#mr thick and juicy

[naughty-salsa]

[r4spb3rr13s]

pro heroes meeting their feisty, mcbling gf

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, dabi

♱ pt.2 here pt.3 here

note: it’s me, i’m the feisty mcbling gf 😞

Katsuki has been on shift for what feels like hours. In reality… well it has been hours. He’s been patrolling a smaller, more mundane part of Tokyo, where all he’s done is help little old ladies with their groceries and scold kids for trying to steal candy.

He was dying to get home.

So, when he heard a scream five minutes from patrol ending, the groan he let out was loud, unprofessional and frankly, really douche-y of him. But still, he flew towards the alley it echoed from.

He turned the corner, expecting a damsel in distress…

Only to see you.

Beating a man with a Juicy Couture suede bag, wobbling on platform sandals.

While this man lets out the girliest, highest-pitched screams Katsuki has ever heard in his life.

“That’s.” Hit. “What.” Hit. “You.” Hit. “Get!” Big hit!

Katsuki blinks out of his trance and takes a booming step toward you. “What the fuck’s goin on?”

You gasp and look up, and Katsuki swears his heart is echoing out of his chest.

Your s/c skin is everywhere, from your jean shorts to the cleavage practically spilling out your leopard print zip-up, and as you straighten up, he catches a glimpse of a belly ring that makes him gulp.

Your hair frames your face with a pair of sunglasses at the top of your head, showing off a fantastic scowl. Glittery eyes are met with furrowed brows, decorated with piercings-galore on your face, and two big hoops either side of your head.

“This prick!” You punctuate it with a nudge of your painted-pink toe, “Tried to rob me! I kneed him in his tiny balls.”

Katsuki raises a brow. You take a minute to glare at the guy, still whimpering, before you strut towards him with narrowed eyes.

You hate to admit it, but Dynamight was hotter in real life. Soot is smeared on his cheek and the scowl on his face sends his ruby-red lasers shooting through you.

“What? You have a staring problem?” You ask with a hand on your hip. Every ounce of confidence you’re letting off is soooo clearly fake right now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He shakes his head and looks around you to the poor guy on the floor. He’s not going anywhere, still curled up in a feral position and cradling his nads.

Katsuki sweats.

“Alright, sweetheart-”

You try to pretend it doesn’t make your heart skip a beat.

“Sweetheart?” He freezes and looks down at your cocked brow. “At least take me out for a drink first, Mr. Dynamight, c’mon.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Shit- sorry, I didn’t- look, you’re okay, right? No injuries?”

You’re inspecting your nails at this point, trying to avoid looking at the muscles in his hero costume. “Huh? Nah, but he should probably get checked out. Am I good to go?”

You sound eager to leave, but you make no move to when he nods.

Instead, you stand, scrutinising him with crossed arms. Katsuki hates to admit it, but even standing a whole foot taller than you, you’re making the blond blush.

“Okay, what? You need somethin’?” He gruffly says.

You glance back at the idiot still on the floor, and he flinches at your gaze.

“You don’t need my number for a report or somethin’?”

The words leave your mouth sooner than you can stop them, but you keep your face cool as your turn around. God, you need a smoke after this.

Katsuki’s hearts skips a beat, but his lip quirks up and he huffs out a chuckle. He reaches into one his pockets, and passes you his phone.

He’s still blushing, but God that man is grinning as well.

:::

Eijiro is mid-lat pulldown when he hears you through the full blast of his headphones. Being the manly pro he is, he takes an earbud out to hear the commotion.

“When I say fuck off, I mean fuck off! What part of that isn’t get through your thick skull?”

Eijiro watched as you scream in a steroid-fueled gym-bro’s face. You’re jabbing a pink nail in his chest, neon pink shorts matching to a sports bra and a small hoodie on your top half.

He gets off the machine, and a loud clang echoes through the gym - you don’t even notice.

“What, too much muscle blocking your brain from working?”

The guy is getting ready to respond, an ugly, violent grimace on his face. As Eijiro steps behind you and crosses his arms, the guy thinks twice.

He nods at you, and turns away, practically running.

You huff and tuck a loose piece of hair behind your hair.

“What was that?”

You jump at the voice and spin around with a shout. A chest- Jesus Christ, he’s tall. You’re face-to-chest with a man covered in muscle, a sharp-toothed smile and spiky, red hair to match it.

“Oh!”

…

…

He raises a brow and smiles at you.

A blush is fighting it’s way onto your face, but you’re too cool for that. Way too cool. So you clear your throat and stop staring at his adorable face for a minute.

“He wasn’t taking no for an answer,” You huff and cross your arms.

Eijiro frowns, “Shit, that sucks. Do you come here often?”

…

It’s your turn to raise a brow.

His face turns as red as his hair when he realises how stupid that sounded. It’s weirdly endearing watching such a large man blush and panic in front of you.

“N-no, like, I can get him banned if you’re a regular. I know the owners, so-”

“Where do I know you from?” You cut him off, doing mental gymnastics.

Eijiro freezes as he watches you. Your thick lashes touch your brows as you go wide-eyed, staring at him intently. So intently, he’s terrified to move a muscle.

You click your fingers and point a sparkly nail at his chest, “Red Riot! I knew I recognised you from somewhere.”

He grins and shrugs. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I mean,” You trail off for a minute, using all your self-restraint to not blush or stutter in front of this fine-ass man, “if you ever wanted to come to rescue again, I could just give you my number?”

Eijiro has never grabbed his phone faster in his life.

:::

Izuku has been caught in the midst of little fans. Children are detaching themselves from parents, flying away from friend groups to crowd around for his autograph. He’s reminded again why he always wears a cap and glasses when he goes to the mall.

He just needed to pick up a pair of boxers, for Gods sake.

A little boy comes hurtling at him, but such is the norm. What he doesn’t see is the girl sprinting after him- sprinting in platform heels that is.

Jeans cling to you tighter than your zebra print top, and the tiny handbag on your shoulder keeps slipping down. Every step you take is a loud jingle with the massive array of jewellery you have on, and star-shaped clips in your hair keep slipping out.

“Deku! You’re the coole-”

“Isamu! Get back here!” You screech. Your sister was going to kill you if she knew the one time you took your nephew out for a little trip to the mall, you lost him.

Watching him talk to a stranger was almost the cherry on top.

You come to a skidding stop, somehow not hurtling over on your open-toed death machines, and grab the 5 year old by the armpits. Isamu let’s out an excited shriek and smiles at you.

Then he points to the guy.

That guy being the number one hero in Japan.

You nearly drop your nephew.

“Oh my God-”

“I’m so sorry-”

You both speak at the same time, then shut up, and just stare at each other like two idiots. He’s not in his costume - duh, idiot, he’s at the mall?- but he looks just as good as he does with his face plastered all over Tokyo.

Strong arms are straining the seams of his black shirt, and his dark hair is brushing the nape of his neck- it looks so soft-

“I’m really sorry, I should have come out with my hat on, sunglasses-”

“Please do not apologise for looking that good,” You mutter and roll your eyes. Then you freeze. Then you both look at each other, while you nibble your lip and smear your lipgloss everywhere.

“Deku! Can I have your auto map!” Isamu screeches from your arms, wiggling like a worm. It’s getting hard to hold him, so you plop him down and hold his hand instead.

“Autograph, buddy, not auto map,” You whisper in his ear.

Izuku’s heart skips a beat. You are gorgeous, silly and amazing with kids- I mean, what else could he really ask for?

He nods and crouched to Isamu’s height.

“Who am I making it out to, then?”

Isamu screams his government name so loud you want to cover your ears, but you just smile awkwardly at Izuku crouching under you.

He looks at you with his big, doe eyes and a soft smile. “What about you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want an autograph-”

“Your name?”

Oh shit. You mutter it and watch with a smile as the pro scrawls on a notebook he miraculously pulled out from his arse. His round, perky-

“There you go, Isamu. It was great meeting you,” He pats your nephew’s head, who is practically beaming. “It was nice meeting you too, Y/n,” he adds, and turns away with a wave.

As you walk away, Isamu thrusts the paper in your hand.

“LOOK AT IT AUNTIE Y/N!!”

‘if it’s not too forward, id like you text me sometime y/n :)’ and next to the note is his number.

Cheeky bitch.

:::

Dabi has no fucking idea how he ended up in a bar blasting Kesha from the speakers with millennial women screaming ‘this was my party song!’ but he hates it.

Until he sees you.

You’re in the tiniest jean skirt he’s ever seen, and your ass cheeks are so close to popping out. If you’d just stopped swaying your hips and bend over, he’d get a glimpse-

But you turn around, and he watches you twist and turn in a matching halter top, jewellery adding rhythms to the music.

Dabi swears he has never seen anything as captivating as your baby pink lips mouth along to Die Young. God, was he really thinking that? In relation to Kesha? You must be special, he thinks to himself.

He makes no move, though. He sits at the bar, watching you tip back fruity cocktails and teeter on your fur-covered boots.

He looks away for a second, he swears, and suddenly you’re on the bar stool next to him. Not just sat, but staring. Like, blatantly staring right at him.

He mirrors you, leaning on his palm and watching you.

You’d be lying if you tried to say his cerulean eyes weren’t doing something to you, but there were more pressing issues at hand.

“You’ve been staring at me all night.”

It’s a fact, he has been.

A smile curls onto his lips, and he shifts so he’s closer to you. “Have I? Didn’t notice…”

You’re drunk. Like, much too drunk, because his face is a blur- a handsome blur though. You are aware enough to tell he’s staring at your tits, though.

You click your fingers in his face and he looks back up at you. There’s a moment on his face where he looks shocked, but a bigger smirk replaces it.

“Sorry, hun-”

“Hun? What am I, 5?”

He leans forward, and the overwhelming stench of a beach fire is fighting with your Britney Spears perfume. The air starts to smell like burnt sugar around you, and it’s weirdly compelling.

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“Well, you’ll need my number to call me.”

It takes you a minute to realise how dumb that was- you’re drunk and that is not what he meant, but it made him drop the cool boy act. He stared at you for a second with wide eyes before chuckling under his breath.

“You are somethin’, princess…”

“Princess?”

“Yeah, the skirt and all the pink- very princessy,” He gestured to your outfit before pulling out… a burner phone.

You really should not have drank that much, because you don’t even care to question it as you’re typing you digits in.

note: ffs i didn’t make izuku’s gf feisty enough 😞

[lazyjellyfish300]

12 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ~𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑶𝒏𝒆

CW: x fem!reader, smut, oral(m&f receiving), fingering, older dadbod!kento and older reader, mention of having kids ,fluff, au, reader is chubby/plump/curvy

A/n: I had a vision. Some of the plot from the movie Klaus and my unquenchable desire inspired this. it's still the 12th where I am so we're still on time 😩 Idk even what I'm getting myself into with Smutmas but we're gonna say fuck it and see how it goes and how much I can do 🥰

12 days of smutmas masterlist

Wc: 1.5k

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest.

Hear me out, Kento Nanami as Santa Claus...

Nanami, who retired at the age of 28 and moved to Malaysia. Who loved the sun and lived on that beach for many years.

Nanami, who traded in the powdery white sand and teal seafoam for a humble cabin and blankets of snow in a thicket of evergreens in the far, far north sometime around after he turned 40.

Nanami, who realizes he's got it bad for you, the lovely woman who rides by his cabin while he's chopping wood, on your merry way to sell your world famous cranberry jam to the local village.

Nanami, who has fought some of the most menacing curses known to man, but can't muster up the courage to invite you in for hot chocolate, until one evening.

Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who simply can't say no to the beautiful blonde man with scars on the left side of his face, with crinkled eyes sweeter than the butterscotch goodies you loved to bake, a quiet handsomeness and gentleness he possessed that rattles the forgotten corners of your heart that no man has reached before.

Nanami and Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who both realize when you find yourselves accidentally underneath the mistletoe, that being "just friends" isn't gonna last much longer.

Nanami, who feels so warm and sweet like the peppermint tea he was drinking as he kisses you for the first time.

Nanami, who accidentally leaves a quiet moan in your mouth as the kiss gently escalates in intensity next to the cackling fire. Who turns red and apologizes for moving too fast but doesn't get to finish his sentence before you just grab him and press your lips against his with an even hungrier fervor than before.

Nanami, whose lips part at the elegant curves of your body and how they're even more bewitching against the silk of his sheets.

Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who coos softly, "Kento...", whose fragile voice quivers and shudders as your tight walls gently get coaxed open to the fat swollen tip of his long, heavy cock.

Nanami, whose hands intertwine with yours, who's in love by the first stroke, as your pussy just welcomes him, so soft and gushy, as it tightly embraces every inch.

Nanami and Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who are lost to the throes of pleasure that first passionate night in the cabin. Your legs end up on his shoulders as his thrusting only gets faster and harder in sexy rhythm before he cums inside you, only to sweetly interrupt your fleeting high with the unexpected but delicious warmth of his tongue as he shamelessly laps his love out of you, before a finger or two is added, before he's hard again, and you're onto round 2 already.

---

Timeskip to Kento Nanami who's 58 years old. His belly is softer and hangs over his pants thanks to you, his darling plump wife, who knows how to feed him and his bulking to adjust for the harsh conditions over time.

Nanami, whose golden locks are now overwhelmed by streaks of grey with chest, arm, leg hair, and a happy trail to match. Whose crows feet are more pronounced with laugh lines he's added along with his scars as memories he's made with you. Who's taken the liberty of growing his beard out ever since you complimented it.

Nanami, with a pair of thick thighs and a juicy bum that pillows when he sits in his chair by the fire after giving you a kiss, the fleeting cold on his lips, cheeks still rosy, and the faint gleam of sweat on his brow from working in the snow.

Nanami, who has always been that sweet soul you fell in love with and decides one year to leave the wooden creations he made in his shop for your future children you never had as surprises for the local kids in the village as a random act of goodwill.

Nanami, who realizes his small gesture is now the talk of the town and the kids can't wait for the mysterious "Santa Claus" to visit if they're lucky again.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who loads up a bag on his sled pulled by a small team of reindeer, visiting home after home to ensure no kids are left behind, a twinkle in his eye as he rides away into the night and imagines the adorable smiles that will break out that morning.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who now has a large workshop of loyal elves after they happened upon your humble abode in search of work one day.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's the best boss around and offers free meals, a place to live, PTO, paid vacations, a pension, retirement, and 3 years worth of parental leave to his elves in exchange for their labor.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who upgraded to 9 reindeer who are the best kept reindeer on planet earth, spoiled with endless carrots and pets and cuddles to pull his sleigh every Christmas.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who loves Christmas and all the cookies and milk the kids leave out for him but not quite as much as growing old with you, Mrs. Claus.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's on the cusp of 60 and still fucks like he's in his twenties when he's alone with his you, his lovely wife.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's more pent up than ever before but you wouldn't know it until Christmas Day when he lumbers into your shared bedroom after a busy night of delivering presents.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who doesn't need mistletoe to fuck your brains out. The workshop is empty, every one is home celebrating the holiday that was a year in the making while he's slowly peeling those frilly pajamas off your body and discarding them on the polished wooden floor.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's eating his favorite cookie of all, the one between your thighs that seems to mold to his tongue like you were made just for him by now.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who drinks his fair share of homemade ale but has never been drunker than right now when he's going down on you.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who has a knack for licking his plate clean(hence his dadbod) which has only served him extremely well when it comes to licking up both sides, underneath and all around your perky clit in slobbery trails that leave you a shaky mess.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who is happy to take his time. The gift of aging has left you both with a delay in getting ready, but it's considered a win since you both could spend all day with your heads in each other's crotches like it was all you were meant to do.

Santa Claus!Nanami who whispers in your neck while he fingers you,

"So good for me, darling. Always so warm and wet for me. I'm such a lucky man..."

"Did you think of me while I was gone, sweetheart? Bet you did, oh I can tell, darling. So naughty underneath that innocent smile...and just for me..."

"Kento..." You rasp as his lips snake around your nipple as he angles his thick fingers that are soaked by now in search for all those spots that make you cry to the stars, the soft wisps of his beard scratching the wrinkly skin of your inner thighs, and the aching bud of your clit. "Gonna cum too f-fast..."

"Isn't that the point, darling?" He groans. "You know I love it when you soak my beard. Don't be shy, now, love..."

And when you do his eyes are closed and he's humming like he tasted dessert for the very first time, nectar stained beard he wears with pride and it's no surprise he's already going back for seconds.

Santa Claus!Nanami and Mrs. Claus!Reader, who've been at it for nearly two hours now, surpassing the record you two set last Christmas.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's already cummed inside you twice, but hasn't quite had enough of you yet. Your mouth is dribbling up and down his shaft with mindless strokes of your head and eyes rolled back. You're relishing the salty taste, saliva mixed with the milky white thinly dripping around the base, letting the absent-minded little thin spurt of cum for his nth orgasm trickle down your throat while his tongue lazily squelched in and out of the unrecognizable gob of juices that built around your wet entrance from endless orgasms he drew out of you already, groaning when you manage to squirt another warm trickle right into his waiting mouth.

Santa Claus!Nanami and Mrs. Claus!Reader, now cuddled up in one another in the large porcelain tub with the jacuzzi jets, faint smell of pinecone candles lit on the countertop and bubbles all around you easing their way into your aching joints.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers to you.

