand to your ass, dancing over the hem of your dress. 

"I could think of a few ways to decompress, if you're up for it…" Voice low and silky, want pools at the base of your stomach. 

"Miguelito, the bedroom voice doesn't work on me, anymore." You slather on the charm, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him laugh. He rolls his eyes. 

"Let's do something. I think…I think the spa's still open? We could get a massage-" 

"I don't want a massage unless it's you, baby."

"...or go to the sauna-"

"Didn't pack the right clothes, m'afraid."

"God, don't be mean." It's your turn to roll your eyes. And you whack at his chest, admonishing him gently. "What about the hot tubs?"

He turns his head to the side as if he's deep in thought. Pondering, weighing up the options; when really, the only thought in his head was you in a tiny bikini. 

"If you insist, cariño." 

~~~

The spa isn't too far from your hotel, a stone's throw from the beach. You walk with Miguel in the pleasant evening heat, flip-flops and cover ups light on your back. 

There at the back, open air, behind rows of beach houses and overlooking the sea. You settle into the tubs, each one sectioned by wooden slats and climbing plants - not visible from the main spa, but not completely closed off, either. You can still hear the quiet buzz of other people, although it's not too full this late in the day. 

You slip the light fabric onto the floor, and step out of the cover-up. Miguel, already in the water, watches the light ripple off of your skin. You don't catch him staring, but you feel it. His gaze is heavy as he drinks it in; you are dappled and gorgeous, and his heart is full. You slip in, shuffling up close to him in the dull thrum of the water jets. 

Eyes closed, you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're staring." 

"Yeah." It's so soft, said in the press of warm bodies, that you almost don't hear it. Playfully, he flicks your forehead - in that little triangle between your eyebrows that appears when you're resting. It's cute, he thinks. "...you got a problem with that?"

Laughing, you shake your head. "It's not too much?" 

He moves closer to you, hands on your hips and mouth pressing soft kisses into your neck. 

"The trip, I mean. It was a little last minute, and there was that thing with our passports…" You sigh, turning towards him, hand on his chest to stop him. "I just thought you needed a break. And I know this isn't usually your thing, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you're not, let me know, and I'll book the first plane out of here, I promise." 

You're looking up at him, clearly worried, and his heart breaks. It's almost as if you've forgotten that an anniversary entails both people, together as one. The truth is, as long as he's with you, and you're having a good time… 

"Doesn't matter where we go, cariño. I'm right where I need to be if I'm with you." He says it like a statement - so matter-of-factly it makes your head spin. Because, you suppose, to him it was a ubiquitous truth: that in every universe, every iteration, the both of you belonged together. What would sound over the top or cheesy coming from someone else, is made so simple by Miguel. A fundamental truth: his home, his happiness, his heartaches and highest highs, were with you, and you alone. 

"Promise me."

"Hand on my heart, baby." He places a palm that spans the crest of his ribcage. "...I promise."

He guides you onto his lap, so your back presses to his. His kisses are so light and airy, you don't notice how his hand creeps towards your thigh and the gentle movement of his hips under yours. 

"You always take care of me," His hand snaps the band of your bikini bottoms, making you writhe on his lap. "Let me return the favour. Relax, cariño."

You nod, gently, eyes blown when you realise what exactly that means. Miguel's large palms dance over your tummy, pinching at the flesh to make you laugh; and then down to your thighs, to paw at them. He shifts, directing you over the jet by the base of the seat, and there is delicious pressure at your clit. 

He cups your pussy under the foam of the water, ripping a heady moan of which you try to subdue. You lean into it: the hand that's now migrated into your bikini, the rock of his hips, and the hickeys he sucks into skin. Coupled with the fact you were in public, he brings you to climax quicker than even he expected. You were so needy, everything about your body telling him you wanted more - needed more. He presses the pad of his finger over your clit, barely there, and you claw at his arms under the water. 

"More?" He coos, dulcet tones brushing the shell of your ear. "Pórtate bien,  okay?" 

So lost in your haze, you don't register the steady padding of a pair of people coming towards you, behind the wooden divider. A head pops over, and you still his wandering hands. 

"Oh, there y'all are!" You see the bronzed face of Jess and her husband, a couple you had met during the trip. She bounces towards you both with dizzying accuracy, donned in a bright swimsuit and sheer cover up around her waist. Her husband is quieter, opting for a nod to Miguel, behind you. 

"Can we join you? Hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Miguel meets your eyes. 

"Is it okay?" He says, a thousand words said in your exchange. We don't have to do anything, it's up to you.

"It's fine," You breathe and then louder, to Jess. "It's fine."

He kisses your forehead and squeezes you closer, shifting so you feel his growing length under his shorts. An action that would seem innocent to a passer-by but below the surface… 

He starts off slow, imperceptible movements as he strokes your clit. It makes you impatient, irritated that he had the audacity to start something he couldn't finish. Or, wouldn't, rather. You make lazy conversation with Jess and her husband; innocuous little things that barely take your mind off of Miguel behind you. 

Some time goes by, and he's somewhat conservative – hand pressed against your pussy like his fingers were made for you. You get used to the pressure, as Jess talks about her day.

"...they're having a sale, as well! We're gonna go back there tomorrow, because, God, there were these earrings that I couldn't take my eyes off of, real gold, and only-" 

"Fuck!" He slips two fingers in, without warning, sinking to the knuckle as your little hole adjusts. Jess pauses, a little confused. 

"I was just…" He scissors them ever so slightly, enjoying watching you squirm. "...t-thinking about how great that deal was. Like… fuck! Real gold!" 

Internally, you wince, hoping she buys it. Jess isn't stupid, but you don't think she knows you well enough to notice your husband fingering you in a hot tub. You hope. 

"Right." She gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Not gold-plated, real gold."

You nod, hoping the foam from the jets is hiding the way you rock into Miguels' fingers. They feel good, curling up into you at that spongy spot he knows too well. 

"There's a good food spot, by the boardwalk. I think they do…" She turns to her husband, who has an arm draped around her. 

"Pasta, baby."

"Pasta! Yes, of course. We had a gorgeous meal and they served mussels, with the dish you were on about, before."

A beat. And then another. There’s a pregnant pause, before Miguel nudges you gently. "Yeah, sorry. It was the… garlick-y… one that had, um…"

You can't concentrate, against his wide torso, his hands between your legs: your brain goes fuzzy. You catch a smile tugging at his lips; and you almost scream. It's cruel, and all he can do is laugh. 

"Miguel's more interested in that stuff, m'afraid." You give her a weak smile, and Miguel rewards you with a thumb to your clit. 

It takes you everything not to jump at the pleasure that rocks your core; and you clamp a hand to his thigh. You make eye contact and he smiles; the smug fuck; gently chattering on with Jess about your trip to a local market, the other day. He's as casual as can be, and seemingly unaffected. 

You try your hardest to nod and smile where necessary; giving simple answers that wouldn't require much thought. In the cool night air, the conversation is pleasant enough, but your husband insists on stretching out your orgasm – watching for the tell-tale signs and pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse; and whilst you just want to get off, Miguel takes pleasure in the chase. 

"We should be heading off, I think." Jess says after a while. "Just wanted to catch up with you two."

Miguel smiles, dizzying and innocuous. "We're happy to, Jess."

They slip out with a splash, and she nods towards you. "You ok, sweetheart? You just seem a bit out of it, today."

Perhaps too hastily, you nod. "I think…I t-think it was something I ate."

"Oh." She looks a little worried, and it makes you feel guilty. "You get better then. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jess." And with that, they make their way out. 

Once out of sight, Miguel speeds up, his other hand on your thigh to wrench your legs open. The speed makes you dizzy, melting with your head back on his shoulder and desperately humping his hand for some relief. The rock and slosh of water over tiles barely registers in your fog. 

As you moan and writhe, he whispers filth into your ear. 

"Quieter, cariño. What if someone hears?" You whine and all he does is chuckle, lowly. "What if they find you, spread on my lap, fucking yourself on my fingers?" 

"You're being mean."

"Eso no es justo, amor." He titters, shaking his head. "You told me to relax, no? This is how I want to relax." 

Tears prick at your eyes, as he uses his other hand to rub circles into your clit, the warm froth washes over you both, but all you can feel is him. 

"¿Dime que quieres, hermosa?" What do you want?

"M'close, Miguel." You bite down another moan. “I’m ready.”

"Want to feel it, baby. Cum for me."

You tilt your head to the side, and he captures your lips with his own – in awe as you clamp around his fingers. Grinding down on his crotch, you ride out your orgasm. The way he makes you feel is hot, and wet and filthy. 

When your shaking legs still, you turn around to face him. He's hard, and too much of a gentleman to take his own pleasure. You slip a hand into his shorts, hand hot against his cock. It's his turn to lean into the bliss: head back and lips slightly parted with pleasure. 

You've always liked his lips, plump and kissable, a pretty pink that just fits against yours. 

"You're teasing." He hisses softly. 

You scrape your nails along his chest, and he keens, clutching your hand close to his heart. 

"...and what exactly have you been doing all night?“ You make a tight ring with your fingers, squeezing his tip and his hips jump up. 

"Vale, vale, vaaale…." He paws at you waist, a little desperate. "Fuck- I get it."

You give him a kiss, wet and needy, before slipping the gusset of your bikini to the side and sinking down on his length. He cries out and you swallow it, pressing yourself even closer to him. With your tits against his chest like that, he can't think straight. You shift against his length, finding a steady rhythm but it's too slow – and Miguel grows impatient. With a growl, he places both hands on your hips, forcing you downwards as you writhe on his length. 

"Dámelo, dámelo…" He slams his cock into you - hard and fast and just the way you like it. "Just like that, baby, just like-" 

That growing coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you clamp around him. But he doesn't stop, just fucks you through it until he cums, hot and sticky fluids spilling into you. Panting, you capture him into a kiss. You separate, and he's got a dopey smile on his face. 

Content. Relaxed, even. 

~~~

Jess calls you the morning after, and you answer. 

"Hey, everything ok?" You yawn into the receiver, a little tired from last night's activities.

"I said I would call, didn't I?" 

You hum. "...suppose you did."

"You feeling better now Miguel's not playing with your pussy in a hot tub?" 

Shit. You almost drop the phone. "Jesus, we didn't-" 

"Save. It." She grumbles something you can't quite hear; something you suspect you're better off not hearing, anyways. 

"...Sorry. We weren't really thinking."

"Damn straight." She pauses. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Can’t even judge you, to be honest. As I always say, it's not a real vacation until you fuck your husband somewhere you shouldn't-" 

"Gross, Jess."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the woman who got fingered in a hot tub just say something??" 

You wince at the vulgarity of her words. 

"....Ouch." 

She laughs into the speakerphone, and you join her. Besides you, Miguel stirs, a little smile on his face. Half asleep, he thinks he’s heard an angel, voice light and airy in the space of your hotel room.

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @tea-earl-grey-thot

[joshsindigostreak]

The Weight of Dreams

Demon!Josh x F!Reader

Authors Note: Happy Spooky Season everyone!! Lately I’ve been calling Josh a demon as a joke but something in my brain went, “write that down!” and thus this One Shot was born! Hope you enjoy him!

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, 18+, PURE filth, there is a plot but you know what I mean, fingering, penetrative sex F!receiving, unprotected sex (but he’s a demon so?), oral sex F!Receiving, horn play (drew gooden voice, ‘I sure hope it does!’)

Incubi aren’t supposed to have regulars. They’re not supposed to have patterns. They’re supposed to skip around the ether and drop into human dreams like funnel clouds in the sky. Incubi and their Succubi counterparts all have their own agendas, feeding their primal urges since the first time a human fell asleep. If only humans knew the kind of catnip and candy that wafted into the universe from their subconscious. 

In the hierarchy of Hell, Incubi aren’t that far up the food chain. High enough to be a nuisance but low enough that they could essentially do what they wanted. The Dukes, Princes and Kings had more important things to worry about than horny, slumbering humans. 

One demon in particular was more chaotic than most. He was on the younger end for an Incubi, which often led to him shirking the “rules” of his kind in favor of whatever he wanted. He was a fucking Demon, another cog in the infernal machine that lurked beneath the earth. Who cares if he had an urban legend or two attached to his presence? If his equally demonic twin could be referred to as The Hat Man, then why couldn’t he continue on his nightly Hellish crusades and have fun while doing it? 

What’s the worst that could happen?

On this ordinary Wednesday night, he was flitting about town to town, sniffing out any saucy dreams that intrigued him. Not all dreams were created equal, and there were enough humans on the planet that he could afford to be picky. 

He was skating through the sky, invisible to the human eye. The only clue to his presence would be the occasional zap of a poDwer line or flickering streetlight. Power surges often happened if there were too many of his kind around, often confused with their Poltergeist cousins. 

The Demon was about to give up on this and of town and move onto the next major city when he was nearly hit in the face with the force of a dream that made him skid to a halt. Like a bloodhound, he followed the trail to a nearby apartment, easily fitting through a cracked window and into the kitchen. The only sound that could be heard was the low chatter from a television in another room. The lustful energy beckoned him down the short hallway like bait on a hook. 

Oh, this was going to be fun, he thought, a smirk forming on his face.

The only door on this end of the apartment was open, and the light of the television illuminated and flickered into the hall. With silent footsteps, he crept inside to see the source of the arousal that was practically vibrating the walls. 

If only humans were aware of what their energy could do.

The bedroom was tiny and it took seconds to find the source of the intoxicating energy. To Incubi, energy had a taste and a smell that was a touch beyond human comprehension, like trying to see infrared light with the naked eye. It made the demon's eyes threaten to roll back the closer he got to the bed. 

The human, a woman, rolled over in her bed, oblivious to the creature observing her. Her hair covered most of her face, and that’s when she made the most exquisite sound he had heard all night. 

A tight, low, barely audible moan. 

His entire being snapped to attention. He flexed his shoulders and silently walked towards the bed, satisfied he had found just the right dream to drop into. He gazed down at your slumbering form, noting your furrowed brow and pursed lips. He perched on the side of the bed, tentatively waiting for the right moment to drop in. It was more of an artform than even other Demons thought. 

Your television was still on, and the light that projected onto the wall in front of him perfectly silhouetted his small horns that curled backwards on either side of his head. All Demons had horns, and they were as individual as a fingerprint. The more experienced the Demon, the larger and stronger they looked. As an Incubus, his weren’t much to write home about, but he hoped that one day they’d eventually curl around the back of his head like a ram, and maybe if he was bad enough, he’d earn his leathery, bat-like wings similar to the other higher up Demons he knew. 

Slowly, his hand curled around your soft wrist, his head rolling back along with his dark eyes as your dream materialized in front of him. 

A university library? Groundbreaking. 

But there you were, reaching up towards a high shelf for a specific book and looking back over your shoulder, hoping the object of your fantasy would notice. Unfortunately for you, a Demon was in your dream now, and he was in the driverseat.

 

In this dream, your Demon was fully human in appearance. His horns were no longer visible, instead the main focus was his curly hair perfectly styled on top of his hair, and his eyes weren’t their usual black voids, but a dark brown that could see right through you. He slowly walked up behind you, allowing his footsteps to be heard on the hardwood floors. You looked back at him and there was a brief flash of confusion, but it quickly turned into a smirk as you raised your hand above you for whatever book you were trying to reach. 

In dreams, Earth-bound laws and physics didn’t matter, so you were nonplussed when he was suddenly at your back, hands curling around your hips and lips lightly brushing the shell of your ear. One of his hands swept up your side and up your extended arm, his long fingers lacing yours and securing it against the bookshelf. The action had you shuddering against him, your ass perfectly wiggling against his front. 

“Need some help?” He whispered, dragging his lips along your ear as he spoke. 

Another shiver ran through you. 

You turned your face towards him, feeling his breath on your cheek. 

“Maybe a little…,” you purred back at him. 

“Good thing I’m here then,” he said with a clear double meaning. The sheer arousal that was emanating off of you felt like a breath, no, a rush, of air into his lungs. The kind you take in after holding your breath for a long time. A low growl formed in his chest as he used the hand that was still wrapped around your hip to turn you around to face him. 

Even though his natural state was glamoured to look human, his own personal style of thick black kohl rimming his eyes remained, and the way you were looking at him suggested you approved of said choice. Your shoulders melted against the stacks, but your pelvis pushed forwards towards his own. He gladly indulged you and rolled his hips right back, smirking at the way your breath caught in your throat. 

You suddenly found both of your arms held above your head with one of his hands, while the other toyed with the hem of your skirt. 

Because of course you were wearing a skirt in this dream. 

The demon wedged his foot between yours, spreading your legs apart with an inhuman-like grace that had your lower lip sinking beneath your teeth  and staring at him through your eyelashes. 

The scenario was terribly cliched, but there was something about you that made the Incubi intrigued by it. He wanted to see how this played out. 

The hand on your skirt disappeared under the fabric, lightly touching the flesh of your thigh. Another tremble shook your leg. You were so fucking sensitive, it was driving him insane. 

You needed his touch. 

His touch. 

His fingertips drew patterns on your skin as he made his way up to where you needed him most. However, even though he was technically a Demon, he still had a shred of ethics about him, and he paused his hand. 

“Tell me what you want,” he requested in a rough voice. 

Your eyebrows twitched a little at the question, but you answered quickly, “you.”

That wasn’t good enough for him, though. 

“Are you sure?”

Your breathing got even heavier, “yes.” 

With that, he surged forward and crashed his lips onto yours, realizing he himself was dying for a taste too. His hand flattened against your thigh, kneading your flesh before continuing upwards. His fingertips were met with soft lace, and before he could fully toy with it, it vanished. 

He hadn’t been the one to do that. 

You did, taking back control of the dream. 

Oh…

The Incubi smiled against your lips, and relinquished his control over your dreamland. He was officially the passenger now, and he wanted to see what you could come up with. 

With your lace panties freshly vanished, you spread your legs even farther and tilted your hips forward, practically offering your drenched pussy to him. 

The heat he could feel coming off of you had his fingers shaking, and he wasted no time to slide his fingers through your slit. Your arousal coated his digits as he familiarized himself with every crease and fold you had, mentally mapping it out and trying to memorize you. Your flesh was so soft to him, a whimper threatened to escape his throat as he parted your mouth and slipped his tongue inside. 

He teased your entrance briefly, before sliding upwards to your clit. He rolled the swollen bud between his fingers, and he pulled back from your face just far enough to ear you cry out. 

That beautiful sound, he thought. He needed to hear it again. 

It sent a jolt through his body not only in the dream but back in your bedroom as he sat next to you. His hand gripped your wrist a little tighter, not wanting to risk losing the connection. 

His thumb was planted on your clit, sloppily circling it and giving it just the right amount of pressure, letting your mewling sounds and jolts of energy guide him. His middle fingers teased your entrance one more time before slowly slipping inside, enjoying the stretch almost more than you did. You were dripping down his hand at this point, and he wished for a second that he could feel it in person as opposed to in a dream like this, but he brushed the thought away as you threw your head back and gasped as the tip of his fingers curled upwards and grazed your g-spot. 

The cheeky side of him wanted to tease you more, make you desperate and whiney, but you had other plans. Even in your heightened state, you still had enough wherewithal to wait until his fingers curled just right to clench around them and hold them where you wanted them as you grinded back down onto his hand. 

The Incubus’s eyes flew open and he watched you wrench one of your hands from his grip above you and send it down to cup his own arousal through the jeans he had decided on for this dream. He bucked into your hand and bit down on your lower lip, a hint of frustration evident in the strangled sound coming from his throat. He released your other hand to grip what little of the bookshelf he could, while your newly free hand immediately went for the curls at the nape of his neck and tangled them around your fingers. This sent a fresh whine from the Incubus, and his resolve was threatening to give way. Part of him wanted to take back control, let you know who was steering this dream, but the other part of him was so intrigued by your assertiveness that he was this close to completely surrendering to you and drowning in your energy and rendering him pathetic in the eyes of other demons. 

The thumb on your clit increased its speed and your own movements against his hand began to get sloppy. You felt your high bubbling up inside you, and there wasn’t a single cell in your body that was going to get in the way of it. Your walls clenched even harder onto his fingers, to the point where they could barely move but neither of you cared. 

“Come on…give it to me…,” was roughly whispered against your mouth as his thumb harshly pressed down on your clit, and with a cry your vision went white and you shattered around his hand. For what seemed like minutes you convulsed and shook for him, shouting expletives to the ceiling as you didn’t even know his name. 

Now this was when any other Incubus with a modicum of common sense and decorum would swiftly exit the dream and jet off to the next human of the night, but he wasn’t ready to leave. The longer an Incubus occupied  a human's dream, the bigger the risk of them becoming a memory. The standard practice was to give and feed off a singular orgasm from whatever human, and then never see the same one again. That way humans wrote off their naughty dreams as hormonal build ups and mundane desire, nothing more. They’re meant to be mischievous phantoms, not figures haunting your dreams. There were other Demons for that. 

Instead, he continued to breathe raggedly against your cheek as he worked you through your orgasm. As you came down, he reluctantly withdrew his fingers from your core, and popped them in his mouth, wanting to savor your release for himself. 

Your eyes met, and you both seemed to be silently asking the same question of, “who are you?”

He couldn’t leave. He wanted to truly have you. What’s the point in being a Demon if you didn’t break the rules? Who put those rules in place in the first place? They could go fuck themselves. Even if he could only feel you wrapped up around him in a dream and never in the real world, he needed it. 

His still-damp fingers gripped your shirt and nearly ripped it off your head before doing the same with his own shirt. 

His enthusiasm surprised you and you held back a giggle as you took turns getting your clothes off as fast as possible. The Incubus’s lips locked back onto yours, and the faint taste of you still lingered in his tongue. He reached down and gripped the back of your thighs, lifting you easily against the stack. The shelves and books dug into your back but you welcomed it as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

The feeling of his thick head gliding through your folds was brief before he sheathed himself inside you. The force and sensation had you biting down on his bottom lip harder than you should have but you were too focused on the sudden fullness you felt to care. Your eyes were rolled back into your head as you adjusted to him. 

The Incubus inside you was gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d float away if he let go. He thought he had been prepared for this but the softness of your walls, the way you squeezed him, and the force of you biting down onto his lip had him uncharacteristically dizzy. He leaned his forehead against yours, letting his lip rest between your teeth as he remained still inside you. 

You released his lip and whispered, “I need you to move…” 

His eyes darted up to you and bore into yours as he reared back and slammed back in, causing you to arch your back away from the shelves. The Incubus dipped his head and took one of your nipples into his mouth, humming around it as he picked up his pace. 

The both of you pawed at each other as you moved together, nails digging into skin and teeth nipping and biting wherever they could reach. This wasn’t the time or place to go slow, and you both knew it. This dream was driven by need.

It wasn’t long before your second high crept up on you. At some point a hand made its way  in between you and was working your clit feverishly, By now you were a mess of bleary eyes and sweaty limbs. You couldn’t form words as he pounded into you, clinging onto him after giving up the idea you could meet his thrusts. 

“You gonna let me have it again?” He spoke into your ear before leaving an open mouth kiss on the space just under it. “Let me feel it this way?”

Oh, it was inevitable, you could feel the coil inside you tightening up like a spring, and any moment now it was going to snap. 

“I wish you knew how good you f-feel,” a growl rumbled in his chest, interrupting him, “squeezing…me…” 

You tried to respond, but all that came out of your mouth was a reedy sigh. 

“Look at you, dumb for it,” he teased as he tilted his hips, causing his cock to hit an even more delicious spot deep within you. 

It was too much. You were too overwhelmed. Between the tight grip on your ass, the kisses along your neck, the thumb working your clit, and the angle and force behind his moments, you were a goner. 

He felt you tighten up even more first, and your walls started fluttering around him as your legs shook on either side of his hips. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, but you forced your eyes to stay open the whole time. With one last look into your watery eyes, he slammed himself into you one final time before he emptied himself. 

His eyes snapped open, and he remembered where he actually was: in your bedroom. He slowly let go of your wrist, severing the connection completely. 

It was over. 

The Incubus  stood up, backing away from your bed and watching you roll over onto your stomach. He needed to leave. He had been there for far too long. The energy from your dream was still roaring through his body, and your television was starting to flicker because of it. He couldn’t risk being seen. No, that was a rule he could not break. 

“Goodnight, Sweet Dreamer,” he whispered before exiting your apartment the way he came and into the night. 

~!~

That was eight months ago, and the Incubus lasted two weeks before he came crawling back to your Dreamland. That dream was a little more creative, the both of you ending up making out at some nondescript house party, kicking red solo cups out of the way as you backed him up against a wall. 

A week later, you were in some corn maze, and like most dreams it was confusing at first at who was trying to find who, but you ended up jumping on him in the center of the maze surrounded by bunnies and a pumpkin patch. 

A notable one was where the Demon was a rock star, and he had you bent over a couch in some random green room of a stadium. That one was fun. 

He tried, he really tried to keep his visits random and not too close together, but he failed miserably. At this point, he was a reaccuring dream to you, and he was starting to feel bad because you still didn’t know what he was. 

He tried keeping himself distracted by hanging around in a pocket dimension in Hell that his brothers were fond of. It was one they often found themselves at because of the quiet atmosphere compared to the rest of Hell. It wasn’t anything fancy, but a seemingly endless bar where a Demon could sit down, order any little treat they wanted, and relax after a long day. 

The four Demons were sitting at their usual table, catching up and sipping their respective beverages. 

“Are you actually going to drink that, Josh?” His twin teased as the Incubus had been sat at the table with the low ball glass held against the side of his forehead white he leaned on his elbow. The chilled beverage was refreshing resting where his ebony horn protruded from his forehead. 

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled before bringing the glass to his lips and taking a gulp. 

His twin, Jake, snickered across the table, “what’s gotten into you lately anyway?”

Josh gave him a hard look, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Please. You haven’t been out in forever and whenever you are with us you look like a kicked puppy.” 

“Have you considered that you might be the reason for that?”

Jake’s mouth twisted into a frown, he knew better. 

“Anyway,” Josh announced, trying to change the subject, “we’re here to celebrate Daniel’s promotion!” He turned to his left and gestured at the tall curly haired demon. His newly-grown leathery wings flexed at the attention. He still wasn’t used to having them yet. 

In Hell, certain physical attributes were only obtained from being “promoted.” Otherwise known as making the right deals with the right Demons and having connections. Out of the four of them, he was the first one to achieve wing-status. The rest of them just had their horns that they were born with. 

Josh hoped to have wings one day but it was rare for Incubi to get the opportunity. 

“How do they feel?” The other brother, Sam, asked on Josh’s right. Sam was the youngest out of the four but he had a prowess and drive that made it obvious that his wings weren’t far behind Danny’s. It made the obvious competition between the two oldest twins even more tense at times. 

“They feel great, honestly but they’re awkward as fuck at times.” He looked down as the farthest point of his wings kept brushing the floor from where he sat. 

They settled back down into idle chatter, but Jake was not satisfied with Josh’s earlier answer. He wasn’t going to pry with everyone there, so he waited until Sam and Danny took off for whatever mischief and turmoil they had up their sleeves. 

Jake was flat out concerned with his twin, “tell me what’s really going on,” he pressed in a soft voice once they were alone. 

Josh sighed. Keeping the last eight months a secret from everyone, even Jake, was one of the hardest things he had done. Keeping something like this from his brother was making the situation even worse. 

“I did something…well, I’ve been doing something…” he muttered while staring at the ice cubes of his drink. 

Jake nearly snorted, “of course you have, you’re fucking a Demon for Lucifer’s sake.” 

Josh shook his head, “no…it's not something like that.” He took a deep breath and continued, “there’s this girl, well, human girl, and-”

His twin sighed heavily, “not a human, Josh…” 

Josh gave him a warning look, “are you going to let me talk, Jake?” 

“Fine. Explain.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be anything, I promise,” the Incubus went on to tell Jake a summary of the last few months, keeping most of the salacious details to himself. But the way his dark eyes lit up as he described you, dropping details he had learned from your dreams, listing parts of your personality that you didn’t show to anyone else due to your subconscious, gave his emotions away.

“She’s just a random human, you’ll get over it and find something else to obsess over,” Jake concluded, not wanting to encourage this. 

“Is that really all that you took from that? I don’t want to get over her.” 

“Are you in love with this human, Josh?” 

The silence from across the table gave the Demon his answer. 

“Does she know what you are, then?”

Another beat of silence, this time Josh swallowed the rest of his drink and sat the glass on the table in a clank. 

“This is not going to end well, man.” 

Josh gave Jake another withering look, “don’t you think I know that?” 

Jake’s eyes softened, as did his voice, “you should’ve told me sooner.” 

“...and get lectured by you? No thank you.” 

“I wouldn’t-,” he sighed, “I wouldn’t have lectured you. I just know how you’ll be if she ends up getting hurt from this. You’re not fun to be around when you’re guilt-ridden. I don’t like seeing you that way.” 

What Josh hadn’t told him, was that you had seen parts of Josh he kept hidden from others too. After the first month or two, your dreams weren’t always overtly sexual. The two of you did talk sometimes, but not a lot. You learned each other’s names finally, and you hadn’t batted an eye at his name since it was so common. The banter you shared was easy; he even made you laugh more often than not. Falling in love with you wasn’t part of the plan, but it crept up on him, and he didn’t have the willpower to fight it. He didn’t want to.

“You’re seeing her tonight, aren’t you?” 

This time he avoided Jake’s gaze, but he answered, “I wanted to, yeah.” 

“Just be careful? Ok?” 

Josh looked up and nodded at his brother, before disappearing from his seat and reappearing outside your house. It was nearly three AM in your time zone, and he knew you were fast asleep. He stared up at the window he had come to know was your bedroom, The television light flickered and flashed. You always needed background noise to sleep, he had learned. 

In a blink he was in your room, staring down at your sleeping form. The slight pout on your lips made him smile. He sat down and took your hand and started to drop into your Dreamland. He had been so focused on you that he had missed the book, “Lucid Dreaming: Easier than you Think!” resting on your nightstand.

The scene before him was charming. Josh found himself standing in a forest, surrounded by green trees and the ambient sounds of nature. The path he was on led to a quaint A-frame cabin in the middle of a clearing. The lights were on inside, and he knew you were in there. 

As he opened the door to the cabin, he found you sitting on a couch with a book in your lap. You looked up at him and smiled warmly. 

“Hey you.” 

He smiled back and made his way to the couch and sat down. You threw your book to the side and moved to straddle his lap, smile growing even wider at being with him again. His hands reached up to cradle your face as you melted into his kiss. It felt so normal to see you again, so familiar, Josh didn’t even sense the change in your demeanor. 

The two of you made out for a good while, before you pulled back to look at him. 

“Took you long enough to get here, you’re a little late tonight.” 

That was an oddly pointed question, but he tried to play it off, “I am?” 

You sat back on his thighs and draped your arms on his shoulders, “Yeah. Normally you’re here earlier.” 

Josh shifted awkwardly beneath you. This was different. You were still you of course, but something was off. He wanted to keep playing along, but he didn’t want to make it worse. 

“You don’t feel real sometimes,” you started before kissing him again. His hands gripped your hips in the way he knew you loved, and he started to relax against you, but you pulled back and asked, “are you real, Josh?” 

He froze, his eyes stared into yours, unsure how to answer. 

“I-”

“They say that every face you see in your dreams isn’t new, that it’s always someone you’ve seen before even for just a second, and I can tell you with confidence that I had never seen you before that night.” 

Oh, shit. You had always taken the reins in your dreams, but not like this. This was more direct. This was…lucid.

He whispered your name, before confessing, “..yes…I’m real…”

You pulled back a little further to get a better look at him, “then what are you?”

This was it. This was when he had to come clean. You had purposefully set a trap for him, knowing he couldn’t resist you. He wasn’t even going to fight it, because it was completely his fault. 

He reached up and touched the side of your face, his thumb finding its home on your cheek, “my sweet dreamer…I-”

“Don’t call me that right now. Tell me the truth.” Your whole body was tense and rigid, as if you were bracing yourself for his answer. A good call on your part. 

He took a few deep breaths, “I’m…I’m an Incubus, love.” 

You stared at him, unmoving.

“Which is a kind of-”

“Demon?” you finished. When he nodded, you scrambled off of his lap and backed away from him, standing in front of the cabin's fireplace. Several different emotions swept through you, “you don’t work for the Devil, do you?” 

Josh straightened up in his seat, “no of course not, He’s very picky about who he works with and there’s no way he’d entertain even looking at someone of my rank.” 

“So Hell is real?” 

“Yes.” 

You looked at your feet, “does that…does that make you evil, Josh?”

His face started to heat up but he explained, “the concept of “good” or “evil” is a very human one, my love. It’s not that simple. Demons…we’re not ‘evil’ in the way humans make us out to be, just like Angels,” he made a face at the mention of such creatures, “aren’t inherently ‘good’ either.” 

“Angels are bad?” 

“I wouldn’t say bad…but they’re annoying to run into. They’re more vengeful than people think.” 

You stood there silently, taking it all in. 

