#round white top side table

[spacecampband]

New York Master Bath Bathroom Huge transitional master marble floor and gray floor bathroom photo with recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, white walls, an undermount sink and white countertops

[discoboogie]

Deck - Contemporary Deck

A large, modern side yard deck with an addition to the roof

[empresskylo]

You hadn’t expected Simon to get you anything for Valentine’s Day. It just didn’t really seem like his kind of holiday.

So you were rather surprised when he showed up with a bouquet of roses, a little handwritten note tied to them. Cliche, roses, but he knew you liked flowers. And he wasn’t above buying you cliche things. Simon knew he could show his love for you year round, and he always did in his own ways, but he had no problem treating you on February 14th either.

He didn’t just run out to the story and buy whatever random shit they had on the shelves, or snag a insincere hallmark card. He had gone to three different florists before he found the right mix of roses. He handpicked red, pink, and white roses, all arranged with baby’s breath decorating the sides. He thought they were rather pretty and wanted to make sure he got you a set you would actually like. Then he took a piece of paper and wrote you a little note. He drew a little heart at the top where he wrote your name, as wonky as it was. And he found a piece of ribbon, tying the card to the stem of one of the roses. He walked all the way to your apartment, smiling at himself imagining your surprise when he presented the flowers.

When you opened the door to a wide-grinned Simon, you thanked him for the gift, and he said, “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh. Simon, that’s okay. We don’t have to do that. I know the restaurants are all going to be packed and I don’t want you to have to—”

“Wasn’t really askin’, love.”

You quirked a brow, your face heating. “I don’t have anything nice to wear,” you said gesturing to your PJs. “I can’t go to some fancy—”

“Who said anythin’ bout fancy?” He winked at you before interlacing your fingers. Simon knew you didn’t do crowds and didn’t like to be fussed over, so of course he wasn’t about to take you out to eat on the busiest night of the year. He raised his other hand and showed you the bag of takeout, ready to curl up on the couch and watch whatever cheesy movie you wanted. And he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

He kissed your forehead before guiding you both inside your apartment, placing the takeout on the coffee table and pulling you into his lap.

[alicesbookshelf]

Open Living Room Charleston Large cottage open concept and formal medium tone wood floor and brown floor living room photo with a wall-mounted tv, white walls, a standard fireplace and a plaster fireplace

[ucitavanje]

Home Bar - Contemporary Family Room Family room - large contemporary enclosed dark wood floor family room idea with a bar, white walls, a wall-mounted tv and no fireplace

[sponsormusings]

Family Room Open Family room: large, open-concept transitional porcelain tile family room with white walls, a tile fireplace, a standard fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[pleaselmhau]

You knew Ghost wouldn’t go out of his way for Halloween, he barely even realizes the holidays happened when they passed. But you were determined to show him how fun Halloween can be by combining it with his favorite thing fucking you you.

When you handed him a wolf costume he nearly asked if you lost your goddamn mind. Though with a few many pleas and sweet looks he caved somewhat. You had gotten him a ridiculous set, but the look he gave the package and the muttered “fucking hell,” had you knowing you were not gonna get a tail tied around his waist. No matter how funny it would be to chase the big guy around trying to tie it on. So you settle for letting him wear his combat uniform, mask and all, and just the wolf ears. It’s not much but it does the trick. “Wait here,” you chime sweetly before scampering off to go put on your own costume.

You felt nervous under his piercing gaze, waiting for him to say anything, “well…?” You finally cave, needing to know what he was thinking behind those stoic eyes. His eyes trail over your bunny costume in full. The full white outfit, the thigh highs, the floppy bunny ears on either side of your head held in place by a headband, the way you did your makeup to make you’re eyes look bigger and made your nose pink. “It’s… cute.” He finally says. His brows raise just a bit as his eyes meet yours again. He’s standing on the opposite end of the hallway, having gotten bored of waiting and walked out of the bedroom just in time to see you coming out of the bathroom. He looks intimidating, standing there nearly blending into he shadows, two pointed ears on the top of his head and skull mask staring right back at you.