Santa Claus!Nanami, whom with forever only gets sweeter as the blissful passage of time with him by your side makes it feel like Christmas every single day.

@actuallysaiyan

[woniiez]

𝙏𝙄𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 S.mg

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. song mingi x fem!reader

𝗦𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/teaser. You always thought of Mingi as nothing more than the spoiled son of a wealthy CEO. He was the kind of guy you’d hear about in the tabloids, always caught in the middle of some scandal, some drunken night out, or some rumored fling with the next “it” girl. His last name alone commanded respect, but it also made him untouchable in your eyes. He was everything you despised about people with too much money—arrogant, entitled, and far too used to getting whatever he wanted.

For you, the Song family was just another name tied to wealth and power. Your own father was a successful businessman, a man who’d built an empire from the ground up. But there was a difference between your family and his, your family had always struggled to maintain what they had, keeping the balance between status and reality. The Songs, on the other hand, seemed to live in a world that operated on a completely different set of rules—one that never knew struggle.

It wasn’t that you hated Mingi, per se. You just couldn’t stand the way he moved through life with no real sense of accountability. His arrogance was like a cloud surrounding him, blocking out everything. Every time he spoke, you could feel the cockiness in his tone, the way he knew his words would hold weight because of who he was. It made you want to roll your eyes.

And yet, in some strange part of you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you sometimes. It wasnt anything serious, but in those moments, you saw the softness beneath his ego and arrogance the vulnerability he hid behind the confidence. You could see it when you both stood in the same room, but neither of you ever addressed it. Instead, whenever you were forced to interact it would be like a cat fight.

It was easy, then, to pretend he didn’t matter when your families were never really close. You had different friend groups, different circles. And when you had to endure forced family gatherings, he’d always disappear into the background, a silent figure in the corner, looking as uncomfortable as you felt.

But that all changed the day your father came home with a grim look on his face, news that would change your life forever.

Your father sat you down, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. His hands were clenched around the glass of water in front of him, his eyes looked tired, worn down. You’d never seen him like this before. Your father was always in control, always the one with the answers. But today, his voice was weaker than usual as he spoke, and you realized, something was seriously wrong.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his tone soft but firm, “the company… it’s in trouble.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t need to hear more. You knew what this meant. Your father’s empire,the business that had been the backbone of your family for years, was facing bankruptcy. But you would never expect the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Your mother and I have spoken to Mr. Song,” he continued. “We’ve come to an agreement.”

“What agreement?”

The words that he forced out sounded like they were being pulled from deep inside your father, something he was going to hate saying, but knew he had no choice. “You’re going to marry Mingi.”

|| 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. series

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲. arranged marriage!

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. will be updated for every chapter.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩. (Open! Comment below if you wanna be added) @minkioswoo @yunhogrippers @hee-yunie @juicy-red @bee-gremlin @memorabxlia @yizhou-time @hoonsungs @in3pti0n

(hii I’m back. This took me really long to plan and then write, I’m not sure why I decided to make a series since I started writing just this year but I really love reading the series other people write and post and I haven’t read something with this genre (series) on mingi so I just started writing and saw it going somewhere so ig that’s how it came to be. I did take help from a few friends to improve the writing since I don’t have an extensive vocabulary so it’s better to read. Also i just wanna say that this is a 100x better than my first fic cause this took forever to write with making sure the paragraph formation was put together, vocab, and planning out the whole story line to make sure the first chapter would flow well with the others. I really hope you like this!)

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭.𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲

[bitterrfruit]

wild cherries [2]

[masterlist]

Price x f!Reader - tags: modern western AU, cowboy!Price, light sadomasochism, brat taming, spanking, humiliation, chasing, dubcon if you squint 18+ mdni - 7.1k words

Old enough now to change your name When so many love you, is it the same? It's the woman in you That makes you want to play this game

If Mr Price’s goal had been to deter you, he had sorely failed. 

Not his scoldings, nor his threats, nor his blatant distaste for you and your family did anything to discourage your habits. More than anything, he emboldened you. There was something in his voice, you thought, some reflection in his censorious eyes that told you there was more to find. That you needed only summon the bravery to dig deeper. 

You were sent home with the uneaten jam, and when you dumped it on the kitchen counter, Evelyn had scoffed, appalled; “What an asshole.”

When you asked her what she thought was going to happen, she merely sucked her teeth and stormed off to inform Miles of your apparent failure. 

There was more at play than they were willing to share with you, though that wasn’t uncommon. That had even been the case even while your parents were still alive. You’re just away-with-the-fairies, daddy used to tell you, and thus your siblings deemed you ill-prepared; too airheaded to assist them with the supposedly meticulous puzzle of running a family business.

It didn’t bother you, though, not too much. It did hurt when they would exchange unspoken words at your expense, shooting each other a glance when you attempted to wedge yourself into whatever scheme they were working on. But, all the same, you knew that you would hate shouldering that level of responsibility. That you’d bitterly begrudge the weight of generational expectations if they were dropped on you, as they were on them. 

No, as the youngest, silliest sibling, you were given more grace. You were allowed to roam unfettered. Not purposefully, no explicit permission was given to encourage your escapades - instead, not two days after returning home, it was as though they had forgotten that you were there at all. If you kept to yourself, stayed out of trouble, they paid no mind to your capers; there was always something more important that pulled their attention away. 

So, while they were busy ordering around their ranchmen and managing the many industries of your family ranch, you had already slithered through your little broken gate, before the scorching midsummer sun had made it halfway across the sky.

You meandered down the rows of his overgrown cherry trees like they belonged to you. The trees were old, likely fruiting since before you were born, and their trunks were thick and sturdy at the base. They had once been well pruned, so the lower branches were stockier, but years of neglect had allowed skinnier, floppier chutes to grow out from the tops. They were so laden with fruit that they drooped low, and you felt as if they were reaching down to offer their treats directly to you. 

You picked the prettiest, glossiest, reddest ones, and made a basket out of the skirt of your cream-coloured frock; nobody was around to see your bared legs underneath, and so you collected as many as would fit. Popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, you’d spit the cleaned core into the grass as you moved onto the next. Maybe, you thought, the pits you discarded would one day grow into even more trees to succeed the old ones.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on door frames, on the planks of fences, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.  

In scuffing sandals you wandered aimlessly along an old dirt road, long unused; green sprigs of grass and bunches of wildflowers almost covered it entirely. An old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.  

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked sweet flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.  

One, two, three, four… 

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, pale blue paint faded and matte after at least a decade of proper use.  

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. John squinted at you through the glare of the afternoon sun, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes pinching, barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye, adrenaline flickered like a flame in your chest. 

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you, last time I saw you?” 

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.  

“D’you remember?” He insisted, tone richly disparaging. 

“You don’t want trouble,” you answered meekly, through a little smile, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other. 

“I don’t want trouble,” he repeated, a confirming grunt, as he tapped the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head, gesturing for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “G’on. Get in.”  

Your brows knotted in doubtful confusion. “What for?” 

“I’m takin’ you back to your brother,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.” 

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”  

With a snort, he rocked his head to glare ahead out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on you.”  

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.  

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed. “C’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”  

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”  

Glowering at you, nostrils flared in frustration, he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.  

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the menacing shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, and yet so delightfully thrilling. You felt the prickles of gooseflesh tingle down the back of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach, not yet daring to retreat.  

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint smirk in your lips.  

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, lour combed you from your bare legs to your skittish expression - but, stare caught brazenly on your chest, his sneer sunk quickly into a pout of disapproval.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you, you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if you might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream cotton of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap, blatantly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.  

But, no, he instead curled the light fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front.  

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance. 

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing eyes glued to your lips, his impatient focus withered into ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.  

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat, as he tilted your head up and to the side. His thumb wiped over your bottom lip, firmly and precisely, from the corner to the centre. Your lips were suddenly hypersensitive, his touch charged, it sent a tingling current through the soft pink flesh and made your mouth all wet. 

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”  

Were you scared of him? 

It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heart rate between terror and thrill – a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the prickles his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflected off your dress and illuminated them like they glowed from within.  

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the neckline.  

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – tugging up your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, honey.”  

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”  

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, wiping his juicy thumb off on his denim-blue button down, leaving a stain of red among the blue. He hooked his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”  

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”  

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward, looming over you with a domineering scowl. “While you’re on my property – yes I am.”  

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibbled at the inside of your lip, pursing your lips. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”  

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”  

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.  

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.  

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.  

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”  

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.  

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, but he charged after you like a grizzly.  

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the trees that littered the outskirts of his prairies.  

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”  

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.  

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!” 

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there. 

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, tumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood among scattered hay and dust. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.  

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – not an ounce of humour left.  

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.  

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”  

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”  

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”  

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped within your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.  

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.  

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist and hooked you by the stomach.  

“C’mere,” he growled, through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, he held your back to his chest with a constricting arm and your feet dangled high off the ground. 

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.  

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your big brother so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.” 

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip. You dug your nails into his tanned and hairy skin, corded with veins bulging from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them while he began hauling you towards the exit.  

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got plenty of them.”  

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen once you went over the edge.  

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.  

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”  

That was a step over the line.  

You knew it immediately, quick to bite down hard on your tongue after the words spat from your lips like poison.  

His retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against a bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.   

He dropped to his knees behind you, leaned his forearm heavy against your lower back, and you were flustered and confused by his haste – skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack. 

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.  

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.  

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place - grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You waited for him to apologise, to express some remorse for his blatant degradation, to beg for you not to tell your family what he did. But he was silent. Almost proud. 

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.  

“For what?” He growled; voracity burned hot and bright in his otherwise shadowed glower, and you felt yourself shrivel, intimidated into diffident obedience.  

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”  

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.  

And he must have heard it, taken it as encouragement. You felt the hand that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm and lifting up the hem even further. You felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin, your rear entirely exposed to him.  

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?” 

You stared face down into the bale of prickling hay, sipping the turgid air like warm milk and scouring your mind for your next apology. There was a long list of transgressions he could demand an apology for. Would he punish you for every single one? Did you want him to? 

His spread hand hovered over the skin of your ass, a threat – it ghosted over the fine fuzz and triggered ripples of gooseflesh to radiate out from the faint touch. 

“I’m sorry for–” you uttered, barely a croak, “for making you chase me.” 

The second you spoke it, your entire body tensed itself on instinct – girding itself for the discipline that would inevitably follow. Swift and purposeful, he raised his arm, reeling it back like the string of a bow. And he released it just as suddenly, hurling his palm downward rapidly enough to emit a whistle through the air; it collided with your ass in a sharp smack, over the same burning handprint he had already left there. 

The force of it thrusted you forward, knocked a helpless squeal from your throat. You whimpered at the grit and dust grinding under your knees as it rocked you, your hands that had flat on the haybale turned to fists as you desperately squeezed handfuls of straw. 

“Mhm,” he grumbled, grave and deep. “And?” 

You swallowed air through your open mouth, your heart thundered in your ears – out of breath, but too wary to inhale deeply enough to sate it.  

“For…” you hesitated, “for talking bad on your father.” 

Keeping your hips still with his restraining forearm, he raised his free arm once again; you held your breath, squeezed shut your eyes in preparation for the blow. Swing. Smack. 

Each collision of his vicious hand over the same spot burned worse than the last, as though his palm was adorned with barbs that pierced your fevered skin on impact. Yet a quiet moan slithered from your chest, slipped from your tongue, oozed like honey. 

He drew in a grumbling breath, strained as he sucked it deep. Could he hear the pining titillation in your throat, dripping from each yelp? Might he hit you harder for it?  

You winced, shivered, as his wide hand rested against the matching print that only grew more raised and more red by the second, the touch by turn warming and punishing. “Keep goin’.” 

“I’m–” 

Bitten off by a gasp as his fingers pushed in only slightly, they burrowed into the pillowy flesh of your ass as though the squeeze was unintentional – the pressure on your near-broken skin inflicted a sparkling ache that made you whimper. 

“I’m sorry for stealing cherries,” you force out, in a wet mewl. 

He bore his dissatisfaction with a cocksure suck of his teeth. “Whose cherries?” 

“Yours,” you squeaked.  

“Mh,” he nodded, grinded out through a tight jaw. “Mine.” 

Followed quickly your castigation; the swish of his hand hurtling through the air, the ear-splitting crack of his open palm striking beaten flesh, the whine of twisted thrill that squealed out from your lips. 

“My cherries–” he spat, unrelenting; again he lifted his palm, letting it hover in the air for a brief moment before he brought it down with a force.  

Smack. 

“–My orchard–” 

Smack. 

“–My hat–” 

Smack. 

“–My horses–” 

Smack. 

“–My stable–” 

Smack. 

“–My land.” 

Smack. 

The final blow threw a saccharine cry from your heaving lungs, dosed with a shameful squeak of desperation, wet and eager; eyes watering, your head collapsed into the haybale, prickly against your bright red cheek. 

The skin of your rear stung numb, throbbing like a heartbeat, your knees shook with the adrenaline that riddled you from head to toe and turned your muscles to jelly.   

You adjusted your knees to balance yourself after he had knocked you off kilter, and you felt the slick that had seeped from you. With a grimace of ignited humiliation, you realised your cunt was drenched in slippery syrup, the cool air biting cold at the saturated patch of your floral pointelle panties. 

You could only suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in abashment and guilt, self-flagellation for the burning heat that had pooled between your legs; almost as blindingly consuming as the white-hot sting of his hand-shaped brand. 

He leaned back from you, balanced himself with his hand on your ass. Panting like a wolf, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand as though he had overexerted himself, broken a sweat in his outburst. Seemed to pause as he looked over his handiwork – had spanked you hard enough that you wouldn’t doubt how crisp the perfect outline of his hand would have been. Perhaps it was purple, speckled with the spots of broken capillaries and blood seeping under the hot skin. 

But it mustn’t have been the damage he had inflicted that he was stuck on, as you heard his heavy breathing degrade into hoarse, animalistic chuffing; a broken grunt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. 

You felt his thumb, slow and probing as though influenced by an unseen force – creep towards the cleft of your ass, running along the elastic lace hem of your panties. Teased the trim like it might slip underneath, but it didn’t. No, instead, he hovered it over the gusset, barely grazing the sodden fabric. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you inhaled weakly, a quiet whine as he pushed his thumb into the valley of your cunt; wetting the tip with your fluid that soaked the thin cotton, dipping into you as though the single layer of fabric wasn’t the only barrier preventing him from plunging it deeper. 

He must have felt the ring of muscle at your entrance tighten and twitch, an inadvertent reflex to his intrusion – because he pressed the pad of his thumb a little deeper to feel it flutter around him, before he pulled his hand away. You quickly released a sharp and feverish breath, cunt still pulsing around the painful absence of his finger. 

“Alright,” he huffed, through teeth, as he rubbed the back of his head in exasperation. “Reckon you learned your lesson?” 

You squeaked as you felt his pelvis press against yours, weighing against you from behind; as he leaned over you, reaching past you to pick up the cattleman that he had knocked from your head. 

“Huh?” He persisted.  

“Yes,” you croaked, realising his demand, you were quick to follow it. You leaned upright, kneeling still, as you tugged down the skirt of your dress to cover yourself; grimacing as the light fabric brushed over the burning welt on your rear. 

With a hand on his knee he pushed himself to stand, sniffing in vexation as he dusted off his jeans. Bowed his head to put his hat back in its rightful place, pinching the leather crown with a single hand as he gave it a shimmy to adjust it. “Yes what?” 

Through a whimper, you whispered, “Yes sir.” 

“’Atta girl,” he gritted, “learned you some manners.” 

You feebly swept a lock of your dishevelled hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, too poignantly humiliated to think of anything pert to utter. 

“Up y’get.” 

It took you a moment to gather the nerve to stand, breathing carefully as you placed your hand on the edge of the haybale. Impatient, evidently, John bent down to you, slipping his broad hands under your arms in an effort to pick you up. 

You yipped, wriggling away from his grasping hands as he hoisted you upright, and you landed on your feet with a wobble. “I can walk,” you bit. 

“Yeah, right,” he groused, spinning you by the torso before hooking his arm around your waist; you yelped as he tossed you callously over his shoulder like a wet rag. “I ain’t letting you run off again, missy.” 

“I wasn’t gonna run,” you whinged, but you mustered no resistance as he hauled you towards the stable door, kicking it open with his boot. 

He snorted as he adjusted you on his shoulder, carting you out into the scorching midday sun. The hum of the cicadas blared, almost deafening, and there was no cool breeze to alleviate the burn on your rear; only the sun to bake it.  

Trudging through the long grass, no doubt towards his truck, he chided; “D’you expect me to trust you?” 

You bit your tongue, combed your scrambled mind for any retaliation. “I don’t want to get in trouble again,” you mumbled.   

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he sneered, “I think trouble is the only thing you want.”  

The pressure of his thumb lingered against your entrance, a permanent impression that made your heart flutter at the memory. Perhaps he was right.  

“That’s not true.”  

“No?” He questioned scornfully, grasping hand digging into the side of your waist to keep you steady. “Then why’d you come back here, huh?”  