The Demon before you continued, “you can’t think of Heaven and Hell being opposites of each other. They’re more like…different neighborhoods on either side of the same town, so to speak.”

“Well…you wouldn’t be the first Demon named Josh that I’ve met…,” your poor attempt at a joke to break the tension didn’t land very well, but your face softened towards him. 

Now it was his turn to look down at the floor, “if you never want to see me again, I understand and I’ll respect th-”

“Can we only meet here, in dreams?”

He stared at you, “no…I exist in all realms, not just the Dreamlands.”

You sniffed and squared your shoulders, “good. Now let me wake up.” 

The panic set in, you didn’t know that he looked a little…different in the waking world, “No, no you don’t have to-”

But it was too late. The Incubus was catapulted from your Dreamland and sent back to the earthly plane with a force that nearly sent him to the floor of your room. The connection was severed, and you were starting to stir in your sleep and sit up. The room was pitch black except for the glow coming from the television. It cast Josh in a perfect silhouette, but the inevitable was coming. 

You reached for your lamp, still a little bleary eyed from sleep when his voice stopped you.

“Wait, love,” He sounded exactly the same as he did in your dreams, and being able to hear him with your actual ears made your chest tighten and warm. 

“What?” you asked, confused. 

“I just…I look a little different than how you’ve seen me…,” his voice was so soft, almost defeated. “I just don’t want to scare you any more than I already have.” 

“I’m a big girl, Josh.” 

“I know, I know love, I just-” 

You didn’t let him finish before you clicked on your lamp, illuminating the small room. Before you looked up you turned off the tv, blindly pointing the remote at the screen. The only sound you could hear was your own breathing, and his. 

Slowly, your eyes lifted up to look at the Demon sitting at the foot of your bed. He wasn’t so different from your dreams, his kohl rimmed eyes were still their warm brown, his hair was still curly and unruly, the shaved sides accompanied by two black horns-

Horns?

They were black, a little shiny under the light, and curved backwards into his curls. It was certainly different, but they looked perfect with his sweet face. 

“You were worried about your horns?” 

HIs face reddened and he finally looked up at you, “M-my eyes also look different…but I didn’t want to throw too much at you all at once….” 

“Josh, show me.” 

He took a breath, and allowed his true eyes to appear. They were fully black, exaggerated by the kohl that lined them. The combination of his eyes and the horns certainly completed the demonic look, but it didn’t scare you. 

In fact, you felt a little emboldened, and threw your covers off your lap and got onto your knees.  Slowly, you crawled down your bed to him before straightening back up, making him look up at you. The black voids were lined with worry, as if he was waiting for you to scream, run, or both. Instead, you gently placed your hands on his cheeks. He relaxed slightly in your hands. 

“They’re beautiful, Josh,” your comforting  words were referring to both his horns and his eyes. 

This made his shoulders relax and he melted his cheek into your hand, “they’re not too much, love?”

You smiled, “honestly I was preparing myself for hooves and a tail.” 

The Incubus made a disgusted face, “I might be a Demon but I am not a Satyr.”

His tone made you laugh, “ok then. Can I touch them?” Your hand raised towards one of his horns. 

You wanted to touch them? He nodded and cast his eyes down. 

Tentatively your fingertips grazed the hard, ebony surface. The touch alone made him shiver, as his horns were sensitive. It had been awhile since someone had truly touched them like this. 

“Do you like that?” 

He looked back up at you, “yes…” 

Your fingers fully ran up the horn to the tip and back, truly feeling it. You noticed the action had him breathing a little heavier, and you softly wrapped your whole hand around it. The Demon made a sound low in his chest, almost like a purr. 

“They’re really sensitive, huh?” 

“You have no idea…” He paused, “Like I said earlier, if you want me to leave I’ll respect that.” 

You smiled and straddled his lap, facing him straight on now. 

“Kiss me, Josh.” 

He couldn’t believe what was happening. You weren't running, you weren’t scared, you still wanted him. Josh nearly crashed his lips onto yours, relief flooding his system. 

You melted into him like you always did, and being able to feel each other in the corporal world was even better than the Dreamlands. He felt so solid against you, his curls were even softer as you tangled your fingers in them. 

Soon, you felt yourself get pushed back onto your bed, your Demon climbing on top of you. It felt so natural to do so, as you technically had done this with him dozens of times, but this time it was real. You could take your time with each other and actually mean it, as time moved differently in dreams. Now you could feel him minute by minute, and the thought had your heart racing. 

His lips found yours again, and you were both focused on truly feeling each other for the first time in the physical realm. There was no rush, no deadline, no anxiety of the dream shifting or changing, it was just the two of you, in your bedroom. His weight on top of you felt so comforting and familiar. He left a trail of kisses down your jaw to your neck, landing on your pulsepoint and sucking the skin into his mouth harshly. You arched your back and grinded up into him. You felt his lips smile against your skin as he grinded down on you, and his arousal certainly felt the same as it did in your dreams. He hadn’t been exaggerating. 

His hands reached under the raggedy t-shirt you had slept in, before looking back up at you for permission. You nodded and he nearly ripped the shirt off your body, sending it into the corner of your room. 

“Do I look the same?” The question left your lips before you could stop it. 

His eyes swept your form, seeing your hair fanned out underneath you, no makeup on as you often did in your dreams, his breath caught in his chest. He looked over your body, counting each freckle and mole, making sure each and every one was still there. Over the last few months he had memorized them all, wanting the image of you permanently fixed on the back of his eyelids. 

“Even better, my love,” he said sincerely before capturing your lips once again, pouring his built up emotions into the kiss. He then started kissing his way down your body, giving attention to both breasts before kissing down to the edge of your panties. His fingers hooked onto the sides and pulled them down. You lifted your hips to get them off all the way, and they were thrown behind him blindly. 

His dark gaze landed on your pussy, the hunger in his eyes evident as he spread your legs apart. He couldn’t hold back anymore and quickly descended upon your core. His tongue flattened out and spread your folds apart, and the taste that flooded his mouth had him groaning into your body and grinding his hips onto your bed. 

Your breath caught at the sudden sensation, but you bucked into his mouth as his tongue found your clit, needing more friction from him. As he devoured you, the sight of his horns on top of his head sent another wave of pleasure through your body. Curiosity drove your hands to lightly wrap around each of them, pulling downwards slightly to steer his face further into your pussy. Your folds practically fluttered from the force of the moan that left his mouth. 

So you did it again. 

And again.

And again. 

Until you were crying out his name as your orgasm took over. 

Josh barely gave you a chance to recover as he crawled back up your body, using his own magic to vanish the clothes he had on on the way up. His lips greedily crashed into yours, while his hand hooked your leg around his hip. His other hand reached down for his cock, running it through your folds.

The new, yet familiar feeling of is cock at your entrance sent a shiver through you, and you grabbed his face in your hands, “please, Josh,” 

He couldn”t help but be cheeky, “you want it, love?” 

Your eyes narrowed, “show me what kind of Demon you really are.” 

As if it was possible, his eyes got even darker at your request and he slammed himself inside you, nearly pushing you farther up the bed. It was his turn to cry out at the feel of you. His pace was brutal, but it was what you wanted. You locked your legs around him at the small of his back and clung to him while your lips peppered kisses up and down his neck, along his jaw, nipping at the skin here or there with your teeth. 

Your Demon knew you better than the back of his hand, and he was going to prove it before the night was over. He continued to slam into you, angling his hips in the way he knew you loved, grinding his pelvic bone perfectly onto your clit. Your nails dug into his back in response and that spurred him on even more, loving that he could turn you into such a mess this way. 

You were so close, teetering on the brink of your orgasm. One final grind on your clit with his pelvis had your back arching even harder, and you shattered beneath him. Your legs shook and your walls clenched around him. He continued slamming into you, chasing his own high and working you through yours. 

You were starting to come down when your gaze landed on his horns, and a thought ran through your mind. Your hands grasped his face and pulled it down as if you were going to kiss his lips, but instead you bypassed them and flattened your tongue on the front side of his left horn. Josh shuddered violently against you and he twitched inside of you. His hips thrusted one final time before he emptied himself as deep as he could. 

Not wanting to miss your chance, you blew some air onto the wet spot your tongue left behind on his horn, causing him to shudder again as he came down. He chuckled against your chest as he laid his head down, trying to catch his breath. 

For several minutes, the two of you stayed tangled up in each other, not wanting to leave the little bubble you had created. This time, Josh wasn’t forced away from you because of your dream. He could lay there as long as you wanted him to. 

You were too exhausted to even attempt to move, so you relished his weight on you. Cleaning up wasn’t something you ever had to worry about in your dreams, but here in the real world it was an issue, and you felt his release start to leak out of you. 

“Josh…” you whispered. 

He got the hint immediately and slowly withdrew from you, looking down at your combined releases for a second before disappearing into your hallway for your bathroom. Your apartment was small enough that it was the only other door available and he quickly returned with a warm washcloth to clean you both up.

Minutes later you were both back under your covers, your head laying on his chest as your fingers drew tiny patterns onto his skin. He could tell you were trying to stay awake.

“You need your sleep, my sweet dreamer,” he whispered into your hair before dropping a kiss onto your head. 

“Would you be there to greet me?”

He smiled into the dark, “I could…but I like being out here with you better.” 

You let out a yawn and relaxed further into his chest. You reached for his hand and held it to your lips, brushing them against his knuckles before holding it on his chest. You didn’t know what any of this meant for you, but what the Demon in your bed didn’t know was that in the last eight months, you hadn’t had a single nightmare or bad nights sleep, and your intuition was sure it was because of him. 

“Will you stay?” 

“For as long as you want me to, my love.” 

His lips brushed against your forehead one last time before the both of you drifted off to sleep, not knowing what the future held for you both but knowing it was going to be better with each other in it. 

Epilogue: 

One human year later…

“Close your eyes, my love,” Josh said behind you. 

“What are you surprising me with this time?” You laughed as you did as you were told. 

“You’ll see. It's something I’ve been working on for quite some time.” The excitement and pride in his voice was evident. His footsteps came around in front of you, and your brows furrowed wondering what on earth it could be. He took a deep breath, “ok, open them.” 

Your eyes fluttered open and then immediately grew wide at the sight in front of you. There, in your living room, was your boyfriend, your Demon boyfriend, standing proudly with a new pair of bat-like wings protruding from his back. 

“How did you-”

“I knew a guy who knew a guy that was friends with another guy who needed a few favors and I volunteered. I didn’t realize he was a fucking Prince of Hell and he was so impressed by our little mission that he uhh…gave me a promotion.” 

Your mouth fell open, you knew he had been away a lot in the last couple months due to “Demon business” but he had kept parts of it vague. It was probably the one part of him you were still getting used to, but you trusted him enough by now that you weren’t too worried when he was gone for a couple weeks at a time. 

“So what does that mean for you…?”

He took another breath and stepped towards you, slipping his hand into yours, “I’m no longer an Incubus, love.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “well then what are you?”

“Essentially, I collect souls now and not dreams.” 

“Pardon?” 

“When a person makes a deal with a Demon more often than not they sell their souls to them. Basically, when their time is up I get to take them to whomever they made their deal with and they get dealt with accordingly.”

You were still a little skeptical, “that sounds awfully busy…” 

He shook his head, “no this is a good thing, I get more ‘surface time’ with you now! I won’t be away as much.” He was full on grinning now and his dimple sank deeply into his cheek. 

Your eyes traveled from his sweet face to his new wings, the sunlight showing through the thin skin. He flexed them slightly under your gaze, happy you weren’t grossed out by them. Much like a year prior with his horns, you reached forward and grazed your fingertips on the surface of one. It twitched slightly under your touch and you looked back at your Demon. From the outside looking in, it was odd to be proud of your boyfriend's Demonic accomplishments, but you couldn’t help it. You leapt into his arms and kissed him, smiling against his lips as he held your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Who would’ve thought that a Demon would make your dreams literally come true?

Fin

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[sweetenerobert]

DRUNKEN’ NIGHTS

dom!joel miller x dad!male reader

genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni

summary: an opportunity to have a guy's night with your daughter’s best friend’s dad turns into a heart-to-heart into an unforgettable night to remember

warnings: strong language, infidelity, joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, angsty thoughts, oral (m giving/m receiving), pet names, fingering, creampies,

word count: 4.9k

a/n: gif by @shirks-all-responsibilities

a/n: dividers by @firefly-graphics

a/n: italics = thoughts

official playlist

next chapter

YOUR DAUGHTER, MARIGOLD, WAS CLOSE TO SARAH, JOEL’S AND ADALINE’S DAUGHTER.

You remember the first time you met Sarah, it was a late night at work and you came home to see your daughter laughing at a TV Show that she and Sarah were both watching, and they were a little nervous and surprised to see you.

You reassured Sarah saying that your home is open to her.

You met Sarah’s parents; Joel and Adaline after Sarah invited them to have dinner with you, Marigold and Sarah. You remember that you noticed how distant/close Joel and Adaline were during the whole dinner.

It was like they weren’t present as a couple but as a couple of friends. Of course they did their best to hide it but sometimes they slipped through the cracks.

Later that night, you learned from your daughter, Marigold, that Joel and Adaline weren’t as close as they were before they were married — Adaline travels a lot for work, so the relationship wasn’t as strong as they hoped.

After that night, you noticed that inviting Joel and Adaline for hangouts, activities, game nights, and movie nights always had Joel come over with Sarah by himself, and Adaline always worked.

That concluded, you and Joel were always hanging out, drinking together while your daughters had their fun.

This was one of those nights where it would just be you and Joel at his house, with Sarah and Marigold hanging out at yours to have their privacy.

You bought a bottle of rum you were never gonna finish all by yourself and you thought this would be the best time to get rid of the bottle that's been eyeing you for the past 10 years.

You already knew the girls were over at your house. Marigold’s bedroom held the sound of giggling and hushed whispers. You shook your head as you had the neck of the rum bottle in your clammy palm.

You were walking across the cul-de-sac in the already warm orange sky to Joel’s front door, bringing your free hand and knocking on the wooden door in front of you.

You hear shuffling getting closer and closer to the door, and then Joel opens the door, and you smile, and Joel shoots one back.

“Hey, man, what’s our poison for tonight?” Joel asks, leaning on the doorframe.

You held the bottle in your hand and showed to Joel.

“A wedding gift that’s been sitting in my cabinet for ten years, she and me never opened it.”

Joel knew you were divorced but never knew the reason behind it. It wasn't like you never told him. He just never asked.

“You sure you wanna drink this, man?” Joel asks, taking the bottle from your hand.

“Wedding gifts are unique. I know you're divorced and everything but —”

“It's fine, It cluttered the cabinet. Good excuse to clean out my cabinet,” You shrugged.

“Okay, let's get to drinkin’,” Joel smirked, getting off the door frame.

You walked behind him and close the door behind you. You sit on the brown couch in front of the TV — seeing that it's on, you can't take your eyes away from the bright screen. It was a movie that Joel must have been watching before you knocked on the door.

Glancing towards the kitchen, you notice Joel walking back toward you with two glasses in his hands; you fix your position on the couch as Joel sits beside you.

“Here we go,” Joel states, handing you a glass.

“Thank you, cowboy,” You smile, taking the glass from Joel’s hand.

“I can't believe you call me that,” Joel chuckles.

“I’m just glad you don’t call me city boy.”

“I might have to start.”

You place the glass on Joel’s coffee table and unscrew the rum bottle cap, putting the bottle cap on the table.

“Let’s get to drinkin’ then.”

“Let’s get to drinking then,” You smile.

You grab your cup and pour some rum into Joel’s glass and then some into your glass, placing the glass bottle on the coffee table.

“To gettin’ drunk,” Joel nods, holding his rum-filled glass near you.

“We sound like alcoholics — but, to getting drunk,” You laugh.

You and Joel clink your glasses together, and you both knock back a sip of the rum before you start coughing.

The rum made your throat feel like it was burning, and it stayed for a couple of seconds while you were coughing; Joel couldn't help but start chuckling, watching your pain endure.

“Okay, you brought this, and your actin’ like it already killed you,” Joel laughed.

“Look, Mr. Drinker, I’m not much of a drinker; I only act like I am, so you don't judge, city boy, over here,” You countered.

“Aww, is city boy a baby?” Joel pouted.

You shove him. “You suck,” You laugh.

You and Joel probably drank ten or eleven drinks, but it was apparent; you both were drunk like never before. The night sky came rushing in through his large windows.

“Okay, wait, you and Tommy rode motorcycles for his birthday?” You laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, and it was so fuckin’ fun; the adrenaline rush was high that day; I miss it.”

You and Joel were laughing together like lifelong friends. Two dads who were just getting irresponsibly drunk while their daughters did their own thing.

Leaning your head on the backrest of the couch, from the corner of your eye, you can see Joel smiling and leaning back on the sofa, his arm outstretched on top of the couch.

You could tell Joel was hiding something behind that smile, though, as he was looking at the now-muted TV; you could tell something was on his mind.

“Joel,” You state, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, city boy?”

“I can tell something’s on your mind.”

“How? Your eyes are closed,” He reported.

You open your eyes slowly and turn your head to look at him. “Thanks for noticing, detective.”

He chuckled at that nickname.

“But, is there legitimately something on your mind?”

He took a long extended breath and spoke.

“Why did you get a divorce?”

You knew that question would come up eventually; you couldn't dodge the question any more than you wanted to. At this point, you felt like you could tell Joel the real reason.

It could have been the rum messing with your mind, but you acted like you knew Joel for more than ten years when in reality, you only knew him less than five months.

You inhaled and then exhaled before answering Joel.

“I’m gay, no other reason,” You spoke.

Joel couldn't tell where his emotions were in his drunken mind. He wanted to sympathize, comfort, and let you rant about what was on your mind. But in his drunk-filled head, he thought you needed a distraction.

“Do you wanna know how Adaline and I met?”

You nod your head slowly.

“Back in high school, I was this star athlete and shit. She was a wannabe journalist at that point,” Joel started.

“So she wants to interview me because I was this great athlete and shit, we go back to my house, my folks don't come home until later that night. As we're talking, I don't think she’s listening at this point — and she grabs my bulge.”

“What?” You question fixing your position.

“Yeah! I was surprised at it, too; she was now next to me, rubbing, then she unzips my fly, and she’s now rubbing my cock. Her hands are so fuckin’ warm, she’s rubbing and rubbing, and then she stops and walks out with my cock throbbing.”

You could tell with Joel’s feeble attempt at a distraction he was hard himself. He was rubbing his aching cock on top of his jeans.

He was breathing through his nose to the point you could hear every inhale and exhale coming from his nose.

“Your hard, aren't you?”

Joel was nodding his head in between breaths.

“Yeah,” Joel breathed.

Joel stopped rubbing his cock and placed his hands on the sides of him.

Sober, you would have just sat in the uncomfortable silence in the room, but drunk, you did something you would be scared to do if sober.

You place your hand over Joel’s cock; you can feel it throb in your palm.

“W-what are you doing?” Joel exclaimed.

“Helping you out,” You answered.

You knew that this was wrong to do this, your mind was screaming at you to stop, but your actions were speaking louder than your head.

You unzipped Joel’s jeans and placed your hand in between his zipper, and started rubbing his cock on top of his boxer-briefs.

He threw his head back in pleasure and lust.

“Damn, city boy, you know what you're doing,” Joel chuckles.

You didn't hear his statement, you were dick-whipped, and you wanted more. You unbuckled his belt and jeans; then you see his cock bounce up with his boxers, making a tent.

“My cock isn't gonna take care of itself, is it?”

You fix Joel’s cock so his cock can go through the hole in his boxers.

His thick cock was throbbing right before you as you took the tip of his dick in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the slit of his dick as he was moaning with pleasure.

“Oh — fuck, yes.” Joel moaned.

You wrapped your hand around his length as you were taking his size in your mouth.

He was throwing his head back and sucking his teeth as you were pleasuring him to the point that he would explode. Joel hadn't felt something this fantastic in so long; he had forgotten what it felt like.

This feeling he yearned for it once again after so many years; he missed it, the way his body betrayed him showing him that he was enjoying this too well.

The men you gave oral pleasure to in the past can never compare to Joel’s length, and you were addicted to him. You mouth was taking his length with anticipation like a prize you always wanted.

“Such a good fuckin’ cock sucker, city boy,” Joel grunted.

He places his hand onto your head ands pushing down as you were going down on his dick. He was making you speed up a bit.

But going your own pace, you knew he would enjoy it, his dick is sleek in your mouth, almost like a piece of ice in your mouth. You feel his thumb rubbing your head as you take his length.

You take your mouth away from his cock as his dick throbs like a spring.

A line of saliva connect from your mouth to Joel’s cock. Joel’s now having full body breathes, he can’t control the adrenaline and lust coursing through his entire body at this point.

Joel stands up and takes his pants off along with his boxers, you watch as he drops them around his ankle. You can tell Joel is writhing in anticipation, but he’s hiding it.

“Work your magic, city boy.”

With that, Joel shoots a wink as you slide off the couch and kneel on the wooden floor below you. He was standing — towering over you with his hands on his hips.

“No! What are you thinking? He’s married,” You thought.

Ignoring your head again, you take Joel’s cock in your mouth as moans escape his lips. He’s starting to tremble as your head moves, almost bobbing even. You take his cock out of your mouth, and you start stroking his thick, sleek cock. Looking up at him, he gives you an almost weak smile.

“How’s that?” You ask.

“Better — than I — could ever imagine.”

“Wait, he’s imagined this before — Stop! That does not excuse this!”

You place your tongue under his cock, at the base of his balls, and start licking and sucking on his balls.

Joel’s moans kept escaping his lips; it was like music to your ears. Your heart was pumping, hearing Joel moan like he didn't have a care in the world.

“Damn, baby. You so fuckin’ good at that,” Joel exclaimed.

He places his hand on the side of your head.

“Get on the fuckin’ couch,” Joel commands.

“What?” You ask, swallowing your spit.

“I said, take off your fuckin’ clothes and get on the damn couch; I’m going to fuck the shit out of you like no man has before,” Joel commanded.

You stood at the man before you, undoing your pants, taking your shoes off, leaving your socks on, and then taking your shirt off.

Joel had already tossed his boots, jeans, and boxers to the side, with his flannel unbuttoned but hanging on his shoulders. He was a mighty 6’2 compared to your height. You were intimidated a bit in your sober mind. But being drunk, you weren't scared; you were standing your ground.

“Look’s like your cock is happy to see me,” Joel breathed.

Before you can answer, Joel takes your cock in his hands and starts to stroke it; you gasp at his movement as you grip his shoulders to keep yourself from falling over.

You never received this type of pleasure from anyone else but yourself before. Joel stroking your cock made you replace your moans with breathing — heaving breathing. You didn't want to show Joel that you were touched-starved at this point.

“C’mon, city boy, if you can make me moan — I should return the favor at the least,” Joel grinned.

He was stroking your cock faster now, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and moan with pleasure. Your nails were going to make half-crescent moon shapes on Joel’s shoulders.

“Ack, Joel —breath— damn this, so fucking amazing,” You breathed.

Joel smiles as you moan his name like that; he can hear the lust radiating from your lips. He knew you were on the brink of feeling satisfaction just by him stroking you right here.

He knew he had to treat you right, he stopped stroking you, and you placed your head in the crook of his neck and acted breathless right there.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel reassured.

“You need to stop now!”

You get away from the spot in Joel’s neck and back up from him. Joel smiles at you and sits down on the couch; he pats his thigh, indicating for you to ride him. It was intoxicating how he was manspreading and how he patted his thigh.

“You can walk out of here, grab your clothes and walk out!”

You straddle Joel wasting no time acting like he was going to run away.

You could feel the tip of his dick press up against your ass; Joel puts his fingers in your mouth as you drunkenly suck on them.

“Damn, baby, I don't need to tell you anything.”

He takes his fingers away from your mouth and fingers your ass with his spit-covered fingers.

You exclaim with a moan escaping your lips; your nails had dug into the couch material as Joel kept fingering you.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby boy. Have you ever been fingered before?” Joel questioned.

You shook your head and Joel gives you a smirk.

He was enjoying making you squirm under his intoxicating actions. Your moans became quick with efficiency, like you wanted him inside you already.

His fingers were sleek, going inside you and out fast; your knuckles were almost bone white at this point, and your moans kept passing through your teeth like water; Joel’s grin meant he was enjoying every sound you made for him.

He knew that these sounds for him could only be heard by him, considering he was the first person to make you feel this way: overstimulated.

“You like this, city boy?”

“Y-y-ye-yes,” You moaned.

His fingers slipped out of your, and his hands were on your ass.

“You want this cock inside you, baby boy?”

“No!”

“Yes,” You breathed.

“Yes, what?” Joel grunted, smacking your ass.

You yelped as he smacked your ass.

“Yes, Joel, I want your cock inside of me,” You groaned.

Joel’s shit-eating grin meant he’s heard what he’s always wanted to hear.

You waste no time having your ass hover over Joel’s aching cock, mentally preparing yourself, but your mind decides to take over.

“You seriously can not be thinking about doing this, right? What you are committing is an act in which you are going to lie to everyone about how horrible you felt when in reality, you enjoyed every minute of —”

Your mind goes blank as you feel Joel’s cock enter you slowly, intoxicating and rich but slow. You spat a moan out in retaliation for Joel’s dick inside you.

In those enticing, agonizing seconds, Your ass meets the base of his cock, and Joel’s hands make loud contact with your ass.

“God, damn, that's tight, city boy.”

His hands reach your hips like a puzzle piece you lost. Joel lifts you up and slowly goes back down; your moans escape your teeth, your clenched teeth, until Joel rocks his hips up and down. That's when you feel him hit that same spot.

Joel’s hands feel rough as they feel like they were sewn onto your waist, with how tight he grabbed you. His hips felt like they had a mind of their own.

His face had a look of rage and determination all in one; his breaths were quick and through his teeth as he pumped his cock inside you.

“Take this dick, city boy,”

“You know this is wrong. You can't keep doing this!” You thought.

You couldn't contain your moans with every pump Joel delivered; it was addicting.

“Fuck, Joel, I think you're gonna break me,” You exclaim.

“Not yet, baby, soon enough.”

Your hands were on the back of the couch, gripping the fabric. You could tear it off by how your hands were grabbing this.

You yelp again as his hands make contact — hard contact to your ass.

“You’re taking it like such a good boy, baby,” Joel grunted.

“Such a good boy.”

“No! No! No! You are not a good boy!”

Joel’s pace was so fast that his cock, slipped out of you.

Both of your breaths were heavy and difficult; you were looking into each other's eyes and saw the same thing: satisfaction.

“Holy shit, your tight little pussy, almost made me cum, city boy!” Joel chuckles.

“Turn around, baby.”

You complied with what Joel told you to do; you got off Joel’s lap and turned around; you didn't need to listen to your head right now. All you knew was that your ass was hovering over Joel’s thick, throbbing cock.

Joel grabbed the base of his cock and started slapping it against your ass. “You want this dick, city boy?” Joel questioned.

Surprising Joel, you shoved Joel’s cock inside your ass hole. Joel was taken aback.

“OOOOH, GOOD BOY!” Joel exclaimed.

You slowly started to fuck yourself on Joel’s cock. It was thrilling, adrenaline-inducing. You were on the brink of exploding.

“C’mere baby,” Joel stated.

Joel wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closest to his. His hips were rocking up and down, and his pace was fast. His hands were wrapped around your chest, feeling your body as he enjoyed bringing you immense pleasure.

Your feet were on Joel’s bare, sweaty knees. His was hitting your G-spot again, and it felt indescribable. The feeling you never felt before would go away soon, and you hated that, at this moment, you felt suitable for the first time in so long.

“Who’s my good boy?” Joel growls in your ear.

“Me, Joel. I AM,” You hiss between your teeth.

One of his hands found its way to your throat, lightly choking you.

“You love this big dick inside you? Huh, baby?”

“I love it so much, Joel.”

That's when Joel wanted to go rough with you some more. He removes his hand from your throat and grips your thighs, and lifts them so that your back connects with his slightly covered — sweaty chest.

His dick would hurt when you woke up in the morning, but for now, you were feeling pleasure.

Joel was rough, and he knew that your face was close to his, and you could see the rage and determination, and it turned you on even more.

Your cock was slapping against your navel, and your pre cum string was slapping against your stomach. Your left hand gripped Joel’s covered shoulder while your right hand was on the back of the couch.

You could feel Joel’s cock pulsating inside you. You could think that he was close.

“Your so needy, city boy, feelin’ my bulge like that,” Joel grunted.

“Shut up. . .” You thought

“You're taking this thick cock so well,” Joel growled.

“Please, Joel, stop talking; I won't control myself if you keep talking.”

“You love this cock inside of you, don't you?Pounding that tight little pussy of yours.

“YESSS,” You spat.

“You're a filthy whore!”

“Joel! JOEL!” You exclaimed.

“FILTHY WHORES NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

That's when you listened to your head and did the unthinkable. You kissed Joel Miller.

A married Joel Miller, not a simple peck on this lips too—a sloppy, slobbery, open-mouth kiss. Joel slipped his tongue in your mouth as the kiss got rough and passionate. You can feel Joel pumping his cock inside of you faster as he takes his mouth off yours.

“Joel, you’re going to make me cum!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, baby!” Joel breathed.

Joel’s hands made your legs spread apart, and he was pumping his cock rough and slow.

“I’m going to cum, in that tight pussy of yours, city boy,” Joel growled.

“Yes, Joel, fuck —mpfm—, I want that load inside me!”

Joel started to get faster again. As he was, you were about to cum; Joel’s hips were on the brink of exploding if he didn't cum soon. This feeling, this experience, would end with a lust-filled bang.

“I’m cumming, I’M CUMMING!!” You exclaim as white lines of cum shoot out on your stomach.

“FFF— FUCK, ME TOO!” Joel growled.

You could feel his cum inside of you slowly start falling out of you, and Joel’s body started to jolt.

Joel kissed your lips with more passion than hunger like before. You both were drenched in sweat, spit, and now cum. This night was something you didn't want to forget.

You feel your body raised from Joel’s hard chest. Then you notice Joel is picking you up bridal style.

“Not yet, city boy, we’re not done yet,” Joel growled. His eyes turn dark as he walks upstairs with you in his arms.

Joel pushes the bedroom door with his foot; once he sees the bed, he places you down on the bed — on your back.

He’s in between your legs with a grin spread across his face, which shows he has more ways to pleasure you. With your ass hanging over the edge of the bed, Joel places tender kisses on your thighs.

Your spine shivered with how soft his kisses felt on your legs, your calves feeling cold to Joel’s warm lips kissing them. He trailed the kisses down towards the back of your knees, down to your thighs.

Your mind was going into shock at how soft Joel was being. A few minutes ago, he was fucking your brains out, and now he’s tenderly kissing your legs. And now you didn't know what to —

You gasped in awe and enjoyment as Joel’s mouth reached your hole. His tongue was swirling around like he was licking a lollipop. You gripped the gray bedsheets next to you and tried your best to hide your moans.

“Mmmhm, city boy, If I knew you’d tasted this good, I would’ve eaten you out sooner,” Joel exclaimed.

Your hands found their way to your face. You wanted to moan but this would validate that you were ready for him but you wanted to see what —

You yelped as a hard and fast slap came to your balls; you knew Joel was trying to force a moan out of you with his rules.

“C’mon, city boy, I can tell you're enjoying this. Moan for me, baby,” Joel breathed.

Your body betrayed you, and you moaned per Joel’s command. Your body was on overdrive, and it felt immensely addicting.

“That's right, baby; moan for me.”

Your moans kept slipping from your lips, and you enjoyed every second of it. Joel’s hands traveled all over your knees, thighs, and stomach.

His touch felt devilish, addicting. It felt like you depended on his hands, mouth, and cock to fill this overstimulating you had.

“You ready for this cock again, city boy?” Joel asked.

You nodded, and your breaths came out as moans prepared for his cock once again.

Joel stood up from his knees, and that's when you see Joel’s cock. Throbbing, pre cum leaking from the slit. Minutes ago, that cock had cum shooting inside you; it should’ve been soft at that moment.

But his cock looked like it was before the whole situation started; hard, throbbing, begging to cum.

Joel catches your eyes as your are shocked at his massive length.

“Impressive, huh?”

You reflexively nod your head in hunger, his cock will be inside you again, and you can't wait.

Joel lowers his face to kiss you. His hand travels to your throat as he lightly tightens his grip around your neck. You gasp, and Joel sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel’s moans were quiet, but you could hear them, even with the shuffling of sheets.

“You ready for round two, city boy?”

He kisses you before you get to answer.

“Yes, yes, Joel, I am.”

Joel backs up from your face, and you crawl backward to have your head on top of the pillows below you.

Joel shrugs his flannel off his shoulder and crawls over you. His face inches from yours, his tanned bare chest hovering away from your bare chest.

He adjusts his cock, and you can feel it press up against your hole. Joel slowly slides his cock inside you. You exclaim in pain, but you can't help but feel pleasure all at the same time.