“You get it? Like you’re the wolf and I’m the bunny, we’re like a pair.” You add on, waiting for any real reaction really. His hands shift to the walls surrounding on either side of him, palms pressing flat against the hard surface. “Mhm,” he hums, still giving muted responses. “So like-..” you stammer out, but are cut off by him. “Well go on then, little rabbit, hop along.” Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment before you see him shifting his stance, getting ready. So he did know what you wanted. You suck in a sharp breath before swiveling around and taking off away from him. His hands, flat against the wall push off as he takes off after you.

To make the sharp turn faster he just slides right into the wall with a loud thud from how fast he took off and it startled the shit out of you. Of course you knew what he was doing, chasing you, but you didn’t realize how hard he would go. It makes you redouble your efforts, letting out a gasp as your socked feet press harder into the hardwood. Using your hand on the wall to slide around the next corner. You can hear his heavy footsteps behind you, the sound going quiet as he fully slides around the corner too like he’s trying to drift on his socks. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, your lungs just starting to burn as you quickly round the coffee table, pausing with him on the other side. His chest heaves, though you get the impression he’s putting on the full show for you rather than it being from exertion, he’s very in shape from his job. It works, maybe too well. Seeing him standing there at his full height, watching you with tunnel vision, body coiled like a snake ready to strike. You try to fake him out, stepping one way then going the other but he doesn’t budge much, just a slight shift in his weight. He lowers his center of gravity, one hand reaching forward slowly to rest on the coffee table and you realize what he’s doing just in time to sprint away as his foot presses to the coffee table and he vaults right over it. You don’t get far though.

His body slams right into your back, and your heart stops for a second as you almost crash face first into the hard wall, but his hands juts out, stopping both of you right before with his other arm around your waist. He doesn’t even give you a moment to catch your breath or to calm your racing heart, before he’s pushing your front right up against the wall. His body curls around yours, flush from head to knee. Well until one of his thighs slots between yours, knee pressing against the wall as his hands roughly pull your hips back so your ass is flush with his groin and his thigh is pressed up against your sex. You can feel the cold, hard plastic of his mask press into the side of your neck, followed by the scruffy fur of his cheap wolf ears brushing against your temple as he whispers in your ear. “Caught you.”

[penguinhomeglobal]

Stylish eye catching designs are Elegant and Minimalist and go well with a variety of settings. Perfect additions to bedrooms, living rooms, work space for laptop, computer, office and home.

[lizalaforet]

Backyard Porch An example of a large transitional back porch design with decking and a roof extension.

[wucrnos]

Transitional Porch Atlanta An example of a large transitional back porch design with decking and a roof extension.

[jjscrybaby]

prompt 40: ‘lean on me.’

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | hurt & comfort | (stubborn!reader, mention of sick, reader is john b’s sister but no mention of race etc, getting shot, blood, shitty ending cause i’m tired🙂‍↕️)

my first request! thankyou anon, i hope u enjoy this <333

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

For your entire life, you’d been stubborn. Back when you were a kid, you’d refuse to admit that you were sick even when you were puking your guts out into the toilet, there was one time you climbed a tree because you wanted to be like JJ and John B and you ended up slicing your arm on a hanging stick; you kept it from them until the next day when they noticed the scab.

Your brother and your friends were used to it by now, you smiling through your tears when you got cheated on, or stumbling home alone after drinking too much because you were embarrassed to call for help.

No one was worried about you when you began the treasure hunt for the gold your old man had been searching for, you were a strong girl who could take care of herself and them. You weren’t worried about yourself either, not until you heard the bang.

“Shit!” JJ yelled from somewhere in front of you, ducking down with his hands over his head. You knew this lead was bullshit, a trap of some sort.

“Over here!” Kiara called, finding an entrance to the old warehouse you were running near. She held it open and the group of you ran in, panting and groaning. She slammed the door closed as you rushed in and pushed a table against it for good measure.

John B let out a laugh of disbelief, followed by JJ, Pope and then Kie. “Shit, that was a close one.” He chuckled, sitting down to lean against the wall.