You pouted, staring into the grass, watching the back of his boots rise and fall with each step. Would you tell him it was just to see him? Just to have him find and scold you? Just to toe the line? Long since crossed, wasn’t it.  

“I wanted some cherries,” you lied.  

“Uh-huh,” he scoffed, as the grass began to shorten, bleeding to the rubble and dust of the old road. You heard the deep click of a handle, the rattling of the truck door, the moaning of its old hinges as it swung open. “Was it worth it?” 

You hesitated, gasping as he tossed you into the passenger door of his Chevy – you landed on your back across the worn leather bench seat, bouncing slightly in the fall, head narrowly missing the steering wheel. 

“Yes,” you breathed, to answer his question, and he froze like you had caught him in a bear trap.  

He stood imperiously between your knees as your feet dangled out of the open door, skirt having been rucked up by the landing. He glowered down at you, lips in a thin and admonishing line, but his predacious eyes betrayed his stoicism.  

Glare clawed down your splayed form from your dewy lips to the swell of your breasts, to the bare skin where your thighs met your hips. Catching a glimpse of the mound of your pussy from under the hem, hidden from him by the dainty fabric of your underwear.  

He breathed raggedly through flared nostrils, put a white-knuckled hand against the top of the doorframe, casting a looming shadow over your body. His gaze was pointed, fiery, burned from lidded eyes - you felt the heat of his stare, it made you sweat. Made your cunt ache unbearably for his attention.  

Tongue squirming, too bashful to form a plea; you made your entreaty with a meek hand, tracing your fingertips down your stomach, catching in the pleats and folds of your linen dress. With a hook of your fingers under the hem of your skirt, you coaxed it upwards, coyly exposing yourself bit by bit. Watched cautiously as his lour raptly followed your movements, belying his stone-faced expression.  

But he stopped you, or himself, with a light smack on the outside of your thigh, a scolding. And he ordered, dark and strained;  

“Settle down.”  

With a moan of petulant defeat, you dropped your arm to your side.  

“I’m takin’ you home,” he grumbled, reaching for your skirt – did so with purposeful cruelty, letting his calloused hand graze up your thigh as he grabbed the hem and tugged it downwards to cover your panties.  

He took impatient hold of your knees and swivelled them inside the cab, before shutting the passenger door with a creaking swing and a loud slam. You sat yourself upright, wincing at the painful reminder of the lashings on your rear as it pressed into the firm leather seat. He marched around the truck and hopped in behind the steering wheel, you crossed your arms churlishly as you glared out the passenger window.  

You bounced around in your seat as he started the engine and accelerated off down the deteriorated dirt road, the vibrations of the rolling vehicle doing little to settle the sore throbbing between your legs.  

“I’m telling my brother what you did,” you griped, rich with spite.  

“You can tell ‘im whatever you want,” he scoffed, hanging his arm out his open window, wrenching the steering wheel in the tight grip of his closer hand.  

“I’ll tell him you hit me.”  

“Yeah?” He gibed, “Gonna tell him how worked up you got?”  

Scowling, you felt your cheeks glow red as you stared out the window. “I’m not worked up,” you fibbed.  

“Sure seems like it.” You could hear his smirk without having to look at him.  

You fumed. “Sounds like you’re proud of yourself." 

He only released a quiet huff of scornful laughter in response to that. Nothing snide left to say, now that you’d accused him of purposefully arousing you. But he was right. It was all you could think about, writhing and sizzling in your mind and in your stomach; a fire that he had lit. Now he mocked you for being ablaze.  

You could only sulk, keeping your arms vitriolically crossed and refusing to utter a single word until the truck rolled up your drive, and came to a halt over the raw gravel of the turn-around. 

You spotted Miles in discussion with the foreman by the front steps of your family farmhouse, head bowed as though discussing something of import. But upon seeing John’s truck approaching, he dismissed him with a wave, and adjusted the black pinch-front hat that shaded his face while walking in the truck’s direction. 

John left the engine running and hopped out with a grunt. You sorely begrudged the idea of letting him best you, allowing him to feel like he had been victorious in forcibly taming you. Your cheeks, still pink, burned even hotter at the thought of him scolding you to your brother like you were wayward juvenile. 

So in the brief seconds you had before he stormed around to the passenger side, you slipped your hands under your dress. Tucked your fingertips into the waistband of your panties, bucked your hips as you shimmied them down your legs and plucked them over your feet. And you nestled them behind you, out of sight as John yanked open your door, beckoning with an impatient and commanding hand for you to step out.  

You groaned as you followed his wordless demand, jumping down into the gravel and glaring up at him with a vindictive curl in your lips. You spitefully stayed still, then, not taking a step in any direction of your own volition, wary that he might glance upwards and spot the coquettish little calling card you left in his truck.  

“Move it,” he ordered.   

You only pouted. “You’re such a dick.”  

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he tugged your shoulder in the direction of your house – then lodged his hand at the back of your neck, under your hair, an authoritative grasp so that he could drive you by it. And he did, you stumbled awkwardly over your bare feet as he nudged you along.  

Miles had his hands on his hips, but crossed his arms dubiously as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Jonathan,” he greeted stiffly, blinking at you with a knit in his brow. “Y’found her.” 

You gave him a look of insolent anger before you glared into the distance, flushed with fervent humiliation, disguising it as malice. You crossed your arms over your chest, hiding the cherry stains from him. 

“Trespassing,” John growled tersely. “Again.” 

Miles hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, squinting at him. You had expected him to put up more of a fuss, to berate the estranged neighbour for being as bold as to put his hand on you, carting you around like one of his cattle. It seemed, though, that he was more interested in maintaining a degree of decorum, keeping the peace, for a reason you could not fathom but were nonetheless grateful for. 

“Fence is on your property, John. S’your problem if she fits through the gaps.”  

“You need to keep a handle on her,” John snarled, thick with derision, fuse running short. He released your neck with a slight shove, then, and you vindictively rolled your shoulder away from his lingering touch.  

Miles snorted. “Looks like y’got a better handle on her than I ever will.”  

Had enough, you stormed away from the condescending rancher, marching with your arms crossed towards the steps.  

“Y’know what happens if I catch you back on my property, don’t you, girl?” John barked after you, a growl in his throat. 

Shoving past your bewildered brother as you trudged up the creaking stairs, you rolled your eyes. Concealed the coy smirk that curled in the corner of your lips, you answered with a grouse;  

“Trouble.”  

-----

John wiped an open hand down his face as he sped along the dirt drive, white-knuckled and stiff. 

The road was clear and bright ahead of him, glowing by virtue of the blinding sun, and yet he could not focus on it. His vision blurred by the image of you standing winsomely among the wildflowers. He was distracted by the sight of the harsh sunlight unveiling you, the thin cotton of your dress failing to conceal the shadows of your soft nipples, blissfully unaware they were revealed to him so vividly. 

His palm still stung red and hot, tingled under his skin like needle pricks in the aftermath of his ruthless discipline. He knew he should feel guilty. That he should be chastising himself for assaulting you, for unleashing his long-caged fury in an eruption of rapacious torment. 

But he didn’t. He felt not an ounce of shame. 

Instead, he felt angry. Angry at the knot that was tight and wrenching in his stomach, at the heat that flared in the back of his neck. Angry that he could still smell you in the cab of his car, your berry-scented shampoo and the animal musk of your frightened sweat, drawn out by the chase. 

Angry that he fell for your bait, that he gave you the satisfaction of retaliation for your insolent behaviour. 

Christ, some satisfaction he gave you. 

Despite all valiant effort he could not dispel the picture of your tiny, frilly knickers. Worn under your sheer frock, so visible in the sunlight, as if to purposefully entice him upon their reveal. The delicate fabric turned so dark where it was sodden, it demanded his attention even if he attempted to ignore it. His compulsion to touch between your legs was undriven, and he could not resist it - he had to check, to know for certain, that such an abasement had filled your cunt with eager nectar, so much of it. That your body responded to its punishment as praise, to its degradation as pleasure. 

Such knowledge ridded him of any guilt, even if it should have done the opposite. But it did little to temper his indignation. Now, he understands what drives you. The fuel for your delinquency. 

Is it a lack of attention, sweetheart? Do you yearn for somebody to notice your misdeeds? For someone to care to penalise you?

Are you so bored, so neglected, that your cunt drives you to self-sabotage? 

He should have guessed it from your persistence, from the frequency of your unwanted visits and the habitual nature of your crimes. From your coy little smiles, the way you’d flutter your pretty eyes at him whenever he scolded you. 

He knew then, conclusively, that in order to deter you, he mustn’t embolden you. Mustn’t satisfy you with his anger or his reprimand, mustn’t indulge your kittenish efforts to provoke him. 

But he heard still your cloying cries ringing loud in his ears, the yelps he forced from your little throat each time he struck the soft, supple flesh of your rear. Still saw the way your skin rippled with the impact, the way your fine hairs stood on end after each lashing. The pretty purple marbling that formed in his handprint, swollen and red. The way your loose hair spread over your shoulders, knotting and picking up bits of straw from where you had landed. The way your toes curled when his touching shifted from punishment to exploration, when his fingertip felt the lips of your soaking pussy through the painfully thin cotton of your panties. 

Fuck. 

It would be far easier said than done. 

Would you get that wet, so wet, if he simply yelled at you? If he chased you once again off his property? If he berated you for helping yourself to his fruits? 

He glanced over his shoulder to where you had sat cross-armed and sulking, where your bare thighs had pressed against the leather of his truck seat. Wondered if your juices might have soaked through your knickers on the drive over, worsened by the bouncing of the truck trundling over raw dirt and loose stones. 

Instead, he was met with a little white handkerchief. Soft woven fabric, and as he tried to peel his eyes from the road to inspect it closer, he saw it was dotted with small and dainty flowers, pink and green. 

He recognised them, in a heartbeat; pulled his truck to a screeching halt and pulled up onto the grassy shoulder, next to the poplar windbreak that lined his fence. He reached over to snatch up the little white bundle, eyes squinting in disbelief as he felt the gentle fabric between his fingers, still warm from where it had been tight against your skin.

Unfurled them in his hands, and the air escaped his lungs in a jagged breath. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he growled hoarsely to himself, and he felt his scruples boil away, dissolving into steam.

Your panties. Left for him in the passenger seat like some salacious memento, a token to remind him of his depravity. Were you mocking him with them? 

He unconsciously rubbed the fabric in his fingers, finding the spot that sat flush with your cunt; still wet, cold in his hands, glistening with your syrup. He let out a defeated huff as he balled up the knickers in a tight fist, now powerless to the urge; raised your favour to his face and buried his nose in the bunched up fabric. 

The elasticated cotton was warm and soft on his skin, and he breathed in your scent deep and slow. It filled his chest and sinuses like smoke; your aroma was subtle, delectable, something utterly primal. The smell of sex and balsam, it made him grunt into the muffling fabric, made his thumping blood flood into his cock like the breaking of a damn.  

Might you taste as good as you smell, sweetheart? 

He scented you and his mouth watered like it was your cunt he was buried in, like the folds of the soft cotton brushing his skin were the petals of your pussy, and he wanted nothing more than to taste you. He grinded his palm against his length; rigid, twitching, straining in his trousers - tranced, he ripped at his button fly, shoving a hungry hand into his chequered boxers and taking his thick cock in a fist. 

His grip of his shaft was tight and hasty, he ran his fist up and down the length of it, rolling his foreskin over the sensitive head; to bring himself some reprieve, he told himself, to alleviate the ravening fury that pervaded him since you arrived at his doorstep. 

But the raucous thunder of an incoming truck knocked him quickly out of his delusion, and he swore at himself. Slammed the steering wheel with an exasperated palm. He resentfully tucked his throbbing cock back into his boxers, did up each of the labouring buttons of his fly, and adjusted himself in his seat as if he could ever find comfort. He stomped a frustrated boot into the accelerator and veered back onto the dirt road, faster than necessary, homeward bound once again. 

He stuffed your panties into his pocket, and rubbed his jaw with a rigid hand. Gritted his teeth for the entirety of the short drive home. 

Get a fucking grip.

[luveline]

maybe miguel with shy spider girl who never holds eye contact with him and he calls her to is office alone for info and she’s just a mess? idk 😭😭

“Miguel wants to see you.” 

You smile at Peter B. Parker. It is not a natural nor authentic smile. “Sorry,” you say, “what?” 

“Miguel, the big guy! He wants to see you. You reported that weird bubble on 265, right?” Peter’s chewing on gum obnoxiously, seemingly unwise to your panic. Mayday giggles in his arms. “He wants your opinion.” 

“I've never spoken to him.” 

Peter laughs jovially as Mayday climbs up his front and almost topples down the back of him. “He's a nice guy, you'll like him. Hey, you want some gum?” 

You take a stick of gum but don't chew it, the strip of Juicy Fruit powdering your fingers as you ride the elevator up to Miguel's laboratory. You barely know where it is, only that it's in a general direction of which you've never walked in. You haunt the dorms and the library rather than the workshops, content in your quiet life (as quiet as it can be, considering). Every step you take down the red lit hall to his lab is brimming with the want to turn back. 

There's a platform set on the floor decorated by computers. You can't tell what's holographic and what's physical, but Miguel O'Hara is undeniably solid. His shoulders alone look thick as a tree trunk where he stands in the midst of it all. 

You know it will be less painful to just… say hello. You put your Juicy Fruit in your pocket and clear your throat quietly. 

“Mr. O'Hara?” 

He waves his hand at you without looking. “Miguel is better. Come here.” 

You struggle up onto his raised laboratory. Would it have hurt to build a step? 

“Spider-Girl from earth 1421. Yes?” 

“Y/N,” you say. “Yeah, that's me.” 

He looks up at that, like your name is a curse word, or a surprise. You meet his eyes for as long as you're able to before your gaze crawls to his chest. 

“And you saw the distension on 265?” 

“Distension… um, you mean when the air looked like it was bubbling?” 

“What were you doing when it started? Just give me a run down.” 

You clasp your hands together tightly. You feel silly in your suit because somebody convinced you that it was okay to wear stuff on top, so now you're in this big silly hoodie while Miguel stands waiting in his officials. You'd always thought it was nanotechnology, but closer it seems more like a fabric with chameleon technology, or—

“What were you doing when it started?” he asks again, softer now. “You're not in trouble, I just need to get a sense of what happened.”  

“I know, I– we were there to– to–” You wince. “To capture an anomaly, Doc Ock 83.” Your hands start to tremble, you're so nervous. “But we had a hard time finding him, he wasn't doing much, and the– bubble started not long after getting there.” 

“Was it a precursor to anything? Did something significant happen after it began?” 

“Um–” You can't think. What happened? You'd been standing on the street between the last reported sighting of the anomaly with your small team. You're a competent bunch but you only ever get called in for the weak guys, and you weren't sure what to do when things got weird. “I'm sorry, I don't know.” You peek at him, worried he's going to snap at you. 

“Just take some time to think about it.” 

He smiles —Miguel smiles at you, a juxtaposition to every rumour you've ever heard about him— and takes a step toward you, gesturing at your hoodie. You freeze up, worse when his fingertips point at the hem of it. 

“Do you have your drone?” 

You flush a hundred degrees hot and pull your hoodie up your chest to click the panel of your drone where it dents over your heart. It breaks free, flying up into the air above your head on automatic. Miguel grabs it out of the air and takes it over to his computer, where he syncs the sim and looks through your recordings. He isn't so cruel as to play them without permission, deferring back to you.

You raise your hand and tap the file. 

It starts with you talking to yourself. “There's no… what alley was he…” You scrub forward to the middle of the video, just before the distension begins. “Hey, do you see that?” you ask your teammates.

Miguel leans forward. He's standing very, very close to you, and he talks quietly so as not to overcloud the sound on screen, “Here. Does this jog your memory?” he asks. 

You look away from him again. But, now he's asked, and now you've seen it, there was something unfamiliar. “After it appeared, the anomaly changed. Doc Ock didn't look like himself. I thought I was seeing things, but here–” You rewind the video and point at the outline of Doc Ock against the bubble. “See? He's different. He looks paler.” 

Miguel glares at the screen in concentration. Your comparison must impress him, though it doesn't solve the problem. “Alright,” he says as he copies the file from your drone. You summon it back to your heart. “The next time one of these is reported, I want you to come with me.” 

“Oh. Why?” 

“Because six people went to that dimension and only one of them flagged this. You have a sharp eye. When you deign to use them.” 

You bring your gaze up in a rush, “I– I'm just nervous–” 

“I know.” He smiles at you again, not at all the prey versus predator grin you'd imagined, but a more private smile as though you're sharing a joke. He looks at once like a normal man. Is he flirting with you? “Keep your communicator on, hm? I'll call for you.” 

“Okay.” You don't know what to do, so you offer him a smile of your own. “See you then.” 

He chuckles into himself as though he knows something you don't. “See you, nerviosa.” 

You wouldn't need to know Spanish to know he's teasing you. 