Your legs are over Joel’s shoulder as he starts slow and then goes faster. Your moans were bouncing over the bedroom that Joel and Adaline shared.

This feeling was unbearable, but you didn't care. The pleasure was worth it.

“How do you get so fuckin’ tight, baby boy,” Joel growled.

Joel’s eyes darkened; that same look of rage and determination was back on his face. Heavily breathing through his teeth and you gripping his shoulders so hard, you could make crescent moon shapes on his shoulders.

“Joel! Oh my fucking god, I love this so much!” You yelled.

“I love it when you talk dirty, city boy.”

“Your tight pussy doesn't want to let go of my cock. I’m fuckin’ obsessed with it,” Joel breathed.

Joel wraps his forearms around your legs, making your calves close to his ears. You exclaim in pleasure as he’s fucking you this rough again.

This feeling: It was more than an addiction, a sense; it was indescribable. This immense pleasure you’ve never felt before, and you loved everything.

“J-Joel, slow down; you not gonna last if you go so fast,” You breathed.

“I can't help it, city boy. This tight ass needs my cock. I can tell you need it; I’m going crazy, baby.”

“I- love it, Joel. Just slow down for a second.”

With that, Joel’s hips started to slow down, he was on the brink of coming, but he didn't care. He just wanted you to feel something: Good, lustful, ecstatic, wanted.

He closed his eyes and kissed you as he could feel your heart almost exploding. He let go of your calves as Joel’s hands were beside your head.

His hips started the pace again. He was pumping like he was on a mission. He didn't want to stop this time; he wanted to cum, inside you to show you that you were his, no one else's.

“Ugh, fuck Joel, your seriously going to break me!” You clenched your teeth.

“That’d be the idea, baby. Your mine, no one else’s,” Joel growled.

You couldn't tell if it was the alcohol in your system or just your mind, but you understood when Joel said you were his and no one else’s.

You hated/loved how much that turned you on.

“City boy, I’m going to cum, again. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Joel, pump your hot cum inside of me.”

Joel clenched his teeth so hard one could out from his gums. His hands were gripping your thighs; they could cause bruising.

Your mind was blanking out as Joel was speeding the pace in his hips even more.”

“Fuck, baby, I’m coming!” Joel yelled.

With one thrust, two, and three thrusts, Joel’s cum shot inside you again. You could feel the warm liquid sit inside you. Joel’s forehead had beads of sweat covering it. He leaned down and kissed your lips softly.

“You’re gonna stay the night, and I don't want anyone to see the pleasure I gave you tonight. That’s for my eyes only.”

You nodded, having no other words to say. Joel slips his cock out of you and lays down next to you, breathing heavily. Your head finds his chest, over his heart. You can hear how fast his heart is pumping. You were so exhausted that you fell asleep on Joel’s sweaty chest.

tags: @evans55 @odetodilfs @jrrmint <would lose it @groggygrogu @ihugpedro @strang3lov3 <would lose it

next chapter

[harrystylescherry]

A/N: wow, what amazing timing. let's pretend i did this on purpose. happy birthday, harry! fyi, this is vol. 2--you don't have to, but i rec reading vol. 1 first :)

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain, orgasm denial

what this is: pure smut tbh - vol. 2

word count: 5.5k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

It had been three agonizing days–three and a half if you were going to count this morning…and you were, because the ache between your legs and the need thrumming at your core was the only thing you could think about. 

Your boyfriend was punishing you in the worst way: orgasm denial. He’d work you and edge you until you were just on the brink of release, one…two…three times…then release you from the restraints, or pull you up from his lap, and go about his business. As if you weren’t a puddle of need, dripping between your thighs, angry and wanton and sorry. 

Because that was the whole point of this–for you to be sorry. To show you not to misbehave, or shirk direct orders. 

In your eyes, it was a minor infraction. He had left on a business trip for five days, and told you, explicitly, not to touch yourself, not for a teasing second, not to come. Then, he made sure to clarify that none of the sex toys at his place or yours were to be used either, knowing how much you loved a loophole. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, and you had taught him well to be specific and exact with his instructions. On more than one occasion, he’d tell you that you should’ve been a lawyer–a comment that was as much of a compliment as it was a chastising for being bratty and pushing his limits. 

The instruction was a punishment in itself, though he’d never admit to it. He wanted you to go with him, so between the stressful meetings and boring client calls, he could have moments of peace. He wanted to show you around a new city (though he’d only ever been there once before himself), discover hole in the wall eateries and dive bars together, fuck you in places not exactly meant for fucking, and, of course, have you on his arm for all the client dinners and drink-night-schmoozing he was expected to do. Unfortunately for him, you were only three months into your new job as an assistant editor/junior staff writer for The Wire, an indie music magazine based in London that mostly focused on independent artists and underground scenes. Were you cool enough for the job? Probably not, but you were open to anything and everything–your 134 very specific spotify playlists proof that you didn’t discriminate. 

The job was a lot of work, and you were busting your ass to prove to the close-knit team that ran it that you were worth keeping around. Your ninety-days of entry-probation had just ended. Taking time off wasn’t a good look (not that you had even racked up enough hours to take off an entire work week), and while working from home wasn’t off the table, you didn’t want it to seem like you didn’t want to be there. On the ground, toiling away at your tiny desk with the other two assistants and three interns. It was fun. You loved Harry, but your priorities right now were what they were. He understood it, though that didn’t mean he had to like it. And clearly, he didn’t, as evidenced by his very unfair and petty instruction. 

You had done well the first three days, despite the teasing texts and naughty photos meant to bait you–which is why you’d been so strong. He wasn’t going to trick you into breaking a rule. 

Day four was what broke you. You hadn’t heard from him all day (which only made you want the teasing and photos now that they were being withheld), you had stupidly started an erotic romance novel that was essentially 320 pages of pure (ungodly and delicious) fucking, and you were so stressed out from work that your body was begging for a release beyond what your favorite workout could give. 

You were just a girl. A horny, needy, sexually frustrated girl. It’s not your fault that the desperation was too strong for you to deny the call of the clit sucker you kept buried in your underwear drawer. It was society’s. 

In the moment, the rationalizing was totally sound. And in the moment, the orgasm was worth it. 

Then, Harry’s facetime came through only a few minutes after you’d come down, as if he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to your orgasms. 

“Hi,” you said after checking to make sure your hair was fine and the toy was safely tossed beneath your bed. 

His brow furrowed on the screen. “Hi, baby.”

“How’s your trip?” You settled into the pillows behind you. 

“Good,” he mumbled. His lips twitched. “Did you touch yourself today?”

“W-what?”

“You did, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “When? Just now?”

You scoffed. “Harry, come on. Of course not. You said–”

“I know what I said. And I know that you didn’t listen.” His voice was stern and it sent a jolt to your core. 

“That’s–”

“Don’t lie to me. I know what you look like after–and it’s all over your face.”

Your cheeks flamed. You were caught. 

“It’s not my fault!”

You could see he was fighting off a smile–a devilish one. “Whose fault is it then?”

“I…” You didn’t really have an answer. 

“That’s what I thought.” You watched his jaw tick through the screen. “I’ll be home tomorrow night. I expect you to already be there when I do. Now, get cleaned up and go to bed.”

He ended the call before you could respond. No ‘goodnight’ or ‘I love you’. You were screwed…and not in the way you would’ve liked. So, feeling a little guilty, you moved into the bathroom, took a shower, and climbed beneath your covers at 9pm. 

The night he got home, he restrained you to the bed without a word. Flat on your back, with your limbs pulled to each respective corner of the bed, he teased your nipples with a paint brush, then your clit, until you were a squirming, writhing mess. Then it was over. He brushed a hand over your cheek and went to take a shower. 

Each night since, the edging had progressively gotten worse. 

You were aroused constantly. Getting through each work day felt like an impossible feat. All you could think about was the nights before–the pleasure in all the teasing–and then the pain in going without any relief. Unfortunately, that only made you wetter. 

You were a zombie through your morning meetings. You nodded when you were supposed to and took down notes just so you didn’t completely check out. You’d been staring at the commissioned article in front of you for almost forty-five minutes, not an edit made because you couldn’t tear your focus from the steady throb between your legs, when a text from Harry came through. 

Same time tonight. 

That’s all it said, though it didn’t need to say anything else. A shiver moved through you. Another night of torture. You held in the groan of frustration (with maybe a bit of anticipation), hoped that your punishment would be over tonight and white-knuckled through the rest of your day. 

You knocked on Harry’s door at exactly 8pm. No dinner together was part of the punishment, and so was not being able to use your key. Those were always part of the punishments, though, and served to remind you of your place in this area of your relationship–that you were not in control, could only come and go as much as he wanted you to, and all the other things that you already knew…and that you sometimes needed reminding of. 

When were you going to learn that being rebellious was fun until it wasn’t (though, punishments could still be kind of fun–not that you would ever tell Harry that)? 

It was a rhetorical question, since you had never exactly been one to submit without a fight.

“Little brat,” he said when he opened the door. “Straight to my room. Take your clothes off in the hall.”

No kiss hello, no smile, no sweetness–just like the last three nights. Maybe the punishments weren’t always fun. Your eyes went to the floor in shame as you went past him and up the stairs. He followed behind you, his footfalls even and sure. He leaned against the wall with his arms over his chest as you pushed your jeans to the floor and peeled off your t-shirt. 

When you went to move into the room, Harry tsked in disapproval. “You know better than that. Don’t make this worse for yourself, sub.”

Your entire body lit up with embarrassment. It was a mistake. You were nervous and anxious to get it over with, not thinking. You knew you weren’t getting a release tonight, could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Your hands shook as you unclasped your bra, letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties. 

“In the room, hands against the wall.”

You took a shaky breath and did exactly as he said. 

The thin paddle pressed against your bare ass when he came up behind you and your body clenched. You weren’t exactly a fan. He slid it down the back of your thighs and gave your skin a light tap. 

“Legs apart.” You obeyed and he hummed. “Keep your arms and legs straight, and eyes up.” You took a deep breath in preparation. The paddle came down on your ass and you flinched. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-no, sir.”

“So, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Whack.

There was no warning or warm-up. He took turns with each cheek, hitting hard and then easing up, so you never knew what to prepare for. At least he didn’t make you count them, not that you thought you could. You were too focused on not letting your knees buckle, fighting not to lean against the wall. 

It went on like that for a while, until the searing burn turned into the kind of sharp numbing that left you dripping. 

After what had to be at least twenty strikes, he dipped his hand between your thighs. Like always, shame slithered in; the embarrassment that all of this turned you on. It disappeared, like it always did, the second Harry made his sound of approval. That little hum that told you he was pleased, even though he wouldn’t vocalize it the way you wanted him too. It was a punishment, after all. 

He brushed his knuckles over your clit and you almost crumpled to the floor. You were so turned on, so needy, that the slightest touch was a straight shot to your core–electric. Two flicks of his fingers and you knew you’d come, which meant even more trouble. 

He touched you again and you hissed. 

“You don’t come. Not until I say.” As if you needed the reminder. 

“Yes…sir.” He chuckled at the breathiness of your voice. It was mean–and hot. He knew it, too. 

The paddle against your skin again, then his fingers moving through your slit. “Such a dirty girl,” he whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to think about anything else besides the pleasure strumming at your core. His fingers were too skilled, they knew your body too well. 

Your left knee buckled–for less than a second–but he caught it. Goosebumps raised across your skin when you heard the three tsks from behind you. 

“I–”

“Shh…” 

You pressed your lips together, forcing the plea back down your throat. 

“On the bed.”

Silently, and with your head down, you walked on shaky legs to sit at its edge. Harry pushed your chest back so you laid down. 

“Don’t move.”

He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the spreader bar. He strapped in each of your ankles so you couldn’t close your legs and then moved it up, so your knees were bent into your chest. Your breath was ragged and you fought to keep any whimpers from slipping out when he secured your wrists in the cuffs attached to the center of the bar. 

You couldn’t stretch your legs, couldn’t close them–couldn’t move. Completely open to him, you were in the perfect position for him to do whatever he wanted. 

He hummed as he moved back to the wardrobe, opening and closing drawers. He seemed to be making a decision. When he turned back to you, there was a smirk on his face. You took a deep breath when you saw the pink device in his hands. 

He pushed the curved vibrator into you, until the fit was perfectly snug. He made sure to position it so the pad pressed right against your already too-sensitive clit. Then, he went and sat in the armchair a few paces from the corner of the bed. 

It looked as though he was simply scrolling through his phone, his posture relaxed in the chair, head propped against his closed fist–but you knew better. He was making you sweat it out. You knew what was coming–and the wait was agonizing, just as he intended it to be. 

When it came–the sharp buzzing both inside and out–your whole body jerked. As he moved his thumb up and down his screen, the vibrations followed, growing stronger and then mellowing out. 

This was one of your favorite toys, except maybe not anymore. Holding back your orgasm was feeling closer and closer to impossible. Your hips bucked against the mattress, each attempt to get away from the intense vibrations futile. You wanted to cry–knew you would if this didn’t end soon. 

You uselessly struggled against the restraints, your legs trying to close on sheer instinct. The sounds that escaped you seemed more akin to those of an animal than a woman and your entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat. 

Without even thinking about it, you were begging. 

“Please, please, please.” Harry stayed silent. “S-sir, god, please!”

“No.”

The vibrations stopped and your body sagged in a false sense of relief now that the fight was over, though there was no [real] relief. He still refused to let you come.

The whining was involuntary. Each nerve ending was a live wire. If he touched you just once, just [barely] you’d explode. The squirming of your hips against the slick silicone was what pulled him up from his chair. He pulled the device from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

After releasing your wrists and ankles from the restraints, he patted the inside of your thigh. “Go take a shower.” 

That’s it. Nothing else. You felt the pressure behind your eyes as you stood from the bed. You nodded and whispered your “Yes, Sir” as you moved into the en suite. 

Your joints were sore from all your struggling, and all you wanted was a hug. It seemed his point had been made–at least in your opinion. You broke a direct order and then tried to lie about it. That was bad, you got it. Wouldn’t do it again. 

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take the punishment because you could. If not, you would’ve used your safe word. He only ever gave you as much as you could handle and you trusted him with your body entirely, without question. It was the lack of aftercare that was getting to you. During this punishment, he’d been doling out the bare minimum. All you’d gotten was maybe a kiss to the forehead and little love pats to your thighs. You were used to falling asleep in his lap, being wrapped up in a blanket, or being tucked into his side as he prepared you a snack or (upon request) ice cream sundaes. 

Under the hot water, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and let your body relax. You washed your hair and lathered your body using his products (ignoring the ones he kept for you on the shelf) since that was as close to him as he’d allow you to get this week. 

When you opened the shower door, he was standing there, waiting with a towel. “C’mere,” he said as he held it open for you. You stepped into him and he wrapped it around your body, then rubbed his hands up and down your arms. You snuggled as close to him as you could and he kissed the top of your head before saying, “Get dressed and I’ll take you home.”

You wanted to cry again, but didn’t. The punishment would end eventually, and you weren’t going to be weak about it. 

*

It was day four and you were so sexually frustrated, you wanted to cry. Literally. At this point, you were nothing more than a bundle of needy hormones. You had chosen to wear a dress into the office for no other reason than you wouldn’t have been able to deal with the seam of your jeans rubbing against your clit all day. Why torture yourself when Harry was already doing more than enough?

Halfway through your morning, you got a text from your boyfriend requesting that you go straight to his place from work. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear you sigh in annoyance. You didn’t want to be denied anymore. You were tired, and your body was still a little sore from the night before and you were mad at him. He never restrained you like that without some kind of massage afterwards. 

Each time you stood, your knees ached just a little and your hips had been stiff when you got out of bed this morning. Your body–and your brain–had had enough. 

You left work a little later than usual, staying to finish an edit that didn’t need to be done until Monday. The tube ride to his was spent trying not to work yourself up. You leaned back in your seat and listened to an album that your boss had been talking about all week, hoping to distract yourself. It worked until you were standing in front of his door. 

It opened without you having to knock and he smiled softly when he saw you. “Long day?”

So, apparently, you looked as tired as you felt. “I guess.”

He motioned for you to come in and, hesitantly, you did. He took your bags and set them in the entryway. 

“Help me finish dinner?”

Dinner. You tried not to get your hopes up that the punishment was over, but he was relenting. You’d take any allowance you could get at this point. 

“Sure.”

All that was really left to do was make the salad while he pulled everything out of the oven and set the table. 

“Go ahead and sit down,” he said as he took the bowl from in front of you. 

You took your seat and watched him move around the room, back and forth from the table with the roast chicken and sides, to the racks where he kept his wine. He poured you a glass and squeezed the back of your neck–a gesture that was both possessive and comforting. 

As you ate, he asked about work–the kinds of things you were working on, how you were settling in, etc. It was the most conversation the two of you had since he came home and it felt good. Almost too good. As much as you tried to fully relax back into your normal routine and dynamic, you couldn’t lose the last bit of tension in your shoulders. 

You wouldn’t be lured into a false sense of comfort–and Harry knew it too. He tried to hide his little half-smile, and if it were anyone else but you, it would’ve been missed but you knew him too well. 

When you put your napkin on the table signaling you were finished, he cleared the table without a word. He whistled along to the song playing throughout the main floor as you scrolled on your phone, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your attention. 

Really, you were in no place to be petty, but your nature was your nature. You flinched when you felt his hands on your shoulders, massaging into the knots that resided there for months, since the beginning of your new job. It was from stress that you didn’t necessarily mind, since you were doing something you loved. His fingers climbed up the back of your neck and into your hairline, pressing in soft circles. You hummed in satisfaction. 

“Is that good, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you said as your eyes fluttered closed. A quick tug to your hair pulled them open again. So, it was starting. “Yes, Sir,” you corrected, and were rewarded with more kneading at the base of your skull. 

“C’mon, we’re going upstairs.”

Your body buzzed with anticipation as you followed him up and into his room. He kissed your cheekbone as he passed in front of you to go to the wardrobe–the one that you’d come to see as the bane of your existence this last week. 

“Strip and lay on the bed for me.” You did as he said. All he returned with was a pair of soft handcuffs. Once your wrists were fastened together in front of you, he pushed your legs open and took a step back from the bed. 

“Hm.” He pulled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he looked you over. “Pretty.”

The whimper was involuntary as you preened beneath his gaze. You could feel the pulse of your core. You were so sexually frustrated that it took nothing more than his approval for the desire to pool between your legs. The smirk on his face told you he could see it. 

“You didn’t listen to me,” he said as he stepped to the edge of the bed. He reached down and casually traced the outline of you, making sure to keep away from your clit and your center. “Why not?”

“I-I was horny, sir. You kept s-sending me–” You cut yourself off with a needy moan when Harry dipped his fingers in just enough to coat them with you. 

He spread it over your folds until the slickness touched your inner thighs. “Keep going.”

You took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. You also forced your hips to stay down, knowing that if you rocked yourself into his hand, he’d probably pull away. You couldn’t risk that, not when he was being so nice. “You kept sending me texts and photos o-of yourself–oh, god–and telling me all these…things.” 

He brushed his fingers through your folds as you spoke, skirting around the bundle of nerves perfectly primed to set you off. 

“So?”

“So, it made me want you and you weren’t there.”

“So?” He pushed a finger inside and your back arched off the bed. “Eyes open,” he said when they fluttered shut. 

“So, it wasn’t nice. You were teasing me–torturing me on purpose. It wasn’t fair that I had to wait and you didn’t.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I–”

“You hate when I say that, I know.” He pushed a second finger inside and you moaned. Your hips tilted forward on their own, seeking out something–anything–for relief. 

He removed his fingers. When he brushed his wet knuckles over your clit, a strangled cry replaced the disappointed sigh that escaped you. 

“Is that what you want, baby?”

You whined and wriggled on the mattress while he held his knuckles just out of reach. 

“Is it?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.” 

“I didn’t get off while I was gone.”

“Okay,” you panted, as you fought your own neediness. 

Harry slapped your clit and you cried out. “Listen to me. I did not get off while I was gone.”

“What? But you–”

“I know, the torture is the point. The teasing. I thought you would’ve learned this by now.” Another brush over your clit. Another moan. “That rule was for both of us. Did you think I wasn’t in agony? Each time you answered or sent a photo in return it took everything in me not to wrap my hand around my cock, but I have some self-control. I have patience. And I understand that whatever pleasure I could give myself wouldn’t compare to the kind I could get from you.”

When you whimpered this time, it wasn’t with need, but shame. You may have felt a little bad about breaking the rule now, and not just because it meant a little disappointment and a punishment. This was a big disappointment, you could hear it in his tone. It wasn’t just breaking a simple rule, but ruining something that was supposed to be good for the both of you. Granted, in your defense, he could’ve told you that, but you also knew why he didn’t: he shouldn’t have had to. 

“Sir, I’m really sorry.”

“I bet you are.” He gave your clit a pinch that sent a flash of heat over your entire body. “I should make you wait another week. Edge you every night until you're begging for my cock, and then still not give it just so we’re even.”

“I–”

“Quiet.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you further down the bed. He placed his knee on the mattress, positioning his thigh only an inch from your clit. “You want to come so badly, go ahead.”

Your brow lifted in surprise. “What?”

“Go ahead, come. You have my permission, but I’m not helping you. You want it, take it, or I’ll uncuff you, and you can get dressed so I can take you home.”

“Sir–”

“You’ve got less than a minute before I dress you myself.” The hard edge to his voice told you he wasn’t kidding. Not in the slightest.

You looked from the stern set of his face down to his jean-clad thigh. When you looked back at your boyfriend, his jaw was set. He didn’t move or say a word. 

Your entire body heated with something close to embarrassment, but it was also mixed with anticipation, shame, and need. You didn’t want to go home, you wanted to get off and if this was all he was offering, you’d have to take it. Especially since, if you didn’t, you’d be in even more trouble with him. You didn’t need him to say it to know. 

You planted your heels into the mattress and closed the gap between you two. When you lifted your hips, your clit brushed against the rough material and you groaned. You rolled your hips against his thigh and cursed. It felt so good. You knew it wouldn’t take you very long to cum. The only thing stopping you from instantly falling over the edge was the fact that you could only get close enough for a light brushing–there was no pressure. The only real friction came from the coarse fabric–but it would be enough. More than enough. 

Your abs and thighs burned as you held your hips up, and with every rock of your hips, the muscles in your stomach contracted with the effort. This was its own kind of punishment, you realized. He was making you work for it. 

You had kept your eyes locked on his stiff cock pushing against the front of his jeans, not sure if you wanted to know how exactly he was looking at you. 

“That’s it, baby.” 

But, of course, all it took was that little bit of praise to get your attention. The sternness was still there, but there was also heat. He wanted you–and he seemed to love seeing you like this: needy and unbelievably desperate. Because that’s what you were. Getting your release was all you could think of. 

You wanted something to hold onto, to grip onto the blankets beneath you for more stability, but you couldn’t do it with your wrists handcuffed together. You whined with the realization. 

“I know.” The comfort was full of condescension, and you wished it didn’t turn you on even more, but it did. 

You were sweating from exertion, but you were so close. 

“C’mon, baby. Rub yourself on my thigh. I can feel how wet you are, my dirty girl.” 

You looked down to see for yourself. Where you rubbed yourself was a much darker shade of blue. Your head fell back with a moan. 

In an act of undeserved kindness, Harry pressed his thigh against you, offering you the most delicious kind of friction; the kind that almost hurt. 

It was only another second before you were tumbling over the edge. You came so hard that stars erupted behind your eyes, and your skin felt white hot. You were sure you cursed and cried out his name but you were so detached from reality that you couldn’t know for sure. 

He didn’t wait for you to come down from the high. He undid the fastening of his jeans before leaning over and uncuffing your wrists. “Up.” He walked to the right side of the bed and took a seat. “Come and sit on my cock.”

Still in somewhat of a daze, you did as he said. As soon as he pulled his length from the confines of his jeans, you straddled his hips and sank down. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. He gripped your waist and guided your hips, holding you down so he was fully sheathed. 

You ignored the harsh rubbing of material against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and focused on how good it felt to feel him inside of you. 

“You’re gonna come again,” he said before sucking on your neck, leaving a mark that you hoped would be gone by the time you had to go back to the office after the weekend. 

You whimpered, not entirely confident you had it in you. Your clit was overstimulated and raw from the week’s torture. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know. You’ll do it anyway.”

When his voice was that deep and raspy, so commanding, who were you to argue?

“Yes,Sir.”

He pulled you far enough away that he could dip down and lick your peaked nipples. He sucked and nibbled until your chest and cheeks were red hot with the building of another orgasm. 

“Oh, god.” You gripped the collar of his t-shirt. 

He hummed against your skin. “That’s it. Keep going.” He held you tight enough that you wouldn’t be able to disconnect your clit from where it rubbed against the base of him even if you wanted to–and you were really walking that line. It was almost unbearable, the pleasure only a hair away from pain. 

When he tilted his hips to hit that special spot inside, the tension ripped loose. You dug your nails into the muscle of his shoulders as your body shook against his, your hips rocking frantically, both chasing the high and trying to get away from it. 

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck as he emptied himself inside you. With a strong arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you riding him through both of your orgasms as your body filled with exhaustion. 

He peppered kisses over your chest, shoulders, neck and jaw until you felt him go soft, still tucked inside. You were close to falling asleep on his chest when he pulled out and lifted you up into his arms. 

“Shower first,” he whispered before kissing the top of your head and carrying you into the en suite. He set you on the counter and disappeared.

He came back with a cold glass of water, which you took happily. He turned the shower on, pulled two towels from the wardrobe and set them on the fancy warmer before returning to you. His hands moved from your shoulder to cup your face and he leaned in to kiss you. 

“You did well this week, love.”

“It sucked.”

He laughed. “It was supposed to.” Another peck to your lips and he helped you down. “Go ahead.”

You stepped into the shower and watched through the quickly fogging glass as he stripped. The second he stepped in you were glued to him, your head to his chest and his arms around your waist. 

You only pulled apart when he washed you. His hands moved over your body, soft and soapy, digging into the muscles he had neglected the nights before. 

“I think I owe you a massage or two.”

“Try three–at least.”

He kissed your hip from his spot beneath you. When he brought his hand up to wash between your legs, you flinched. 

“Sore?”

“A little numb, actually. Wasn’t even expecting that to hurt.” 

He kissed right above your mound. “Sorry, love. I’ll be gentle.”

He finished his task and you took over, doing the same for him. Despite his hardening length, he didn’t try to touch you again, or ask you to help him relieve what must have been a lot of pent up frustration. Instead, he held your face in his hands and kissed you, murmuring soft I love yous in between. 

After toweling each other off, he turned down the covers, put on Sleepless in Seattle and promised to make you blueberry pancakes in the morning.

[stvharrngton]

bathroom break

a/n: back at it again with another horrendously bad title. first time writing old money!steve so pls be nice. inspired by @sw34terw34ther and dedicated to @livingintheupsidedown <3

pairing: old money!steve harrington x f!reader

word count: 3.4k (oops)

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, sex in a public setting, fingering, heavy on pet names, soft dom steve

taglist: @dukesmebby @sw34terw34ther @sweetbabygirlsworld

“Do we really have to go tonight?” Steve asked from across the bedroom.

You stood in front of the large full-length mirror that was situated next to your vanity table. Standing in nothing but your underwear, a long silk black dress held up against your body.

Taking a glance at Steve over your shoulder, he was perched on the edge of the bed with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, tie in hand. You rolled your eyes at him with a light chuckle.

“Steve,” you started, “it’s a charity dinner that you’re hosting. We have to go.” You shook your head at his distaste for his own career.

Despite Steve being born into immense generational wealth, he was all heart deep down. Often shirking off his responsibilities to spend more time with you, using his name and money to spoil you with gifts and vacations.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you began to step into your dress, pulling the silk up your body. Steve let his hands wander over the material that covered your waist and hips, neck pressing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“And what if I wanted to stay home and make sweet love to my beautiful girl all night long, hm?” Steve murmured, voice like velvet, dripping with saccharine as he spoke. His lips came to envelop your ear lobe, sucking on the soft flesh.

You hummed, a soft little sigh leaving your mouth as you felt Steve’s hands on your body. Wandering, roaming the expanse of your skin. They stopped at your ribs, fingers reaching up to cup the underside of your tits.

Steve began to rut his hips against your backside, the semi he was sporting brushing up against your ass. You mewled as he nipped at your skin, lips sucking a pretty mark that would blemish purple later.

“Hm, baby? Would that be such a bad idea?”

“Steve,” you sighed, head rolling back against his shoulder, “can you zip me up?” Your tone was light and teasing, knowing you had him wrapped tightly around your finger.

He groaned behind you, with one final squeeze to your waist before he stepped back, swiping your hair across your left shoulder as he zipped the back of your dress up. Steve spun you around in a flurry, palms planted firmly back on your waist.

Steve pulled you in flush against him before he brushed his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You felt him smile against your lips, something cheeky and taunting, a whisper as he spoke,

“You’re such a tease,” he mumbled into the kiss, his hands snaking down your body until he could squeeze your ass playfully.

“Oh, come on,” you rolled your eyes as you spoke, fingers tugging at Steve’s thick hair at the nape of his neck, “wouldn’t want this pretty dress to go to waste would we, loverboy?”

Steve groaned with one last kiss to your lips, fingers digging into your skin beneath your dress that he would much rather be on the floor right now. “Go get your shoes on then, babe.”

You couldn’t deny that Steve had you hot under the collar. His lips on your neck, his hands on your skin always left you with butterflies erupting in your stomach.

And he didn’t let up when you eventually arrived at the event he was hosting. You’re surprised you even made it out of the car, Steve’s poor driver turning up the radio to drown out the sound of your kissing.

Steve never left your side. An arm around your waist, a hand pressed to the small of your back, wandering until you felt his fingers squeeze your ass. Even when you were separated, the man leaning on the bar as his co-worker jabbered in his ear, said co-worker’s wife pulling you off to the side to gossip about her unhappy marriage, Steve never took his eyes off you.

Warm honey eyes trained on you, a smirk plastered on his face as he caught your gaze across the room. You felt his eyes on you, felt them rake up and down your body, your curves. The pretty dress he had bought you with full intention of it ending up on your bedroom floor.

You excused yourself from the woman latched at your side when you saw Steve beckon you to him with a single finger. Try as you might to hide the smirk on your lips, you sauntered over to him at the bar, Steve ordering a top up on your champagne for you.

“Thought any more about my offer, pretty girl?” Steve asked in a whisper, his arms encasing you with your back pressed against the grand marble bar. 

“And what offer would that be, Stevie?” A raised eyebrow and a breathy chuckle, your finger trailing up over his firm chest.

“Oh, you know,” he started, his eyes beginning to grow heavy with lust, tongue darting out to lick at his pink lips, “the one where I offer to take you home and fuck you until you’re screaming, hm?”

Your mouth went dry as you felt Steve’s hot breath fan over your face, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes overcoming you. A shiver shot down your spine, your body warm and tingly. Steve’s large frame towered over you, his lips crashing down on yours in a barely there kiss. His hands roamed your body before settling on your waist, fingers pressing into the silk that was wrapped around your body.

Despite the groups of people around you, the loud music and the sound of several different conversations it was almost like you and Steve were alone, in your own bubble. Nothing else around you mattered, just you and him. His hands on your waist, his lips on yours. The craving to feel all of him at once settling deep within your bones.

Steve noticed how your eyes darkened, how your cheeks flushed, your gaze following his lips as he pulled away from you. His palm stroking down to grip your ass as his lips ghosted over your ear, “Or I could just take you in that bathroom right over there? You’d like that, hm?”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the proposition, eyes darting over to the entrance to the bathroom on the other side of the room. You swallowed thickly as he spoke again,

“Want me to fuck you stupid, baby? With all these people here?”

Downing the rest of your champagne you took Steve’s hand in yours, lacing your fingers together as you dragged him over to the very public bathroom. Not a care in the world, you couldn’t care less who saw you sneaking off to the bathroom together. 

Your only concern was getting Steve alone.

You hurried inside the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind you as Steve moved like a whirlwind behind you, pressing you up against the wall. His lips flew to your neck, teeth nipping at the skin as his tongue lapped at the marks soothingly. Steve breathed in your perfume, sweet and sinful as he kissed over your neck.

“So desperate for me, huh? Want me to make you feel good, honey?” His fingers working to hike the hem of your dress up, the digits delving beneath the waistband of your panties.

You could only whine in response, head rolling back against the pretty black tiled wall. Steve’s fingers found your clit with ease, rolling the bud beneath his fingers. His long fingers sliding through your wet folds, your slick coating him, the sound bouncing off the walls.

“Let’s get these off, yeah?” Steve breathed against your neck, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down your slender legs until he was knelt on the floor, he held onto your calf so gently as he helped your step out of the material.

He gripped the flimsy material between his fingers, the skimpy black lace soft in his hands. Steve pinched your chin between his finger and thumb, letting your mouth hang open for him.