“Too close,” Kiara agreed, sitting down beside him to catch her breath.

You weren’t listening to a word they were saying. Your ears rang as you looked down, blood was seeping into your white tee, your body numb from the pain.

“You good?” John B asked, looking over at you. Your eyes flickered over to him, panic all over your face. He slowly stood up and walked towards you. “Hey—” he stopped, eyes landing on the blood that covered your left side. His eyes widened, his face paled and he was rushing at you like a mad man. “No, no, no!”

“What?” JJ worried, coming over from where he’d been leaning against a wall. He followed John B’s gaze and had the exact same reaction, complexion going green and hands starting to shake as he grabbed your waist.

“It’s fine—” you croaked out, inhaling sharply at the pain that followed.

“Shut up. You’re shot,” JJ argued sternly. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and gently pulled your shirt up, apologising when you cried out in pain. He inspected it, you were losing a lot of blood. “We need to get to the fuckin’ hospital!”

“Can’t afford that,” you coughed out, making everyone shoot you a dirty look.

“Would you rather bleed out? Come on, we need to get back to the van,” Kiara responded, looking around to see if there’s another exit.

You tried to stumble after them, clenching your jaw. JJ wrapped his arm around your waist, you tried to push him off and his grip tightened. “Lean on me. Let me help you,” he murmured.

“I don’t want to die, JJ,” you sobbed as he held you up, following the rest of the group. John B was up ahead, storming down the hallway you’d found to find an unlocked door.

“You’re not going to,” JJ argued, his pace quickening. “I’d never let that happen. Don’t panic, I know it hurts. You just have to hang in there a little longer, can you do that f’me?”

You just nodded your head, silent tears rolling down your cheeks as you finally leant on him properly; finally accepted the help that he’d been trying to give you for years. When you climbed that tree, he’d been at the top holding his hand out for you to take. When you were sick, he’d offer to hold your hair back and follow you around with food and water. When you got cheated on, he went round to your ex’s house and punched him right in his smug face. He was always there, you just never accepted the help.

You’d gotten lucky, the bullet had grazed you so the procedure was no where near as difficult as it could have been. When you woke up, head foggy and body numb, you felt a hand holding yours.

“Hey,” JJ murmured softly, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “John B’s just gone home to grab you some shit.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” you replied croakily — he was instantly passing you a cup of water.

He gave you a look, shaking his head at you with amusement in his eyes. “You really ain’t worked it out yet?”

“Worked what out?” You asked, putting the cup back on the side table once your mouth started to feel less dry.

“That no matter how much your stubborn-ass may hate it, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” JJ stated, sounding stern yet soft all at once.

“Why?” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. Was he just being friendly? Did he mean it because you were his best friends sister?

“‘Cause you’re, like, the most important thing to me,” he shrugged, looking down at where your hands were clasped together. “And I hate that you just let yourself struggle alone.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your’s and JJ’s relationship had always been funny banter, witty comments and buried love. You’d never heard him say something so honest, and if you’d been standing it would have sent you to your knees.

“You’re the most important thing to me, too,” you replied, your brain too foggy with the pain meds to think of anything else to say.

He flashed you a grin, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “From now on, you ain’t dealing with shit alone. Definitely not when you’ve just been shot.”

“Grazed,” you corrected.

“Big-whoop. Get ready for me to be your personal butler, your ass ain’t leaving your bed once we get home,” he teased, making you roll your eyes fondly. 

You didn’t necessarily hate the idea of him taking care of you, not that you’d ever admit that to him; although from the glint in his eyes you were pretty sure he already knew. You were pretty sure he felt the same way.

John B was in for a real surprise when he gets back to the hospital — because his best friend and sister are most definitely head over heels in love.

[drghostwrite]

Your Honor, She’s irresistible…

okay not a request… but like I’m OBSESSED with this woman right now… like can’t get enough and can I just say round of applause STANDING OVATION for @covenofagatha… please my loves go support her, she’s literally amazing!!💋

side note: if this is bad PLEASE let a girl know, or if there is anything I should change… I’m begging, please let me know.