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller Chapter 5: Let Me Take You There✨

Dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: This has been a work in progress for 2 months, but it is finally here! Moodboard made by @mrsmando 🩵 I have been working on so many things lately, but I’m so happy with how this chapter turned out. I hope you enjoy 🥰 No beta for this one, but thank you to @mountainsandmayhem and @littlevenicebitch69 for letting me share snippets with you and scream about these two 🩷

Chapter Summary: After your parents cancel your weekend trip to Galveston at the last minute, Joel offers to take you instead.

Rating: 18+ Only MDNI

Word Count: 10.5k

Chapter Tags: Joel takes reader to Galveston, road trip, oral receiving (both male and female), unprotected p in v, creampie, fingering, reader and Joel being in love, bondage, vibrator use, lots of fluff and smut, switching POVs, no use y/n

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  It’s Tuesday evening, a few days after your birthday and you’re sitting at the kitchen table eating takeout Mexican food. You’re not alone with your parents; your dad invited Joel over to watch some college game with him. He sits next to you, leg digging into yours as you let yours mold into his. His leg is strong, firm, holding you together as you let it rest against yours. You want to be in his arms, let him hold you tight while you drown in his lips, in his taste, but you can’t. Not here, not right now. 

   You take another bite out of your chicken enchilada and pop another chip drowned in queso in your mouth, letting the juicy flavors run down your throat as it hits just the right spot. 

   “Hey, sweetie, I��ve been meaning to tell you something. You know the Galveston trip this upcoming weekend?” your dad asks, finishing off a bite of his cheesy quesadilla as he sips from his tall water glass. 

   “Yeah, what about it?” you ask through another bite of enchilada. 

   “We’re gonna have to cancel the trip,” he says sadly, taking another bite out of his dripping quesadilla like he has no care in the world for the words that just came out of his mouth. 

   “What?” you ask, shocked. You drop your fork and it goes tumbling to the ground, landing with a loud clunk against the hardwood. Joel doesn’t hesitate and reaches his long arm down, picking up the ruined fork and setting it on the table next to him. 

   “I’m sorry, hun. Your aunt May and Charlie are making a surprise visit down, and they’re gonna come stay with us for the weekend. We wanted to tell you Thursday, but we didn’t want to ruin your weekend,” she says with apologies all over her uneasy tone. 

   “Why couldn’t you just tell them we already had plans? You’ve never canceled this trip before!” The words come out stronger than you want them to, hurt written all over your angry voice. They knew this weekend was important to you. They knew. 

   Joel places a hand discreetly on your thigh to help soothe you, but you barely register his gentle touch with how mad you are. 

   “We tried, hun, but the plans just fell through. I’m sorry, but we won’t be able to go. Maybe next year…”

   You interrupt your mom. “Maybe next year?” you ask quietly with your lip quivering around your words. This trip was important to you. It was always something you looked forward to, but now it was ruined. You feel the backs of your eyes burn with hot tears, but you won’t let them see. They don’t deserve to see you crumble. You’ll just go sulk in your room.

   Joel sees how upset you’re getting, sees the way you’re trying to keep it together at the table. He digs his thick fingers into the flesh of your knee and knits his brows together as he looks over at you from the corner of his eye. You feel his concern through the connected skin. As much as you want to place your hand over his, you just need a few minutes alone. 

   “If you’ll excuse me, I just lost my appetite,” you say as you push back your chair and feel Joel’s warm fingers drop from your skin. 

   As you leave the room and make your way up the towering steps, you hear your dad say something under his breath. “She just needs to cool off. She’ll be fine.”

   For some reason those words just make you more frustrated as you tread up the stairs, letting a hot tear collapse down your cheek as your vision begins to blur. Stupid trip, stupid aunt, stupid everything. You can kiss goodbye to any chance of your ocean weekend getaway because it isn’t happening. 

   You slam the door closed and flop onto your bed, curling your knees into your chest as you let the tears fall. You try to keep yourself together, but you’re too angry, too sad, too hurt. It might not be a big deal to them, but it is to you. So you burn with the heat inside your body and let it swallow you whole. 

   Joel takes a stiff drink of his iced tea and looks over at George. “You didn’t tell me you were canceling the trip,” he says slowly, trying not to show the concern in his voice as he worries about you wallowing alone in your room. 

   “It just came up. May isn’t usually the type to just drop in, so we thought we’d better stay home and let them come on down. I feel bad, but sometimes things come up, ya know?” George says through a bite of a crunchy tortilla chip, not seeming all that concerned about his daughter. 

   “That’s too bad. She seemed really excited. I think you crushed her,” Joel says as calmly as he can without getting all worked up himself. The thing was, he hated seeing you upset, would never dream of ever making you feel that way. And now he felt obligated to make you feel better. He had to because you’re his girl, and he always takes care of his girl. 

   “We are really sorry. We just hope she’ll forgive us,” Claire says with a sigh huffed in between bites of her dinner. 

   “Yeah. Joel, the game’s back on, you ready to go finish it?” George asks as he gets up and starts heading toward the living room. 

   “Oh, yeah. Just go ahead and turn it on. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Gonna head up to the bathroom first,” Joel says as he pushes back his chair and heads toward the stairs. 

   “Alright, don’t take too long,” George calls as he disappears into the dark living room. Joel prowls up the stairs quietly and heads toward your room. 

   

You wipe the last tear away from your cheek and look at yourself in the mirror across the room. You definitely look like you’ve been crying with your tinted red eyes and wet sleeves that leave traces of tears on the back of the aquamarine color. You feel like a complete mess. 

   Just then, you hear the click of the door handle and the squeak of hinges as Joel opens the door and slowly shuts in behind him. You silently gasp as you hope he doesn’t notice you were crying, but he probably will. He always notices. 

   “Hey, you okay there, darlin’?” Joel asks as he comes over and sits on the bed beside you, his eyebrows knit together with worry as his brown eyes stare intently at you. 

   “Mhm,” you hum out faintly as you keep your eyes locked on the cream carpet. 

   “That doesn’t sound very convincing to me,” he says as his hand brushes up against the side of your thigh, almost calming you down as your insides still rage like a hurricane. 

   “I’m fine, just a little upset is all,” you mumble out, holding back anymore tears that may spill over the edge. 

   “Hey, look at me,” he says gently as he cups your chin carefully and turns your face to him. His brown eyes are full of concern, and his gaze doesn’t waver from yours at all. 

   “Where’s that smile that I love so much, huh? C’mon, baby. Let me see it,” he coaxes as he lifts the corners of his mouth into a warm smile, the sight instantly calming you down. 

   He slowly unfolds you, and you can’t help but break when you see his crooked smile splayed across his face. It’s your favorite thing in the world. You drop the frown and replace it with a gentle smile as he trails his calloused thumb against your jawline, making you relax into his touch.

   “Ahh there’s my girl. The one with the beautiful smile,” he presses as the words send a quick giggle out of you. “Attagirl,” he praises as you get lost in his soft brown eyes. He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, making your insides coat with tingles at the warmth of him.

   “Thanks for making me feel a little better,” you sigh as you fall into his chest and lean your head into the crook of his neck as he gently runs a hand through your hair, soothing you into a calm state. 

   “I’m sorry about this weekend,” he apologizes as he gently combs his fingers through your hair. 

   “Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault my parents canceled at the last minute. It’s whatever. I didn’t even want to go that bad anyways,” you pout as you jut your bottom lip out. 

   “Oh, yes you did, sweetheart. I saw how upset you got down there. This trip meant a lot to you, didn’t it?” he asks as he trails his large hand up and down your back repeatedly. 

   “Yeah, it did,” you sigh, letting the thoughts wash out of your head so you don’t get upset again. 

   “What if you could still go?” he asks as your body goes still underneath his touch. 

   “Huh?” you ask as you pull your head up and sit up straight. “Still go? What do you mean?” you ask, confused because the trip had already been canceled. 

   “What if you could still go, would you?” he asks as he pushes a fallen stray curl away from his forehead. 

   You ponder his question, wondering why he’s asking such a silly thing. “Of course I would, but why are you asking?” You raise an eyebrow and look at him curiously, trying to decipher his meaning. 

   “Because,” he starts, straightening out his button-up blue flannel, “what if I take you?”

   Your mouth drops open and your eyes go wide. “What?” you ask with a locked jaw expression, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. 

   “What if I take you? Just you and me. We could stay the weekend, get a little sun, maybe swim some, explore Galveston.” 

   “You’d do that for me?” you ask with teary eyes as he connects his hand with yours, entwining his fingers with yours as you feel them burn the back of your skin. 

   “I’d do anything to see that pretty smile, sweetheart,” he says with the curl of his lips and the dimple that presses deep into his cheek. 

   He’s so fucking beautiful and sweet and so loving. How did you ever get so lucky?

   “Joel…”

   “Let me take you to Galveston, please. I’d love nothing more, truly,” he says with genuine brown eyes. 

   You start to tear up, vision blurring as the tears lick at the edges of your eyes and start to fall against your cheeks. Joel cups your face with his big hands and wipes away the falling tears with the pads of his thumbs. 

   “Hey, hey. What’s the matter? Why are you cryin’, darlin’?” he asks worriedly as he looks into your eyes intensely, concern lathered in those doe eyes of his. 

   “You’re just… you’re just so good to me, Joel. Why are you so perfect?” you cry out as another hot tear falls from your eyes. Joel catches it with the tip of his thumb and brushes it away effortlessly. 

   “I’m nowhere near perfect,” he chuckles as he keeps his brown eyes on you, “I just know how much the trip meant to you, and there’s no way I’m letting that get taken from you. You wanna go? Then we’re going. I’m not gonna see you disappointed, baby. I’ll take you there myself, and I’m gonna make sure you enjoy every second of it,” he confirms as he drops his hands from your face. 

   You suck in a breath and slam into his broad chest as you wrap your arms tightly around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. God, I love you so much,” you breathe into his ear, feeling one of his hands come to cup the back of your head and the other wrapping around your waist.

   “You’re so welcome. And I love you, too, sweetheart. Never gonna stop,” he says slowly into your ear, making every part of you completely lose it for him. 

   You lift your chin up and slowly plant your lips on his, letting the moment move slow, delicately, passionately. You sink into his weight and let him devour your lips, your tongue, your everything. 

   Joel Miller was the definition of everything, and you’d never ever let him go. 

   The cool breeze of November blows in a rush through your long locks of hair as you lean your head out the window, the air crisp and smelling of pine trees as you rest your elbows on the edge of the door and enjoy the taste of freedom. The radio hums low through the speakers as you feel Joel’s eyes on your back, feeling his warm smile on your skin as you close your eyes and take in this beautiful moment. 

   The drive to Galveston is relaxing, the sun kissing your skin as you bathe in warm sunlight. Joel taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel along to an AC/DC song that plays quietly throughout the truck. You take a moment to turn toward him, leaning your head on the back of the seat as you admire the beautiful man that sits before you. Tousled curls with grey threaded through his thick locks, a blue flannel that tugs at his muscular biceps, a glowing smile that reflects off the backs of your eyes as you soak him up, painting a pretty picture in your mind that you’ll surely take to your grave. 

   Joel catches you staring and reaches an arm out as he snatches your fingers and pulls your hand up to his plush lips. He grazes his lips against the back of your knuckles and laces his fingers through yours as he pulls your hand into his lap, holding tight as he drives along the vacant highway. 

   You blink twice and smile as you watch him drive, your hand on top of his thigh as he looks over and sees you in a lovesick daze. “What are you smilin’ ‘bout, hmm?” he asks as he smirks your way, arching an eyebrow as he drives along.

   “Oh, no reason. Just can’t believe you’re taking me all the way to Galveston.”

   He squeezes your hand gently and looks over at you as the crow’s feet crinkle around his warm eyes. “Well, believe it, baby. Gotta keep my girl happy. And trust me, I wouldn’t wanna spend the weekend doin’ anythin’ else.”

   You scoot over to his side, unfastening your seatbelt as you nuzzle up into the side of his neck, catching the edge of his greying scruff. He tsks at you as he eyes you with your seatbelt off. “Seatbelt on, baby. Don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

   You huff out a response, batting your long eyelashes up at him. “I just wanted to be next to you. Being in the passenger seat was too far away,” you pout.

   He rolls his eyes and sighs, putting a strong arm around you as he hugs you into his side. “You’re a handful, you know that?” You giggle out and he just shakes his head. “Guess you can stay right here, can’t say no to my girl.”

   You beam up at him, reaching up to leave a sweet kiss against his tanned cheek while you wrap your arm around his hip and nuzzle back into the warm, woodsy scent of his flannel. You still can’t believe you’re going to the beach with your boyfriend, your dad’s best friend, and you can’t even fathom how he fell in love with you in the first place, but you’re so glad he did because you think he’s the love of your life. 

   Joel stops on the way to Galveston at Buc-ee’s, and the both of you jump out and grab all your favorite snacks for the long ride. The two of you share a bbq sandwich, grab fountain drinks, a bag of Doritos, beef jerky, and numerous bags of candy. When you’re back in the truck and driving down the long highway, you’re back against Joel’s side and leaning your head on his shoulder while you slowly chew on a piece of salted beef jerky. 

   He leans down and bites off a piece of it which makes your head fall back and laughter flow out the cracked window. Who knew that a simple road trip with your dad’s best friend would be the most exciting thing to happen this year? You never saw it coming, but neither did he. He just made you that happy. You’d be content just sitting by his side, reading a book while he watched a baseball game on tv. It was simple really, you were just that in love with Joel. 

   He takes another bite and hugs you tight against his side while his fingers slowly trail up and down your outer arm, making tingles flow down your spine. “So, what’d you tell your parents? Reckon your mother gave you a mouthful for leavin’ on the weekend you have family comin’ into town,” Joel says as he keeps one hand on the leather steering wheel, his eyes vigilant on the straight road ahead. 

   You sigh, leaning your head on his broad shoulder. “Told them I was having a girl’s trip this weekend in Dallas. My mom was pissed, but she’ll get over it.”

   He nods his head, tongue sliding over his bottom teeth as he eyes you from the corner of his vision. “I’m sure she’ll get over it quick. Besides, how can she stay mad at a pretty face like yours, hmm?” He cups your chin as his calloused fingers slide against your smooth skin, leaning over to give you a quick kiss on your cheek. 

   You smile up at him, your cheeks warming from the golden sun and his soft touch. He really is the sweetest guy you know. “Thanks, Joel. You always know how to cheer me up.”

   “Always here for ya, baby.” He laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand up to his lips while he lays gentle kisses across your dainty knuckles. 

   When he releases your hand to focus on driving again, you pick out a sucker wrapped in pink paper and slowly unfold the sweet treat. You pop it into your mouth slowly and savor the cherry flavor on your tongue. Joel watches you lick at the sucker, your tongue sliding along the see through candy, eyes growing dark when he watches you pop it out of your mouth with drool sticking to the top. 

   He shifts in his seat, eyebrows furrowing together as he smirks your way, a devilish grin spreading across his crooked smile. “That good, huh?” he asks with hooded eyes.

   You smile his way, taking your tongue along the smooth edge as you slowly lick at the cherry flavored sucker. “Sooo good,” you hum as you take it further into your mouth, as far as you can without choking yourself. 

   His jaw clenches, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he drives along, fighting himself from running off the road. “Better stop that now,” he warns, his eyes flickering with dark flecks of temptation as he gazes at you again with little control.

   “Stop what?” you ask innocently, giving the sucker another lick as you stare directly into his smoldering eyes. 

   “Stop fuckin’ teasin’ me. You tryin’ to kill me?” he murmurs as you eye the hardening cock against his jeans. Oh yeah, you were going to have fun with this. 

   “Not trying to kill you, handsome. Just having some fun,” you tease. 

   He sighs, raking a hand slowly down his grey threaded scruff. “You’re trouble, sweetheart. A little tease is what you are.”

   “Oh, I know,” you giggle. 

   You lean over and lick your tongue up the side of his neck, tasting the salt of sweat and a hint of mahogany cologne. You taste him. 

   “Christ,” Joel groans as he grips the steering wheel even harder. “You’re gonna make me pull this truck over if you’re not careful, I mean it,” he warns, his voice thick and gravelly against the pinch of temptation. 

   “You’re not gonna pull over. You’re gonna keep driving with your eyes on the road while I do this.” You palm him through his jeans, feeling just how hard he is as he groans through his gnashed teeth. 

   “Now, sweetheart. Jus’ hold on there.” He tries to pry your hand off, but you don’t move an inch. 

   “Joel, I’ve wanted to do this for years. Please, let me make you feel good. Rather suck on your cock than this lollipop.” You give another innocent lick to the pink sucker and bat your long eyelashes at him, giving him the prettiest smile you can muster up. 

   He ticks his jaw, eyebrows molding together while he drags a huff out. “Alright, alright. Jus’ don’t go wild. I need to concentrate on the road.”

   “Noted,” you wink, watching him grit his teeth together as he watches you slowly unzip his denim jeans, pulling his boxers down while his hard cock springs up and hits his soft tummy. 

   You revel at how thick and long he is, wrapping a hand around him to slowly slide up and down his shaft, spreading the leaking precum over his entirety. He groans at your slow motions, eyes blowing out as he watches you sink down to his lap while your mouth closes over him.