“Y’gonna be a good girl baby and be quiet for me? Know how loud you can get when I’ve got my fingers in that pretty pussy.”

You nodded fervently, feeling your arousal gather between your legs. Your fingertips gripped Steve’s shoulders over the material of his shirt, his gaze focused on the lace between his fingers.

Eyes wide and glassed over, Steve placed the bundle of lace between your lips, watching with lust as a smirk donned his face. He let his fingers wander down your body, dancing over the soft silk material on your dress until they tucked up underneath, the pads of his fingers finding your clit with ease.

“Just need to make sure, love.” Steve whispered as his lips brushed against your jaw, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

His fingers rolled over your puffy clit so softly, so slowly. A total opposite of the way he was speaking to you, the filthy words he’d been whispering in your ears all night. But Steve liked to tease, like to push you to the brink in the slowest, cruelest way.

Steve let his thumb take over as his fingers slipped through your soaked folds, pussy wet and noisy as he dipped a single finger past your entrance. Your hole swallowing his digit, fluttering around him.

You moaned around the panties stuffed in your mouth, eyes flickering closed as your skin heated up, the cool tiles stinging cold against your shoulders. Steve added another finger, his thumb pressing into your clit as his fingers moved faster in and out of your cunt.

“Oh, does that feel good, honey?” Steve asked you, his larger frame trapping you against the wall. Your bodies pressed chest to chest, his crotch hard against your hip as his fingers were deep in your pussy.

A muffled whine worked its way past your lips, head nodding as your fingers found the stray hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck, tugging on the soft brown locks. Steve hummed against your neck at the gesture, teeth nipping and licking at your skin.

“Yeah? Bet you’ve been thinking about my fingers all night, hm?” Steve’s voice traveled through you like a sharp electrical current, tone low with a rasp that was reserved for the bedroom. 

You shook your head with a no, eyes glassy and head a little dizzy. Your mind raced with thoughts of Steve Steve Steve and nothing else. Nothing but your Steve and what he had in store for you. 

“No?” Steve quipped, fingers beginning to slow as he removed the lace from your mouth so you could speak. Shoving them in his back pocket, he spoke again,

“So what’s been going through that pretty little head of yours, huh, baby?”

“You, Stevie,” you mewled, canting your hips forward trying to urge Steve to move his fingers faster, “been thinkin’ ‘bout your cock.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, voice hushed and teasing, “What about my cock, hm?”

His fingers began to pick up the pace again, long digits pumping in and out, the sound of your wetness bouncing off the expensive looking tile. You struggled to speak, voice strangled as the pads of Steve’s fingers brushed over that sweet spot over and over again and again. 

“Jesus, Steve,” you whined, “need you inside me, fuck–” your eyes rolled back, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter with each thrust of Steve’s fingers. 

He hummed as his thumb came to rub on your clit, drawing your climax closer. “Oh, you dirty girl,” Steve cooed, “thinkin’ about me fucking you in this pretty dress of yours, huh? Gonna let me bend you over this counter, baby?”

“Yeah, yes,” you keened, “please, Stevie, I’ll let you do whatever you want.” 

It came off desperate, you knew that. But that’s exactly what you were. Desperate. Steve’s taunting and teasing, his suggestive looks from across the room, his hushed dirty words spoke into your ear. Fuck, he had you teetering over the edge all night. 

“You better be a good girl and cum f’me then, honey. Think you can do that?” Steve brushed his nose along the slope of yours, forehead pressed against your own, his thumb pressing harshly against your clit.

You managed to nod, your fingernails rooted in Steve’s firm shoulders. The man chuckled in front of you, a smirk painted across his lips as he moved his lips to your neck, soft lips pressing wet kisses on the sensitive skin there. You pushed your chest out into him, arching your back from the wall.

“Come on, cum for me, pretty girl,” Steve whispered against your skin, the sound of the palm of his hand slapping against your cunt rang throughout the bathroom, your breathy moans and pants the only other sound, “I know you’re there, baby, come on.”

“Fuck, m’gonna–” you whimpered, head dizzy and legs shaky. Eyes screwed shut as the coil inside spun tight, your orgasm right there.

“That’s it, honey. Such a good girl,” Steve cooed, fingers unrelenting in pace and depth, “look so pretty when you cum.”

Your chest heaved as you let out a string of strangled noises, moans and whines mixed into one as heat rolled throughout your body. Your features contorted in pleasure as Steve began to slow his fingers, lips planted firmly on the exposed skin of your shoulder, the strap of your dress falling down.

Steve moved his lips across your skin, shoulder to collarbone, down to your cleavage as he removed his fingers. Pulling away as he popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking your juices then releasing with a pop. 

“Y’gonna bend over this counter for me then, sweetheart, hm?” Steve’s hands travelled down your body, fingertips squeezing at your waist before he gathered the silk hem of your dress, ruching it up around your hips, “Watch your pretty little self get fucked in this mirror?”

He pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, a whimper falling from your lips straight past Steve’s. A noise he happily swallowed. Your silk dress still between his fingertips he let his hands grab at the flesh of your ass, pulling your frame from its place against the cool tile wall.

His lips still on yours, you nodded into the kiss, letting his hands push and pull against you. He pressed you against the counter, the cool marble pressing against your back. Steve tore himself away only to press fluttering kisses against your neck, hot, wet lips moving down your throat to your chest.

“Fuck,” he groaned, teeth nipping at your supple skin, “you drive me crazy, so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Steve,” you whined, skin flushed and eyes glassy, your fingernails combing through Steve’s soft locks, “please. Need you.” 

“Alright then, sweet thing.” He hummed against your chest, “since you’ve been such a good girl f’me all night.” 

Steve spun you around, pressing your stomach against the counter. He held the hem of your dress in one hand at the small of your back, his fingers wrapping around your hip, pulling your ass out into position for him.

He left wet kisses all down your neck to your spine, before he tugged at his own belt and pants, pulling them down just enough to free his stiff cock from its constraints. Steve hissed as the cool air of the bathroom washed over him, his fingers tugging over his cock softly.

Spitting in his palm, he wet his length before lining himself up with your entrance. You mewled as you felt the head of Steve’s cock push its way into your pussy, your walls fluttering around him. The man let out a loud groan behind you, his head rolling back with his eyes shut. 

You watched him from the mirror. His cheeks tinted pink, soft plump lips held between his teeth. Steve looked so pretty like this, so handsome, when his cock was buried deep inside you. Your dainty fingers wrapped around the pretty black marble as Steve began to move his hips.

It wasn’t long until Steve was buried inside you to the hilt, one hand grasping your shoulder for purchase, the other still holding to dress up. His eyes were trained on where his cock disappeared inside you, long deep strokes inside your cunt. His length covered in your juices every time he pulled away.

“That feel good, baby, huh?” Steve asked, his eyes hazy with lust, “Come on, tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”

Steve continued with the deep thrusts, his hips slapping against your ass with every move. He leaned over to brush his lips against the shell of his ear, “Slow and deep like this, honey?” He spoke quietly, a hushed whisper, voice like saccharine.

“Or,” he spoke again, something a little more menacing beneath his voice, “you wanna be fucked hard and fast?” 

Steve picked up the pace, hips moving fast, skin slapping against skin. You cried out in pleasure, moaning and whimpering as he stretched your pussy out so sweetly, a sting you craved regularly. Your body jolted forward with every thrust of his cock, his throaty groans ringing out from his chest.

“Oh, fuck, Steve–” you whined, eyes fluttering closed, “hard, please. Steve, fuck me hard.”

Steve chuckled all sinful, “Anything for my girl,” before he stood up straight, squeezing your hips in his large hands. He pulled out all the way before fucking himself back in until the base of his shaft was flush against your pussy, the creamy ring of your arousal sitting pretty on his cock.

“Pussy feels so good, shit,” Steve huffed, repeating his actions, the palm of his hand coming down against the flesh of your ass, “and she’s all for me, isn’t she honey? Such a sweet little thing.”

“Yes, Steve, yes,” you moaned, fingers clutching at whatever surface they could grab onto, “pussy’s yours. S’all for you, baby.”

“Damn fuckin’ right.” Steve groaned at your response, fingers squeezing your flesh tightly. His hips moved impossibly faster against your ass, the only sound to be heard was Steve’s skin slapping against your own over the faint sound of the music beyond the door. 

Incoherent whines and whimpers tumbled past your lips as your eyes squeezed shut. You yelped as Steve’s palm came down on your ass once again, surely leaving a pretty red mark for later.

“Nuh uh, come on, eyes open, princess.” Steve spoke, voice rasp and low, “Want you to watch when I make you cum again.”

Your eyes soon shot open when Steve snaked one of his hands in front of your body, fingers toying and brushing against your clit harshly. A strangled moan ripped from your throat as his thrusts never relented, the added pleasure of Steve’s fingers against your clit set your second orgasm in motion.

“Fuck, Steve,” you whined, “don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Yeah? My girl gonna cum again?” He cooed, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, his eyes trained on your face in the mirror, “Come on, baby, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Oh, Steve,” you wailed, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came to your climax. Your legs shaking, your fingers clutching at the surface to hold yourself up, your head lulled back against Steve’s shoulder.

“There you go, honey,” Steve mewled, hips never stopping, his thick cock chasing his own climax, “that’s my fuckin’ girl, make a mess all over my cock.”

You cried out his name, your whines ringing off the tiles. The sound of his name leaving your tongue sent him crashing over the edge, his abs tensing beneath his clean pressed shirt as he painted your walls with his orgasm. 

Steve breathed out a string of curses as he pressed his fingers into your hips, pretty lavender bruises left for later. His thrusts began to slow as he let every drop of his cum fill you up, his forehead sticky with sweat as he rested it against your shoulder.

Your breaths were both shallow, heavy and pent up as you both came down from your highs. The tension leaving your bodies as you returned back to reality. A quiet whine escaped Steve’s lips as he pulled his softening cock from you, watching as a pearl of his orgasm run down your thighs. 

Pulling your dress down for you as he pulled his pants back up, buckling his belt, Steve turned you back around, planting a soft kiss on your lips. He smoothed your stray hairs back down, his nose brushing along your own.

“Wanna get outta here, honey?” He spoke softly, a peck to your nose with a smirk across his face, “Round two at home? Whadd’ya say?”

You giggled in response, pushing him back by his chest,

“You’re unbelievable, Steve Harrington.”

[thoughtless-muse]

chapter summary: daryl dixon was everything you despised in a man: rude, unkempt, derisive, scornful and unarticulated. yet, daryl dixon was also everything you craved in a man: mysterious, rugged, self-sufficient, masculine, aloof, and much older than yourself. it was the worst sort of enigma to place yourself in, especially during the throes of a damn apocalypse – and yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail to try and get closer to the man who hadn’t even bothered to tell you his name himself.

word count: 3.6k

c/w: language, suggestive themes/thoughts, a bit dialogue heavy, younger!fem!reader, first meetings, older/younger, undisclosed age-gap, subtle bickering, instant attraction, brief allusions to death/loss, super minor angst (maybe?), pre-season one at the quarry camp

prologue: start of doomsday

being raised by a brother ten years your senior gave you ample time and experience to grow accustomed to being dubbed with various nicknames.

goob, goober, snot, shrimp, brat, princess – you’d heard all of those and many, many more. you had long since learned to let them bounce off of you, to simply roll with the flow and ignore them.

but when he’d given you a nickname, why, you simply couldn’t let it roll off your back; couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the exact moment he’d first called you it, couldn’t refrain from stewing over the way it had rolled – all gravelly, husky and derisive – off his tongue.

“well, ain’t’chu jus’ a doll, girly?”

doll.

he had called you a fucking doll.

and girly. as if you were some sort of child.

it was such a puerile thing to get hooked up on, something so trivial and immature – especially when compared to the more pressing concerns that you should be worrying about; such as the dead slobbering for your flesh and the dwindling food supplies within the camp.

maybe it was because when you had approached him you were just a hairs-width from a mental breakdown, the world nothing more than a mere crumble around you, and his rudeness acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back.

or maybe it was because you were simply trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake, and the moment he’d laid sight on you he decided he would harbor a personal vendetta against you, for no real reason other than he could – or wanted to.

you didn’t even know his name. and it had become painfully obvious that he’d taken great lengths to make sure no one in the camp did; when you’d approached shane about him moments after that fateful incident, shane had spared no more than a glance in the direction the man had stalked off in and shrugged.

“no idea who he is, really. he kinda just showed up.” was all shane had said, as if what had just transpired was trifling at best – and, deep down inside, you knew it was; a man copping an attitude with you was the least of shane’s worries, and it was petulant for you to expect him to place it above everything else that was already piled onto his platter, that it was stupid to expect him to do something about it as if he were a parent getting onto a child.

but you just couldn’t help it.

you hadn’t been able to help it for days.

those words rang through your head every time you saw him, sauntering around the camp with a scowl, lugging around that clunky crossbow like it was some sort of deterrent, like no one would be brave enough to approach him while he had it within his reach – it just flat-out irritated you.

you were only trying to be nice.

“I don’ need no damn help. I can find a tent jus’ fine!”

“prick.” you muttered under your breath, only realizing that you’d audibly expressed your distaste at the memory when a cool, damp hand gripped your bicep.

“you okay, (y/n)?” andrea asked softly, stroking her thumb over your skin soothingly. you shot the older woman a small smile, shirking off the irritation that had built under your skin from the mere thought of that man.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good, andrea. thanks.” you returned your focus to the bin of dirty laundry you had abandoned in favor of recounting sore memories and began to scrub near-viciously. this happened a lot, too, when you thought about him. the thoughts would pop up unprompted, and then everything else would fade away into mere white noise – you were sure it was incredibly frustrating for those who shared your assigned tasks each day.

andrea hummed softly and uncurled her fingers from your bicep to return her hand to her own basin once more. silence fell over the group of women washing clothes at the lakeside, nothing but the cries of forest birds, rippling water and churning splashes against the walls of multiple basins acting as a melody to the activity.

that was, until amy spoke up, her voice airy and strained by amusement that she tried to desperately to conceal. “so, uh, who’s a prick?”

you whipped your head over to glare at amy as muted giggles arose around you, and she vehemently avoided your eyes lest the smile teasing at her lips grew into a full on grin. heat flared over your cheeks and you blew out a puff of hot air, equal parts embarrassed and irritated that you were caught angrily musing over that man red-handed. again.

“no one.” you stated simply, voice weak even to your own ears; and with the way amy’s shoulders began to tremble with contained laughter, you knew she had picked up the lack of conviction within your tone as well.

she just knew you too well.

you had met the harrison sisters the morning after the bombing of atlanta. they had been among the group of people that shane had led to the quarry. amy was sociable, nice, and outgoing, fluttering around the camp and offering bottled water and protein bars to everyone around her. close in age, you’d clicked with her almost instantly, drawn in by her bubbly personality and likeness to yourself; the two of you had been nearly inseparable since, and you even considered her to be a best friend despite the fact that you’d met her only a little over a week ago – falling in with andrea seemed all but inevitable, and you couldn’t say you hated that.

andrea was more reserved than amy was, but no less kind. you weren’t sure if it was a facet of her personality or simply because she had seen the bond forming between amy and yourself, but andrea had, at some point, taken you beneath her wing and treated you as if you were an extension of her own family – it was comforting, but in some ways, it made your heart ache.

because you’d had that once before; had it in the form of broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and a voice of reason that could talk down even the most insane of serial killers.

you’d had it in the form of rick, ten years your senior and your best friend, tied to you by more than just shared blood.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, smiling through the sudden onslaught of ache within your chest. “I wasn’t talking about anyone.”

“okay.” amy responded simply, dragging out the ‘y’ in way that conveyed exactly how much she believed you in that instant. you chuckled lowly and shook your head, willing the pain in your chest to ebb away quickly, before it swelled to something too big to contain; a knot was forming in your throat, one that had become far too familiar within the past couple weeks, and swallowing it down was growing harder and harder.

amy’s attempt at prodding fell to silence again, one that the others seemed content in, completely ignorant to the turmoil roiling within you. the silence acted as a catalyst rather than a balm, an overwhelming force that prompted the small cut in your chest into a growing chasm, and in a desperate attempt to strike conversation and sow it back up, you said, “I was talking about that guy with the crossbow.”

laughter erupted around you – the first painful stitch. amy nudged you with her elbow with a light guffaw – the second stitch, a little less painful than the first.

“yeah, I kinda figured as much.” andrea acknowledged with a laugh. “you’ve been in knots over him ever since he first showed up.” the third stitch, nearly painless.

“I have not!” you rebuked, even though a small part of you knew it was true. the man had simply waltzed into camp one day, a string of squirrels thrown over one shoulder and his crossbow slung over the other, a scowl on his face and body covered in filth and grime. sweat glistened across his brow and over the skin of his exposed biceps, and when he spoke, it was with a southern drawl that had drawn you in nearly instantly.

he was attractive as hell, at least he was to you – you became instantly overwhelmed by the desire to talk to him, to know him, to get closer in some way; but perhaps you should have observed him a bit more before practically cornering him and offering your help. maybe then you would have been able to foresee his reaction, and you wouldn’t be in this torn-up state in the first place.

“he is a bit of a prick, though.” amy conceded. “I think the only reason shane allows him to stay is because he can hunt.”

that chasm had been successfully sewn up by now, but the flesh around it was still achy and sore, sensitive to any prod and poke. you’d have to tread carefully to avoid reopening it, at least for now.

“I’m sure he’s got other skills.” you weren’t sure why you were defending the man after just insulting him and stewing over him, but for some reason, it irked you for him to be likened to as a one-trick pony. maybe it was simply the cursed attraction you had to him.

“and I’m more than certain you’d love to figure out just what those other skills are.” jacqui, who had been stationed furthest from you, piped up for the first time. your mouth popped open, your eyes widened, and heat flared to your face while the others erupted into laughter. amy’s laugh was the most notable, loud and boisterous, and despite the slight mortification you felt at jacqui’s suggestive (but true) statement, you found yourself laughing along.

you wondered just how obvious you must have been about your attraction to the man for even jacqui to have noticed; you didn’t talk much with her, but when you’re sequestered into a camp fending for your lives against the walking dead, you supposed it was only natural to pick up on things about the people around you.

had the man noticed it, too?

after all, you had, without a doubt, noticed things about him; things that no one would notice unless they had their eyes on him a little too much.

you noticed the small things that made him attractive; the subtle age lines around his eyes and lips, the creases along his forehead, the bags beneath his bottom lids, the semi-permanent frown fixed upon his face.

you noticed the things about him that stirred your gut, that pooled heat between your legs and brought about carnal arousal within you; the broad width of his shoulders, the way those shirts with the cut-off sleeves framed and accentuated his biceps and torso, those small glimpses that his pants sometimes gave you of his package, the way he sauntered around, glaring at everyone, cold and unapproachable – like a dark, gloomy castle just waiting to be turned into someone’s conquest.

most of all, you noticed the clear difference in age between the two of you – fuck… it had to be at least ten years, right? if you were lucky, it may even be larger than that.

your gut twisted with the familiar sensation of arousal and your sex throbbed between your legs, prompting you to close your thighs together in an attempt to stop it. or maybe get some friction, you weren’t sure.

this was becoming a big, big problem.

“(y/n)! aunt (y/n)!”

a shrill, childish voice called out to you from the gravel road yards from the lake, effectively dousing the low-burning embers in your belly. you whipped your head back and cupped a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun. you smiled widely at the approaching form of carl, your one and only nephew, and discarded the wet shirt in your hand in favor of turning your entire body to face the boy.

“hey, carl! what’s up?” you questioned the exuberant child when he halted just feet away from you, panting heavily and dowsed in sweat. you reckoned he must have run all the way here from the camp. what an energetic youth.

“there’s something going down in camp. shane’s fighting with this weird guy! he has a gun!”

your heart tripped over itself and you quickly rose to your feet, shooting a hand out to grip carl by the shoulder and draw him closer. a threat of this magnitude hadn’t shown face in the camp yet, and despite the fact that it wasn’t within your jurisdiction to handle matters such as these, you couldn’t push down the instinct to do so.

“amy, could you finish up my part, please?” you asked kindly, sending the young blonde a pleading look from over your shoulder. she nodded and reached over to pull your basin closer to her, throwing a cheery “you owe me!” at your back and prompting a chuckle from your throat. uneasy murmurs had broken about amongst the women at the lake, though amy seemed unbothered by the same circumstances, focused completely on her task where as the others had slowed to a distracted crawl.

“yeah, I do, thanks. okay carl, take me to camp.” you ordered the boy, who nodded and shrugged your hand from his shoulder before dashing forward, kicking up dust from beneath his heels.

you swallowed down the command for carl to slow down that swelled in your throat and instead picked up your pace; if it was true that shane was currently grappling with someone, you couldn’t waste any time on chastising carl or slowing the pace. you had to get to camp to de-escalate the situation if it called for it.

by the time carl had broken through the foliage around the camp, your ears picked up the unmistakable rumble of shane’s voice; it held that same stern yet soft tone that he used when talking to criminal suspects – you’d been there when he’d done it before.

“… just hand me the gun and tell me your name, and we can get this all sorted.”

“I ain’t handin’ya my gun, pretty boy.” this voice was different; rugged and hoarse and dry, as if the owner of it had just chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. “alls I’m lookin’ fer is my brother. I don’ have any other business with ya.”

shane sighed heavily just as you broke through the green shrubbery surrounding the east side of the camp. his hands were glued to his hips, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in annoyance at the man a few feet in front of him. when carl had first mentioned a gun, you worried that the man may have been pointing it at the ex-officer, or others; but it was instead holstered at the man’s hip, untouched and non-threatening.

“look, man, I get that. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt anybody; but we’ve got women and children here, and you’re a stranger with a gun. I can’t take any chances. I’m sure you understand.” shane coaxed further, removing a hand from his hip and extending an open palm to the man. the man glared down at shane’s hand but made no further movement; he didn’t reach for his gun, nor did he shift his feet at all, hell, you couldn’t even tell if the man was breathing at this point. but it was obvious this man wasn’t a threat – but if shane continued to pester him this way, he very well could become one; and with carl right next to you, that was a chance you couldn’t take.

shane huffed loudly and you saw his fingers twitch, as if he were barely holding back from striking at the man. you swallowed down your trepidation and pushed carl back, clearing your throat subtly before marching right up next to shane to confront the man.

“what’s your brother’s name? maybe we can help you find him; if he’s here.”

two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped to you – one pair dark and narrowed in a harsh glare and the other quickly lighting up with barely-concealed interest. the stranger, a man with a buzz cut and wiry face, smiled widely at you, the tip of a pink tongue slipping just barely from between his lips as his eyes trailed your body. you pushed away the shiver that threatened to crawl up your spine and held the man’s gaze confidently until he was done with his blatant show of lewd conduct.

when his eyes met yours once more, there was a coy, feline smirk upon his lips, and his croaky voice had dropped a few octaves when he responded, “daryl. his name is daryl.”

for a moment, you sat silent, gnawing on your inner cheek and wracking your brain for just who ‘daryl’ could be. you didn’t know the names of every person in camp, but that list of unknowns was short – only three people. your heart constricted. could it be?

“so, your brother’s name is daryl. what’s yours?” shane piped up, voice edged with aggravation, as he rocked back on his heels and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. the stranger’s eyes never left your body as he opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that echoed back didn’t belong to him.

“merle? what’d’ya think yer doin’ here?”

you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know who the shambling footsteps behind you belonged to. your stomach twisted in on itself when a warm hand pushed you aside by the thick of your bicep, not too roughly but enough to have you stumbling slightly, the contact brief but enough to leave tingles in its wake. you glanced at the man between yourself and shane, taking note of the grimace on his face as he stared down the stranger.

the stranger, merle, took no heed to the glares that were fixed upon him. he smiled widely and threw his arms out as if expecting a hug.

“baby brother! isn’t it obvious? I’m here lookin’ fer ya.”

“you know him?” shane inquired, jerking his head in merle’s direction, eyes locked on the man between the two of you.

the man – daryl, as you now knew – shuffled on his feet and cast his eyes to the side, giving shane a brief once over. after that, daryl returned his eyes to merle and nodded.

“yeah. tha’s my brother.”

shane ran a shaky hand through his hair and chuckled hotly, muttering something underneath his breath. trepidation fluttered in your gut. you’d known shane long enough to know exactly what those mannerisms of his meant, and it didn’t spell anything good. you had a bad feeling shane was about to say something either highly stupid or highly impulsive; more than likely something that was both of those things at the same time.

“y’know, I don’t really have a problem with you, daryl. I never have. but this” – shane gestured to merle, who was still standing with his arms extended and that wide smile on his face – “is a bit dangerous. when you came here, you didn’t tell us jack about you; we didn’t know who you were, where you came from, or who you knew. and I didn’t bother to ask.”

daryl hadn’t moved a single inch since shane began speaking, eyes still fixed on merle, but the discomfort was plain as day on his face, and you felt irritation begin to bubble hot beneath your skin. granted, daryl was a haughty, antisocial prick, but why was shane acting like he did something wrong?

“I mean, this is just–”

“what’s your point, shane?” you cut the man off, a bit rudely, turning a sharp-eyed glare to him past daryl’s chest. shane’s eyes widened fractionally as if he hadn’t expected you to interject yourself, yet again, into a matter that he was handling on his own.

“my point is that daryl put us all in danger.” shane pressed, lowly, with a hand wave towards merle and dark eyes glaring daggers into yours. “we don’t know him, and we don’t know his brother. for all we know, merle could have stormed into camp, gun blazing-”

“but he didn’t.” you rebuked impatiently. you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head subtly to the side. “and that’s a risk that comes with everyone in the camp. we don’t know anyone here, other than each other. and even so, you haven’t seen me in three years. I may as well be a stranger, too.”

“that’s different. you’re like a little sister to me.” shane rebutted, prompting an eye roll and hip jut from you. you wouldn’t consider shane a brother even if he’d spent every moment of your youth with you. you swallowed down that statement in favor of keeping yourself on track with the real issue at hand.

“my point still stands. nothing bad happened, so why don’t you just cool your jets and back off a bit?”

shane’s lips thinned into a line, dark eyes darting between you, daryl and merle a couple times before he heaved a great sigh.

“okay, fine, you’re right. nothing happened. but I’d still like to have a conversation with both of you, if that’s alright.” shane conceded, directing his final statement at the two brothers still locked in a stare down. daryl only gave the tiniest of nods to display that he’d even acknowledged shane’s statement, and, satisfied with the knowledge that tensions had been quelled, you turned on your heel to head back to the lake and check on the progress of the laundry.

unbeknownst to you, the event that had just transpired would turn out to be the catalyst to a soon-to-come tension between shane and yourself, as well as the act that had garnered you a modicum of respect and interest from the rude, attractive man that you were sure would never even notice you; and that little problem that you thought was becoming much too big was only going to grow larger, and very quickly.

chapter one

a/n: tbh I struggled a bit with this one. it is just a prologue, a means of setting up the deeper story, but I still wanted it to come out as good as possible, and I feel I didn’t quite articulate that. but before this finalized version, I went through at least three drafts before finding this one to be somewhat adequate. if you guys enjoyed this one nonetheless, please show it some love! if you’re looking forward to more updates, consider following or being added to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown

[originalfatfiction]

Andy's Assistant

“Hello, excuse me.” There was a gentle rapping at my office door that caused me to look up from my computer. “Are you Andrew Reynolds?” I looked at a young guy obviously in his early twenties. He smiled cheerily as he stood in the doorway, waiting for my response. His smile was gorgeous, his teeth immaculate.

“Yes, I’m Andrew Reynolds,” I replied. “How can I help you?” He smiled again before he continued, walking a little further into my office. 

“Well, the receptionist at the desk in the waiting area said it would be okay if I came on back.” I nodded, allowing him to continue. “My name is Parker Jeong and I applied for the job as your assistant. We had the interview over the phone early last week. I was in the process of moving to the area.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” Recent college grad. Moving from California. Could start working immediately.

“I know that you mentioned wanting to meet in person before finalizing my employment.” He smiled again, and even with the wholesome smile on his face, I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. He had beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and he did his best to hold my gaze. He toyed anxiously with the crisp sheet of paper in his hand, which I assumed was a hard copy of his resumé. He was probably scared I wouldn’t want to hire him after all. Imagine moving across the country for a job only to be told the position had already been filled.

“I know you just graduated a few months ago,” I verbalized. “But from what I remember you telling me during our phone conversation and what I saw on the resumé you emailed over, you’re more than qualified to work as an administrative assistant.”  

“Thank you, sir. I brought a hard copy of my resumé with me,” he said.

“Let me take another look.” He walked closer to my desk and handed it to me. I looked it over, recalling most of the standout credentials. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

Parker had majored in marketing with a minor in graphic design. He’d spent his final semester involved in a mentorship program for Asian-Americans interested in working in advertising. He graduated magna cum laude. Hell, he was overqualified for this position. 

“You’re sure you want this job?” I asked. “You could definitely get a position as a copywriter at another agency.” 

“Hathaway and Associates is the best agency in the entire Midwest. I’ve dreamed of working here since I decided I wanted to go into advertising. The commercials you all put out for Nike were astonishing.” The kid had done his research. 

“What about those commercials did you like so much?” 

“They had this sense of authenticity that I don’t think we see much of anymore. Those ads gave me the courage to join a gym.” I wondered what he’d think if he knew the portly executive in front of him had come up with the concept that inspired his fitness journey. 

“I want more for my career, yes, but I don’t plan on shirking my responsibilities as your assistant. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of, sir.”  

I was a pretty good judge of character, and I didn’t think Parker would let me down. I liked his honesty. It was refreshing. My previous assistants had never been my choice, often young adults that had some sort of connection to the other executives at the agency. “Well, I look forward to working with you.”

“I look forward to working with you too,” he replied, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood, and his eyes traveled upwards to my face. Maybe he couldn’t tell I was so tall behind my desk, but it seemed like he was surprised by my size. I tended to have this effect on people. I grabbed his hand, and we shook to seal the deal of his hiring.

“Head to human resources and get your paperwork finalized. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. We start at nine.” He thanked me again, clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as he left my office. I bet he skipped down the hallway all the way to HR.

I knew he’d work hard. That was certain. But when it came to how sexy he was, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I assumed Parker was gay, and he was definitely a little snack I could see myself sinking my teeth into, but I had to remind myself that I was in a position of power over him. Even if I wanted to see what he was working with underneath his exquisitely tailored slacks, flirting with him was a no-go. And besides, that little gym bunny probably had no interest in a grizzly bear like me.

The next morning, I got to work a little early and Parker was sitting at his station right outside of my office. He had a dozen donuts on his desk and two coffees, one much larger than the other.

“Hello Mr. Reynolds,” he said. “Please let me know what I can do to help you this morning.” He handed me the larger coffee and a napkin before smoothly opening the box of donuts. I recognized them immediately. They were from a trendy new spot that had opened a few months ago. They specialized in unique flavors, like maple-bacon and Fruity Pebbles.

“You sure know how to make an impression.” 

“I told you that I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of.” I grabbed one of the donuts, knowing I’d be coming back out for another within the next fifteen minutes.

“Let me get situated and I’ll let you know what you can do for me.”

“Yes sir.”

I wondered if he knew what he was doing to me with all this “Mr. Reynolds” and “Yes sir” business. My last assistant was a statuesque redhead who never tried to go above and beyond the requirements of her position. Which was fine, I got it. She did what she was paid for. But sometimes I think she messed things up on purpose so I wouldn’t give her more work to do. I barely got a hello from her in the morning, and she left promptly at five without so much as a farewell. 

I shuffled into my office, tossing my bag on one of the chairs opposite my desk. I bit into the donut, savoring its sweetness. It tasted like a Biscoff cookie, and I was almost certain the glaze was made from cookie butter. I took a slightly larger bite before shoving the rest of the pastry into my awaiting mouth. That donut never stood a chance. I already wanted another, but I needed to show some self-restraint. I couldn’t let Parker know I spent my working hours inhaling food three minutes into his first day.

About ten minutes later, Parker was knocking at my door, box of donuts in hand.

“We’re celebrating today, Mr. Reynolds,” he said, walking towards my desk. “I’ve already had two of these. I’m going to leave the box with you so you don’t have to worry about coming back for more.”

“Well, uh, you don’t want to offer them to some of the other assistants?”

“No, sir,” he said, coyly setting the box to the left of me at my L-shaped desk. “This is for me and you, sir.”

Damn did Parker know the way to a big man’s heart. Having the box within arm’s reach, I finished the rest of that dozen by noon.

The donuts were one thing, but Parker was constantly supplying me with snacks throughout the day. He’d brought me homemade blueberry muffins and brown butter chocolate chip cookies. He’d made me buttery croissants, decadent fudge brownies, and Oreo cheesecake bites. I wondered if he was making his way through a cookbook.

“It’s just a hobby,” he said offhandedly when I mentioned he didn’t have to bring me so many treats. “I guess I got carried away.”