Okay enough rambling here is my take on an Agatha x reader…

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!lawyer!reader

Summary: Reader is a cutthroat intimidating lawyer, but also a powerful witch… a witch that used to be the enemy turned lover of the Agatha Harkness, the lover that Agatha abandoned… one night Agatha reappears and rekindles an old spark.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, breeding kink, strap-on and oral smut(r receiving)

*******************************************************

You can feel the exhaustion clinging to you as you pull your sleek, black Range Rover into the garage, its low purr echoing in the enclosed space. The leather steering wheel feels smooth beneath your fingers, the faint scent of your signature perfume lingering in the air. You shut off the engine and exhale, leaning your head back against the seat for a brief moment before opening the door.

Something feels… off.

The air seems thicker tonight, heavier, as though it’s pressing down on you. You shake it off, slipping your heels onto the polished floor and shutting the door behind you with a practiced flick of your wrist, and you stride through the door that leads into your home, your designer heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

You’ve had a long day, winning a nearly impossible case and leaving your opponents scrambling. The thrill of the victory is overshadowed only by the aching knot at the base of your neck. As you shrug off your tailored tan trench coat and hang it neatly by the door, you toss your keys into the porcelain bowl on the side table.

Your brain goes on autopilot as you pass through the living room, your eyes brushing over the soft glow of the fireplace and the way it casts golden hues against your minimalist decor. Nothing seems out of place. Still, that feeling gnaws at the edges of your awareness.

In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of deep red wine, savoring the way the liquid slides into the crystal glass. You take a small sip, letting it linger on your tongue, as you move back to the living room. That’s when you hear it—a low, sultry chuckle that sends a shiver cascading down your spine.

“Nice place. Very… you,” the voice purrs.

You whirl around, the stem of your wineglass nearly slipping through your fingers, and there she is.

“Agatha,” you say, tone as sharp as the stilettos your wearing.

Her smirk widened, eyes darkening as she purred, “Well hello to you to darling.”

Her voice was rich, smooth as silk but twice as dangerous as she sits lounging in your favorite armchair as though she belongs there, one leg crossed lazily over the other. Her signature purple pants cling to her in all the right places, the soft fabric stretching across her toned thighs. The white button-up she’s wearing is undone just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of her breast, the glint of her pendant resting in the hollow of her throat catching the firelight. She looks smug. Dangerous. Devastatingly beautiful.

“Breaking and entering, Agatha?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. You take another slow sip of your wine, masking the way your pulse is racing. “Even for you, that’s bold.”

“Please,” her lips curving into a smirk. “Do you really think a deadbolt is enough to keep me out? Besides…” Her eyes trail over you, “I’ve been dying to see you in your element. You wear power well, darling…”

You can feel her eyes as they take in your strong form, the maroon suit, with your satin black top slightly unbuttoned, your satin designer heels showing off the curve and tone of your legs.

She bites her bottom lip while she smirks, “I mean, look at you… you’re far more tempting than you realize in those designer stilettos”

You scoff, but you can’t help the heat spreading through your body. “And you wear arrogance like a badge of honor… is this your idea of seduction, Agatha?… Breaking into my house and throwing around cheap compliments?”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied you, a suggestive smirk on her lips. “Who said anything about seduction? But… if I were seducing you, I’d hardly call it cheap. I’d say something more like…” Her voice dipped into a sultry tone, and her eyes flashed with something dark.

“Your suit… flawless. But I bet you look even better without it. And those heels?… Darling, they belong wrapped around my waist.”

You tried keeping your composure but your face flushed at her words, at the image of your bodies tangled together, tasting her on your lips, Agatha in your bed, flashing in your mind.

Her chuckle deepens as she leans forward, “I missed this, you know? Missed you… That fire in your eyes, that razor-sharp tongue of yours. Tell me, do you save all your sass for me, or do your clients get to enjoy it too?”