   “Fuckkk,” he groans as you bob your head up and down his shaft, hovering down to where his tip is kissing the back of your throat, making you choke and drool all over his weeping cock. He shifts beneath you, hands cemented to the steering wheel as he fights to keep his eyes on the road instead of at your pretty mouth around his thick length. 

   You gather your spit and fist him in your hand, moaning while you hear the wet, sticky noises of your fingers working him nice and good up and down repeatedly. You feel your own slick gathering in your panties, an ache you’re desperate to alleviate. You slide your left hand under the lace, circling your throbbing clit while you moan his name, still working him up and down with your hand. 

   “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he growls, watching you get yourself off with your own fingers. “If I wasn’t in the middle of the highway, I’d pull this truck over and have you spread across my lap while I finished the job.”

   “Yeah?” you whine, fingers curling up inside yourself while your thumb presses down on your pulsing bundle of nerves. 

   “Oh yeah, sweetheart. Better believe I’m takin’ care of you later. You brought what I asked, right?”

   “Mhm,” you hum, feeling yourself about to spill inside your denim shorts. 

   “Attagirl. Gonna get you all nice and wet with my fingers, my tongue. Gonna tie you to the bedpost and give you what you deserve. Gonna make my girl come so hard that we’ll need new sheets before the night is through,” he growls with gritted teeth. 

   “Joel,” you moan, feeling a white hot sensation flow through your body before your panties are ruined with your release, continuing to stroke him while you come down from the blissful high of an orgasm. 

   “That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” he praises. You’re absolutely drenched from his dirty words.

   You take a minute to come back to the present while your eyes glaze over, feeling his pulsing cock beneath your fingers while you work him up and down slowly. You lean over and glide the tip of your tongue up the underside of his cock where a large vein guides you forward. He groans, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel while you work your magic. 

   Suddenly, Joel stills beneath you, hearing his phone buzz deep in his pocket. He curses under his breath and reaches one hand in, grabbing up his vibrating phone as his eyes blow wide. 

   “It’s your father,” he mutters, knitting his eyebrows together as he answers the phone. “Hey, George. What’s up?” he says casually, motioning for you to stop while he talks on the phone. 

   You still your hand, keeping it wrapped firmly around the base, brushing the end of your nose through his coarse, wiry hairs, breathing him deep as you get intoxicated off his manly musk.

   “Beers at your house tonight? Sorry, bud. I’m actually out of town this weekend.” 

   You hear your dad on the other end sighing, can almost see him rolling his eyes. You know he misses his best friend, but right now he’s a bit tied up with you. 

   “M’sorry. It was a bit last minute, but I’m goin’ to the lake with Sarah.”

   You listen to Joel and your dad carry on the conversation, one hand on the steering wheel tight while he balances the phone on his shoulder. You know he’s trying not to break while he’s on the phone, but you just can’t help yourself. 

   You lick a thick stripe up the underside of his cock, flicking your tongue in slow circles around his swollen red tip as he hisses through his teeth. He glares at you, but you just smile sweetly up at him as you dive back in. 

   You take him deep in your mouth, feeling the salty precum slide down your throat as you choke on him again and again. He grabs the back of your hair, letting you work him over, swallowing your own moans with his thick length. 

   You take him deeper, choking on him while you make the most obscene gagging noises around his cock. “Ahh fuck,” he growls through his teeth as he looks down with blown out black eyes. “Oh, sorry. Jus’ lifted somethin’ a little too heavy for me. Guess I couldn’t quite handle it,” he mutters while his fingers grab your hair harder. 

   He pushes you down further, rutting his hips up while you choke again and again on his cock, letting him deepthroat you as your drool and spit coat him in wetness. 

   “Yeah, that’s right. Mhm, feels fuckin’ great at the lake. Not too cold, not too hot, jus’ right,” he grits through his teeth, fisting your locks in his hand as he drags your mouth up and down him, mouth fucking him intensely. You’re nearly drowning in him.

   “Mhm. Tuesday. I’m gonna come. On Tuesday, right,” he pants out, teeth gritted together as he pushes your head down hard and blows his load inside your hollowed out cheeks. 

   You swallow him down, barely able to take all the hot ropes of cum as some leaks out of your mouth. He curses under his breath and hits the back of his head on the headrest, broad chest heaving while you clean him up and lap up all the excess cum and drool on his messy cock. When you’re done cleaning him and his cock is softening, you fold it back into his boxers and pull his jeans back up, zipping them up for Joel.

   He takes deep breaths, listening to the last few words your dad tells him on the phone. He seems uninterested in whatever your dad has to say, his eyes only watching you now. They’re glazed over, dark flecks shining in the sunlight as he looks at you with love in his eyes. It makes your heartbeat pick up and kick against your chest. 

   “Alright, George. Sounds good. Have a good weekend. See ya Tuesday.” He clicks the phone off and shoves it in his pocket while his hand trails back over to you. His eyes find yours, and they look so beautiful in the rays of sunshine that glow through the window. 

   “You messy, messy girl. Goin’ down on me when I’m tryin’ to drive, when I’m on the phone with your father. You’re such a mess, baby,” he chuckles as he settles a large palm on the top of your head, gently running his fingers softly through your long locks. 

   “Mhm. I’ve always wanted to do that for you. And now I can say I have,” you giggle. 

   “Christ. How’d I get so lucky with you, hmm?” he smiles, watching you turn on your side and laying your head in his lap while one of your arms wraps around his thigh. 

   “The question is how’d I get so lucky with you? I’ve wanted you for so long, and now I finally have you all to myself. Almost doesn’t seem real, you know?”

   You hear him hum while his thick fingers curl against your shoulder. “I know what ya mean, sweetheart. It’s real, though. You’re mine, and I’m not lettin’ you go. You’re stuck with me, pretty girl.”

   “Fine with me, cowboy,” you smile.

   He chuckles out, the weight of his laughter echoing through your heart. “I love you, sweetheart.”

   “And I love you, Joel Miller.”

   He smiles down at you as you situate yourself in his lap, closing your eyes to take a nap. Maybe when you wake up you’ll see the surf and sand of Galveston before your eyes. 

   After you check into the lavish hotel and place your bags in your suite, you and Joel both throw on your swimsuits and grab some beach towels. You settle into a dark teal bikini, and Joel almost matches you with light blue swim trunks. He looks so good, so broad with his tanned chest almost glistening in the sun, his large muscles flexing every time he moves. He looks like a masterpiece. 

   Just when you almost get lost in your fantasies in your mind, Joel pulls you right back out. “I’ll race ya to the beach,” he smirks as he pulls open the back sliding door that leads to a winding staircase down to the beach.

   “Bet I can beat you,” you giggle as you push him in the shoulder and race past him, barreling down the sturdy steps as you hear him laughing uncontrollably behind you. 

   “Cheater,” he laughs with a gravelly tone, “pushed right past me.”

   You turn your face his way and stick your tongue out playfully. “Come catch me, slow poke,” you giggle. That just makes him sprint faster toward you.

   You take off in the warm sand, your heart beating wildly inside your chest as you run toward the blue crashing waves of the ocean. You turn your head back around quickly and scream when you see him right on your heels.

   “C’mere, pretty girl,” he chuckles. One more step and he’s picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder while you squeak and try to escape. 

   “Joel, put me down!” you laugh, using every bit of strength in you to break free of his hold, but it’s no use. He’s got you in a tight embrace. 

   “Ain’t puttin’ you down jus’ yet, baby. Nah, gonna jus’ take ya for a little dip in the water.”

   “Joel Miller, put me down this instant!” you squeak as he squeezes the backs of your thighs, taking off into the thick sand. 

   “Nah, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna do that.” 

   You hear the crash of waves before you see them, and then he’s throwing you into the salty water while your head gets completely covered in the cold water. You make your way quickly up to the surface and rub the salt out of your eyes, yelling at Joel playfully while he laughs in the near distance. 

   Once you see him you start splashing him in the face with the cold water, watching his hair get completely soaked with his tousled curls slicked back with big droplets of salt water framing his face. “Now who’s winning!” you shout gleefully. 

   “Oh, so you wanna be like that? Okay, baby. Two can play at that game.” He starts splashing you right back while you turn your head and avoid the salt water getting in your eyes. 

   It’s a water fight in the best possible way, you and Joel going back and forth seeing who can make the biggest splash and who can get the most soaked. A fit of giggles leave your mouths while the sunshine warms your dripping shoulders. It goes on for minutes, the playful water fight until Joel comes up behind you and wraps his strong arms around your waist. 

   “C’mere,” he chuckles. He spins you around and pins you to his chest while his lips find yours hungrily. You melt into the kiss, fingers twisting through his dripping curls, him slotting his tongue into your mouth as you taste the salty flavor of the ocean and him. 

   You squeak when he picks you up, legs wrapping around his hips as one of his hands locks you to him. You rest your forehead on his, your lips curved into a warm smile as you take in the salt water that covers his tanned skin. “Thanks for taking me here, Joel,” you whisper against his mouth. 

   “Anytime, darlin’. Anytime.” 

   You wrap your arms around his neck and let him hold you up in the water, keeping your body flush to his chest. You both turn your attention to the horizon, watching the gentle blue waves lap against the water, focusing on the afternoon glow of the sun, the graceful seagulls flying overhead, your own beating heart mixing with Joel’s. 

   It’s moments like this that you can never take for granted. Being at the beach with your lover, not having to sneak around under the nose of your reluctant father, being at one of your favorite places in Texas. It’s all surreal, almost fictional. You’re one hell of a lucky girl, and you know that. God, you know that. 

   You rest your head on Joel’s shoulder and feel him kiss the top of your head slowly, his lips grazing against your drenched hair. “This is so peaceful, Joel,” you breathe, sighing into the scruff of his jaw. 

   “Mhm, it sure is. Haven’t been down here in a while. You know Sarah was jealous, right?”

   You giggle and look up at him, catching the sunlight strike his dazzling honey colored eyes. “You told her you were coming here?”

   “Yeah. Guess it was a mistake ‘cause she threw a fit, but she got over it. Told her I wanted a little alone time with my girl.”

   You smile and nod in understanding. “Glad she took it well.”

   “Me too. She kept askin’ when we were gonna tell your folks about us,” he sighs, one hand raking down the curve of his jaw, thick fingers catching water droplets from his greying beard. 

   You huff and sink back into his chest. “I don’t even want to think about that. I mean eventually we’ll have to, but not today. Not this month, or year. Maybe next year,” you sigh while your nails scratch against the back of his tousled curls. 

   “Whenever you want, baby. M’not in a rush either. Whenever you feel like the right time is, we’ll tell ‘em together. I’ll be right there by your side, no matter what happens. M’not goin’ anywhere, even if your father hates me after. I’m yours. Always.” He brushes his lips over your cheekbone, and it sends butterflies flitting through your lower regions. The man always knew how to get you. 

   You stay in the cool, salty water just a little longer, going back and forth from floating on your back to being in Joel’s arms. No one else is in the water or on the beach, it’s just you and Joel. Your own island paradise for the weekend. 

   You bathe in the beauty of it all. The salty air breezing across your hair, sun kissed skin soaking in every bit of ray of sunshine the sky graces you, Joel standing behind you with his lips brushing against your collarbone, his deep hums sending sparks of lightning through your core. You never want to leave this place, never want to leave him. You’ll just stay in the moment for as long as you can.  

   “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” He hums as he kisses your neck sweetly, his other hand dancing along the bikini line as his thick fingers play with the teal material by your hip bone. 

   “Promise me this isn’t just a dream and that I’m not gonna wake up tomorrow with you gone.”

   He chuckles behind you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers in his deep, gruff voice you so love. “S’not a dream, baby. It’s real, I’m real. And I can promise you I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

   You sink your weight into his broad chest, his finger cupping your chin with his calloused fingers. He tips your head backwards and meets your lips with his, letting him soak you in all his sunshine and salty presence while you float off on a cloud into paradise. This is heaven, Joel is heaven. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him. 

   After half an hour of basking in the beautiful ocean, you decide to get out and lay in the sand for a while. You drag your feet through the damp sand, body relaxed and tired from the ocean water. You spot your towels laid out together, yours pink and Joel’s dark blue. But before you can reach them you feel Joel catch your hips while he envelops you in his warm hold, dragging you down to the sand as his weight topples over you. He pins your wrists to the warm sand while he holds himself over you. 

   “Got you,” he chuckles, hovering over you with his tousled curls dripping salt water all over your chest. 

   “Joel!” you laugh as you erupt into a fit of giggles. “Didn’t realize we were still playing.” 

   “Mmm, found the perfect opportunity to take you down again. Couldn’t resist,” he chuckles. 

   “Silly old man,” you tease.

   “Old man, huh? Ain’t old enough to do this,” he laughs, sinking his body against yours while his lips crash into you. 

   You melt into his lips, your fingers running through his tousled curls that smell of salty water and mahogany, the two mixing together to form a scent you breathe into your lungs and get lost in. His tongue dances with yours, his rough hands gliding against the curve of your hips as he slithers his way between your legs. 

   You stay like that for minutes just breathing each other in, getting lost in the hungry kisses, the panting breaths that sound in tune with the lapping waves against the shoreline. It all feels like a dream, but this is real, and it’s the most perfect day with your ridiculously hot boyfriend. 

   He nips at your bottom lip, slowly releasing his mouth as he hovers back over you. When you open your eyes, you gasp. The way the warm sun beams down over him makes him look angelic, a bright light surrounding him as you look into those beautiful honey eyes, the dark flecks reflecting off your own. God, he looks so beautiful, so exquisite. You could stare at him every second of every day if you got the chance to. 

   Your fingers brush over his grey threaded beard, lips parting in awe as you smile up at him. His lips curve into a warm smile that makes your toes curl, and his eyes crinkle down at you while one of his hands grazes against your jawline. 

   “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. You know that?” he asks, affection spilling off his Southern drawl while he traces your bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. 

   “You tell me all the time, handsome,” you smile, eliciting a groan from his mouth as you drag your fingers against the scruff of the back of his neck. 

   “You deserve to be told every single second of every day, sweetheart. And I’ll do that, over and over again. Even if you get tired of it, I’ll keep at it. ‘Cause you deserve the world, so let me give it to you.”

   Your mouth drops open, your heart in your throat. You’re so stunned that you can barely say anything but run your fingers through his hair, a wide smile splayed over your face as you gaze into the eyes of the love of your life. 

   “Joel Miller, never knew you were such a romantic at heart,” you smile, lazing into those crystal clear dark eyes. 

   “Always been a romantic, baby. Guess I jus’ didn’t have anyone to show it to. But now, there’s you. So let me shower you in it. Got many years to make up for it,” he chuckles. 

   You drag his face down to yours, pressing your lips flush against his until you sink back into him, reveling in his touch, his kiss, his everything while the sun slowly slips against your ocean kissed skin. You swallow his essence, inviting him in while his tongue swirls feverishly around yours. It’s like you’re in the middle of a cute little romance movie, but this is your reality. This is real.

   He drags one of your bikini straps down, slipping his fingers underneath the silky teal top, grazing against the underside of your breast. “Joel, stop,” you groan. “This isn’t a nude beach,” you laugh. 

   “There ain’t nobody around, darlin’. Jus’ let me do one thing, yeah?” he asks while you silently nod your head in approval. 

   He drags one of your cups free, burying his face in your chest as he takes the flat of his tongue and gently swirls around your pebbled breast. You groan into the shell of his ear while his other hand lightly feathers against the folds of your already soaked center. 

   “Joel,” you warn, wrapping your arms around his salt covered neck as he nips up your collarbone. He slips a hand beneath your bikini bottoms and starts to slowly circle your puffy clit, eliciting a moan that falls like a melody against the curve of his ear. 

   “Yeah? That feel good, darlin’?” he asks, feeling just how drenched you are beneath your bikini. He presses harder against your aching bud, pulling you dangerously close to spilling over him as you feel a cold wave hit the backs of your feet.  

   “Joel, fuck - you’re gonna make me…”

   “Make you come? Go on, gorgeous. Spill for me. Know you want to,” he purrs, his calloused fingers swirling swiftly around your bundle of nerves until you dig your fingers into the scruff of his neck and moan his name intensely while he elicits a long, amazing orgasm from you. Your body jolts at the aftershocks, coming down from your high as cum spills all over your teal bikini. 

   “Attagirl,” he praises, working you through your orgasm, then slipping his fingers inside his mouth to clean them off properly. He groans at the taste of you, savoring the flavor against his tongue. 

   He leans back and looks at you, glistening tanned skin and chocolate coated eyes you want to melt in. He’s absolutely stunning. “Joel Miller getting me off on the beach?” you smirk as you raise an eyebrow at him.

   “Mhm, couldn’t wait to get back to the room. Had to get a taste and repay you for the favor you did for me in the truck.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but laugh and roll him over into the sand. You climb on top of his chest and drape your arms over his broad shoulders while he brings his large hands up to rub your back softly. 

   “You’re the best, Miller. Best I ever had,” you smile as you rest your chin on his tanned chest. 

   “Mmm, think you’re the best, sweetheart. Never met a girl that got me quite like you do. You’re somethin’ else.”

   He takes one of his fingertips and traces a heart in the sand, writing out your initials and drawing an arrow through the heart with a lovesick look in those pools of honey. You gawk at him, almost tearing up when you see how mesmerized he looks hovering over your initial, like it’s the most important thing in the world to him.