“You just always bring so much. I hope you know I’m not expecting you to bring something every single day. I don’t want you to feel put out.”

“It’s just how I unwind,” he said. “Before I moved here, I had three roommates. Now that I live alone, I don’t have anyone else to share them with. I’m really sorry for assuming you wanted them.”

“Whoa!” I interjected. “I never said I didn’t want them.” This made him laugh. I didn’t mind the baked goods. I woke up salivating thinking about what new thing he’d have for me to munch on, but it was never just a sampling of his work. The portions were huge. When he showed up with his reusable containers, it always brought to mind something that would normally be placed in the breakroom for everyone in the office to sample—like a baker’s dozen of white chocolate raspberry mini-Bundt cakes or an entire pan of M&M Rice Krispie Treats.

The baked goods were just the cherry on top of having an excellent assistant. He was definitely the best one I’d ever had, a really fast learner for sure, but his competence as an office worker was second to his ability to cater to my often insatiable hunger. A month of Parker’s special treatment was damaging to my waistline. Being catered to by him turned me on beyond belief, and it was something new for me. In my past relationships, my love of food was never celebrated. Parker’s eyes seemed to light up when I munched on whatever he brought me. “It’s not too chocolatey?” he’d asked, pushing another confection my way. It was never too chocolatey. It was always perfect, just like him.

He greeted me with baked goods each morning and made sure to say goodbye before heading out every evening, carrying with him an empty Tupperware container or pie dish. Aside from the extra thousand-plus calories a day I was inhaling from his delicious goodies, he always made sure to have lunch delivered for me.

He talked to me more than any of my other assistants ever had. Almost like he was trying to get to know me on a more personal level. It had me looking forward to going to work, a feeling I hadn’t had in quite a while. It might have been unintentional, but Parker’s interest, even if it was just platonic, was boosting my ego. My old assistants barely ever looked in my direction, but this guy wanted to know what my favorite movies were and what I liked to do for fun. This attention from him was electrifying. My brain knew being this infatuated with him was no good, but my heart (and my stomach) didn’t care.

Even now, none of the interns or other assistants ever talked to me unless absolutely necessary. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a topic of conversation. They all definitely talked about me. I was big, yes. But I also had a resting serious face. Combined with my intimidating frame, they thought of me as some sort of beast. I once made an intern cry during a pitch meeting because I “looked like I was going to bite her head off.” I now made more of an effort to smile, even when there was no reason to. I also tried to ignore the implications of this, considering I was one of four black men on staff.

To the other execs, I was more of the office joke. I was younger than most of them by fifteen years, so they viewed me as some sort of kid brother. It was always a crack here or a joke there. When I landed the Nike account they all thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of the world.

“Andy?” one of them had guffawed, barely able to get out what he wanted to say. “When was the last time you saw the inside of a gym? And Nike went with your pitch?”  

But it was something I had become accustomed to; all throughout school I was the big guy people joked about or avoided. Adults always thought I was with the wrong group of kids in elementary school because I was a head taller than the other boys. As if I wasn’t already too big, I had another growth spurt the summer before freshman year of high school. At fourteen my dad began teaching me how to lift weights. My body developed rapidly, and it took me a long time to get comfortable with those changes. By the time I was eighteen, I was larger than my father, who was by no means a small man. My weight sort of leveled out in my early twenties, and I graduated college at my current height and 270 pounds.

Joining the workforce was frightening, yet liberating. I had disposable income and the ability to make my own life decisions. I began working where I was currently employed as a copywriter two months after getting my degree. Lots of late nights and hard work helped me rise in the ranks. I was promoted to the executive level three years ago, and had run through five assistants in that time. I was now thirty-two, unmarried, and a little stifled.

I spent most of my time working. I hadn’t had a hookup in literal years, and to be frank, I didn’t see one happening in the near future. I used to be able to lean into being the big, burly guy who’d had one too many beers. I walked the line between dad-bod and straight-up fat guy for as long as I could before I was promoted. Being an executive meant a lot more responsibility and a lot less free time. My tri-weekly lifting sessions were now a thing of the past. I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds then, but now I was over 350 pounds.

Having Parker as my assistant only exacerbated my feelings of loneliness (and horniness). He probably didn’t even know I was gay and very much into his tight slacks and obedient disposition. The last month had been amazing, yet torturous.

“I have your forms, Mr. Reynolds.”

I told him he could call me Andy, or even just Andrew, but he never did. It was about lunch time and I was getting a bit restless. Maybe I’d run off my other assistants with my multiple food orders throughout the day. I seemed to simply exist in a state of hunger. I was also slightly convinced I couldn’t do my best work on an empty stomach.

I looked at Parker standing in front of me. His dark brown hair was short and very stylish. My hair was cut in a neat fade and my facial hair was thick. I’d kept a standing appointment with my barber every Sunday morning at ten for the last five years.

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to take the manila folder that contained the forms from him. Like some cheesy porno with ridiculous circumstances to set up a sexual scenario, the folder fell through my fingers, all the papers scattering on my office floor.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed. “That’s my bad.” He bent over to pick up the documents, noticing there were more papers to gather than he first realized. He then got on his knees in front of my desk and once again I got to take in his beautiful ass. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight against his butt. His back was slightly arched, as if advertising himself to me. What I wouldn’t give to be bucking my hips behind him. I thought about fucking him constantly, and it had become an obsession. I’d definitely gotten the vibe that he was gay, but I had some serious doubts he’d ever want to hook up with me. “Here you go,” he said, hopping to his feet and handing me the papers.

Almost like it was trying to embarrass me and purposely kill my arousal, my stomach growled.

“Sorry,” I said. I couldn’t believe how hot my face got. My stomach growling was only going to draw attention to the fact that I was twice his size. The portion of goodies I received from Parker at the start of the day was on the smaller side, so that hadn’t helped to dull my hunger pains.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “It’s lunchtime.” I felt my face go hot once more.

“Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry.”

“You’re a pretty big guy. I get it.” He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “Do you, maybe, want to take lunch with me today?” 

“I’ve never eaten with one of my assistants before,” I said, in disbelief he wanted to spend time with me outside of the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can just pick something up for you if you’d prefer—”

I stood quickly, not wanting to pass up any opportunity to talk to him about topics not related to copies or signatures or meetings. My gut shook a bit with the momentum. The buttons had given me a difficult time when getting dressed, and I needed to get some new shirts.

“I’m free for lunch,” I exclaimed. “We can go now.”

There were a ton of restaurants in the downtown area. I asked what he wanted to eat and he deferred to me, claiming he wanted me to get whatever I was craving. If I were able to get whatever I was craving, it would be the Parker Jeong meal, extra sauce. He’d probably think that was so cringe. I sighed to myself.

“There’s this place called The Coop,” I said, giving my second choice for lunch. “They serve Nashville style hot chicken.”

At the restaurant he got a normal sized portion of food for a normal sized person, and I wanted to be good, but I needed to replace the lust I was feeling with something else, and that something else was two Nashville hot chicken sandwiches, a large fry, baked beans, coleslaw, and a strawberry mint frozen lemonade.

He didn’t even bat an eye, offering to pick up our trays while I waited at the table. I knew he was just being nice to me because I was his boss. I’d paid for the food, so he was probably just still in assistant mode.

“Order up,” he said, returning to where we sat, setting my overstuffed tray in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking in his tray with three tenders and a medium fry.

“Do you like to eat here a lot?” he asked, sipping from his unsweetened iced tea. Coming from someone else, that would’ve felt like a jab, but from him it just felt conversational.

“I do like this place a lot. Especially for the downtown area. The portions aren’t skimpy and it tastes pretty good too.”

“What other places do you like?”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” I said, digging into my first sandwich. “There’s Tripp’s for seafood, Curry House for Indian, Miss Janie’s for BBQ, oh yeah—Sub Daddy has these huge hoagies. Best in the city. And they’re open late!”

“Sub Daddy?” he laughed. “What kind of name is that?”

“Well, maybe they’re leaning into the innuendo?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he said, looking down at his tenders. “We’ll have to eat there together soon, though Dom Daddies are actually more my speed.”

Was that directed towards me? There was no chance. Absolutely no way. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t coming on to me. But still—even if his comment meant nothing, I could feel myself getting hard. 

I took another big bite of my sandwich, trying not to fuck things up. If I lost another assistant they’d probably open an investigation or something to figure out what I did to keep running them off.

“So, um, how’s your food?” I asked, deflecting. 

The vibes never quite got back on track after that. I was too wound up and way too invested in my food. If my inability to hold conversation wasn’t enough to scare him off, me stuffing my face for fifteen minutes straight surely did the job.

We made our way back to the office and finished up for the day. It was a little after five when Parker peeked his head into my office. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Reynolds.” He hesitated for a moment. “Oh, and thanks for lunch.” 

“No problem. I enjoyed your company.” I did enjoy his company. Even with how poorly I felt things went, it was nice being out in public with him. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a date and only lunch between colleagues.

“About the joke I made,” he started, stepping completely into my office and closing the door. “I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”

“Don’t even sweat it,” I said, knowing I sent him into this spiral because I was now inept at talking to cute men. Things had been so much easier ten years ago.

“I am gay,” he continued. “I know some people feel a type of way about that sort of thing. I just don’t want it to ruin our relationship.”

“You don’t need to disclose your sexual orientation, there are policies in place to protect people from discrimination in the workplace and I’d never treat you poorly because of something like that because—”

“Because you’re a really good boss, I know. I’m sorry I even thought you’d treat me differently. It’s just—the real world is way different than a college campus.”

I was about to come out to him. What did I even think was going to happen? Were we going to fuck, me taking control as his sought after Dom Daddy? I was being ridiculous. Of course he was concerned about his career. 

“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have to catch up on some work for that supercenter presentation next week.” He started to take off his jacket. “No need to do that, Parker.”

“I can help,” he said. 

“No, that’s okay. Don’t ruin your evening,” I said, still feeling embarrassed by this whole debacle. I could use his help. The copy room was unbearably small and I didn’t want to have to keep squeezing in and out of there. 

“But if you need my help, I can help.” He smiled. “It’s my job. I’m your assistant.” 

I was glad he wanted to help me. He was truly the best assistant I‘d ever had and not just because he had such a fantastic ass. I didn’t want to come across as demanding or difficult to work with, but selfishly, I wanted to spend more time with him.

“Well, okay,” I relented. “As long as you’re free.” 

“I’ll order us something from Sub Daddy,” he said, heading back out to his station. “It’s been hours since lunch. You can’t focus on an empty stomach.”

After that, we worked late a lot, and went to lunch together even more often. He was more than willing to try new restaurants with me, always encouraging me to order as much as I wanted. He always offered to treat me, but I never let him. What sense did that make? He only ever ate a fourth of what I did.

His personality was pleasant, which didn’t make it easier for me to stifle my crush on him. Who wouldn’t be into him? He was smart, hardworking, fun, and considerate. He knew how to bake and never made me feel bad about eating what I wanted. I had gotten into the habit of eating more and more when I was around him. I hardly noticed until all the food was gone. I found myself to be less nervous when I was stuffing my face. It felt less likely that I’d say something dumb. When I was 70 pounds lighter, I was way more willing to flirt or say something corny to make a guy laugh. But now I felt like everything I said or did seemed desperate. And so instead of talking, I stuffed my face. In the two months Parker had been working with me, I’d gained ten pounds.

On our late nights, I always told him he could leave but he never did. Not once.

That was enough to keep my delusional fantasies about him going.

He started mentioning clubs and bars, asking if I’d ever want to go with. I figured it was just a gesture, and I was way too rusty to ever take him up on the offer, but maybe one day I could. The more I got to know him, the more I found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in me too.

My pants had gotten even tighter; I needed some new ones. My thighs filled them out completely and my ass was getting pretty big too. I’d never gotten around to getting those new shirts, and now I needed new pants. I had to face it. I was fat, and with my habits, I was just going to keep getting fatter.

It was late October, and one of the other execs was celebrating his fiftieth. His assistant and a few of the interns had organized a little office party for him after lunch. I’d already eaten these really delicious chocolate covered pretzel sticks Parker made me and something he’d picked up for me from The Coop for lunch.

Everyone filed into our largest conference room. There were a few toasts and it was a decent time overall. Then the cake was revealed. It was from a nice bakery near our office that people always used when doing festive things like this. 

It was time to admit to myself that I loved sweets, and with Parker’s kind gestures, I had tried tons of things I’d never eaten before.

I moseyed on over to the cake, planning to only have a piece. Just enough to be polite to the planning committee. But it was delicious. It was a strawberry lemon layer cake, the perfect marriage between tart and sweet flavors. The lemon cake layers were separated by a delightful strawberry compote (a term I’d learned from Parker), which was also incorporated into the rich buttercream frosting. 

By the time I finished my (substantial) piece, Parker discreetly replaced my empty plate with another that had an even larger slice. He did this three more times while we mingled with others from the office. I must have ended up having a third of that cake to myself. 

Returning to my office after the celebration gave me time to reflect. I tried to get some work done, but it was hard to focus, especially with the buttons on my yet to be replaced shirt and slacks straining.

What was Parker trying to do? Was he simply being an attentive assistant or was he subtly making fun of me? Or maybe I was just too in my head and he was attracted to me? He’d never done or said anything that alluded to disliking me because of my size. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to me because of it either. I looped through variations of the same arguments over and over.

I must’ve overanalyzed those different scenarios for a good fifteen minutes before shifting my focus back to work. I’d already sent Parker to the art department to collect some mock-ups we’d need, but I couldn’t move forward in my current task without making some photocopies. 

I was going to have to face the dreaded copy room.

Minutes later, I stood outside of the copy room. I paused momentarily to psych myself up before proceeding. The room was not spacious to begin with, but with multiple built-in cabinets full of office supplies on one wall and a line of photocopiers on the other, the only space for a person to move was a narrow strip of floor down the middle of the room. I walked up the aisle to one of the machines in the center of the room.

So far, so good. I made one of my copies, and proceeded to the next. Still good. I moved on to my last document. That’s when the machine jammed.

“Fuck me,” I said to myself, sighing. I took a step back, my ass already brushing against a cabinet. I leaned forward, opening the side panel and noticing the jammed paper immediately. This would be an easy fix, thankfully. I was bending my knees slightly, and I could feel the fabric of my slacks pulling tight against my beefy behind. It might have just been my anxiety, but I swear I could feel the stitch on the rise of my pants stretching to its limit. I made a mental note to myself that at this point some new items in my wardrobe were necessary, not optional.

I removed the jammed paper, made my last copy, and swiftly made my exit from that claustrophobic space. Bull in a china shop, meet Andrew Reynolds in the copy room. 

I paused for a moment, as I could hear Parker’s voice.

“I really should be getting back.”

“Come on, Parker. You can’t actually like working with Andy.” I backpedaled before I could be seen. It was Antoinette, one of the office gossips. She’d been close with my previous administrative assistant.

“Yeah, I do,” Parker said, sounding somewhat bothered. “He’s really very nice. And super smart.” Whoa. He was actually sticking up for me. I could hardly believe it.

“You’re gay, right?”

What a segue. Antoinette was likely upset he wasn’t down to badmouth me, ready to move the conversation in a direction she found more interesting.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said, his tone slightly more annoyed. 

“You don’t like him, do you?” Antoinette pushed. “Because you’re probably barking up the wrong tree with that one. He’s never been with anyone since I started here, and it’s been seven years.”

“Mr. Reynolds might just be a private person. He could have a wife and kids at home. You don’t know.” At this, she laughed.

“I highly doubt that.” Parker likely made a face, as she then said, “Now don’t give me that look. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I hadn’t realized how much you looked up to Andy.” She couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic.

“Like I said,” he reiterated. “I really should be getting back.”

“Okay, wait. I only bring it up because there’s someone else in the office who is interested in you.” She sounded like some sort of matchmaker.

“Toni, please.” He sounded even more irritated. “I don’t think my love life is any of your business, and I don’t need you to hook me up with anyone.”

“Mark is the one that wanted me to talk to you. He really likes you,” Antoinette continued. Mark was a copywriter that had started two or three years after I did. He’d never gotten over the fact that I’d been promoted and he hadn’t.

“I’m flattered, truly,” Parker replied. “But please tell him I’m not interested.”

“Fine, but here’s his card anyway.” There was a slight pause. “But you’ve got to be real with me. Working with Andy must be hard. I heard from his last assistant that he was so demanding, and not about work matters. She spent most of her time placing food orders and picking up his take-out.” She laughed. “Did you see all that cake he ate at Dave’s party this afternoon? That’s why he’s not with somebody. Who wants to date a pig?” I felt my stomach tighten in embarrassment.

“Watch how you speak about my boss,” Parker responded. “This conversation is over.”

“Fine, I swear—” I could hear her heels clicking on the linoleum of the hallway as she walked away from the corner in which they’d been speaking. I could then hear Parker’s steps as he headed towards the copy room. 

I froze.

What could I do? There was nowhere to hide. I was in the world’s smallest copy room, and even if there was somewhere to hide, there was no way I’d fit into that hiding spot. I just stood there, ready to face the awkwardness. He turned the corner quickly, bumping into my stomach.

He stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He dropped all the samples from the art department. I could feel that tight feeling in my stomach again, my mouth going dry. He must have known I was listening.

“Mr. Reynolds?” he mused. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He knelt down and started picking up the papers.

“No apologies, please. It’s my fault.” 

I bent over quickly to help him and there was a loud ripping sound. The same seam in my pants that had worried me moments before gave way. I could tell immediately that my pants had split down the back.

I stood up straight immediately. I could feel his eyes on my face. 

“Andrew,” he said softly. 

No, not the pity. I could feel it coming, and that would make me feel worse. I pushed past him, leaving him alone in that tiny room to gather the scattered papers. I waddled awkwardly back to my office to grab my jacket. I didn’t want the pants to rip anymore than they already had. I needed to get some new slacks. 

Taking a moment, I looked in the mirror on the back of my office door. My blue button up shirt didn’t hide my large, round belly. I’d really let things get bad these last few months. I had completely lost all restraint since meeting Parker. I was happy-eating when he brought me his baked goods. I was nervous-eating when we went out to lunch together. I was sad-eating at home when I thought about how much it sucked to have unrequited feelings. 

My love handles sloped away from my torso down over the side of my pants. My pants looked like they’d been painted on my meaty thighs. When did my face get so round? If I shaved my beard how many chins would I find? More than the one I remembered when I started working here ten years ago? I had once had a square jaw, but I knew now it would be backed by a second chin, with a new layer of fat likely being formed behind that. My round cheeks made my eyes look smaller than they were in my youth. I even had a light dabbling of sweat on my forehead from my dash back into my office.

“Mr. Reynolds?” Parker called gently as he knocked at my door. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” I said, speaking slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he inquired. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I need to head out for an errand, so please make sure you reschedule the rest of my meetings this afternoon.” 

“Do you need to go shopping?” he asked. 

I could have leaped from my office window—and we were on the twentieth floor. Any chance of ever being with Parker was surely ruined. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get this interaction over with. I opened my office door. 

“I could help you pick some things out,” he suggested. “I am your assistant. And I know it’s a stereotype, but I have a pretty good fashion sense.” He was trying so hard to be nice to me. 

“This is my problem.” I was still speaking slowly, forcing the words out in a way that likely came off as short. “This is a personal matter, not something to do with work.”

He didn’t say anything. He turned and walked over to his desk, rummaging in one of the drawers. He held a tiny sewing kit in his hands as he strode back over to where I stood. He placed his hand on my stomach, pushing me back into the office before closing the door.

“I understand you would rather shop alone, but I’m not going to let my boss walk around with a split in his pants.” What was he expecting me to do? Strip? There was no way.

“Parker—”

“We don’t have to make a big deal out of this, sir,” he said. “Just take off your pants and hand them here. I can mend them in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Really, that’s not necessary.”

He just stood there, looking at me expectantly. I didn’t want to walk around exposed until I could get to a clothing store. It would only take him fifteen minutes. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt. It was a brown leather material that matched my loafers, which I’d slid out of before shimmying out of my too-tight navy slacks.

I could see myself in the mirror behind my office door again. Here I was in my boxer briefs, Parker standing right in front of me, and it wasn’t a scenario I’d previously imagined. He crouched down in front of me, grabbing the pants so I wouldn’t have to bend over.

He inspected the rip for a moment. “This is perfect. It’s not frayed or anything.”

“You really think you can fix them?”

“A temporary fix, yes.” He walked towards one of the extra chairs in my office and had a seat. Things were silent for a few minutes as he threaded the needle and got started on the repair. I’d taken a seat behind my desk and watched him work.

His skin was so smooth, his lips kissably full, his nose a little large for his face.

“I can see why these split,” he said, not looking up from his work. His words abruptly hit me and filled the silence in a way that sat heavy on my mind.

“Me too.” He still hadn’t looked up at me. He just continued mending my pants. 

“I knew I needed new ones, and I—” The words got caught in my throat. I was already embarrassed, so maybe it was time for me to just speak honestly, but speaking honestly kind of felt like admitting defeat. It felt like I was giving up on taking things in an intimate direction with Parker. “I’ve been putting it off. They probably could’ve held on a bit longer, but I’ve put on some weight recently.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Guys like you don’t get it. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“What if I wanted you, Andrew?”

He finally looked up from his work. I must’ve been looking at him stone faced, because his bravado faltered almost immediately.

“Mr. Reynolds—I’m so sorry. That was out of line.”

Parker’s confession allowed me to push past that voice in my head that explained away all the things he did as platonic. He liked me. He wanted me. He’d said so himself.

Before the self-doubt set in, I had to shoot my shot. I’d sulk about my split pants late at night years from now, but right at this moment I refused to return to that negative place. He wanted a Dom Daddy, and that was a role I was more than willing to play.

“What if I told you I wanted to fuck you right now?” His face reddened considerably. I’d never seen him so worked up before, and that made me more confident. “Since the day I hired you, I’ve thought about what it’d feel like to be inside of that sweet ass.”

“Sir—”

“C’mere,” I said in a low voice. He stood, placing my slacks in the seat he’d gotten up from, and gingerly made his way to where I sat behind my desk. He looked down at me slightly as I sat, but we were essentially still on eye level with one another. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his lips parted slightly in lust. He pressed his crotch into my gut as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel his erection through his khakis.

I reached up and palmed his ass, holding a cheek in each hand. He really was stacked back there. He moaned slightly, pressing his dick further into my stomach. We continued kissing, and I pulled him even closer into myself.

I could have kissed him like this for hours, but he pulled away after a few minutes. His palms were pressed against my sagging chest, which sat atop my heavy middle. He slid his hands down my front before resting them on the part of my gut that sat out the farthest. Normally, my first instinct would have been to suck it in, but I realized how useless that would have been. There was no hiding it anymore.

He patted my stomach gently before moving his hands beneath it, lifting it and bouncing it up and down slowly. I could see his hardness through his khakis, so it was clear that he was enjoying himself. If I were to be honest with myself, I was enjoying the belly play too. I’d never had someone focus so intently on my gut before.

I stood up, and he tilted his head back to continue meeting my gaze. I had to play this correctly. I knew he made a joke about liking dominant men, but I wasn’t certain it was actually what he was into.

“Get on your knees,” I said, staring down at him.

“Yes sir.”

He knew what I wanted. He pawed at my underwear until it was around my ankles. My dick bobbed freely now, level with his line of sight. The closer he got to me, the harder I got and the harder it was to see him. He reached up with one hand to hold my belly out of the way and with the other he grabbed the base of my dick.

“Get to work,” I instructed. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he wrapped his mouth around my dick. It had been a while, but I couldn’t recall a better blow. He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. His one hand gently massaged the base of my gut as he continued sucking me off. I’d been with people who liked that I wasn’t rail thin, but never with someone like Parker. Everything was adding up. The special treats, the lunches together, the cake at the party this afternoon. He liked me being fat, and I was now fairly certain he wanted me even fatter. “I’m about to cum.”

He didn’t stop his work. He simply slowed his pace, teasing my dick with his tongue in a different way. The switch in sensation caused me to erupt. A heavy stream of cum shot from my dick into his mouth and he made sure to get every last drop. I let go of his hair, stepping back so I could have a seat.

I was panting heavily, my underwear around my ankles, gut rising and falling with each deep breath I took. He looked up at me from his place on the floor. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. I could still see his erection through his khakis. Damn, he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. I could hardly believe he was experiencing such intense lust over me.

“You’re something else,” I said, still catching my breath. “And I can’t believe it, but I’d kill for another piece of that cake right now.”

That had him up on his feet, speed-walking from my office and back to the conference room. He was so out of it, he’d probably run to that bakery to get me another piece if he had to.

This shift in our relationship was going to be interesting.

I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen immediately following our initial sexual encounter, but we went about our weekends like nothing had changed. After eating one of the final slices of that cake from the office party, I left early to purchase some new clothing items. He texted me, and I replied, but neither of us mentioned what had happened.

So Monday morning came and I had spent the entire weekend eating optimistically. I thought about how much he’d want me to be eating good. At one point, I googled “gay fat fetish” and found there was a whole world of people not only into big guys, but into big guys getting even bigger. Maybe he’d bring it up, but now I wanted to test the waters a little. What sort of things would get him going? I was excited to find out. Monday morning, I was hard the entire commute to work thinking about demolishing whatever Parker planned to put in front of me. 

I walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would lead me to the twentieth floor. I noticed Parker making his way toward the elevators. Just seeing him existing in the world made me so fucking happy. I almost didn’t even notice that Mark was right next to him. I hit the door open button quickly, wanting to be near Parker as soon as possible, even if that meant sharing the space with Mark. The doors stayed open, and they both got on.

“Good Morning, Mr. Reynolds.” He smiled up at me. He was carrying a tote bag, and like some sort of sugar-addicted bloodhound, I was almost certain I could smell cinnamon. 

“Parker, hey,” I said, covering my crotch with my bag. Just hearing him say my name was turning me on, giving me a semi. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Hello Andrew,” Mark said. To be completely honest, I’d blocked him out almost immediately. He and I weren’t on the best terms, especially after my promotion.

“Hey Mark.”

“Are you still hitting the gym?” he asked. “Since you got that promotion, I’ve noticed a change in your appearance. I’m sure you’re eating well on that executive salary.”

“I do have a hand in that,” Parker said plainly. “Mr. Reynolds is very kind to indulge my personal baking hobby.”

“But still,” Mark pressed. “Sometimes we’ve got to push ourselves, you know? Once you hit thirty it takes more effort to stay in shape.”

“I think he looks great,” Parker offered, turning to look at Mark. He gave him an obvious once over, his eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his shoes. “Do you work out, Mark?”

“Yeah, I do actually,” Mark responded proudly. “Six days a week.”

“Really?” Parker inquired. “I’d have never thought that.”

The man was too stunned to speak.

We all stood silent, the whir of the elevator’s mechanisms the only source of sound. The elevator finally stopped on our floor. Parker and I went towards my office while Mark made his way to his cubicle. Parker placed the tote bag on his desk and I stopped for a moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, giving a knowing smile.

“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“You’re something else.”

“I’m nothing special,” he said, removing two Tupperware containers from the tote bag. “So today you have options. You could have some millionaire shortbread bars or carrot cake cinnamon rolls.”

“Or? You act like I’m not going to polish off both of these containers before we head out for lunch.”

“Uh—well, I—I didn’t think you’d want—”

He looked up at me in surprise, like he’d been found out. I’d known Parker for a couple of months now, and I’d never seen him so flustered. It made me weirdly satisfied. He wanted me to eat? He wanted me to put on a few pounds? If he kept blowing me like he had last week, I’d eat whatever he wanted for the rest of my life.

“I bought some new pants, so I can probably keep indulging for a little while. I need my assistant to make sure I don’t go hungry. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, sir,” he said. “Not a problem at all, sir.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” I grabbed both containers and went into my office, peeling off both lids and diving into the baked goods with unabashed enthusiasm. Over that first hour of the day, I ate a dozen shortbread bars and six hefty cinnamon rolls. 

Once I’d finished both desserts, I sat back at my desk. I felt my chair sag, groaning slightly as I allowed my bulk to settle into the seat. This was so unhinged. What was happening to me? Maybe it was all the sugar, but I was in some sort of stupor. My only thought was how I wanted Parker between my legs again, his hands all over my gut. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I must’ve sat there for about ten minutes before there was a knock at my door. “Mr. Reynolds?”

“Come in.” Parker opened the door and walked up to my desk. I watched him survey the scene. I laughed a little to myself at the shocked expression on his face as he took in both containers sitting empty in front of me.

“You already finished the–the–the shortbread bars?”

“And the cinnamon rolls,” I added. “They were both phenomenal. You’ve got quite the talent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I only wish I’d had some milk to wash it all down with.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that for next time.”

“There is something you could do for me right now,” I said. He looked back at my office door, which he’d left open. He went over to the door and closed it quietly.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“You could get that ass over here, for starters.”

He made his way to where I sat behind my desk, like he had on Friday. We looked at one another for a moment, both taking in the moment. It probably wasn’t smart to fuck my assistant before 10 AM on a Monday, but I’d spent nearly two years involuntarily celibate.

“Get undressed.”

He didn’t question me. He immediately began unbuttoning his crisp, white dress shirt. He tossed it on my desk and then peeled his undershirt off over his head. He shimmied out of his navy-colored chinos. He was in nothing but a pair of stylish briefs. It was obvious he worked out, as his quads bulged with muscle as did his arms. He had well-defined abs, firm pecs. 

His body was completely opposite to my own. My legs and arms were large, yes, but not defined with muscle as they had been in the past. I’d never had abs in my entire life. My stomach sat heavy in front of me, packed full of sugary snacks. And even though I’d just eaten enough baked goods for a small get-together, I was already thinking about what I’d be having for lunch.

“What’re we doing for lunch?” I asked. His whole face reddened, all the way to his ears. I reached out to pull him closer, so I could feel his body with my mouth. I kissed his chest softly, enjoying his scent in the process. “I asked you what we’re doing for lunch.”

He moaned loudly.

“Last—last week you mentioned you wanted an—an Italian beef from—” I bit his nipple gently, sucking it afterwards. “Big Beef’s.”

“Fuck that sounds good. With extra hot peppers and a cheese sauce on the side.” He pawed at his briefs, exposing himself to me. He had a nice dick, a respectable size. He was getting off on this for sure. I let go of his waist and began to unbutton my own shirt. He watched me intently, still stroking his penis. I tossed it on the desk with his clothing items.

He paused his masturbatory efforts to help me remove my undershirt. His briefs were now around his ankles and he pressed his dick into my gut. I grabbed at his ass, lightly teasing his hole with my finger as he grinded against me. He didn’t last long after that, coming all over my bloated stomach. He took a step back. Looking down, I could see his cum glistening as it coated the fuzz of my belly. “You’re not done,” I said, lifting my gut to reveal my belt buckle.

A man of excellent intuition, Parker immediately got me out of my pants and gave me some very thorough head.

Oh, and lunch at Big Beef’s that afternoon was stupendous.

We fell into a routine that made every work day well worth it. He was still bringing me his baked goods (beverages now included). We left the office whenever possible to grab a bite to eat during our lunch hour, and when we couldn’t get away he made sure to pick something up for me or to have it delivered. But the best part had to be our sexual escapades. I’d had nearly every part of his body in my mouth at least once. And he was excellent at taking direction. I was pretty sure at this point that he craved it, being told what to do. He was my good boy, doing what I requested, often going above and beyond like there was a chance of being promoted.

From the end of October to the start of the winter holidays, he and I were completely engrossed with one another. Although, even with how intense things had been within the four walls of my office, we had yet to move beyond them.

It was now the second week of December. I was nearing 400 pounds, a thought that was slightly frightening to me. I’d never been this big in my entire life. People around the office had taken notice of my rapid weight gain. It was the elephant in the room. But the food was good, and the sex mind-blowing. I was also intoxicated by Parker’s adoration. With each pound I gained, he seemed to get more and more excited to service me. I wondered how much longer my wardrobe would last before needing to be updated again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.” I looked up from the email I was drafting. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” I inquired, wondering what it was Parker had been mulling over. He was shifting his weight back and forth, nervously smiling in my direction like the day I hired him.

“Well, my parents bought me these tickets to a musical a few weeks ago, and I know that it’s last minute, but I was really hoping you would come with me to see it.”

“A musical?”

“What can I say?” he offered, shrugging slightly. “I’m as stereotypical as they come.”

“When is it?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.” A Saturday.

Was Parker trying to take things to the next level? This was an exciting development. I would love to spend time with him outside of working hours. I could only imagine how much fun we’d have late into the evening post dinnertime.

“If it’s too much, I understand.”

Too much? Not at all. We both wanted more. It was like a weight had been lifted from me (metaphorically, of course). The office sexcapades were nice, there was no doubt about that, but he too wanted to be more than just a hook-up.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

He laughed.

“I’m kind of obsessed, can’t you tell?”

“I love being adored,” I said, smiling at him playfully. “And now I’m really looking forward to this musical tomorrow. What’s the runtime? Over two hours, I’m sure. I’ll probably need to eat something beforehand.”

“I’ll make a reservation,” he declared enthusiastically, always delighted at an opportunity to get me eating. I was only half-serious with my comment about needing to eat beforehand, but I wasn’t so sure I’d make it the two and a half hours without a meal prior to the curtain rising. I felt incredibly lucky. We’d be getting dinner and seeing a show (and hopefully having even more fun at one of our apartments after).

Once he made the reservation, he emailed over all the info—the restaurant, the reservation time, the name of the theater, the showtime. I could hardly wait. I’d be counting the milliseconds until then. 

The next evening, I dressed to meet Parker for our date. I wore a pair of dark jeans and some Nikes. When I first landed that account, they’d sent over at least ten different pairs. I had lots of dress shirts that fit fairly well since I re-upped, but I wanted to be a little more casual. I found a burgundy crew neck in the back of my dresser that had been a staple in my wardrobe last winter. I pulled it on and found myself shocked at how it fit. I figured there’d be some resistance, but the fabric clung to my plump chest and protruding belly in a way that was much more form-fitting than I anticipated. I tugged at the bottom trying to pull it down to cover the entirety of my stomach. If I moved my arms too much, it exposed some of my brown skin, even though I was also wearing an undershirt.

My first inclination was to change. I wouldn’t have normally wanted to draw attention to my size. But I knew what Parker liked, and I loved pressing his buttons, so I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys, deciding to keep on the sweater. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret my outfit choice later on.

I was right on time to Haraboji’s, and as I entered the restaurant, I noticed my perfectly punctual assistant had already beaten me to the establishment.

“Mr. Reynolds, over here!” He waved at me from a seat at the bar. I felt silly for being this excited, considering we ate together in restaurants every other day, but this was no work-lunch. This was a Saturday night dinner. A date.

“Parker, hey,” I said, smiling down at my companion for the evening. He was still wearing his jacket, a stylish, olive-green duffle coat. He had on a pair of platform Chelsea boots and dark chinos. “Please, call me Andy, or Andrew—even Drew would be fine.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I guess we aren’t in the office.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he replied. “I’ve wanted to eat here with you for months.”

“I’ve heard this place is really good.”

“Have you ever had Korean barbecue before?” he asked. “I haven’t been to a Korean restaurant since I moved here.”

“I haven’t, but you know I’ll try anything. I trust you to make sure I have something tasty.”

After that the hostess called Parker’s name and we were seated. It was pretty crowded, every table filled. In front of us was a little grilling station. Our waiter came and Parker took the reins, ordering what seemed like a lot of food for just two people. He asked for bulgogi, pork belly, garlic butter chicken, and brisket. He also ordered fried seaweed rolls and tteokbokki. Our waiter brought out a lot of little dishes with different vegetables on them.

“These are banchan—um, side dishes,” Parker explained. “They’re really good with the grilled meats. That one is cucumber, that one is potato, and that one is zucchini.”

“And that one is kimchi.”

“Yes, exactly!”

Our waiter returned with another worker to assist him. One of them held our appetizers, the other numerous plates of raw meat on a serving platter. Once all the plates were set out in front of us, it seemed truly excessive. Parker got to work immediately, oiling the grill and placing meat on it strategically. As things were cooked he piled them high on my plate. Everything tasted great and I followed every suggestion he gave me. “Eat this with that,” he’d say, hyper focused on his grilling. “Ooo, you’ve got to try that with this dipping sauce.”

Halfway through the meal, I noticed that he was no longer eating. I seemed to be his main priority. I was now regretting my earlier boldness when getting dressed for this outing. My sweater rose slightly on my stomach exposing the light layer of dark hair on my underbelly. Parker didn’t stop either, making sure to cook every piece of meat that had been provided to us.

“There’s also Korean fried chicken on the menu,” he said, having just finished grilling the last bit of bulgogi and pork belly. “They come in orders of four.”

I groaned slightly, sitting back in my seat and resting my hand on the top of my gut.

That was when the waiter returned, taking in my gorged state his face reddened on my behalf and he focused his attention on Parker. “Is there anything else I can get for you guys?”

“Yes, we wanted a double order of the fried chicken wings and a bottle of peach soju.”

The waiter glanced in my direction and then back at Parker. He probably couldn’t believe we were ordering more food. I couldn’t believe we were ordering more food, but my date was a man on a mission. We did have about forty minutes before we needed to be at the theater, but I still thought he was cutting it close.

“I’ll put that in right now.” I waited for our server to leave before speaking. 

“I’m spilling out of my sweater and you're still shoving food in my direction.”

“Andy,” he said innocently. “You don’t want to be hungry while the show is going on. You said so yourself, remember?”

“How considerate of you,” I responded, sitting up. I grabbed my fork and started in on the last bit of meat he’d put on my plate. “And I can’t wait to thank you at my place after the show.”

After dinner at Haraboji’s, we made our way to the theater for the musical. I’d already parked my Buick Enclave in a parking garage on the same street as the restaurant. He informed me that he picked this restaurant not only because he’d been wanting to try it, but also because it was only a block away from where we’d be seeing the show.

I was so full I didn’t feel like doing anything, especially walking. I was perspiring a little bit so I left my jacket open to air myself out. I could feel a cool breeze on my stomach, but I just ignored it. Parker was leading the way, glancing my way every so often to check me out. If his parents hadn’t gone through the trouble of buying him these tickets, we’d already be halfway to my place.

We made it to the lobby and the worker scanned the tickets on Parker’s phone. There was about ten minutes until the show would start so we made our way to our seats. This was where things got awkward.

Personally, when purchasing tickets in advance, I always tried to get the seat closest to the aisle. But these two seats were right in the middle of a row. Not everyone was in their seats yet, but we’d still need to shimmy past five or so people. Parker seemed somewhat oblivious to this issue, and in his defense, he likely never faced this sort of problem. Being bigger meant anticipating any obstacle. Would there be a lot of walking? Would there be a lot of stairs? How sturdy were the seats? I’d always thought about these things, but having gained fifty pounds in the last five months created even more complications I needed to be ready for.

“Excuse us,” Parker said, making his way into the row. He got by the first person with ease, whereas the man needed to stand up for me and press himself as far back into his seat as possible. Even then, my gut pushed up against him as I made my way past him. This happened four more times until we made it to our seats.

I sat in the chair and it creaked loudly. It was a really tight squeeze. This was not a theater that had been updated this century. It had probably been forty or fifty years since there had been any type of alteration to the seating. The armrests could not be lifted, so I sat there as they dug into the sides of my bloated gut. Fuck, I thought. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so hard at dinner.

“Isn’t there like a special section for bigger people?” the woman next to me asked the man she was with. She was at least trying to whisper, but considering the fact I was sitting right next to her that didn’t do much to keep me from hearing her. “It’s just, these seats are so small, you know? Even for someone regularly sized.”

I’d been feeling pretty good before all of this happened. I was used to people making comments. But something about this made me really think hard about what I’d been doing to my body. I was already fat. I’d already had horrible eating habits. But should I have let this thing with Parker push me so completely into gluttony? I was the one who had to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions and too-small theater seats. 

Parker was a great person and a masterful lover, but he was also ten years younger than me. If this dalliance were to end, he could go about his life unchanged. But me? How much bigger would I be by the time he got bored of me?

“Andy,” Parker said, his hand on my thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. This wasn’t the time or place to share my thoughts with him.

“I didn’t pick the seats,” he explained. “Next time, I’ll make sure that we’re on the end.” 

“Thanks.” I exhaled, feeling a little better. Him saying that didn’t absolve all of my fears, but it reminded me of how thoughtful Parker was. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like to be my size, but he did try to consider how my size affected my day-to-day life.

The lights dimmed and the show started a few minutes later. It was pretty funny and the music was enjoyable. I never thought a musical adaptation of an 80’s fantasy-horror-comedy would be any good, but I’d see it again if given the chance. After the cast took their bows we waited for our row to clear out before we got up. I could tell he really enjoyed himself, so that made the two and half hours in that seat from hell worth it.

“I Ubered here from my apartment,” he said once we were outside.

“I’m in that parking garage by the restaurant,” I said. “I could give you a ride home.”

“You did say you needed to thank me at dinner.”

“Oh, I know just how to thank you.” It was nearly ten, and aside from the people who were also leaving the theater, there weren’t a ton of people around. I grabbed Parker’s hand and we went to my car. I asked him where he lived and other than that I just listened to all the fun facts he had about the production. We were soon out front. “You’re coming up, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course.” I parked and we made our way towards the entrance. He led me up some stairs to his fourth floor apartment. If he lived any higher, we’d have had to call it a night. His place was pretty small, a one bedroom. It was also super neat and tidy. Everything about Parker was that way.

He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, offering to take mine too in the process. He told me to take a seat on the couch. I sat and realized how little it was. I guess a couch of this size was all he really needed, but it was more like a chair. I filled it up three-fourths of the way.

He carried in a tray with some vanilla oat milk and a container of cookies. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the remaining one-fourth of sofa. “Consider these as a thank you for a great evening,” he said. “They’re lemon shortbread.”

“You must spend a fortune on butter and eggs.”

“Not at all, I just started buying in bulk when I realized I had someone to bake for.”

“I appreciate getting to eat everything you’ve made for me,” I said, pulling at my sweater, “though I should probably slow down on all the baked goods.” I looked in his direction, wondering how he’d take in that information. He looked a little hurt, a little embarrassed.

“Is everything okay, Andy?” he asked. “With us, I mean. I just thought—”

I could just keep all of these concerns to myself, but that wouldn’t solve anything. It was probably better to have this conversation now instead of later. “I’ve gained a substantial amount of weight since we started sleeping together. I know we haven’t put into words what this is, but I’m pretty sure you’re a feeder—or an encourager—which term is it?” I thought about all the information I found back when I investigated gay fat fetishes a few months ago.

“I think they’re pretty interchangeable.” He wasn’t looking at me. “And I guess that I am, yes.”  He actually looked super pale. Was he scared? Did he think I was upset? I figured he was aware that he’d been found out months ago. He was always so focused on my weight and overfeeding me. His preferences were kind of obvious.

“I’m not upset,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty into it.”

He looked up at me, relief overtaking his previously sullen expression. “You are?”

“I think you know I like to eat. And getting bigger is kind of hot when I have someone so into it.”

“I’m into it for sure.”

“My main concern is how serious you are, Parker.” He looked at me intently, waiting for me to continue speaking. “You’re young. You’re still fairly new to the area. When it comes down to it, you’re a hot commodity. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. With how big I was, with how big I’ve gotten, I’m limiting myself. My prospects were slim before, but I’ve probably made the margins even smaller in regards to my marketability.”

“Andrew, I am very serious about you,” he said. “You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever been with. You’re also the biggest guy I've ever been with. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I am willing to do. If you want to lose weight, that’s fine. If you want me to stop with the baking, that’s fine. I just want you. I like you.”

“I like you too. I have since you first started working for me.” Our eyes were locked on one another. This conversation felt so real, so needed. This guy was serious about me. What a relief. “And let’s not be too hasty about the baking. I’ll let you know if we need to slow down, Mr. Feeder.”

This caused his whole face to redden, all the way to his ears. I loved when that happened. It was so funny to see his emotions so clearly. “Now bring that container of cookies over here. I’m hungry.”

Maybe it was reckless of me. Maybe I should’ve taken the out Parker had offered me. But I kept on eating like I had been. I blew past 400 pounds as we entered the new year. He’d flown home for the holidays, so I spent time with my own family. They all showed great concern for how big I’d gotten, but that didn’t stop them from piling my plate high with soul food at Christmas dinner. That was just how my family operated. It’s why I was so big growing up to begin with.

That first Monday back after the winter holidays was nice because we were able to fall back into our normal routine, which included copious amounts of food and a great deal sex. While most people around the office set goals for having a healthier diet or joining a gym, I did nothing of the sort. It was somewhat freeing to know there was no resolution I was bound to break.

Over the first few months of the new year, Parker began spending more and more time at my apartment. Suddenly there was a toothbrush, and then extra pairs of underwear, and then, an item that let me know how serious things had gotten between us, his KitchenAid Stand Mixer.

“You’re here more than at your place,” I said one Saturday evening in April. We’d ordered pizza for dinner, and even though Parker had stopped eating thirty minutes ago, I was still working on an extra-large, tavern-style sausage and pepperoni. I’d already eaten some buffalo wings and a Caesar salad (for balance, of course). “When does your lease end?”

“Well, it ends August of this year.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel it?”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for another slice. “I’ll pay whatever fee your landlord charges for breaking your lease.”

The next week he moved into my three-bedroom apartment. I had more than enough room for his stuff. Even his dollhouse-sized couch fit comfortably against a wall in the home office. This did mean my office baked goods were a thing of the past. They were never able to last long enough after he prepared them to be brought into work. Since meeting Parker nine months ago, I was now 75 pounds heavier.

Parker and I were going to take a long weekend for Memorial Day. We’d both put in for the day off on Friday and we wouldn’t need to return to the office until Tuesday. I’d rented a house up north, about three hours away. The Thursday before we were to leave, Parker frantically entered my office a little after we returned from lunch.

I was positively beached. We were both looking forward to the weekend and he excitedly ordered for me at Rockin’ Sushi. We had purchased enough sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls for a party of five or six people.

My belly covered my lap almost to my knees when I sat. I normally didn’t dress so casually for the office, but today I was wearing a polo. The fabric was pulled tight around my stomach and I’d been massaging the sides of my gut before Parker came to find me. If he didn’t seem so distraught, I’d have asked him to take over.

“We can’t go out of town,” he said. “We have to reevaluate your accounts.”

“What?” I asked, my eyes half-open. “I have nine major accounts and twelve smaller ones. That’s more than all the other execs.”

“Yes, that’s true, but—” he stopped talking. He probably felt like he’d been overreacting, but I wanted to make sure his worries were quelled.

“Talk to me.”

“I heard from Mr. Monroe’s assistant, who heard from Mr. Otterly’s assistant, that Mr. Otterly plans to retire at the end of June.” John Otterly was well past the age for retirement. His presence at Hathaway and Associates was really just a formality at this point. He’d been an exec at our agency since the mid-seventies. In his prime, for sure, he was incredible at pulling in clients and coming up with catchy slogans for print ads. Now, he had only one major account for a failing brand of novelty gag-gifts. “They’re looking to promote someone, but they want to make the position more robust by taking some accounts from other executives.”

“Bullshit.”

“Agreed.” He watched me heave myself out of my desk chair. “What should we do?”

“Follow me.”

I might have moved a little bit more slowly these days, but with Parker’s help I’d acquired two new clients in the last nine months and strengthened our agency’s relationship with all my original accounts. I wasn’t just some overweight behemoth who didn’t do any work. I was a heavy hitter. I’d recently had a confidence about myself that, shamefully, came from the idolization and devotion Parker gave to me. I was the biggest I’d ever been, but I didn’t feel ashamed of myself. I was already going to draw attention entering a room so I might as well not give a fuck what people thought.

We stopped outside of William Hathaway’s office, whose grandfather had actually founded Hathaway and Associates almost a century ago. We executives kept things running while he received a great deal of the credit, considering he was only in office two days a week. He did hold a forty-five percent share on the board of directors, which was the largest portion of any member. This meant he had a great deal of influence when the board made the large decisions that affected day-to-day operations.

“He’s preparing to leave early for the holiday weekend,” his administrative assistant said plainly. She was also the office manager. Mr. Hathaway’s schedule allowed her to take on more responsibilities, so she helped to organize the tasks for the interns and other assistants. “He doesn’t want to be bothered, especially after the meeting he just had.”

“Martha,” Parker said gently, smiling in her direction. “Mr. Reynolds was hoping to speak with Mr. Hathaway before he left. If he’s not terribly busy, would you please let him?”

“I don’t know. He was pretty adamant that he didn’t want to see anyone else.”

“Didn’t you say your husband liked the chocolate-dipped almond biscotti I made you for your anniversary?”

“Those were divine,” she said, taking more interest in Parker’s plea. I remembered those biscotti. I’d eaten two test batches before he felt confident enough to share them with Martha.

“Weren’t they?” I added. “I don’t know how he does it, but he’s incredibly talented.”

“My husband’s birthday is coming up,” she pondered aloud. “Have you ever made a cake before?”

“Of course!”

They ironed out some details and settled on a tiramisu inspired layer cake. She hopped out of her seat giddily and went to inform Hathaway of our arrival. We got the go ahead to enter and there he was waiting for us behind his desk nursing a scotch.

“Reynolds, you’re bigger every time I see you.”

Hathaway wasn’t one to mince words.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the only one carrying around a spare tire.” This made him laugh.

“I’m in my sixties, what’s your excuse?” He didn’t stop. “And I’ve got a spare tire, you’ve got a whole Goodyear.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, allowing him to think his ribbing had gotten to me. “I’m just eating good. And my assistant here is a master baker.”

“He is, eh?” Hathaway asked, drinking from his scotch. “You're the biscotti boy?”

“Yes sir. That’s me.”

“Martha, that stingy bitch, only let me have one. Said they were for her anniversary. I’ve got an anniversary. And a birthday.”

“I’ll get those dates from Martha, sir.” Hathaway gave an impressed smirk and took another sip from his drink.

After that, we were finally able to talk business. I asked about Otterly. His retirement was true, a decision “strongly encouraged” by all members of the board. The position being padded with the accounts of other executives was also true. We would be asked in the coming month to choose one or two of our large scale accounts to let go of. When I asked why they didn’t just cut the position, they were concerned about losing their lead copywriter, who voiced concerns about a lack of upward mobility at Hathaway and Associates. He claimed he’d be willing to walk away from the agency unless he was seriously considered for Otterly’s position. 

That lead copywriter? Mark.

If it were anyone else, I would have thought twice about my next course of action. But for Mark? I couldn't care less.

“Well,” I started, hoping I was playing this right. “I say cut Otterly’s position. Give his few accounts to one of us execs, and if he walks, he walks.”

“He’s done good work,” Hathaway offered.

“You can save a great deal by cutting the position. Promote one of the junior copywriters to Mark’s position. And for good measure, Parker here can take the open junior copywriter role.” Parker made a sound of surprise but did his best to recover.

“Biscotti boy?”

“He’s got the Andrew Reynolds seal of approval.” This meant a great deal. I had the most accounts out of all eleven execs. I also had the greatest renewal rates. “I’d be losing the world’s greatest assistant, but I’d do anything for Hathaway and Associates.”

“My great-niece did just graduate from Columbia,” Hathaway said. “I’m sure she’ll need help finding a job with a degree in art history.” If I had to deal with another nepo-baby, so be it. I was keeping my accounts and helping Parker advance in his career.

“Just think about it,” I said, ending our conversation. As we left his office, Martha entered. Before the door closed completely, I heard him mentioning that the board needed to convene after the holiday weekend to vote about an important matter. I had a good feeling that things were going to change for my little Biscotti Boy.

We did still manage to make it up to the house I rented. Fortunately, it was somewhat secluded, the houses pretty far apart from each other. They were only really visible to one another from the front yard. Parker had a long list of grocery items he needed, so our first stop after checking into the rental was the local supercenter. He was obviously grateful for what I’d done in Hathaway’s office, and he spent the weekend showing me that gratitude with his culinary skills and physical flexibility. My favorite memory from our trip would be how he’d gotten me on the floor after grilling some brats and making s’mores.

“Okay, so bend your knees,” he said, swinging his leg around my waist after tossing me a pillow for underneath my head. There wasn’t a ton of space between my bent knees and my bulging belly, but Parker fit there perfectly. He looked down at me as he sat atop my waist, sliding all nine inches of my penis inside himself. He rested his hands on my stomach. Their warmth penetrated me to my core. 

I reached up to grab at his butt as he rode me. It felt good in my hands, and the thought of what it looked like as I fucked him had me salivating. Always the hard worker, Parker swiveled his hips back and forth rhythmically. His dick was angled upwards, sandwiched between the bottom of my gut and his flat stomach. He leaned forward slightly, his hands sliding up my stomach to my chest. He grabbed my slightly puffy nipples and pinched them gently. That intensified the pleasure I was feeling and I lifted him slightly by raising my legs, pushing myself deeper inside of his ass. 

“Oh God,” he moaned, sitting straight up. He bounced up and down like this for nearly a minute before he came. His cum shot up his front, some landing on the floor and on my gut. The look of sheer pleasure on his face was intoxicating. That did it for me too, and had me shooting my load as well.

We stayed on the floor longer than intended. I couldn’t get up just yet, so he covered both of our naked bodies with a large blanket and cuddled up close to me. Losing him as my assistant was going to be tough, but moments like these would make up for it.

Returning to work on Tuesday was fine. I’d have preferred another week in a secluded lake house with Parker, but the real world was waiting for us. Antoinette was in rare form, flitting from assistant to assistant spreading gossip. She was Hathaway and Associates' very own Lady Whistledown, though a lot less discreet. 

Before lunch, the board met to discuss the future of Mr. Otterly’s position. Antoinette made sure everyone knew how they voted, openly voicing her dismay that her good friend Mark would not be shifting to an executive role, as John Otterly’s position would be closed and his accounts redistributed amongst some of the remaining executives.

The ball was now in Mark’s court. He could keep his current job or he could quit. I was hoping for the latter, so Parker could shine in the field he’d gone to school for.

We worked all day and at exactly five we clocked out. We entered the elevator and Mark followed behind us. “That’s some shit you pulled Andy,” he spat. I noticed a cardboard box in his hands.

“You’re referring to what exactly?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh please,” he said. “You get a little ass from your assistant and you’re bending over backwards to get him a promotion. It’s pathetic, but it makes a lot of sense. Why else would he ever waste his time trying to find your dick under that massive gut?”

“You’re out of line,” I said, stepping towards him.

“He’s a sneak and you’re a gullible, desperate, sorry excuse for a professional.” He was upset, understandably, but his job had still been intact. He could’ve continued in his role as lead copywriter, a position I held for over four years before my promotion, and one day he’d be seen as ready to move up in the agency. He’d only been lead copywriter for a year and a half, a role in which he’d been given when the previous lead stepped down to take care of her newborn twins. Mark expected things to be handed to him without putting in the work. Now he was throwing a tantrum, and he wanted to take out his anger on us because he thought we were easy targets.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you just aren’t that likable?” I asked, staring down at him, forcing him into the corner of the elevator. “You’re talented, sure, but you are just so fucking hard to like. Hathaway knows this, the other execs know this. Why do you think it was so easy to encourage them to close Otterly’s position? They don’t want to work any more closely with you than they already do.”

I looked down at the cardboard box. Like a baby, he’d quit when he didn’t get his way. “Or should I say did?”

The elevator stopped on the main floor and the doors opened. Mark looked up at me and then over at Parker. “Fuck the both of you,” he said, pushing past me with slight difficulty. Parker looked pretty mortified, his entire face red with embarrassment.

My little ingénue. He was still very green, and I loved that about him, but I needed him to stand up for himself if he was going to survive in this industry. People made jokes or rude comments. There’d be backstabbing and petty office gossip. At the end of the day it didn’t matter. I was proof of that. There’d been talk about my weight for months, and I was still one of the most successful people on staff.

I’d for sure been in a slump before I met Parker, but I was becoming the man I’d been in my early twenties (metaphorically, not physically). There was a lot less self-doubt and self-loathing. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that I was good at what I did, and I knew I just needed to carry myself like I had when I was grinding as a junior copywriter. 

“That was really intense,” he said. We’d slowed, pausing in a stairwell. We were halfway between the lobby and the underground parking garage. “I would never sleep with you for that. I swear that I would never do that.”

“I know.” I felt myself smiling. It made me feel good that he liked me so much. His first thought was how I felt. He was always looking out for me, and if he did get a new role as a copywriter, no assistant would ever live up to what he was capable of.

“I love you,” he said, looking at me seriously. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that to me. How we’d gotten to this point, I’d never fully grasp, but I was glad that we did.

“I love you too,” I said. We were silent for a moment, and I took the opportunity to joke with him. “And I have to say, what an elaborate scheme you pulled. The baked goods, the lunches, the head. All for a promotion. You’re truly a mastermind.”

He laughed, swatting me on the ass. “And this is only Phase One. Mu-ha-ha.”

“What’s Phase Two?”

“Hmm, I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

“Maybe you aren’t the mastermind I thought you were—”

“Shut up!” he said, laughing. “Now let’s get you something good to eat for defending my honor.”

A month later, Parker was officially offered a position as a junior copywriter. He’d taken me shopping for some summer clothing items—both work attire and casual items. The number of X’s on my shirts and shorts was a little shocking, but he did have a knack for picking flattering cuts and patterns. I may have been over 400 pounds, but I’d never looked more stylish.

“Are you ready yet?” Parker called from the living room. It was the last Saturday in June and all of Parker’s old roommates from California were in town for the last weekend of Pride and to celebrate his promotion.

“Yeah,” I called in response. I walked out of our bedroom. “But you’re sure you want me to wear this to meet your friends?”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s just a pair of shorts and a polo. It’s not risqué.”

The shorts were much shorter than I’d buy for myself, but they did fit me very well. They were a good three inches above my knees. He saw them on some Instagram ad and bought me three different pairs. The polo was much more out of my comfort zone. It was cream-colored and a crochet knit. You could see glimpses of my brown skin through the hundreds of small holes that made up the shirt.

“But it seems like you guys want to dance and that’s not really my scene anymore. Can’t you all celebrate tonight and then we all meet up for brunch tomorrow?”

“Okay, what about we all meet up tonight and go out to brunch tomorrow morning?” he countered in rhetorical fashion. “And besides, if you don’t want to burn any calories, you can just have some bar food and a beer.”

“They have those soft pretzels there don’t they?”

“They sure do,” he said, handing me my keys. “Now let’s go please.”

Fortunately I was able to find a good parking spot not too far from the bar. I parked and we walked the block to Dudes. The day had cooled considerably, which I was grateful for. It’d been in the eighties, but it was only about seventy now that the sun had set. They asked to see Parker’s ID and then we made our way inside.

“Parker!” I looked for who had shouted his name. It was another Asian guy who was about Parker’s height.

“Yedam, hey!” Parker looked at me. “Andy, this is Yedam. Yedam, this is my boyfriend Andy.”

“Oh wow,” Yedam said, taking me in. He smiled, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. “Um, it’s nice to meet you.” He locked eyes with Parker, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Was this a good interaction or not? I was having trouble reading the situation. Two other guys made their way to where we stood, both holding drinks. One of the guys handed a glass to Yedam.

“Mike, Sam, this is my boyfriend Andy.” Mike was white and very blond. Sam was black, a little lighter than I was. Overall, they all had the same vibe as Parker. Very put-together, the same height and build.

“This makes sense,” Sam said, gesturing back and forth with his pointer finger between Parker and I.

“Oh yeah, a thousand percent,” Mike added.

I felt like I was missing something, but I was hopeful Parker would fill me in later. The guys all told me I was very handsome and very large. It wasn’t in a sarcastic way, or a flirtatious way even. They presented it like they were simply stating facts. I ordered my pretzels and a round of shots for Parker and his friends. They were all laughing and joking and hanging off of one another. It was almost enough to make me jealous,  but I knew I was what Parker wanted. I didn’t need to worry about his friends.

After another shot Parker pulled me towards the crowded dance floor. “Ready?” he asked, leaning into me.

“I thought I was supposed to drink my beer and eat bar food.” I scanned the whole place; I was the biggest guy in the entire club.

“You’ve got all night to eat bar food. You can dance with me for a few minutes.” He started to move his body and I did too. I wasn’t a bad dancer; it was just something I tended to avoid. He turned slowly, his butt against my crotch.

It seemed like the music got faster and louder, and the entire time I couldn’t take my eyes off of Parker. He was absolutely gorgeous. I leaned down, kissing his neck. He lifted his arms, wrapping them around my neck. I stepped back and felt a foot under me. 

“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna break someone’s foot!” This guy was drunk.

“What was that?” I asked. Six months ago, I’d have left the dance floor completely mortified. But now, why would I ever stop living my life because I took up just a little too much space? The world was a big place, and people would just have to make room for me.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Just be more careful. Sorry.”

“That dude was an ass,” Parker said, turning to face me, resting his hands on my waist.

“As crowded as it is, I was bound to step on someone’s foot.” I leaned down so I didn’t have to shout this next part so loudly. “Although it does probably hurt a little more when the one doing the stepping is over 425 pounds.” Parker smiled at me, and I think it was a relief to him that I was being a good sport. 

“Parker! Andy!” It was Sam waving us over to the bar.

He and the rest of Parker’s friends wanted to do another shot and my pretzels were waiting for me. “They were just delivered,” Yedam said. “And we didn’t want them to get cold.”

The rest of the night went pretty well. Parker was always so reserved and in control of himself, so it was nice to see him having fun and letting loose. They were all pretty toasted by midnight, and Mike drunkenly started talking about getting something to eat.

“Why did we drink so much?” he bemoaned, leaning against Yedam as we left the bar. “We should’ve gotten dinner before the bar.”

“You were the one convinced you were getting laid tonight,” Sam stated, stumbling right along next to them.

“Andy knows a place,” Parker said, leaning against me. “Isn’t Sub Daddy’s second location near here?”

“Uh, yeah, it is,” I offered. “I can drive, though you all better not puke.”

“We won’t!” they all sang in unison.

We made it to my Buick unscathed, and I made sure everyone was buckled up. Looking at Parker in the seat next to me and his three drunk besties in the back seat was hilarious to me. It looked like I’d kidnapped a bunch of intoxicated twinks.

“So did Parker used to bake a lot when you all lived together?” I asked, making conversation as we drove.

“Constantly,” Yedam said, sounding comically exasperated. “We had this neighbor.”

“Oh yeah!” Mike interjected. “Big Idris.”

“Your neighbor went by ‘Big Idris?’ Seriously?” I asked.

“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed, cracking up. “I think his real name was Tyler or something?”

“Tyson,” Parker clarified, his entire face and ears covered in a red blush that I didn’t think was entirely from the alcohol.

“Tyson, right,” Sam continued. “We called him Big Idris because he was hot like a young Idris Elba, but much bigger. I mean, not huge.” There was a slight pause, as if he was second guessing his next statement. “Like you’re way bigger than he was.”

“Okay, so he wasn’t fat-fat, got it.”

“So anyway, Big Idris was our neighbor across the hall. When we moved in at the start of our fall semester junior year, Parker baked little treats for everyone on the floor. Big Idris was the only one who came back asking for seconds.” The three of them roared with laughter. I could see where this story was going. Yedam continued the tale.

“It was just like when we were in the dorms. He didn’t have access to a kitchen, but Parker made sure this guy who lived on the floor above us never went without a snack. Insomnia Cookies should probably erect a statue in Parker’s honor. What was his name? Owen?”

“Yes, Owen,” Parker confirmed.

“So Owen, the ex-football player, ended the year having put on the freshman fifteen.”

“Plus fifteen,” Mike added.

“Plus fifteen,” Sam followed. They all cracked up again. Parker was definitely an anomaly to them. An oddity that made for interesting stories. Their sex lives were probably pretty tame compared to what Parker and I were into.

“Owen was nothing like Big Idris though,” Yedam said. “Those 45 pounds were nothing compared to the almost a hundred Big Idris gained living across the hall from us for two years.”

Mike spoke next, saying, “To be fair, it wasn’t all Parker. This guy liked to eat, and he was always ordering DoorDash or UberEats.” 

“But Parker wasn’t innocent,” Sam said. “He baked him a different type of cookie at least three times a week.”

“What happened to Big Idris?” I asked, now extremely curious.

“His girlfriend moved in and Parker moved here to start his new job. She’s definitely helped him change his diet around. You can tell he’s lost some weight, not eating as much take-out. But he for sure doesn’t seem as happy as when Parker was visiting his apartment at two in the morning.”

“That’s a shame,” Parker said. Now that had me cracking up as I pulled into the Sub Daddy parking lot. Of course Parker would be upset to hear that all his hard work was being undone.

We went inside and ordered, and the four of them decided to split two sandwiches, which was funny because I ordered two sandwiches for myself. We sat and ate, the four of them passing tiny bags of chips back and forth to supplement their little sandwiches. After we finished eating I drove them back to their Airbnb. We made plans to meet up for brunch the next afternoon, and I was very interested to hear more about Parker as a sexy coed with feeder tendencies.

Parker was only slightly hungover the next morning. We hung out with his friends again in the afternoon. They mostly shared stories, while I mostly ate boujee brunch food. We said our goodbyes and they made plans to get together again soon. They all still lived in the old apartment, at least until their lease ended in the fall. Overall, the weekend had been a success, and I was sure Parker was excited to start his new position come Tuesday.

Monday he’d be training his replacement.

“So make sure his lunch is ordered at eleven so that he’s able to eat by noon,” Parker stated matter-of-factly. 

He had been with my new assistant all morning. She was a nice girl, and I could tell she was already a little overwhelmed by all the things Parker expected her to remember. I think Parker was sad to be shifting to a new position, even though he was really excited to be doing what he dreamed of. 