   “There. Now it’s our beach. Jus’ yours and mine, baby. It’s written in the sand,” he lulls warmly.

   You smile down at him, placing your hand against the soft scruff of his jaw and turn his face toward yours. You part your lips, almost speechless as words start to fail you. Joel really was a romantic after all. Your perfect, romantic, endearing boyfriend.

   “Joel Miller. You amaze me every single day. And God, I’m just so in love with you,” you muse.

   “Sweetheart, it’s me that’s so in love with you. Never gonna stop. It’s written in the sand, in the ocean, in the stars even. You’re mine, baby. All mine,” he whispers, staring up at you with the most endearing brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Everything about this moment is magical.

     You gaze into the warmth of his honey eyes and play with his tousled curls, running your fingers through the soft locks as you get lost in his gaze. You stay like that another hour, listening to the lapping waves of the ocean, soaking up the warm sun, getting hopelessly lost in his mahogany and salt water scent. He’s got you wrapped around his finger, just like he is with you. 

   After a while, Joel helps you up off the sand and leads you across the shoreline. He takes your hand in his and guides you through the lapping water, taking in the salty breeze of the sea and the picturesque vision of you and him walking along the coast. It’s so romantic, so very special, and it feels so right. His strong hand in yours, him smiling down at you with those beautiful brown eyes, and his smile that sends you over the edge every single time. It’s all just so breathtaking. 

   Maybe this was fate after all, maybe you were meant to be on this beach with Joel the whole time. It sure seems like it now. You realize why it never worked with anyone else. It’s because Joel Miller was always the one. You just didn’t know it then, but you do now. He’s the one for you. Your forever. 

   After you and Joel have showered and thrown on white silky robes, you sit on the balcony and watch the sunset paint the sky purple and amber colors. You lean into Joel on the reclining chair, letting his fingertips trace up and down your arms slowly while his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

   “Beautiful, isn’t it?” you ask, watching the waves slowly lap against the sand while he murmurs in your ear.

   “Mhm, gorgeous.” He grazes his lips against your cheek and whispers sweet words into your ear. “You wanna go back inside? Let me make love to my girl,” he whispers as he trails another kiss over your cheek. 

   You spin around and smile down at him. “Okay, handsome. What’d you have in mind?” you giggle. 

   He smirks up at you and chuckles. “You remember when we were watchin’ Scream on Halloween night, and I asked about the whole handcuff thing?”

   You raise your eyebrows in question and nod. “Yeah, what about it?”

   “Well, don’t exactly have the handcuffs, but that black silk ribbon I asked you to bring? Gonna use that to tie you to the headboard. Gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart. That what you want?” he asks with a long Southern drawl, eyes darkening as he speaks to you in a deep voice. 

   You gulp and nod your head. “Okay, daredevil. Take me to bed then,” you whisper into the shell of his ear. 

   He wastes no time and hauls you up, cradling you in his strong arms as he makes his way through the sliding glass door, closing it with the heel of his foot. “On the bed for me, naked,” he instructs as you fully oblige. 

   The room is massive, marble countertops and fancy light fixtures filling the room. The room is dim, only a couple of lamps on as the luminescent dark blue walls cover the space. The king sized bed is pristine, white sheets with fluffy pillows covering the top of the bed. The headboard is made of light wood, and a small fireplace crackles underneath the 70 inch flat screen tv in the center of the room. 

   You slip off your robe, crawling onto the plush bed while Joel watches with wide eyes, grabbing a couple things from your pink suitcase that sits in the corner of the room. His eyes stay locked on yours, especially when you spread your legs wide and show him the sticky mess already building up over your warm core. 

   He licks his lips, dragging a hand slowly over his mouth while he feasts on your naked body. “Look at you, baby girl. Already so wet and ready for me. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ vision,” he purrs, leaning against the edge of the bed just mesmerized at the perfection that splays in front of him. 

   You smile, bedroom eyes slipping over his tanned form, and he knows exactly what that means. He crawls over you, pushing your legs further apart with his knees and catching your wrists above your head. “Stay still for me, sweetheart. Gonna tie you up now.”

   You stay still, letting him collect your wrists above your head, gently tying the black silk ribbon against the headboard. You almost moan, feeling his thigh brush against your clit as he sits back to assess his work. “You okay? Not too tight?” he asks with concerned brown eyes. 

   “Feels perfect, Joel,” you smile, giving him a mischievous smirk while your foot hikes his robe up his tanned thigh. “Gonna take that off, Miller?”

   He chuckles, untying the belt slowly and then ripping it off his body as it goes crashing to the floor. You gawk at him, watching his cock twitch before you, already hardening as he assesses your bare body before him. 

   “Look at my man. So handsome, tan, big, all mine,” you giggle. 

   “Mmm, all yours, gorgeous. Now breathe for me. Wanna try somethin’,” he murmurs with darkening eyes. 

   You see him spread your thighs more, trailing kisses up your inner thighs and brushing his nose through your folds, dragging it over your sensitive clit and ending in the soft curls above your mound. 

   He gives you a devilish grin and then licks a long, thick stripe up your core, sending a moan falling from your lips as he drinks in the taste of you. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby girl,” he groans, licking the slick from his lips slowly. “Now, for the fun part. Think you’re gonna love this,” he smiles. 

   He reaches behind his back and grabs the vibrator that was sitting underneath your clothes in your suitcase. He turns the power on, starting it slow as the buzzing noise fills the width of the room. Before he brings it to your center, he hovers it just over your clit as he speaks. “Take a deep breath. Gonna start it slow.”

   Your breath falters when he places the end of the vibrator on your clit, pressing down and massaging slow circles across your bundle of nerves. “Fuck, Joel,” you whine, letting him revel in your long, drawn out moans.

   “Attagirl, feels good don’t it?” he chuckles, watching the way your lips part and eyes blow wide. 

   “Yeah, it feels - ohhhhh,” you moan, feeling him slip two digits into your dripping hole, working them nice and slow, curling up into the spongy wall that makes you lose control. 

   “That’s it, sweetheart. Let’s take it up a notch, shall we?” he smirks. 

   He switches the settings, powering the vibrator to a more intense level that has your legs shaking uncontrollably. He shifts his knee, pinning your thigh down so he can see the spasming movements of your ruined pussy. 

   His eyes expand into black pits, tongue licking against his bottom lip while he assesses the damage he does to your soaked core. He watches the way the slick runs down his knuckles, fingers fucking deep into your drenched pussy, obscene squelching noises and melodic moans filling the room. He’s never heard anything more beautiful in his entire life.

   He presses down harder on your throbbing clit, the buzzing motion of the vibrator making you squirm beneath his calloused fingers. “Joel, I’m so close. I’m so - oh,” you writhe, hearing the wet noises of him fucking your pussy with his thick fingers faster and faster, feeling him coaxing you on each time his fingertips kiss that perfect spongy spot that makes you black out. 

   “That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises, pressing downward on the vibrator and opening a whole new sensation that makes you form your lips into a wide O, white hot heat sliding down the edge of your spine.

   “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come,” you whine, fusing your eyebrows together and choking on a moan. 

   “Come for me, beautiful. Make a mess on these fingers,” he coaxes. 

   One more brush of the vibrator and curl of his thick fingers and you’re gone. You moan his name, twisting your fingers into the silky ribbon as you feel the rush of bliss blow over you. You release for him, spilling all over his fingers, along with another wave of pleasure that overcomes you. You feel yourself squirt, watch yourself coat his broad chest, the scruff of his jaw with the slick that just keeps flowing. 

   “Oh, Jesus Christ you’re so fuckin’ perfect, baby. There she goes. Jus’ keeps on comin’. Fuckin’ drenchin’ me,” he purrs all mesmerized and hypnotic while he talks you through it. 

   “Yeah, that’s it. That’s a good girl,” he praises, turning the vibrator off while he collects slick against your glistening mound. He slides his fingers from your insides, popping his soaked digits into his mouth, groaning from the taste of you. 

   “Joel, that was incredible,” you pant, coming back to your body after the intense orgasm washes through you.

   “Yeah? Well, I ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart,” he teases, a crooked smile forming over his beautiful face. 

   “Not yet?” you ask, laughing.

   “Not yet,” he confirms with a glint in his blown out eyes. 

   Your eyes look down, staring at the large erection between his legs. His cock is thick, the head red and swollen while precum leaks down his shaft. You go wide-eyed, licking your lips as you gaze hungrily at him. 

   “Joel,” you whine.

   “What do ya need, baby girl? Use your words.”

   You strain against your bindings, panting desperately, trying to show him how badly you need him between your thighs. “Your cock. Need you inside, please,” you beg.

   “Don’t gotta beg for me, darlin’. It’s all yours, I’m all yours,” he smiles. 

   He brings your legs over his shoulders, crawling between your thighs as he stretches you wide, cock gliding against your folds, collecting slick on his angry tip. You groan at the feeling of him, the tingling sensation his cock gives as it slides against your wetness. 

   “You ready for me?” he asks, brushing over your clit once more as you stifle a moan.

   “Mhm,” you hum.

   “Okay, baby girl. Deep breath for me,” he instructs. 

   He pushes into you, stretching you wide as his thick cock fills you to the brim. You pant, writhing beneath him while he starts a slow rhythm of going back and forth, his grunts becoming savage like when he talks you through it. 

   “There ya go, sweetheart. Takin’ me so good, jus’ like you always do,” he grunts out, his large hands caging you against him. 

   You want so badly to be able to run your hands through his hair, want to scratch your nails down the tanned skin of his back, feel the sweat building on his sculpted skin. Being tied up is hot, and something about not being in control right at this moment is really turning you on, but you also want to just be able to really feel him. 

   He sees you struggling with your wrists, pulling against the black silk while you pant out his name through every brush of his cock against your tight walls. He stills his thrusts, giving you a concerned look as he takes you in. “You okay, sweetheart? Is it too tight? Too much?” he asks with a soft voice.

   “I just… This is really hot, Joel. But I kind of just want my hands free so I can touch you,” you say with glossy eyes. 

   He chuckles, nodding his head in understanding. “That’s all you had to say, sweetheart. Here, let me jus’ fix this real quick.” His arms go over your head, carefully untying your hands from the polished headboard. He throws the black silk ribbon on the nightstand and situates himself over you again, all while still being inside you. “Better?” he asks, a crooked smile draping over the curve of his mouth. 

   You throw your arms around his neck and let out a sigh of relief as your fingers scratch up the tousled curls on the back of his neck. “Better,” you smile. 

   “Now, let me get back to makin’ love to my girl,” he says with eyes that smother over with darkening irises. 

   He ruts back into you, speeding up his thrusts as his lips come down to meet yours. You part your lips and let him slot in, drowning out your moans with the slide of his tongue as he licks feverishly inside your mouth. You twist your fingers through his sandy colored curls, eliciting a grunt from his lips as your nail beds dig across his scalp. 

   He moves his lips down to your neck, teeth scraping along your collarbone, sucking against the sensitive areas all while his large palms cup your breasts, pebbling your nipples with every stroke of his calloused thumbs. 

   “Oh, right there,” you whine, feeling his cock reach that certain spongy spot that you can never reach yourself.

   “Yeah, feel good?” he purrs along the shell of your ear, licking his tongue along the edge of it. “How ‘bout this?” he says with a devilish grin, eyes blowing wide with dark black pits. 

   “Fuck,” you moan, feeling his thumb draw meticulous circles across your swollen clit while his cock kisses the back of your cervix, spreading wet, obscene noises around the glow of the room as his balls slap frantically against your sweaty skin. 

   You dig your nails into the back of his shoulder blades as Joel folds you like a pancake and ruts deep inside you, his cock drenched in your sticky slick. Your walls squeeze him as you feel the hot heat slide down your spine. You’re so close to spilling.

   “Come on, baby. Know you’re close. Want you to come for me, sweetheart. Come on my cock. Attagirl,” he praises as he sees your eyebrows thread together, your body quivering beneath him. 

   He slides his thumb in slow circles over your buzzing clit, cock hitting your spongy wall again and again and again until you can’t hold back any longer. You squeeze his thick cock, moaning his name as white hot heat takes control of your body. You feel yourself start to spill, covering Joel in your blissful orgasm that coats him in your slick.

   “Attagirl, baby. Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises, talking you through your high as your body starts to come down from sweet release. 

   He pushes your legs further apart, cock working swiftly in and out of your core as he chases his own release. “Oh yeah, fuck me,” he growls, thrusting in and out faster and faster until he’s furrowing his eyebrows together and clenching his jaw, spilling hot ropes of cum inside you till he collapses at your side and pulls you flush to his chest. 

   You both pant out in exhaustion, sheets soaked from the sweat of skin on skin, bodies tangled together as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and smiles warmly over at you. “Did so good for me, baby. Always do so good,” he praises, leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek as you take in the starry flecks of amber brown of his dreamy eyes.

   “Thanks for showing me something new. Never knew I could be so into bondage,” you tease, smirking his way with flirtatious eyes he can’t seems to look away from.

   “Mmm, we’ll jus’ have to explore those kinks together then, yeah?”

   You giggle while you run a hand through his messy curls, taking in this beautiful moment of you and Joel on a weekend getaway together. It feels so natural, so right being here with him. You guess it’s just always felt like this ever since starting this whole thing with him.

   After a few minutes of just staring at one another mesmerized, Joel traces his thumb across your bottom lip and smiles gently at you. “You wanna know the first thing I noticed about you when I met you?” he asks quietly.

   “What?” you laugh gently, placing your palm over the top of his hand.

   “Your eyes. Never saw such beautiful eyes before. And your smile. God, that gorgeous smile. Thought I was seein’ an angel the first time you looked at me.”

   Your breath gets caught in your throat, the outside waves being muted from the man that lies in front of you. “Joel… that’s so… wow,” you whisper breathlessly.

   “Think I was in love before we even started dating, sweetheart. If I’m bein’ honest with myself, I should’ve known all along. You’re exactly the woman I’ve been lookin’ for. You’re so beautiful and smart and kind. I’m jus’ so… fuck, I jus’ love you a lot.”

   Your mouth drops open, a gasp leaving your throat as you stare at him like a lovesick puppy. You’re almost too overwhelmed right now with tears licking the backs of your eyes. “Joel Miller, you sweet, sweet man. I never thought… I only dreamed that this could all be real. I never knew it’d turn into this. But I’m so crazy about you, and I love you so so much.”

   His eyes tear up, brown syrupy flecks glistening back at you in the starry moonlight. He looks so happy and so in love that your heart swells like a balloon in your chest. “Thank you again for taking me to Galveston. You’re the best, Miller,” you smile, fingers entwining with his. 

   “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’d take you here anytime. Jus’ say the words, I’ll take you anywhere. As long as I get to be with my girl, that’s enough for me,” he smiles.

   You pull him in for a long kiss, getting lost in the scent of the ocean breeze and the woodsy scent of his cologne. This may last forever, it may not, but you’re going to enjoy the ride for as long as it lasts. 

Tags: @untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @sawymredfox @bbyanarchist @vividispunk @mrslawrencealbarn @pedrossl4t @pedroswife69 @sarap-77 @casa-boiardi @princesatracionera @msjarvis

[allfryam]

teachers pet

Mason sighed as he moved his arm to cover his growing boner. He was sitting in history class, learning about some kind of ancient civilization or something. The only thing he was focused on though was his teacher Mr. Hart. He was fresh out of college and looked to be around 24 years old. He had medium length brown hair that he slicked back over his head. He had piercing brown eyes that almost matched the color of his hair perfectly. His only facial hair was a thick mustache that kept him from looking 18. His young features and strong arms made him look like a major frat bro. The only thing that kept him from being one was his growing midsection. When school started in August, Mr. Hart had a flat stomach. But as the months progressed and his life got more sedentary, Mason began to notice his shirts getting tighter around his gut. You could hardly even see it unless he was sitting, and it would begin to roll over his belt, or if he reached up to grab something, and his shirt would be pulled tight, giving mason a perfect outline.

Mason constantly daydreamed of feeding Mr. Hart until the buttons on his shirt pop off. But he could never do something like that. There’s no way Mr. Hart would even let him. So he just daydreamed.

as thanksgiving break came to a close, and Mason began to head back to school, he couldn’t help but think of all the food Mr. Hart probably ate, shoveling plate after plate of thanksgiving feast down his throat. He sat down at his desk and hid another boner under his sweatshirt as he continued thinking about it. His boner poked up even more when Mr. Hart walked in though. Mason was right. Mr. Hart had definitely stuffed himself silly over break. His shirt that used to only give an outline of his stomach when he reached for something now hugged his gut in all the right ways. It looked two sizes too small with his meaty arms filling out the sleeves, his juicy pecs filling out the chest, and now his expanding gut was filling out the rest.

Mr. Hart began teaching and Mason didn’t listen to a word. All he could focus on was the perfect belly standing at the front of the classroom. He imagined himself slowly unbuttoning Mr. Hart’s tight shirt and rubbing the perfect gut underneath. “Mason…” he moaned. “Mason!” Mr. Hart yelled. “Are you paying attention?” Masons face grew red. “Uhhh yeah. Sorry.” Mason said shyly.

later that night, Mason knew he needed to act on this daydream or he would be too horny to function. He thought of a few options.

PLEASE VOTE! I’ve never done a story like this and I would really like to do one so please participate! (They are all good endings I promise! Some will just be more drawn out than others!)

[imissnanami]

i got jjk on the brain... who do you think is the best with their hands?

*angels choir sings all star by smash mouth* MDNI

TY FOR FEEDING ME ANONNY😭🤝

I hc that all the jjk men had the best, biggest, thickest hands and fingers that have the juicy veins and are just so perfect that none of them are bad by any means at all ;( I actually spent a long time thinking about this and ended up going through a process of elimination😤 (ALSO I REALISED BELATEDLY I WENT COMPLETELY NSFW, IF U WANTED SFW I WILL TOTALLY REDO IT MY BAD ANONNIE) tldr; Toji brok-e-guro

Gojo can't be the best because his fingers are reduculously long, reaching all the best places. The problem? Once he found that out he started to slack on his technique overall, relying on length :(

Geto can't be the best cause eventhough his fingers are so ridiculously thick and stretch you so perfectly, he too isn't using his whole hand. Poor bby boy☹

Choso my love is, in my books, the King of Head. You can not tell me that he wouldn't just spread your legs and go for it, digging in. Because of that, he never practices with his hands and therefore can't be the best.

In the same vein, Sukuna would pop you on his two (2) penises. Like why use his four hands when he could be inside you or eat you out with his stomach mouth??? Quantity < Quality

Our runner up is my hubby Nanami!! 🎉🎊 our man has the perfect length and width of fingers. But most importantly, when he's fingering you, he uses his palm too🤩 King of using his WHOLE hand, and going at the perfect pace. Love him sm.

And surprisingly to me lmao, I think Toji would overall be the best with his hands😌 Mr broke boy handles soooo many weapons and knows them inside out. You know he knows how to move his fingers, man has perfect hand eye coordination and dexterity. The T in Toji actually stands for technique and how well he can finger you. I feel like he'd just be able to make you feel amazing. Mamaguro was one lucky lady🥰 jk toji was lucky to have her😤

But what do yall think🤔

[old-fandom]

I really really REALLY want to see some good ol' Jealousy Stancest, especially Jealous Stanford. Add in a dash of some old flames and a secret relationship, and it gets real juicy.

Picture this. Stan and Ford come home after months on the Stan o' War II, being in an incredibly passionate and intimate relationship with each other. The open sea gave them the privacy to be a couple without the fear of others finding out. However, once back in Gravity Falls, Stan and Ford come to understanding that they have to keep their relationship on the down low around the family and the kids. They understand what they are doing and don't want to drag others into it by accident, so they tell themselves they will keep their relationship strictly platonic in public.

While settling back home and the kids arriving, Soos (who is still Mr. Mystery as Stan does not want to take away Soos' role as the curator of the Mystery Shack) gets some unsuspecting visitors, demanding to speak to Stanley Pines. Not Stanford Pines, STANLEY PINES!

This obviously raises some alarms in Soos as that kind of information is still relatively new to the town and even newer to the outside world. The kids end up hearing this and run to Ford. They tell him that two very scary men just walked in asking for Stan. Ford, who has been told all about Stan's past while out at sea, believes that these are some of his old enemy's coming to hurt him.

Mabel describes one of them as a tall bulky blonde man with a leather jacket, a handle bar mustache, and dark sunglasses. She describes the other one as shorter, stockier, and speaking with a thick Spanish accent. They both look mean and cold, and obviously tough enough to start and finish a fight. Dipper pipes in saying that they don't look like they like each other too, like they're waiting for the other to say something to start an argument and fight. Ford goes out there to confront the two men. As Ford approaches them, demanding that they state their business with his brother or leave, they're both shook, as Ford looks like Stan but isn't. They have an argument, one that scares all of the other customers out of the store and has Soos leave the gift shop and hover near the kids.

Before long, Stan enters the gift shop in freezes. All eyes lock on him.

Stan is looking at two faces he never thought he'd see again, Jimmy Snakes and Rico. The tension is thick and before Ford can pull out his gun to force the two men out and away from his family, both men start yammering to Stan but more importantly, they start confessing.

You see, what Stan did not tell Ford, or anyone else for that matter, is that Stan dated both Jimmy and Rico at one point of his life. They weren't just past enemy's (or in Jimmy's case, "friends" with benefits), but past lovers as well. (Sue me, Rico being Stan's boyfriend in Colombia would be funny. Also, Stan hiding from Rico's men would be a lot less gory if these men weren't trying to actually kill Stan but to bring him back to Rico as a runaway boyfriend.) Stan is very confused, the kids are very confused, and Ford is very confused and enraged.

Through their confessions, it comes to light that both men heard the news of Stanley Pines basically saving Gravity Falls last summer, both proving that he was alive and that he was still up to his old tricks. They both drove up to Oregon to get back with Stan, but only for their own selfish reasons, which they don't tell Stan. They see that Stan has become a town "hero" and they believe that he has been awarded in some way, specifically monetarily. They believe that if they can get back with him, that money could be theirs. However, upon meeting each other on the way up there and realizing their plans are the same, grew serious animosity toward each other. Killing each other before arriving at Gravity Falls didn't work, so now they have to try and woo Stan in some competition to get his money.

Stan is not stupid, he knows these men, and he knows what they are after (or at least understands that they are after something other than him.) He's telling them to take a hike, and they're trip up here was in vain, that "No, finding out I was alive after 30 years did not make your heart skip a beat. You want something. I'm not stupid." Stan is more than capable handling these men on his own.

Ford is obviously very angry by this and tells them both to get the hell out. They aren't listening to him and Rico fully insults Ford, which is the catalyst for a right hook to the face.

I'm not sure what happens next but I do know that Ford ends up chasing both of them out of the Shack, beating them up quite extensively to give them a real reason to not come back. Probably on the porch threatening their lives if they ever came back and tried to harm Stan or his family ever again. Blah Blah Blah, Stan gets all goo-goo eyed for his boyfriend being so protective of him even if he is a little peeved at being rescued. Blah Blah Blah, Ford needs to release some of the adrenaline from that fight, excuses himself and Stan to the basement for a "talk". Blah Blah Blah, Stan can't walk probably for an hour after being fucked so viciously by Ford.

I honestly don't know where this was going but I love Protective Ford (Stancest or Platonic) and I love him going ham for Stan.

[solaiced]

CASE 25: JUDGE HIGURUMA HAS GIVEN HIS VERDICT, YOU ARE-

!content!: bribing, reader has a little brother, squirting, not beta’d and judge higuruma.

wc: 812

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The world of law is corrupt.

Higuruma Hiromi knows this, and prided himself on not being a corrupt judge. Never accepting money as bribe by criminal families to have a lighter sentence, never backing down when corrupt higher ups told him to be biased on trials and use different punishments.

So why did the ruthless judge Higuruma Hiromi accept your bribe to lessen your brother's sentence from one year to less than a semester?

Why was he sat on his office chair and why was he letting you ride him?

"Come on... Mr. Higuruma! My lil bro cant go to j-jail that long! Please~” You beg sweetly, hands on his shoulders to balance yourself.

He groans, trying to stop your movements by gripping your hips so hard, they bruised. Your slutty crop top was lifted to reveal your bra-free boobs, bouncing all up in Higuruma's red face. His usually neat suit haid sweat, cum and saliva covering it, all from your earlier ministrations.

"D-Don't... move. Stop mov-" The judge moans, head against his chair because he couldn't handle the pleasure, desperately trying to escape your devilish methods.

"Just tell me you'll be cool with my bro," You whine, rolling your hips and earning a pained moan. “He's just a kid."

"F-Fine! Just ... Jus' sit on the damn desk, you minx!" You giggle half-heartedly at his words, spat out as an insult.

Though you obey, lifting your mini skirt, soggy from your own juices and his cum, and revealing your pretty pussy slobbering all over Higuruma's thick cock, red from friction.

You slowly pull off, and the whole time, he moans pathetically, thighs shaking. You sigh heavily, as if getting your brother a lesser sentence by sucking and riding his judge's cock was a tedious job, but in a way, it was.

Sitting your bare ass on his clean desk, your mixed slick making a ‘fwop' sound as it’s spread on the fine wood.

Higuruma’s legs feel weak when he stands up and kneels in front of you, beckoning your legs open.

"Let me get a taste.” He orders gruffly, rough hands on your knees.

Oh. That's hot... Gosh, get yourself together! This is for your brother.

You listen, parting your legs, hands holding you up behind you flat on the desk, and revealing your wet, puckering hole.

The judge's mouth opens and out comes his tongue, head brought closer to lick between your folds to your clit and your legs shut around his head instinctively.

Higuruma groans, large hands placing themselves on your cold outer thighs and continuing to eat you out.

"Delicious, fuck. What even... mmh, what was the crime he committed? Agh," He moans in your pussy, which makes you shudder. "I’on care, give me this pussy..." His voidish tired eyes flick up to watch your reactions as he intentionally bumps his crooked nose against your clit.

Fuck, it was so good, each time he did so, your body involuntarily twitches and you tighten your thighs around his head.

Higuruma explores your cunt’s crevices with his expert tongue, juices staining his lower face and flowing down his throat, which he drinks gratefully.

Like a thirsty man, he slurps on your juicy pussy while you mewled and jerked every time his nose caught on your leaky clit. You felt something approaching, but... it felt different.

"Uhn, uh-ah! Mr.. Mr. Higu~" You whimper, trying to warn him by pulling on his jet -black hair.

"Hm?" Higuruma hums as he sucks on your clit, causing vibrations.

"'M gun-gunnah-" You stutter, eyes squeezing shut, tears slipping down your warm, red cheeks.

“Cum?" The man finishes incorrectly, thrusting his pink appendage into your poor pussy, unable to get any repreive. you whine and shake your head, desperately pulling him off, but alas, he keeps coming back to your heavenly cunt. Like he was starved. Obsessed.

"Ні-Higuuu-!" Your thighs tremble as the weird feeling builds up in your core. Were you gonna piss? It felt too similar, oh god, if you piss on him…

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Higuruma’s tongue hits your g-spot and you ultimately cum, releasing all sorts of liquids. Fuck, you can't see shit, too blinded by pleasure.

The moment you open your eyes, you see Higuruma’s wide eyes, face and hair absolutely drenched in… Did you actually piss on him? This is so fucking embarrassing-

“Holy shit.” His venerating whisper breaks your thoughts once more. “D’you jus’ squirt on my face?” You what. How is that possible?!

“H-Huh? I couldn’t have…” You’re confused. Rightfully so. You thought that shit was only in porn!

"Hey, girl," you hear the judge say, licking his lips and your inner thighs, to clean up your little mess. “Do that again, and your 'lil bro' gets under 6 months. Deal?”

Safe to say it was a win-win for you and your brother, that day.

[roman-golden-68]

A Golden Blessing, Day 2.

02/09/2025: Despite Ezan's (@polo-drone-001) work and influence, he knew that he could only do so much before the night ended and he would be reformed into his human form again. However, he had done all that he can, and he knew that another golden bro would take up the reigns and continue to solidify the presence of Raheem. With a final teasing of Roman's/Raheem's donger, Ezan departed.

When Roman had awoken, he felt odd. His body felt liberated, calm, yet energized and ready to confront the day ahead. With this newfound energy from which he was surprised to feel, he would continue his duties for the day. He would continue his workouts, he would continue to get stronger for the team, he would continue to support his bros, and he would continue to spread the gold. However, he had no idea that there was another person inside his body, a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation occurring within him. However, another bro, the leader of the bros, took notice of the energized spirit of Roman, and knew exactly what was occurring. This bro was Hamza (@goldenherc9 as seen below).

Hamza, an alpha and the leader amongst the team, was aware of the hidden Arabic persona beneath Roman's pale skin. Additionally, Hamza knew that, deep down beneath Roman's baby blue eyes, he was desperate for a change, for a growth, for something new and exciting. So, Hamza being the generous Algerian Arab that he is, decide to aid in Roman's wishes. Hamza, placing his wrist upon the shoulder of Roman, quickly enacting his own ability bestowed upon him by the Gold; the ability to turn bros into his own clothing. As Roman quickly began to shrink and change forms, becoming the stretchy briefs of Hamza, Hamza only smiled, knowing that Roman Raheem would thank him afterwards. Thus, once Roman was turned completely into the briefs of Hamza, Hamza picked up the stretchy bro and would place his left overly swole leg into the hole of the briefs. Roman would groan and moan in discomfort and pleasure as his "fabric" self was stretched already, and yet Hamza was not finished. Hamza would proceed to place his right leg into the hole and quickly pull Roman all the way up to his crotch and hips. Roman, being stretched to the absolute limits in the span of a couple seconds, would scream out in surprise, pleasure, and pain. Yet, due to not having a mouth, nothing came up. Thus Hamza, feeling his new crotch gear struggling to contain his thick Jocky Arabic ass, squeeze against his heavy, swollen, full, and huge Arab nut sack, and hug his thick, juicy, veiny, and quick fat Arab donger, would simply smile. Hamza would proceed to promise Roman that he would release him in 7 days and also promised to bless Roman. Little did Roman and Hamza know, Hamza only needed 2 days to enact his blessings.

[heybank]

DENY PART FOUR

omg here is part four!! this chapter is a little longer (i think)

smut is literally so hard to write bc i'm like wait where is everyone's hands. who's body part is where??? anyway i hope you like it :)

cw: oral (m rec) cumplay, mention of virginity

masterlist here

pogues (nsfw 18+)

they hadn't exactly told the others about their new relationship. they've been lucky so far with john b caught up in sarah and kie is busy with working at the wreck and the new girl she's been seeing and doesn't think we know about.

we've all been so stuck in the honeymoon phase of a new relationship, learning each others bodies and navigating dating as a polyamorous throuple.

grace wishes she could stay in this bliss, cocooned in her boyfriends heat and scents. right now they're in popes bedroom, the three of them squished together on his small twin sized mattress, trying to touch every inch of each other.

you've all discussed about what or how to tell your friends but right now you want to keep it a secret. you're not ashamed but you're a little afraid of possible repercussions you all will face when the truth comes out.

you think john b will be confused at first, he's always been a little thick in the skull but you know he'll come around. sarah will not care at all and probably want to corner you and hear all your juicy details.

kie might be tricky, she's been adamant about the no pogue on pogue macking and now here you are, macking on two of them.

you and jj are kind of lucky in the aspect of your parents literally do not care if you live or die so there's no worry about telling them. pope on the other hand, you're a little worried mr and mrs heyward won't understand or be not so accepting. you know they love pope but ignorance sometimes sticks to your bones and makes people feel certain ways about certain things. pope jokes they'll be happy he's dating you, they love you. they just might not be enthusiastic about trouble maker white boy extraordinaire.

jj says no matter what you'll all have each other and that thought makes you pull your boys in even tighter.

"pope..." you softly ask your brown eyed boy, "can i suck your dick?"

the question and the innocence of how you asked it makes both boys choke on their spit. despite the steaminess of your dream and some heavy petting here and there, none of you have actually gone all the way with each other. you and pope are virgins, jj is the only one with experience. you cringe thinking about your man with other people.

"yeah? you wanna suck my dick pretty?" pope asks, trying to be cool but he's really fucking hyped.

"yeah." you answer shyly. "wanna make you feel good and then i wanna make j feel good too."

none of you have to say anymore words, pope jumps off his bed and walks over to where you were sitting on his computer chair, you pull him in for a hug and give him a soft slow kiss.

"jj, will you teach me?" you inquire.

"yeah baby girl, i'll help you make pope feel really good." he responds.

you kneel down in front of pope, eagerly going to his belt buckle and undoing his shorts. you pull them down his legs and see his prominent bulge in his boxer briefs, precum staining the grey material.

"tease him through his boxers, baby." jj prompts you.

you lean in and nuzzle popes covered dick with your nose and mouth. softly suckling him through the fabric. you moan at his scent. he smells clean mixed with salt water and musk that is inherently pope.

out of the corner of your eye you see jj pulling out his dick and giving it a soft tug. he's getting so turned on watching you give pope his first blow job.

"don't tease anymore grace, please" pope whines.

you nod and slowly pull the boys underwear down to his ankles so pope can step out of them. you see his dick sprig up and hit his tummy with a soft smack and you gasp at the size. he's bigger than jj in length, even tho jjs cock is thicker. you squeeze your thighs together to release some pressure that's been building up in your core.

you gently grab popes dick and give the tip a kitten lick, moaning out loud at the taste.

"go on and lick him, princess. from his balls and back to his tip." jj directs. he's still softly tugging at his own dick.

"will you help me jj? suck his dick with me?" you ask coyly. you know your innocent act turns them on beyond belief.