He would be on an entirely different side of the office. It was probably for the best that we had a bit of space from each other. We didn’t want to become one of those couples that couldn’t function without the other.

But still, he knew me better than anyone. I didn’t have to think about my next move because he’d already anticipate it. 

“Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said before turning his attention to my new assistant. “Nicolette, we can go over the best times to schedule Mr. Reynolds for a meeting after you get back from your break.” She couldn’t grab her purse fast enough. She was probably going to be updating her LinkedIn and putting in applications on Indeed.

“You need to go a bit easier on her,” I said once we were behind closed doors. “Remember that's Hathaway’s great-niece.”

“I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes when I started,” he said. “I just want to make sure she knows what to do so things go smoothly for you.”

“I’ll be okay, babe.”

“Fine. I’ll dial it back.”

“So how about a quickie for old time’s sake?” He laughed, but he immediately loosened his tie.

I ended up seated behind my desk with my pants around my ankles. He was completely nude, claiming he didn’t want to chance getting a stain on his clothes. He kneeled in front of me and reached into my desk drawer. He grabbed a tiny bottle of lube. He squirted a moderate amount in his palm before wrapping his hand around my erection. He pumped my dick slowly, covering it with the lube. 

I watched him stand with his back to me. I got to my feet, grabbing the bottle of lube from him and covering his hole with some of it, massaging it with my fingers. Being between his fat cheeks was always a pleasure. It was the only fatty part about him, and I loved grabbing his ass roughly in these moments. I bent my knees before angling my dick so there’d be a smooth entry and pushed my penis into him slowly. I leaned my body on top of him, my gut resting on his back as I rocked my hips back and forth. I felt his body relaxing as I found a good rhythm. I continued to thrust my hips and he did his best to stifle his moans.

“I’m your biggest success story,” I said breathily, pushing a bit more forcefully. “I just know your friends are going to be shocked the next time they see me.”

“Uh—” he whimpered, his knees buckling slightly.

“Say it,” I said. “Say that you’re gonna make me bigger.”

“I–I’m gonna make you bigger.” He tugged at his dick desperately. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“500 isn’t that far off,” I said, not entirely believing it myself. Would he want me to get that big? He did tell me that I was the biggest person he’d ever been with. Could he handle that? Could I?

“Oh fuck!” he panted, doing his best to catch his cum in his hand. I gave a few final pushes before filling him with my cum. I pulled myself from inside of him and we both got cleaned up. He got dressed, looking positively pristine, like nothing lewd had just taken place in my office. 

That’s when he turned to me and said, “I hope you’re ready for lunch.”

He had a look in his eye that let me know our sex talk wasn’t just talk. Parker had goals, and I liked a man with motivation.

I sure knew how to hire ‘em.

The End!

[finniestoncrane]

FINNIE walk with me on this...so for the dirty talk prompts meme...

Maybe Two Face is being a bit down on himself because of his face (which is HANDSOME he deserves BETTER), and female plus size reader tries to cheer him up by saying 🧠.

Then maybe Two Face responds with 📢...

If that's cool 👀👀. 💙💙 You can put anything you want before/after/in between of course. I'm excited to see what you write!!!

Louder

Arkham!Two Face x Fem!Reader, word count: 850 back on my harvey bullshit i fear because having him call me a big beautiful girl has lived in my head rent free since i wrote it down 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: big, fat, thick used for a plus size reader, smut, fucking, it's sort of mostly verbal fluff really if you think about it u-u

Harvey was consistently the dominant one in your relationship with him. Much the same as he portrayed himself in all other aspects of his life. Which is why it had surprised him so much when you exerted your own power, forcefully grabbing his chin to turn his gaze to you. As confident as he could seem, particularly when his crueller half was fronting, there was a lot he hadn't accepted yet, so much he hadn't come to terms with. So much that ate away at him.

Tiny words, gestures. Comments on how beautiful and soft you were, particularly in comparison to him, as he let his hands skirt over your curves and rolls, fingers sinking into the excess, plush skin as a lustful growl rolled through his throat. The way he would try to keep your eyes on the right side of his face, shirking away if you touched the left, or even looked deep into his permanently exposed eye.

The regret built up intsantly as what was left of his lips curled into a snarl. You waited patiently for his retort. Either a yell, an assertive growl, or an equally terrifying hushed reminder of who was in control. But instead, he had bent down into you, the snarl softening as his mouth met yours, tongue pressing between your lips and swirling round yours.

Bravely, you had lifted your hands to both of his cheeks, stroking them with the same gentleness, the same arousal, the same love you had for both parts of him. And you were rewarded with a frenzied undressing before he laid you down on his desk, papers pushed to the floor, and began fucking you.

Stifling the moans that were scratching at your throat, you bit your inner cheek. You couldn't tell who was just outside the office, and given how loud you thought you might get as Harvey pounded your aching cunt, you assumed people on the streets below might be able to hear you too.

In a rather forceful move, highlighting that your efforts in boosting his confidence had started to bring him back to his normal self, he grabbed your soft chin, letting it rest in his palm as he held your rounded cheeks firmly between his thumb and fingers.

"Louder. I want everyone to know how good I am."

No longer concerned about embarrassing him, about someone overhearing and blowing your supposed cover, you let your wails of pleasure come out. Each thud of his hips against your rear making you groan, always underscored by a desperate sigh and clawing breaths.

"That's it, good girl. Let them know how much you enjoy it."

As though he had caught himself, the way he was unburdened in the moment by his issues with his own image and self-confidence, he stuttered, his hips slowing to a complete stop, his cock still buried in your tensing walls.

"I had no idea that you felt this way... about all of me."

His eyes searched yours for any signs of flinching, a grimace that told him you were lying, that you only held this adoration for the parts of him that were still acceptable to society. But you held strong, truthful, and eased your head up to search for a kiss. His lips met yours once more, soft, despite the frantic fucking of just a moment ago.

"Of course I do, Harvey. Every time I think about you... I get so hot..."

You clenched, muscles tightening around his cock, which twitched in response.

"... and I think about you, both of you... all of you, a lot."

In a rush of what you could only assume was complete joy, warmed by the knowledge that you cared for him wholly, Harvey continued your rough fucking, bouncing your body against him, against the desk, watching you move and ripple with each thrust.

"My big, beautiful girl... let them hear... ah... tell them... tell me... tell us how good it feels..."

A soft moan passed over your lips, but you made an effort to follow it with a louder sound, a guttural groan that led to your words. Mumbled, barely cohesive to your empty brain, but you were sure there were sentiments of how amazing he felt inside of you, riding your patient orgasm through you.

"I'll tell you how good you are... so plush... so thick..."

His voice hardened, sharp, animalistic.

"...plenty for us to grab."

With his fingers embedded into your hips under the fold of your stomach, he pulled you down into him, his sounds matching the pace of his hips, growls and grunts that echoed over the top of yours. But he could still make out the short, sharp, but nevertheless satisfied, whines as he pummelled your body.

"Don't worry, sweet girl... I'll be careful with your soft body... but I think you can handle... hng... a bit of rough, huh? Just a little bit to make you scream louder for me..."

Your eyes flitted towards him, offering him a nod as you bit your lip, drool escaping from the corner of your mouth.

"That's it... louder."

[pomodoriyum]

in the same vein as that recent terror post. season 2 should have just been crew shenanigans. like yeah we all died and it was horrible but before things got crazy we did some wild shit to keep from being bored

also the episodes should absolutely have the same emotional depth and bandwidth and punch

major points:

-james fitzjames and dundy historically accurate pillowfight

-george hodgson practicing an instrument (woodwind?) and driving the rest of them bananas. maybe people start hiding his clarinet or w/e in increasingly weird hard to find places

- peddie and the ‘where the hell have all of our ointment and oils and lubricants gone’ adventure (spoiler: theyve been used for distinctly nonmedical purposes)

- billy gibson and the stewards versus endless laundry. maybe they have a minor revolt about it

- chefs diggle and chefs wall cookoff contest

- cornelius hickey tries to enjoy his day off and shirking his work only to be roped into stupid menial stuff and unable to escape (jopson et al know what they’re doing)

- irvings watercolors and singing classes keep going terribly wrong

- a day in the life of: Fagin the cat, Neptune the dog, Jacko the capuchin

- please feel free to reblog with your own ideas these are cute to think about

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Okay, so what would everyone think about an Adamsapple Coraline Au?

I've talked a bit about this with @breedtheseed and this is my take on it.

So Adam and Lucifer are dating and are having issues (they are minor but for Adam it's like glaring huge) Lucifer is just trying to help him.

One day, he gets this doll that looks like him in the mail and he's like 'The fuck?' But he keeps it thinking it's from some twisted fan in Hell who is obsessed with the first humans.

Eventually, Adam finds the small door in the hotel and goes in and the other side is similar to heaven, color wise.

He meets the other Lucifer, who has buttons for eyes and is in angel form. Everyone is in angel form. They treat him the way he wants to be treated, waited on hand and foot.

This Lucifer hangs off his every word, giving him anything he wants when he wants it. Telling him everything he wants to hear.

And Adam loves it. So he keeps going back.

Everything is great until the third night.

"You're not sewing buttons in my fucking eyes! Are you insane!?" Adam shirked as he backed away from the kitchen table.

"Oh, but we need a yes if you want to stay here my sweet.~ If it's because they're black you can choose any color you like! Maybe red? Or green? Silver? Or maybe, you'd prefer solid gold ones, to match your existing eyes." The other Lucifer purred holding up a needle.

"I don't want them, period end of fucking sentence." Adam growled, he needed to go home back to his Lucifer. He needed a way out, now! "You know, it's pretty late. I think I'll just go to bed."

"But you haven't touched your dinner!"

"That's okay! I'm really very fucking tired, so, I'll just head to bed." With that being said, Adam took off to where he knew the door was.

So how was that? Should I do something with this???

[iwantjaketosullyme]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝, 𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

…but, big spoon, you have so much to do and i have nothing ahead of me.

➺ pairing: jake sully x omatikaya!reader (fluff/angst) ➺ summary: seeing jake was easy, seeing toruk makto not so much. (w/c: 2.8k) ➺ warnings: minor mentions of war & death a/n: inspired by mitski's 'your best american girl' nd dedicated to our fav all-american boy <33 na'vi dictionary at the end !! gif credit goes to @/worldofpandora

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Seeing Jake was easy.

It was shirking clan chores in favour of being held in the safe cocoon of his capable arms on a lazy afternoon, the two of you splayed out on the forest floor as it welcomed you into its clutch, soft grass embracing you, gentle breeze lulling him to sleep. As he slumbers you trace his features gently, eyes first, then nose.

You coast over the worry line that creases just like that when he senses a formidable threat, like the rogue palulukan that strayed a little too close to camp the previous week (or the persistent Omatikaya child that insists on having you braid his hair exactly when Jake’s sat down for you to rebraid his, meaning a rushed job and less scalp scratches for him).

Cautious fingertips are guided by the smattering of tanhi that litter his face, a map provided by Eywa, tiny stars aligning to lead you to your final destination - your favourite destination – his lips.

Being Seen by Jake was even easier.

- flashback -

Two weeks have passed since the fateful day your people reclaimed your ancestral home from the Sky People. The injured have been treated and deceased loved ones have been mourned and committed to Eywa. Now, the clan must celebrate.

Young ones chase after each other's tails (knowing the mood is good enough for them to escape chastisement from their parents), potential lovers dance around their feelings as they dance around the communal fire and elders thank the Great Mother for the privilege of witnessing another night like this – too many eclipses have passed since the clan could revel in shared joy like this.

The evening’s jubilations wind down as eclipse approaches, but the air is still charged with a sense of collective anticipation; you are yet to do what you do best. Gathered clan members form a blue sea, bioluminescent tanhi a mirror image of the stars in the skies above as they seat themselves on fallen logs. 

Deep inhale, shoulders rolled back, head held high and gaze cast over young and old alike, you open your mouth and sing. Entranced, Jake looks up from where he was refilling his cup of pongu pongu (after falling victim to a particularly wily adolescent Na’vi bartering for the drink reserved for adults of the clan) and his amber gaze settles on you as he listens to the legend of a valiant Omatikaya warrior made song. His legend.

His song rolls off your tongue, volume ebbing and flowing like the waters of the Eastern Sea, reaching ‘ahhs’ and throaty ‘oohs’ conveying the highs and lows of his Pandoran alterlife. Sweeping peaks and troughs in the notes you belt out paint the picture in his mind of the mountains climbed and valleys traversed on his quest to find his humanity in a Na’vi body. Dulcet tones undulate from the soft pillows of your lips into the attentive ears of every clan member gathered around the fire, demanding the rapt attention of all that can and will listen.

Your voice betrays you, wavering slightly when you make sudden eye contact with Jake. He gawks at you unashamedly, his expression reminding you of the awe and excitement of a child watching kenten unfurl their luminous fans for the first time. Inwardly, you curse the power that this vrrtep has over you; you never get distracted! No doubt Ninat would be teasing you about this mishap til Eywa calls you home. That skxawng always liked to argue that she’s the better vocalist.

Final note lingering in the air and resonating in the hearts of those around you, you graciously accept the compliments offered. Soon after, you make a swift break for your marui, unaware of your newly acquired shadow following after your hurried steps as if still woefully caught in the spell your voice had cast upon him.

You flit about the marui, humming under your breath as you search for the herb and nectar concoction Tsahik gave you after overhearing you complaining to Neytiri about putting your vocal cords under too much pressure. An appreciative hum leaves your parted lips as the mixture soothes your throat, before a male, gravelly and obnoxious “Ah, shit!” cuts through your minute of peace, followed by the clang of a pot falling.

A stunned squeak escapes you before you have the chance to stop it, eyes widening as your ears fold back and your brow muscles raise in shock before furrowing in confusion. A moment passes. 

You slowly crane your neck to look behind you, chancing a glance at whatever, whoever it is that managed to sneak into your marui and elicit such an embarrassing reaction from you. The fallen pot is still rattling on the floor as you lock eyes with the perpetrator and your upper lip raises into a sneer. Of course, you think to yourself, as if the vrrtep has not bothered me enough tonight he has come back for more!

“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake greets awkwardly, eyes shifting between your defensive posture and the offensive pot that he had tripped over in his dazed stupor. He brings his fingertips to his forehead before extending them towards you in a gesture of respect, and for a moment you are pulled from your derisive train of thoughts as your eyes follow the raised veins on his hands and you feel an unfamiliar feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach – much like the kindling of a new flame. Your examination of his anatomy comes to an abrupt stop when your eyes hone in on his outstretched fingers. Four fingers. Alien fingers.

“What is it that you want?” You throw the words at him, eyeing him up and down in an admittedly pathetic attempt to intimidate him. You are well aware of his prowess as a warrior; you’d only spent the latter part of the evening waxing poetic about it. Despite this, you cannot help but feel as if you must prove yourself to be a formidable threat to him, to this man who was once a tawtute imposter in a Na’vi body and has now made himself an imposter in your home.

He inches towards you cautiously, arms outstretched by his sides and palms open, intending to  communicate his lack of malintention as he clears his throat and opens his mouth to answer you. Your eyes remain vigilant, ears pointing up, alert and awaiting his response. A series of unintelligible noises is all you hear, his mouth opening and closing in such a stupid way that you almost find it endearing. Almost.

Further incensed by the lack of answer, you jerk your head towards him, tail lashing behind you, impatient, “What is it then? Speak!” You begin to pace in front of him, agitated and expectant of an explanation. “Or do you only know how to stare?”

As if jolted back to reality, Jake blinks blankly before retorting “Damn, you sound just as good when you talk, pretty girl”. Astounded, your pacing comes to a halt, allowing you to baulk at his insolence – there is a notable pause as you compose yourself once more. His lips pull back into a self-satisfied smirk as he greedily absorbs your reaction, and there is a dangerous glint in his eyes, eyes too small to belong to a native Na’vi, that calls to you. You decline the call decisively.

“You still have not answered my question, Jakesully,” you attempt to regain control of this odd interaction, remaining firm in your affronted demeanour. “Speak!”

He lets out a huff of laughter under his breath, made bashful by the reminder of his inexplicable attraction towards you. “Well…I guess I heard ya singin’ out there and I-” he shakes his head, looks down and brushes a hand over his face, lips puckering to blow a gentle whoosh of air as he exhales. You feel his breath waft over your face and refuse to register the way it stokes the flame within you.

“I knew I gotta tell ya that you sound amazing, heavenly, even, unlike anything I’ve ever hea-” his reverent rambling is cut short by your cackle that pierces his ears that had perked up in delight while he sang your praises. He looks up to observe you doubling over in sarcastic laughter and waits, confused as ever, for you to explain yourself.

“Skxawng,” you rebuke, “do not insult my intelligence by suggesting you understood a single word other than your name. Neytiri has told me of your incompetence,” you lower your voice and let the venom seep into your tone, “Jakesully.”

He meets your narrowed eyes with a challenge in his stare, his right eyebrow, yet another tawtute feature, quirking up. “You’re wrong y’know,” he tilts his head to the right and nods as if still contemplating your rude interjection. In spite of his shock, he does not appear deterred in any way and for a moment you fear that your attempt at resistance is futile. Perhaps you have grossly underestimated his proficiency at your native language and have embarrassed yourself.

He continues, “I understood you calling me a skxawng just now.” A cheeky smile creeps onto his face as he basks in his ability to rile you up. “But I figure that might as well be my name with how many times Neytiri’s called me that”.

Insistent on finding a fault in his words, you give him an incredulous look and respond, “Now you dare to criticise the tsakarem?” A disbelieving scoff leaves your lips. “Impertinence!” Your words, however, do not have their desired effect as he remains unbothered by your jabs, seeing through them completely. 

“C’mon pretty girl,” Jake tries to reason with you, “y’know that’s not what I meant.” Encouraged by the involuntary huff of defeat that leaves your body that has grown weary from the night’s activities and this back and forth that is honestly fraying your nerves, Jake perseveres with the determination of the Marine that he is. “Now stop deflecting ‘nd take the compliment.” You relent, albeit reluctantly. “Call me crazy but the way you sang out there…it felt like I knew exactly what you were sayin’, even with my thick Jarhead skull.”

He takes a breath before more words tumble out of his mouth. “I know you were singin’ about me. I never thought I would mean enough to the Omatikaya people for someone to write a song about me.” He surprises you by laughing self-deprecatingly – in the short time you have interacted with him you have become used to his natural bravado. “I never thought I would be enough for anyone to write a song about me.”

Jake wants to tell you more. He yearns to speak of the cosmic force, the pull he felt towards you the moment he heard your voice for the first time. The pull he feels tugging at his heartstrings now, plucking away at them, composing a tune to accompany the siren song of your voice. For a moment he thinks he might just really believe this Eywa shit now.

But he doesn’t tell you. For once in his life he holds back. Instead, he moves even closer to you, every inch of his eight foot figure towering over you as he encroaches on your personal space. Your eyes widen, pupils dilating as you take him in. All of him. 

Spurred on by your favourable change in expression, Jake reaches forward to place a warm hand on the snug of your neck. His other hand’s forefinger and thumb frame your dazed face as he caresses your cheek with a reverential tenderness you would have never attributed to him. He shifts his grip down to your chin and tilts your face upwards, so that eye meets eye. 

As your steely resolve weakens into something soft, something pliable, you are rendered boneless against your own will, putty in his hands – carbon fiber-reinforced bones be damned. He is held captive by the unexpected, soft trill of your laughter, spirited away by the light breeze that has entered like the melody of a windchime. Eyes of molten gold bore into your soul and he sees you. He Sees you.

- end of flashback -

Seeing Toruk Makto, however, was anything but easy.

You smile to yourself as you recount how you and Jake met, but are quickly sobered by the realisation that no other clan member would even fathom speaking to Jake so disrespectfully – speaking to Toruk Makto so disrespectfully. And so you are forced to confront the reason why you could not stand the man, even if he ensured your clan’s survival by bringing an end to The Great Sorrow.

You fiddle with the purple tassels of your breast covering, made up of the fallen strands of a tawtsngal plant that you had painstakingly braided to be in likeness to the whispering tendrils of the Utraya Mokri. The Tree of Voices.

To the ignorant tawtute that threatened to populate your beloved Eywa’eveng like pests it was simply one of the many flux vortex hubs that rendered their alien inventions useless, stripping them of their ill-perceived superiority and reminding them that they do not belong here. But to you, it was an awe-inspiring wonder that was the source of many a song composed by you and crooned into the ear of a fussy baby, sung to soothe an ill elder or belted out to relay the ballad of a beloved fallen warrior.

With the stories whispered in your ears by the ancestors, you weave the tapestry of the clan in song form. It is for this reason that Jake had taken to affectionately calling you ‘parrot’, explaining to you that they were birds that once lived on Earth and repeated what was said by others.

Your garment was not only of totemic value, symbolising your role in the clan as an esteemed singer, but was also a love letter to the sacred place that birthed your passion for the art of song - and in doing so established your roots in the intricate network of the clan.

If only you had known of what was to come, you lament. That a day would come when the very roots of the tree that planted you firmly within the clan would be so easily uprooted by the wretched Sky People and their demon machines. On that day, you felt as if your place in the clan was uprooted with it; you had lost your communication channel with the ancestors, and therefore your muse. 

You sit up and detach Jake’s arm, limp with sleep, from your waist. As you look upon his face you try to reconcile all the affection he has extended to you with the fact that he once was a Sky Person, working for their destructive cause.

Before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of resentment stirs within your belly as you question why the Great Mother would choose to allow  your life’s joy to be so mercilessly taken from you and yet bestow the revered title of Toruk Makto on such a man as Jake.

How could she turn her back on you? Strip your pride from you? Replace you with a man born not of Na’vi, but of the immoral tawtute? You cannot help but feel that Jake is more Omatikaya than you ever will be now, as you think of what you long to be. 

His mate.

Mate to Toruk Makto, rider of last shadow, yet unworthy to stand with him, even in his shadow. The honour of being under this dark, ominous, yet protective shroud was reserved for a select few - the chosen ones. Proven warriors who have sacrificed their lives, their existence on this terrestrial plane for Toruk Makto, like Tsu’tey, or dutiful daughters who have overcome prejudices born from murder for Toruk Makto, like Neytiri. Not for glorified parrots. Not for you.

You heave a gentle sigh, banishing those thoughts with a soft shake of your head and rest your head back on Jake’s shoulder. Tense shoulders loosen as you shuffle back into the warm comfort of his body. Your finger begins tracing again, up, up, up his arm before a tentative hand opens up to grasp one of his larger ones.

Curious eyes explore the network of veins that branch out along his hand like the roots of a tree, like the roots of the Utraya Mokri. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you reminisce the first time you had been in such proximity to the veins on his hand and the feelings they aroused in you back then.

Perhaps, you muse, you could find solace in him the same way you once did in your sacred trees. You lean in, pursed lips relaxing to place a tender kiss on each of Jake's fingers, all four of them. The same fingers that once instilled a deep rage within you. The same fingers that held you with a love that can only be Eywa-given. The same fingers used to tame the mighty Toruk. A part of you, no matter how distant or small, knows that in these capable hands you can rest easy.

So yes, your struggle to See Toruk Makto may yet prevail, but Jake? Jake you would always See. It is with this conclusion that your hold on his arm slackens, and half-lidded eyes flutter close. You slot yourself into the space within his body that is made for you. Two bodies mould into one. Little spoon into big spoon.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

palulukan - thanator // tanhi - na’vi bioluminescent freckles // pongu pongu - na’vi alcoholic beverage // kenten - fan lizards // marui - tent // oel ngati kameie - I see you // skxawng - idiot // tsakarem - tsahik-in-training // tawtsngal - purple pandoran flower // tawtute - sky person, sky people // eywa’eveng - na’vi word for pandora

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) - pt. i

Just because you hate him doesn't mean you can't fuck him.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 1/6 (Mini-Series) ⇢ Next Chapter | Masterlist Word Count: 1.8K Summary: Your shithead brother, Seokjin, is throwing his annual Valentine's Day party. You didn't want to go in the first place - and now his shithead friend, Jimin, is responsible for getting you there. Content: Smut (18+ - DON'T TEST ME, MINORS); Seokjin's younger sister AU; fuck buddies that hate each other; mean!Jimin; brat!Reader; spanking and one (1) pussy slap; degradation; v fingering; orgasm denial; ✨ t e n s i o n ✨ A/N: I've been marinating on this idea for a minute, so I figured why not try it on Valentine's Day with no prior warning? Jade chooses violence, always. I dedicate this to my wife, @jihopesjoint, because she deserves a Jimin fic for once, lmao. Tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @mgthecat @btschimeyplanet @jaejoontrashpanda @taebaelove @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @jkoofier (couldn't tag)

“Stop gawking.”  

Your tone was flat, and your eyes were fixated on your own reflection as you fussed with your eyeliner. It had been made abundantly clear to Seokjin that you wanted nothing to do with this party, but your brother never listened. It’s tradition, he’d whined, the reservation has already been made.  

“I mean it. Fuck off.”

You broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining with yourself and glanced over your reflection’s shoulder. Standing and smirking near the door, Park Jimin cocked his head to the side. 

Far and away the worst of your brother’s friends, you added Jimin’s presence in your life to the long list of grievances you held against Seokjin. Other notable entries on that list were: Seokjin shirking off his promise to drive you to the club; asking Jimin to sub in on his behalf; and failing to inform you of the lineup change because he knew you'd kill him with advanced notice.  

On Jimin’s list of infractions — among many, many other things — was his refusal to let you finish getting ready at home. He was insufferable and impatient, but he was your last resort. Knowing this, he'd forced you to hurriedly pack up your cosmetics, which meant you had to finish applying them in the club’s green room.

That motherfucker. 

“Are they uneven on purpose?” Jimin scrunched up his nose in feigned confusion, gesturing back and forth between your black wings.  

You glanced at him briefly before returning your gaze to the task at hand. “Is there really nothing better you could be doing right now? Laying down in the middle of an intersection, perhaps?” 

“Here I was, thinking you’d be grateful for the attention. This is your second consecutive Valentine’s Day alone, isn’t it? Poor girl.” Jimin cooed.

When you didn’t turn to acknowledge him the way he expected, you heard footfalls approaching ominously from behind.  

“Attention’s what you want, isn’t it? Looking downright desperate in this fucking dress.” Jimin’s palm collided harshly with your ass cheek through the fabric of that fucking dress, fingers digging in and daring you to bruise.

He should’ve known by now what you could and couldn’t take; but if he’d somehow forgotten, your lack of reaction would serve as a necessary reminder. After all, not far from his grip was the bite mark he’d left you with last week. 

What is this — amateur hour? 

Your bored expression — blinking idly back at him in the mirror — incensed him and you knew it. Jimin’s frustration with you was palpable, never-ending, and wholly reciprocated. It vibrated off him, echoed off you, and trapped you in a perpetual fever pitch. It'd been like this for months, and you got the feeling that it’d stay this way until one of you cracked and tapped out. 

It sure as shit won't be me.

Eventually, his hand left you. Jimin himself, however, did not. He stayed put behind you and said nothing; simply watching in silence as you smoked out your lower lash-line with deep, matte brown. His expression was indecipherable, but undeniably focused.

You wondered if part of him relished moments like this. If — in the rare quiet where you weren’t fighting or fucking — he felt at peace. He certainly looked that way, but not for long.

You never let the dust settle, though; never let him get too comfortable, or think he was truly welcomed. You ruined it with pleasure, always, by opening your mouth and saying something sharp.  

Then, he’d do or say something cruel in response with the sole purpose of pissing you off. And then that toxic carousel would keep on turning. Around and around and around you went, each silently satisfied that the other was still spinning, too. 

Finally allowing Jimin to know that you’d caught him staring, you rolled your eyes. “How about, instead of leering at me, you go find Seokjin and make unsolicited observations about his love life? There’s plenty wrong there to keep you occupied.” 

He smirked, just slightly, still refusing to acknowledge the fact that he liked your sense of humor.  

“Or —” You drawled, painting your lashes black with mascara. “You could find someone to fuck that actually enjoys your presence. Statistically speaking, there has to be somebody for you.” 

When he turned on his heel and headed for the door, you expected that he was storming off. You didn’t look up, unaffected by his near-constant theatrics. That boy was entirely too dramatic, and if the one thing he wanted was your attention, he wasn’t going to get it.  

But instead of hearing the door fly open and then slam shut, you heard the lock engage. The faint, metallic click from across the room sent your heart into the seat of your throat. Soon enough, he was pressed against the back of you, hot breath causing your pulse to sprint. 

Jimin plucked the tube of mascara from your fingers, earning a glare. “This isn’t waterproof, is it?” he asked with a frown, eyes scanning the label. They flicked up to you and saw the unasked question on the tip of your tongue.  

“Because I’m going to make you cry.” His tone was matter of fact as his rough hand slid up the length of your spine to the space between your shoulders. Pinned with your cheek pressed into the countertop, you gasped. You immediately regretted that small concession. 

You couldn’t see Jimin's expression, but you knew without a doubt that he was sneering. He quickly gathered the short length of your dress in one hand, which he held tight at the small of your back. Even more harshly, his hands grabbed at the waistband of your thong. He dragged it down in one swift movement, well-practiced but never gentle.

The force of it all caused your cheekbone to dig harder into the countertop. You winced as it smarted, but inwardly, you loved it. Jimin would never hear you say as much, though.

Your underwear dropped unceremoniously around your ankles, leaving your center completely exposed and on-display. A loud smack erupted as his hand collided with the previously corrupted skin of your ass, undoubtedly leaving a fully formed handprint where he’d struck you. You hissed through gritted teeth, but the sting was quickly muted when he grabbed a handful of your delicate cheek, fingertips pinching hard. 

When he spanked you again, it wasn’t on the doughy flesh of your ass; it was your unsuspecting, already-aching cunt. Your mouth fell open and a whimper tumbled out. To your dismay, he removed his hand quickly and held it in front of your face.

“Do you see how fucking wet you are?” Jimin scoffed with fluorescent light glinting off his slicked fingers. “Already a mess, and I’ve barely touched you. You’re pathetic — you know that, right?” 

You mumbled your reply, but with your cheek pressed hard against the counter, you knew it was incomprehensible. He cocked his head once more in that arrogant, impossible way he always did. 

“Didn’t catch that, princess,” he said dryly. His hand spread under your jaw and gave you no choice but to look at him. “One more time, with feeling.” 

Insolence building in the pit of your stomach, you narrowed your eyes at him. Loud and clear, you bit back, “I said, you’re right. You’ve barely touched me, princess.” 

Judging by his flushed face, you had him feral. Good.  

Jimin grabbed your wrists and pulled you flush against his chest. One arm slid under yours, crossed diagonally across your heaving chest, and gripped the strap of your dress. His hold forced you up on your tiptoes, while his other hand forced your legs further apart. 

“Such a fucking brat,” Jimin growled against your neck, teeth then nipping at the sensitive spot behind your ear. There was a brief flicker of amusement in his darkened eyes when your low moan escaped you. It quickly dissolved into involuntary mewling as his tongue flicked out to spread its heat over the marks he’d left there. “You want to be punished so badly, but I don’t think you can take it.” 

Your voice was breathy, weightless, but there was unwavering defiance in your words. “Try me.” 

Jimin had no choice but to respond to your challenge by dragging his fingers down the soft skin of your pelvis; the coolness of his rings left goosebumps in their wake. As his middle finger dipped down to your clit, you willed your knees not to buckle.  

“Eyes up,” He ordered, his laser-focused stare ricocheting off the mirror to you. When you rolled them instead, he pushed his long digit into you without warning. You jolted, wavering on your tiptoes for a moment until you were steadied by the forearm across your torso. “Eyes up.” 

You blinked, stunned, at your reflection. The hand gripping the strap of your dress dropped to the already hardened nipples peaking through the thin fabric above them. It was impossible to focus on the way he pinched at each of them, or the way he rolled them between his thumb and index finger, because his middle finger was curling against the spongy spot inside of you at an unforgiving pace. 

“You’ll need more than one if you intend to take all of me,” Jimin hummed deviously in your ear. “Have you earned two?” 

You nodded, turning to putty in his hands as he continued to abuse your g-spot. 

“Stupid girl,” Jimin clicked his tongue, then ordered, “Speak.” 

“Give it to me,” You spat, though the fight left you as soon as his ring finger slid into your weeping hole. It worked in tandem with his middle finger, scissoring and stretching you open. And then that goddamn thumb pushed hard into your clit, flicking at it cruelly.  

You were teetering on the edge of oblivion with white hot heat building in your core, and pleasured tears welling up in your eyes; but you were relentlessly bold. “Harder.” 

Jimin smirked as you rutted your hips against his hand. He let out another dry, damning laugh, and then he did the unforgivable: He pulled his digits out of you mere moments before your orgasm could crash over you like a wave.  

You scowled at him through the mirror, but you were thankful he couldn’t see the way your hammering heart dropped dead on the floor of your chest.  

“I hate you,” You seethed, panting. “Fucking menace.”

Jimin placed a chaste kiss on your temple, in total juxtaposition to how roughly you normally treated each other. “If I recall correctly, you told me to fuck off,” He murmured against your skin. The hand that abandoned you whispered down the length of your neck, then disappeared off the slope of your shoulder. “So, I’m off.”

When he sauntered over to the door, you were too furious to say anything. In fact, your jaw was clenched tightly enough to crack teeth. It only got worse when he called out over his shoulder with a lazy wave of his hand, “Fix your face. I warned you about that mascara.”

[rescue-ram]

Elaborating on my previous post in as unborked a way as possible....

In S1-S3, TrapHawk and FrankMarg are often contrasted as dueling couples very explicitly. So I'm going to take my statement "Hawkeye is more effeminate but Trapper is more feminine" and apply it to Frank and Margaret to clarify what I mean.

"Frank is more effeminate than Margaret, but Margaret is more feminine than Frank." Frank is unmanly, in a hypocritical, denying, self-deluding kind of way. He's a poser, and the humor comes from having his pose exposed as fraudulent and inauthentic. Hawkeye is also unmanly, but in a cool way, because he owns it and deliberately shirks what's expected of him "as a man" because he has no intrinsic respect for it. The humor comes from his rebellion and self-confident outrageousness. Margaret is more traditionally masculine in many ways than Frank, something which is played for (sexist) humor in its own right, and to contrast how unmanly Frank is by comparison and heighten his jokes. Trapper's masculinity plays a similar role- while he sometimes plays the sissy to back up Hawkeye, he more frequently acts as a straight man to heighten the contrast and make Hawkeye funnier.

So when I'm talking about feminity, I'm thinking of it not just as "unmanliness", but as "traditional feminine role". Margaret plays that to Frank- she's supporting him, hyping him up, she's his distaff counterpart. A lot of their humor is that old school Punch and Judy "nagging wife and henpecked husband" stuff, for sure, but there's no question that he's the main antagonist and she's backing him up. I think when people say she doesn't become her own character until he leaves, it's because she's so much his other half while they're together. Trapper is also playing a supporting role to Hawkeye- he's also the helpmeet, the supporter, the other half. In some ways I think he actually plays to the ideal of traditional feminity better because he doesn't subvert Hawkeye the way Margaret will do to Frank sometimes. I'm sure I'm forgetting something but I can think of like two times Trapper puts Hawkeye down for a joke, while Hawkeye does put Trapper down semi-frequently. Similarly, Trapper plays a caretaking role semi-frequently but I can only think of two times Hawkeye plays that role for Trapper. If under patriarchy to be a man is to be in charge, to be independent, to be your own person, who's the man in Trapper and Hawkeye's relationship? Not Trapper.

Contrasting Trapper with a few other characters just to further clarify my thinking on this... Klinger also has the Bugs Bunny effeminacy as rebellion humor going on, but he isn't a feminine person- the humor is the incongruity between his masculine bearing and his behavior. Radar plays a support role to Henry as well as to TrapHawk, but he is very much his own wily little person, he isn't "the other half" to anyone in particular, and although he's "unmanly" he's unmanly in the ways boys are, not women. He isn't a feminine person. A lot of Henry's humor comes from playing around with his masculinity, but it's never directly or pervasively subverted or questioned. I think Mulcahy kind of comes closest to "feminine man", but his rather soft and supportive nature is also contrasted with his outbursts of more conventional masculinity, even in S1-S3 when he's a more minor character.

I could point to other things that give Trapper a feminine vibe to me, even though he's not unmanly, things that are kind of female coded in our culture- his quietness, his neatness, his fondness for kids, his morality especially- but my thesis here is Hawkeye's effeminacy is an act of self-assertion, and Trapper's feminity is a role of support.

[authorred]

Miguel O’Hara bondage headcanons because I’m a degenerate | Miguel O’Hara x GN!Reader

Masterlist

Preface: Trying to get Miguel to relax and allow someone else to take control of the reigns is no easy feat. What happens when he finally does after a while of suspicion and hesitation?

I’ve never watched Across the Spiderverse :)

This will definitely be NSFW (18+) so minors DNI (do not interact). Unless you do, which in that case I refuse to be held responsible for the content you consume.

Warning(s): NSFW

Bondage with Miguel being the rigger is one thing, but bondage with Miguel being the rope bunny is an entirely different experience

It takes a long time to get Miguel to even think about it

It’s not so much a kink/fetish thing as it is a trust thing

Being tied up/restrained is not an easy thing to let someone do to you

Miguel is so used to being in control of quite literally everything that the thought of someone else trying to take over makes him extremely uncomfortable and uneasy

No one will do it better than him and/or do it correctly like he would

Miguel has no issue being the rigger because he knows what to do and he’s used to being the one in control

You need to start slow. That is imperative

Handcuffs might not work because he could just snap them

Silk rope. And lots of it.

If you’re going to bind him, you have to bind all of him

Just doing his arms will make him feel uneasy and unsecure 

Tell him exactly what you’re doing when you’re doing it and before you do it

If you’re going to wrap the rope around his shoulders, tell him

If you’re going to wrap it around his torso or his wrists, tell him

Never stop communicating

Assure him constantly

I don’t mean baby talk or praises

Tell him he’s safe

Tell him it’s okay to be and feel vulnerable, and that it’s okay to let someone else take control temporarily

You need to know what you’re doing

If you’re a baby rigger who’s never tied a knot before or are looking at google instructions whilst doing it, forget it

He needs to know you’re competent. He needs that assurance

When you’re done with the binds, just sit there with him. Show him nothing bad will happen if he relaxes for a little

He’ll pull at the binds and start getting frustrated at the lack of movement

Gently touch him or talk to him to get him distracted

He’ll be tense and semi-stressed

Gently run your hands over the parts of him he likes best

Get him to stare into your eyes

He will be vulnerable and he knows it--show him you are a safespace

Eventually when he does relax and calm down, untie him

Tell him it was a good first session

When he inevitably goes, ‘. . . first session?’ say it’d be overwhelming to do anything on his first try

He might still be hesitant, but considerably less than before

The second session he’d be a bit more relaxed and you won’t have to assure him as much. He might even smile

Repeat what you did the first time: Just sit there and be his safespace

Eventually his body will slack against the ropes, and that’s when you can slowly transition to sexual activities

When you tell him you want to try ‘x’ with him whilst he’s tied up, he won’t outright shirk away, but he won’t be over the moon either

Start slow, again

Touch him gently and softly--always let him know where it is you’re going to touch, either verbally or by obvious gestures

He won’t make much noise at first

His muscles will pull and tense at the binds, but he won’t protest the sting and constriction

In a way, the binds force him to relax

When you reach a point where you both can comfortably engage in sexual acts when he’s bound, it’s like a religious experience (the good kind)

Always warm him up with either head or a handjob. Don’t make him cum though

Get him to a point of desperation and need--be gentle about it though

Always assume being gentle unless he specifies otherwise

He might accidentally snap a rope or two

It’s fine he’ll pay for more

You might have to get tied up and fucked in return tbh, depends on your dynamic

[gretavanfleetposts]

Make Her Happy

Author's Note: I took way too much melatonin last night and, as I laid there on my death bed this morning, I finally wrote it, Josh unable to make your date so he sends Jake instead, because I love silly little unrealistic situations. This is also unedited because I still can hardly see straight lol like it was A LOT of melatonin. I took it and 20 minutes later realized what I had done and said…fuck. Anyways, idk, enjoy

Content Warnings: fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, overstimulation, penetrative sex (18+ minors do not interact), swearing

Word Count: 6k

You'd spent over an hour preparing Josh's favorite pasta for date night, setting up plates meticulously with pretty napkins folded beside them, drinks already poured as the night grew later and you grew even more antsy for his arrival. You'd hardly had a moment to yourselves with the new album coming out. Josh had been busy and when he wasn't busy, he was exhausted. But he'd promised you a date night and you were going to make the most of it while you still had him under your fingers, frilly blue lingerie tucked away under your clothing and all.

You were giddy with excitement when you heard the doorbell, though Josh didn't usually use the bell. You didn't care though, and as you plated the last of the pasta on his end of the table, nice and hot and ready to be enjoyed, you skipped over to the door to greet your boyfriend.

And, given all of the work you had put into the evening, given all of the excitement you'd felt, even given the way you'd held off on touching yourself last night in favor of letting Josh be the one to get you off, it was entirely understandable that when you flung the door open, your reaction was what is was.

"Oh, you're not Josh."

Jake's face immediately fell from a wide grin to that of a displeased grimace.

"Good to see you, too," he said sarcastically as he pushed past you into your house to shirk off his coat and chelsea boots. "Josh got caught up with his voice coach," he explained as he moved.

You sighed, your disappointment easily showing through your demeanor. You weren't surprised, really. He'd been canceling a lot lately. You understood, of course. Well, you tried anyway. You tried to be the loving, supportive girlfriend no matter what.

Still, it sucked to miss another night with him.

"Guess I'll just put this in Tupperware then," you murmured as you moved to collect the dishes from the dining table.

But Jake stopped you with a quick grab of your wrist as he pried a plate from your hand and set it back down on the table.

"Well hey, now, I haven't eaten," he protested, his look turning into that of a wounded puppy the longer you gave him the glare you'd been sending him.

"It's for Josh," you explained, picking the plate back up again. "He's been talking about it all week, I'll just save it."

But Jake took the plate from your hands once again.

"Well he sent me to…fill in. So by that rule, you have to share."

"What do you mean 'fill in'?" you asked cautiously, your hesitation growing as that look in his eyes did, a look that somehow suggested he was up to something. The twins were up to something. That was never good.

"He knows he's been very hit or miss lately," he shrugged. "He didn't want to stand you up again. 'Make her happy,' he said."

You scoffed at him despite the way he almost looked like he genuinely wanted to eat dinner with you.

"That's ridiculous, I am happy."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, thank you," you said a bit more sternly before adding, for good measure, "I don't need a filler."

You'd eat alone, like you did every other night he'd had to cancel. You'd put on the TV and knit or read a book alone, too. And then you'd go to bed alone and let your vibrator do the work you really wanted Josh to do. It was fine. You understood.

"So you're going to let all of this work go to waste yet again? How many times has he done this this month?"

You didn't answer, mostly because Jake didn't need to hear it, didn't need the satisfaction that no, you really didn't want to spend another night alone. But God, you didn't. You wanted someone to eat with you, someone to curl up on the couch with you, someone to touch you. No, not someone. You wanted Josh.

You sighed as you dropped your gaze to your feet. "I know he's busy. It'll be better once the album is out."

"Such an understanding girlfriend," he answered in a mocking tone, earning an eye roll from you.

"Okay well if he really sent you, why didn't he text me first to at least ask?"

For all you knew, Josh had let Jake know he'd be late and Jake had decided to swoop in and save the day. Not that you really thought he'd do that but still.

"Have you checked your phone?"

"Of course I've-" you started before realizing your phone had been charging in another room while dinner had been cooked. You hadn't in fact checked it in a while though you weren't entirely sure it had made any noise either in that time.

Holding up a finger to Jake silently, you retreated from the room to find your phone, sitting there on its charger with 100% battery and a single text from Josh that you had clearly missed.

"Can't make it tonight. I'm sorry, love. Let Jake keep you company tonight. And then I'll make it up to you. I promise."

Surely that didn't mean…

No, why would it? It was ridiculous to think Josh meant anything other than let Jake have dinner with you. Were you really that desperate that you hoped there was another meaning?

You met Jake in the other room where he still stood, only now with a wide, smug grin plastered across his face as you gave him a conceding look without ever admitting you had in fact gotten a text from Josh.

"Fine. But dinner only," you relented. "Then you can go home and I can go to bed."

With my vibrator, you finished the sentence silently.

You were pent up, to say the least. But you could fake a date with Jake for an hour or two. Surely you could.

"Dinner only," he agreed with a smile that suggested it would not just be dinner only.

Okay, maybe you couldn't.

—

Admittedly, you'd hoped that by the time dinner was finished, he would excuse himself for the night. But he didn't, and after helping you stack dishes into the sink to be washed some other time, he took your hands in his and pulled you into him with a hum, a makeshift song for you to dance to in the kitchen. And any other night, you might have twirled with your boyfriend's brother in your kitchen, might have even giggled when he accidentally stepped on your toes, but you were aching for a moment alone to relieve yourself of the tension that had been building in your body when you had thought you'd be spending the night with Josh. And his hands.

"Jake, I don't want to dance," you groaned as you resisted his attempts like a spoiled child not getting what she wanted.

"Oh come on, this cannot be all you do on date night with him," Jake pushed back, refusing to let your wrists drop from his hands.

"It's not, I just-" you started but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"Okay well, if it's not then you have to do with me whatever you'd do with him. I'm the substitute tonight. His orders were don't let the date fall through."

You ignored the feeling that sprang up deep inside your stomach at the implication that Jake would do whatever it is you usually did with Josh.

"Since when do you listen to him anyway?" you groaned again, still tugging helplessly at your wrists.

Was Jake strong? Oh god, stop thinking.

"Since I was sent to make his girlfriend's night not shit," he corrected you in a stern voice that almost sounded frustrated but more than anything, sounded adamant.

And you couldn't help but sigh and stop the struggle you were putting up as your shoulders fell.

So you weren't getting a moment alone. Not for a while, at least. That's okay. You'd waited a few days to get off with Josh already, what was a few more hours?

God. Hours.

"Okay, okay, fine," you relented, not doing much to hide your disappointment although Jake seemed satisfied as he gave you a soft, "Good," and let your hands fall.

"Now what do you usually do after dinner?"

Well, that was a bit tricky.

We usually do what I've been wanting to do all night.

You couldn't say that though.

"Well, usually we…" you started, trailing off and hoping he'd find the rest of the sentence in the silence. But clearly, he didn't. Or maybe he just wanted to hear you say it out loud. That was probably it, the smug bastard.

"I'm listening," he said as he cocked an eyebrow.

"Usually we…ya know…" you started and trailed off yet again, lifting your shoulders to mimic the way your eyebrows moved in insinuation.

He made a face back, covering the amused look he had in his eyes. "God, on a full stomach?"

"I don't need your judgment," you snapped back, your mood declining the longer you were denied an orgasm.

"Alright, alright," he backtracked, "and then what after?"

You shrugged. "And then sometimes we watch a movie, sometimes we just talk, sometimes we play a game. Just depends on…stuff."

You knew what you meant by stuff and it seemed he knew what you meant by stuff too because he nodded and suddenly the stark amusement was back, flooding his stupid, beautiful face just like it did his twin, though on much rarer occasion.

"Okay well, I'm more of a sex before dinner type of guy but I guess we can switch the order. Movie first though, you don't eat pasta before running a marathon."

Surely he was kidding. Although, it didn't really seem like he was kidding. Still, the stunned silence on your face earned a laugh from him, utterly pleased with himself as it were, and he dragged you into the living room, choosing to ignore your silence to keep the night going as best he could.

Silence was probably better than the disgustingly horny thoughts that suddenly filled your mind at the thought of Jake filling his brother's role in that way. His hands holding your hips, his mouth against your skin, his cock-

No, silence was definitely better.

"What movie?" Jake's voice shook you from your string of filthy thoughts as he flipped through Netflix titles carelessly, remote in hand.

"Um, it was Josh's night to pick so I guess that means you get to pick," you answered meekly as you found the corner of the couch and snuggled up with the pillow, trying to be discrete as you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to put yourself out of your misery, even just a little bit.

"Fair enough," he answered in a low voice, navigating to one of his favorite movies, a documentary about pirates that thankfully was only an hour long.

You could suffer for another hour.

But as the opening credits came rolling across the screen, he pulled a blanket from his corner of the couch and gestured you over to him with a wave of his hand.

"Come on, I won't bite."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his choice of words.

"I'm not entirely sure I believe that."

He gave you a laugh back as he lifted the blanket for your approaching body and let it settle over top of you, pulling you into his side easily with one arm.

"Well, I guess if date night usually includes biting," he mused, turning his eyes back to the screen.

"Sometimes it does," you shrugged against him as you got cozy.

Maybe it wouldn't be an hour of suffering. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad at all. Although, the heat from his skin left you almost dizzy as you curled up next to him.

Pirates. Just focus on the pirates.

"I am sorry he's not here," Jake's voice caught your attention again. "And I know he is too."

You already knew Josh was likely beside himself over the fact that he had missed yet another date. And you weren't angry. Sexually frustrated? Sure. But not angry.

"It's okay," you sighed. "Thank you for coming. I do appreciate it."

"Yeah, of course."

When the movie ended an hour later, Jake shut the TV off, leaving you both alone in silence and now, in the dark, leaving to think back to Josh's text about Jake keeping you company and then Jake's more forward comments about pasta and marathons.

"I'm gonna go clean up from dinner," you said as you cleared your throat and pried yourself away from Jake's body heat to stand and head toward the kitchen. But Jake stood after you.

"I can do that," he offered in a soft tone, adding after a much huskier, "Later."

You were almost afraid to ask.

"Later?"

He nodded with a thin smile on his lips and eyes that drooped a little more toward the bedroom-y end of the spectrum. Not that he didn't almost always have 'fuck me' eyes. That was a trait the three brothers shared.

"Yes, after you're asleep."

After I'm asleep. Are you planning on soothing me to sleep, Jake?

"Didn't realize you were planning on staying that long," was all you said back, trying desperately to shove the thought of your aching center from your mind and act like you were perfectly fine, nothing was wrong, you weren't hoping Josh was letting you do what Jake looked like he was planning on doing regardless.

"Well, I think we've missed one crucial part of the night," he gave you a shrug back. So nonchalant. But then his eyes turned a little bit darker and you saw every intention behind them. "And I don't plan to miss out on any part of date night."

You weren't sure if the scoff you meant to give him had happened out loud or in your head.

"You're not serious."

"I am very serious," he nodded. "Josh said-"

"There's no way he meant-"

"You want to read that text again?"

You were silent for a pause, knowing his text was inconspicuous and you were likely just looking for any green light to act on your more horny of feelings, before you gave him a shake of your head.

"Okay but surely that's not what he meant. I mean, I'm not going to have sex with you, Jake. I can't have sex with you."

You weren't entirely sure you were saying it for him though surely that didn't hurt.

"Why not?" was all he asked back.

You were incredulous at the question. "Why not? Why not? Do you hear yourself right now?"

"You wanna call him and ask?"

"No, I'm not going to call him and ask!"

Finally Jake rolled his eyes and pulled his phone from his pocket, clicking around a few moments before handing it to you, outstretched with a text exchange between him and his twin open on the screen.

"Here."

"Missing our date again. Can't make it out of the studio. I hate the idea of her there alone, eating the pasta I asked for by herself yet again."

"Want me to go eat it for you?"

"Will you? I just don't want to disappoint her again. I don't want her to be alone."

"Yeah, I'll fill in"

"I'm giving you permission to give her the whole date experience, just this once. Just please make her happy."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I've seen the way you look at her. I'm not an idiot. Just this once."

As you finished reading through the text messages, you couldn't deny the feeling of anticipation building again the way it had when you'd heard the knock on the door earlier in the night, thinking it was Josh.

You and Josh hadn't touched each other in a while, hadn't really found a moment between the busy schedule of being in a band and the exhaustion that seemed to follow him those days. And you really were desperate for the touch of another person, although it was hardly desperation that would lead you into Jake's arms.

You watched as he put his phone back in his pocket and stood with a waiting look, waiting for either a quiet yes or a very loud no, probably.

He could take care of you. Maybe not as well as Josh can but, guitar fingers, and all…

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," you sighed as you shook your head, really stunned that it was happening at all, feeling even more riled up now that you knew it wouldn't just be you and your vibrator yet again.

But Jake wasn't stunned though, rather, he was pleased, and you eyed him carefully as a wide smile spread across his lips.

"Is that a yes? Are you gonna let me make you happy?"

You took a deep breath, a very deep breath, before you finally nodded, moisture already pooling between your legs quite shamelessly.

"That's…that's a yes."

It seemed impossible that his smile could grow even wider, but grow it did at your consent.

"Well shit now I'm nervous," he mused as he stepped toward you and took your waist in his hands to pull you into him without so much as letting you warm up to the idea.

But you gave him an eye roll knowing he was full of shit and hoping it hid your own nerves.

"No you're not," you answered back in a voice much closer to a whisper despite your best efforts not to let the nerves show in your voice.

"No, I'm not," he repeated with a devilish grin, and suddenly your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. "This isn't going to be very Josh-like," he said again, lifting one hand to your neck to let his thumb push your jaw up and angle your face toward him.

"I wouldn't expect it to be," you said in a whisper back, your voice already failing you, it seemed.

"I just need you to do one thing for me."

"What's that?"

"Let yourself relax," he smiled, probably smug due to the way you were practically melting in his hands already. "It'll be easier for me to make you feel good if you do."

You felt a knot form in your throat at his words, 'make you feel good', and you gulped it down.

"I don't know if I can," you admitted, your eyes locked to his as your breathing came faster in the background.

"Just breathe. I'm just here to make you happy," he smiled again as he dipped his face low to press his lips to your collarbone, earning a sharp gasp and the opposite of his order to breathe as he did so.

The feeling was immediate, the need, the pure ache. You wanted him to touch you, you wanted more, you wanted his hands and his lips all over your body. You needed him to help you come.

"I'll go slow, I promise," he assured you as he pulled you by the waist harder into his body, his lips growing feverish as they kissed along your skin up the side of your neck and along your jaw. "Ease you into it," he mumbled.

God, I don't want to go slow. Please don't make me go slow.

Your body practically cried out for him, for his touch. It was entirely different than Josh's. He felt entirely different than Josh. But it was breathtaking nonetheless, made all the better by the feeling that it was something you weren't supposed to have, like a deep sin that made your mouth water.

"What if I don't want you to go slow?" you breathed out in between the movements of his lips scrambling every coherent thought in your brain and he pulled back with a smile on his lips and a chuckle on his tongue.

"Then I'll go as fast as you want me, baby."

With that, he delved his hands into your hair and brought your face to his, kissing you hard and practically short-circuiting your brain in the process.

Oh god, he was good at that.

Never breaking the kiss, his hands searched blindly along the path to your bedroom, saving you from bumping into a few things along the way, before his hands finally got busy stripping you of your clothes when you reached the destination.

You might have been embarrassed, too, being seen by your boyfriend's twin naked for the first time, if it hadn't been for the desperation you'd been feeling for days now drawing you to him and his touch without shame. And once your clothes were happily scattered along your bedroom floor, he connected your lips yet again and backed you up against the nearest wall where your head hit with a thud, the pain absolutely nothing compared to the electric pleasure it sent jolting through your body.

There, with you against the wall, he silently sank to his knees, lifting your leg gently up over his shoulder as he came eye-level with your heat.

Fuck, yes, put your mouth on me. A tongue is so much better than a toy.

You were afraid to look down at him, afraid you'd remember it was Jake there instead of Josh and suddenly freak out before you got what it was you wanted. So instead, you fixed your eyes to the wall opposite you and didn't dare stop him as he dove between your legs, flicking his tongue across your aching, throbbing clit.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your hands immediately moving to grab at his hair.

It was harder to grab than Josh's but just as easy to pull.

Your hips sought friction along his face as he ate you with fervency, his tongue taking turns flicking your clit and rolling it on the tip of his tongue and delving into you to taste you better.

And Jake's tongue was good but Josh's tongue was better. But when it came to fingers though, it was the exact opposite, evident in the almost pornographic moan that slurred from your lips as Jake prodded a finger into you and began to pump while his lips wrapped around your clit to suck.

"Holy shit, that feels good, don't stop," you breathed out like it was A singular word as your leg still up around his shoulder clamped down tighter, drawing him closer to you and keeping him there.

He only hummed against you, lapping at your clit like he was starved as he continued to curl his finger to brush against your g-spot like he'd had no trouble finding it, soon adding another finger to the mix as he worked to relieve you of the tension that had wound so tightly over the course of, well, the last month really.

You shamelessly ground against his face, writhing against the wall, making sounds louder than you would have thought in his hands. You'd be embarrassed when he came up for air but for now, your focus was tunneling in on one thing and one thing only, the thing you'd been needing since before he'd set foot in your home: the orgasm about to tear through your body and release itself on his tongue.

The wet sound of his tongue lapping at your center was obscene but it only spurred forward your pleasure as the first waves of your orgasm began to roll through you and an ungodly noise escaped your lips like a cry.

God, it felt good to come undone at someone else's hands other than your own, especially Jake's very skilled ones.

He worked you through it diligently, lapping it up until you were so sensitive, your hands pushed his face away and you squirmed against the wall. But Jake didn't stop his movements, didn't even slow them.

"Oh god, Jake, please, too much," you pleaded with him as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you.

He seemed almost to press his lips harder against you, seemed to suck your clit harder as you writhe and struggled to see straight, struggled to stand straight.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," you whispered as your vision began to go blurry, and suddenly overstimulation threatened to turn into another orgasm, a little more dull but still breathtakingly pleasurable as it approached out of almost nowhere.

He kept going to push you through it despite your body trying to retreat from the feeling. And with your fingers unable to find any purchase against the smooth wall, you held onto his head for dear life to keep your legs from buckling.

And then the second one hit you, taking every bit of air from your lungs as it did. You were pretty sure you were hurting him, too, with the way you grabbed at his hair and pulled, but you didn't really care and he didn't seem to care because he worked you through it with his fingers, licking around the sensitive bundle of nerves instead of directly over it as his fingers curled and grazed that spot with a slower rhythm until he stopped altogether and stood to his feet, catching you against him before your legs had the opportunity to give out.

"Those fucking noises," he whispered into you hair as he gave you a minute to breathe and regain your strength.

Only a minute though.

With his hands in your hair again, he pulled your head back to look at him, taking in the way your face flushed and the drained look you were already wearing with a pleased smile.

"I need you to stand for me, okay? Just a little longer," he asked in a soft voice that could have killed you, really. Like he was pleading with you to be good for him just a little longer.

And God, did you want to be good for him just a little bit longer.

With a nod of agreement, he walked you back toward the bed.

"Good, turn around and put your hands on the bed."

You did as you were told even though your legs were absolutely shaking and you weren't entirely sure how long you'd be able to maintain the position.

But then you felt the heat of his skin behind you, the rock hard feeling of his erection pressed against the back of your leg, and you no longer cared about the burn. It didn't even register in your mind.

"Tell me if I'm too rough, okay?" he asked in a whisper against your ear as he leaned over you one last time.

Please be too rough.

"Yes, sir," you whispered back, something you'd never said in bed before since Josh wasn't really the type but something Jake seemed to utterly enjoy judging by the way his cock twitched against your thigh.

"Ooh, I like that," he answered, a smile palpable in his voice as he straightened.

From behind you, you heard the work of him pulling a condom out of somewhere, probably his wallet in his discarded jeans, and you waited as patiently as you were capable of for him to wrap it around himself and line himself up with your entrance. Not that patient, truthfully, as you stood there practically presenting yourself to him, pushing back against nothing until finally it was him there.

"Such a good girl, falling in line for me so easily," he dropped his sweeter demeanor in favor of one a little bit cocky for your taste.

Not that you weren't falling in line very easily for him.

But every thought in your head flooded out the window as he pushed into you, one long, languid thrust to the hilt that had you moaning at the feeling, the strength of your arms being tested under the weight of dizzying pleasure.

"I think you secretly wanted this the moment I showed up. I think you like being a little slut," he grunted as he withdrew and gave you another sharp thrust.

"Yes, fuck, I wanted it," you admitted. Really anything just to spur him on.

"What was that?" he asked in a growl, his hands grabbing your hips and holding you down on his cock as you clenched around him.

"I wanted it, sir," you corrected yourself in the sweetest voice you could manage.

It seemed to please.

"There it is," he muttered as he rewarded you instantly with a threatening pace.

It was wholly different than being with Josh, the way he spoke, the way his teeth clenched as he fucked you like he was trying not to spill inside of you already. He was a lot rougher although there was still something gentle in the way his hands wrapped around your hips and guided you back to meet his thrusts, even if his words were far from gentle.

"Fuck, you are tight," he mumbled to himself before raising his voice to speak to you again. "I wanna hear you. I wanna hear you beg for my cock. Beg me for more."

He really didn't have to ask twice.

"Please, Jake, more, keep going. Your cock feels so fucking good inside of me but I need more. I need it harder," you begged, practically sobbed, totally unaware that you had called him Jake and not sir.

But he had caught it.

"Fuck, that was almost perfect, baby," he said with a frustrated tone as he halted his movements suddenly, begrudgingly.

"Fuck! No, I meant sir, please, sir, don't stop," you begged as you realized your mistake, your hips wiggling to try and do the work yourself, to try and coax him back into fucking you.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he answered, breathing already labored despite the fact that he was still very much in control of the situation.

You were doing the work yourself, pushing your hips back onto his, but there wasn't much power behind it and it left you wanting more, desperate to come again even though you had twice before.

"Please, sir, fuck me harder, please," you tried again, saying anything you could think of that might have ignited some mercy in him. "I need to feel your cock filling me up, I need to come all over it, sir."

And finally, he lifted you into a stand by your hair, just to whisper into your ear, "See? That's how you get what you fucking want," before dropping you back down onto the mattress and thrusting into you so hard that you had no time to regain your stance as he fucked you face first into the mattress, using it as an opportunity to get better leverage to push into you.

You were fairly certain you were leaving the planet, fairly certain you were ascending to something higher, practically drunk on his cock and his words, his fucking words. And the flow of obscenities and unholy noises on your tongue came freely, uninhibited as he fucked you into an almost mindless state.

"Is this what you want, you little slut? You want me to fuck you into the mattress like this?"

"Yes, sir, just like that, just like that." It was broken sobs more than words as your eyes began to water.

Josh didn't fuck you like this and while you didn't need it to be a regular thing, it felt good to be had like this after the frustration of not seeing your boyfriend yet again. It felt good to be taken care of.

It felt good to just be railed, really.

His hand splayed flat on your back between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed into the mattress, which was probably a good thing as it muffled your cries, and with your legs shaking and your ass still presented to him, he angled up to hit your g-spot better, harder, doing most of the work now to keep you standing.

You were going to come, it wasn't really a choice. It was going to tear through you without any mercy if he kept doing what he was doing and saying what he was saying.

"You gonna remember the way this feels? You gonna remember how it felt being drunk on my cock when you're alone with your fingers inside of you and a toy pressed to your needy little clit?"

I'm going to think about it almost every day.

You couldn't even form words as your eyes began to roll and pleasure began to take over.

"Yeah, I think you are," he grunted in smug satisfaction.

"Sir, I'm gonna come," you sobbed suddenly, not entirely sure if you'd need permission but not wanting to risk it just in case.

You desperately needed to come around him, you needed it more than you needed air in your lungs.

"Not unless you ask fucking nicely, you're not," he growled, hips still snapping hard up into yours, even as his rhythm began to falter.

It was hard to form words but you did your best to find something that would satisfy him. The truth, as it turned out.

"Please, sir, can I come? Can I please come on your cock, sir? I want it so badly, so fucking badly," you begged as you cried through the pleasure.

"Well shit," was all he said for a second as he pounded into you like he was going to come himself.

But then finally, he seemed to regain himself and he tangled his hand in your hair to pull you back onto his cock with even more force.

"Come for me, baby, come all over my cock. Make a mess of it."

It was all you needed to come screaming his name into the mattress as he released inside of you with an unholy sound that you'd remember until the day you died.

His movements were choppy that time as he worked you through it, milking himself at the same time before he finally pulled out and left you standing there, legs like jello as he took a step back to admire his work.

"Now that's a fucking sight," he whispered to himself.

And then he was there helping you stand and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

"I didn't break you, did I?" he asked as he set you down in the bathroom and began wiping you off with warm water.

"No, no, I'm-I'm good," you answered, voice still just as shaky as your legs.

It made him laugh.

"Little bit rougher-"

"Little bit rougher than-yeah," you nodded, absolutely out of breath.

A lot rougher than Josh.

Interesting.

"Let me get you to bed," he said finally as he finished with you and himself, helping you back to the bed you'd come from.

"There's no part of date night that I missed, is there?" he asked as he tucked you snugly beneath the covers, into the warmth of relief from the tension, finally.

"Well, Josh usually stays with me," you gave a light smile and he laughed again before nodding.

"Of course," he whispered as he climbed into bed next to you, keeping a bit of distance between you but not arguing when you practically burrowed into his side.

Just for the night.

"I know this is never happening again," he started after a beat of silence, "but for what it's worth, I'll be thinking about it for a very long time."

It was your turn to laugh and though you agreed, you didn't admit it.

"Thank you, Jake," was all you said. "Thank you for a good date night."

When you woke, it was Josh next to you instead of his twin. And in the sleepy haze of early morning, you stared up at him, the beautiful boy sleeping peacefully, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you drifted back to sleep.