"yeah? you want me to suck his dick baby? you want that pope?"

the poor heyward boy just looks blissed out, eyes downcast. he just moans and nods in consent. the thought of both his partners sucking his dick together makes him want to nut right then and there.

you move to the side to make room for jj to also sit in front of popes cock. jj pulls you in for a passionate kiss, sticking his tongue in your mouth, moaning a little when he tastes pope on your tongue.

when you end your kiss you and jj both lean in to suckle on popes cock, at this point he's dripping with precum and is so close to busting.

you open your mouth and try to suck his dick down your throat, moving your head up and down causing pope to grab the hair at the back of your head. he doesn't push you further onto his cock tho, ever the gentleman.

while you're sucking his dick jj leans forward and takes one of popes balls into his mouth causing both boys to moan for different reasonings.

you pull off popes cock with a gasp, spit and precum all over your mouth and chin, leaving his cock wet and shiny.

this encourages jj to lean in and continue on what you were just doing. he's never sucked a dick before but he has one of his own so he knows what would potentially feel good.

you raise your hand to jjs hair and begin massaging his head, casual intimacy that you've always had with the boy regardless of sex. you also take note you're still holding popes hand with your other one, essentially connecting all three of you together.

"i'm gonna cum- jj please" pope moans.

"can he cum on my face jj please i want it in my mouth and on my face!"

jj released popes cock with a sly grin and lifts his hand so he can jack the other boy off.

"yeah, you wanna cum on her face pope? make our girl all dirty?"

a few more pumps and pope is shooting out warm streams of his cum, loud moans and cries coming from the heyward boys mouth.

you moan at the feeling of his warm cum landing on your cheek and mouth, causing you to open it and suck down the remaining of popes load.

"fuck that was the best orgasm i've ever had." pope breathlessly says, knees buckling so he can join the two of you on the floor.

jj leans in to kiss you, licking at your face and lips to help clean off popes cum, with a mouthful still in mouth, he leans in and kisses pope, tongues collided and popes release being shared back and forth between the two boys. they are so fucking hot.

once the boys pull away from each other, you give out a giggle and excitedly start pawing at jjs still hard leaking cock.

"your turn!!" you say with eyes full of lust.

you're all at the chateau, sitting around the fire when it's actually pope who slips up. you're all calm and slightly tipsy from beers. pope gets up telling everyone he needs to leave for the night cause his dad needs help in the morning. he plants a kiss on jj without even thinking, moving onto you with ease. he doesn't clock the silence from the rest of the pogues or their wide eyes and shocked faces.

"surprise!" you cheer, blush scorching your face as you grab jjs hand for reassurance. jj reaching out to grab popes and pull him closer in case this goes sideways.

"i fucking knew it!" sarah cheers jumping out of her seat in triumph! "you owe me $5 john b!" she gloats.

uh oh.

taglist: (lmk if you wanna be added)

@theoraekenslover

@redhead1180

@motherfing-stargirl

[eldritch-spouse]

I have a very dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde situation in my mind where I want to send in thoughtful and appreciative asks that talk about how much I love the world building and character your works have, but then there’s the other side pinning me down yelling about thick juicy monster tiddies

And I’m afraid the tiddies win 9/10 times

Fortunately for you anon, I appreciate both the Jekyll and the Hyde.

Hearing about how you like one or two details in a fictional universe I slapped together (and keep together using the psychological equivalent of flextape) is raw dopamine, but so is hearing about how you'd suck the nipples off one of these dudes' tits.

[ryuzakemo128]

Moonlight Sonata

Pairing: CEO! Maxwell Lord x Electrical Engineer! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Electrical Engineer! Female Reader, CEO! Maxwell Lord. Age Gap (Female Reader is 33. Maxwell Lord is 49), Maxwell has a rather intense breeding, lactation, ownership, and collaring kink. Female Reader send Maxwell a rather naughty email. Female reader was on maturnity leave. Mention of a recent break up. Female reader in this is curvy, can be read as plus sized too. Other tags I might have missed, if you see something you want tagged in this let me know.

Word Count: 1805

Divider Credit: @firefly-graphics + @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Summary: “Why thank you Mr. Lord.” You whispered, heft, heavy with a sultry allure.

You didn't think much of it when you slipped on that delectable tight dark purple coloured sleeveless pleated dress this morning, did you? No. You certainly didn't with that full, delicious, tempting, curvaceous bod of yours.

What were you thinking when you put those sheer black tights on underneath? The tight material wasn’t hiding anything from his dark brown eyes. Nothing is hidden from his eyes with that pretty thing on.

Did you expect him to look away once he saw the lace v-string underneath your dress? Were you tempting him on purpose now? Flaunting yourself in front of him so blatantly.

Those pumps made your legs look longer. While also a deep purple. A suede material by the look of things. These pumps gave you a generous four inches to your stature. Another part of your normal look that he didn’t take the time to fully appreciate until today.

You were there to talk about the terms and conditions of your employment. You weren’t sure if he was going to fire you with how things were going lately.

Likewise, you were pretty bummed out from last night’s panic job search in case you would be fired. Panicking before you even got to the meeting he set this morning.

Eye-fucking you long before you said a word to him. The act of biting your bottom lips is driving him mad. The more you do, the more he just wants to stop you from doing that by kissing you intensely. Like you were the last thing of value on the face of the earth.

You’re a fucking feast. A banquet, and he wants to keep you all to himself. Maxwell Lord is a starving man. His eyes lick your body from top to bottom, devouring every single curve and inch. He's been craving you for so long, his hunger is palpable in the air.

You weren’t short and you weren’t too terribly tall either. The perfect height. Perfect in his ever-devouring gaze. His office is minimalist compared to your own down in the IT department.

His eyes reached your gorgeous, beautiful, magnificent breasts, he could view the outline of your bra straps. Despite the rounded and high neckline on your dress. It did nothing to conceal the cleavage behind it.

The pink lip stain you must have done this morning, rumours of your recent childbirth reached him, and he still couldn’t get the image of your fat juicy pussy around his cock or maybe even his thick fingers. Perhaps his thumb?

He had heard whispers of it, how you had taken a short leave to push out a child, how your body had changed, how it had only made you more desirable. As if the idea of you recently giving birth had flipped a switch deep inside him. So far back that he didn’t think it would exist inside him.

The final straw? The final straw being the soft black leather choker with the metal love heart locket pendant in the middle. Contrasting against your professional attire and making you scream submissive with each batting of your eyelashes. Did you know what it meant to him?

Screamed submission and ownership. Regardless of whether you knew it or not. In face it didn’t matter if you knew or not, he knew. That innocent little neck decoration was begging for his collar. For his ownership, and for his protection.

His hand trembled as he picked up the contract, your handwriting as cursive as he remembers it and by the looks of things written with that fancy fountain pen you bought yesterday. He still remembers smelling the lavender and black pepper deodorant.

Unlike your recent ex-boyfriend who shamed you for the extra pounds you gained through pregnancy and childbirth. He wanted to own you. To breed you. To have you carry his child. To watch as your body changed to accommodate the life you would grow within you. He had fantasies, oh yes, Maxwell had fantasies of your swollen breasts, leaking milk, begging for his mouth.

It's just too bad your ex couldn’t or perhaps wouldn’t see the beauty of your transformation, isn’t it? But Maxwell? He's been dreaming of it. He's been dreaming of sliding his hands over your rounded belly, feeling the life that you'd carry. The power of creation. The idea of your body changing for his pleasure, your breasts swelling with milk, your hips widening to bear his child. It’s a heady thought that makes his cock throb painfully against his tailored suit pants.

Adding to the heat is you leaning on his desk, elbows on the redwood desk, “Are you ok sir?” you asked ever-so-sweetly. “You seem a little flustered.” You added in before he could answer your question.

Inside those innocent looking eyes. He swore he could spot the hints of mischief behind them. He knew that look rather well. Not only that, but he’s seen it in his own eyes this morning before work. The act of leaning on his desk had him incoherent and rethinking the meeting altogether.

“Did you need me to get you a glass of water?” you asked biting down on your bottom lip. Again.

Maxwell’s eyes snapped back to yours. You’re playing with fire. Don’t you see that? Or do you see it and choosing to dive in away? Your breasts pressed against the desk, the fabric straining with the effort to hold all that fucking lovely contents. Struggling to contain them.

You were seducing him on purpose now. You have to be. You weren’t supposed to be so aware of his desires. You weren’t supposed to be able to flip the script on him so easily.

Your nails were a lovely beige with French tip acrylic. Like you knew he had thing for women with French tip acrylic nails. He composed himself for a moment and went through your contract, you had studied Electrical Engineering for the past thirteen years by what it read on your CV.

Another layer he hadn’t anticipated from you. Another lovely, gift-wrapped surprise just for him. He knew you were smart. He just didn’t know how smart you were. Though, was it that he didn’t know or was it more like, he didn’t notice? Who knows?

He cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the pulse he could see beating so steadily under the soft skin. He swallowed, his tongue feeling thick and heavy with lust. “Mrs...” he began, using your last name from your contract, “I’ve noticed your recent achievements in the IT department. Your dedication to the company is... commendable.”

“Why thank you Mr. Lord.” You whispered, heft, heavy with a sultry allure.

As Maxwell continued to talk about your revised contracted hours, his eyes still couldn’t stop wandering over to your choker, to your lips and your luscious breasts. How dare you be so, so, so, gorgeous with those curves filling out so perfectly? How dare you be so  tantalizing, so... tempting? The way you leaned on the desk, your back arched ever so slightly, making your ass look like it was begging for his hand to squeeze it.

You couldn’t wait for him to see the email you wrote him that afternoon after the meeting.

Dear Maxwell Lord, did you enjoy the outfit? I could sense it. I could feel it too. If only you were bolder, closer, willing. I am willing to wait. But I don’t necessarily want to either. Your voice is authoritative, commanding, respected. I still touch myself thinking how you could use that tone. Oh, how much I would love it for you to use it on me. You had no idea how much you had me panting under my seat.

I could sense you eye fucking me while I was in your office this morning. I saw how you clutched that contract in your hand. It was almost as if you were trying to hold on to your composure as you took in every inch of me. The way your gaze lingered on my choker, my breasts, my hips—I knew you were imagining me as your own personal plaything. A toy to breed and claim as your own. It's a heady feeling, isn't it? The power you hold over someone just by existing.

But let’s not try to  get too far ahead of ourselves. Let’s not kid ourselves Mr. Lord. You didn't hire me just for my expertise in electrical engineering. You didn’t just hire me for the fact I was an intern at the company you competed with 13 years ago when I was only 18 at the time now did you? No. I had a large feeling that wasn’t the case.

I also have a large feeling you didn’t particularly like my ex-boyfriend, who I was currently in a relationship with at the time. I knew what he was thinking, he had no right to look at me like that, yet here we were.

It’s a good thing he left. Sincerely, always and forever yours.

The images attached were of you in pink lingerie. The first image was a sheer lace with a rose pattern. The following pictures were of you in various poses with it on. Followed by a video of you slowly taking it all off in front of your rather expensive camera. You knew what you were doing.

You knew what you wanted, and you weren’t about to let anyone stop you from getting it either. Nothing would stop you from pursuing your own boss, no, not for a promotion. It would be nice to get a raise. But no, you aimed to get straight to his bedroom subtly enough, but incredibly direct at the same time too.

The ball was in his court now. A hushed silence fell over his office in his grand, opulent estate. Save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sound of his own heavy breathing. The subject was simple, and delectably innocent upon seeing it on a surface level. But the contents of the email itself is thick with just enough sexual tension, desire, and an unmistakable challenge.

He wanted to tear his clothes off and join you there. He remained seated and he wanted nothing more than to go to your house to take you completely. The email a lovely siren’s call to his inner beast within. With shaking, trembling hands he typed out a response.

Dear [Female Reader’s Last Name], Your beauty is as much a part of your appeal as your intellect, I must admit I find it inspiring. I am not a man who hides his desires nor am I one to be denied what he truly desires. What he wants or what he wants to keep for himself. And what I want, more than anything, is you.

[cellard0ors]

80’s Hackearney Drabble idea, comin’ in hot!

Snack Time at Hackett’s Quarry

- popsicles or soft serve ice cream maybe?

- maybe something more wholesome, like juicy watermelon slices that inevitably dribble down someone’s chin?

- do the campers and counsellors ever have to do their own baking, and if so, poor young Travis having to put up with various “bun in oven” and “buttered muffin” jokes from the others

Hell yes, sweet treats!

It's the second Saturday in June at Hackett's Summer Camp and apparently it's known as Sweet Saturday. Laura's informed that this is the day all the campers work on making sweet treats to trade with one another.

The treats don't have to be particularly difficult - just fun to put together. Laura's never considered herself much of a cook - hell, before this she wasn't even a very good waitress, aka the person who delivers the food - but luckily she gets the youngest campers.

The idea of using fruit juice to make easy popsicles via ice trays pleases them immensely and even Laura finds herself having fun as she helps the little kids carefully pour their chosen juice into the tray's little cups - sticking toothpicks in their centers.

As the evening rolls in the treats start being swapped and Laura can't help but feel a glow of pride as she sees the tiny popsicles floating around among the cookies, muffins, and slices of cake.

The cake really intrigues her, as it doesn't look like an ordinary cake, which she discovers is the truth when she's presented with a slice by Chris, "Here! Take some icebox cake!"

It's always beyond bizarre when Laura is faced with a young Chris. After all, he was - in many ways - the kick off for her woes in 2021. But now, in 1986, he's young and innocent and eager to please as he forces the small paper plate on her, "C'mon - join T and me. We've got a great spot!"

Laura gamely follows along, seeing Travis resting against a tall, thick tree near the dock. Travis is picking at his food, as if unsatisfied with it when he catches sight of her with his sibling.

His back goes ramrod straight even as he pushes his glasses by the bridge up his nose. He gives her that awkward (annoying) endearing (goofy) smile as he greets her with a quiet, "Uh, hey."

"Hey." Laura returns just as noncommittally even as Chris takes a seat next to Travis and beams, "Brought Laura over to snack with us. Hope that's okay."

Travis shoots Chris a look that Laura recognizes as a secret, brother-based look. While she doesn't have siblings of her own, Laura's been friends with, and seen enough, brothers and sisters shoot one another that look - the inside kind that only they understand, to get that that's what she's seeing.

However, if the look shot his way bothers him, Chris doesn't show it as he digs into his large collection of treats, chocolate melting all over his fingers as he breaks apart a cookie

Laura sits across from the brothers and watches with quiet amusement until Chris asks, "You have a favorite yet, Laura? These cookies from Nancy's group is my favorite so far."

"I haven't tried them yet."

"Oh! You gotta! Here!" Chris offers her half of the cookie he just tore into and she takes it, feeling a slight pang of guilt as she does so.

Jesus, she led the charge to kill this guy in the future and here he's giving her a cookie. Still, she pushes the thought aside and tries to act normal, biting into the treat and trying to enjoy it.

Chris nudges Travis and chuckles, "Don't worry! She has some of your cake too!"

Travis looks at her and Laura feels like she's chewing in the most unattractive way possible so she swallows a big hunk of what's left in her mouth and then coughs, clearing her throat as she holds up the paper plate Chris gave her.

Travis's lips squirm like he's fighting off a smile. Chris has no resistance, smiling widely, "It's our Grandma's recipe! Ma taught us!"

"She did, huh." Laura tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Mrs. Hackett is the last thing she wants to hear about when she's trying to enjoy something sweet.

"Yup! It's got vanilla pudding and graham crackers and whipped cream and-!"

"She doesn't need the ingredient list, bud." Travis grumbles and Chris rolls his eyes, "Whatever. You're just upset they didn't have watermelons this year."

Laura's eyebrows rise, "You like watermelons?"

Every time she learns something new about Travis it's always so... surprising. She can't say why, other than the fact that - as her jailor - he'd seemed so remote and distant. So cold. As if he didn't like anything past being a bastard.

But in this time - when he's young and open - she's slowly uncovered more and more about him and each thing seems more startling than the last.

"You bet he does! Sometimes we have spitting contests with the seeds!"

Travis looks appropriately mortified at this and Laura can't help the genuine laugh that escapes her. Clearly hoping to continue his entertaining streak, Chris rattles on, "You should see him go! His face gets all wet and sloppy and the juice dribbles down his chin from chowing down and he makes all these noises and-!"

"Shut it, doofus!" Travis hisses and he pushes hard at his brother's shoulder. Normally Laura might object, but Chris's innocent descriptions and the way Travis's face started to turn pink hints to something that makes her feel... peculiar.

Like she'd like to see Travis's face wet with the clear juice of the watermelon. His lips shiny...

Laura fans at herself and excuses it as an unexpected spike in the temperature, nevermind that the sun is setting. She takes a bite of the icebox cake and hums in approval. It is pretty good and Chris, over his momentary annoyance with Travis, smiles again, "You like it?!"

"Yeah." She confesses, feeling like it's a dirty secret, "I do."

"Good! He made it!" Chris boasts, pointing to Travis and Laura gets the sudden impression that the younger Hackett is attempting to play as a wingman.

Good lord.

Travis, for his part, just avoids her eyes and shakes his head, "It's nothing. Besides, I had help."

"That's me!" Chris crows, "I was in his group!"

"Yeah, yeah - you did okay, squirt." Travis ruffles his brother's hair and Laura can't help but grin. Much like the desserts they've been consuming, the Hackett brothers are a sweet pair.

So much so that it's a shame for her to know how things end. And how they end bittersweet.