“Get to the point, Agatha,” you snap, trying to ignore the way her words are already winding their way under your skin. “Why are you here?”

“To see you, of course,” she says smoothly, standing in one fluid motion. Her boots click softly against the floor as she steps toward you, her eyes never leaving yours. “You know, I thought time away would make me forget. But then I realized… I don’t want to forget you.”

Her words are velvet and steel, cutting and caressing all at once. She’s close now, so close you can smell her—lavender and something darker, more intoxicating. You don’t step back. Instead, you lift your chin, meeting her gaze head-on.

“You left me, Agatha… I should throw you out,” you say, though your voice has lost some of its bite as your lips are a breath apart.

“But you won’t,” she counters, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve missed me. Admit it.”

“Missed what? Your penchant for chaos? Your never-ending ego?… something like that.”

“Admit that you love that I was never afraid of you… never afraid of your power.” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. Her hand comes up, fingers brushing against the lapel of your blazer, and you shiver despite yourself. “You missed this. Us.”

“Maybe… still, you think you can walk back into my life, my home and have me fall at your feet?” You shot back trying to hold onto whatever dignity you had left.

“My love, I don’t need you to fall at my feet… I just need you to take off those pretty shoes and kneel.”

Before you can respond, her hand trails down to your waist, her touch igniting a fire you’ve been trying to extinguish for years.

Damn her. Damn her and her perfect smirk, her piercing blue eyes.

“God, I hate you,” you mutter, your voice betraying you, trembling with need and something far more dangerous.

“Funny,” she says, leaning in again so her lips are just a breath away from yours. “Because I think I’m still in love with you.”

The words unravel something inside you. Before you can think, you’re kicking off your stilettos, pushing her back into the chair, dropping to your knees in front of her.

Your hands glide up her thighs, the fabric of her pants taut beneath your touch. Her breath hitches, and the sound makes the heat in your core pool even more.

“Say it again,” you demand, your voice low as you bury your face against her stomach, your hands gripping her hips.

She tightens her fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at her. Her blue eyes are shimmering with something dark. “I love you,” she murmurs, her voice a seductive promise.

You rise slowly, crawling up her body until your lips crash into hers, years of tension and desire finally breaking free. Her hands are everywhere… your waist, your hips, your back… as you kiss her like she’s the only thing anchoring you to the world.

When you finally pull back, gasping for air, your hands move to her shirt, your fingers ghost over exposed skin before ripping it open to reveal dark purple lace. Agatha laughs, the sound rich and full and you can feel your body wanting to have every part of her.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” she teases, her hands skillfully take off your blazer and top, revealing black lingerie underneath, fingers splaying across the exposed skin of your stomach and sides.

“Shut up,” you whisper, pressing your lips to hers in a bruising kiss, her hand finding the clasp of your bra, pausing to see if you stop her.

You don’t.

“Still bossy I see… guess somethings never change.” You cut her off with another breathtaking kiss, her hands coming to support your hips as you straddle her lap.

“Agatha…” you whisper, suddenly very aware of how much you needed her touch.

“What do you need, my love?” She whispers teasingly, placing kisses along your stomach and breast, she bites into your breast leaving marks that will be found tomorrow morning.

“Dammit Agatha… I need…” her hands guide your hips as you grind down into her lap, trying to relieve the ache you feel building, her hand unbuttons your pants ghosting over the black lace panties.

“Your words darling… use your words.”

“I need you… to fuck me…” you moan as her hand dips into your panties, her long fingers sliding easily through your folds, ghosting over your clit, dipping back into you collecting your slick, as your pretty sure you’ve now ruined your underwear and a perfectly tailored pair of pants.

“Darling, I’m going to ruin you…” she whispers, suddenly pulling her hand out, you can see yourself glistening on her fingers as she puts them in her mouth, her tongue cleaning them before she pulls you down to kiss her, you can taste yourself on her lips.

You grind down into her hips even harder a moan escaping your lips at the friction, but this time you notice the bulge in her pants. You pull back and see her pupils blown with lust, her smirk devilish.

“Shittt…” you hiss at the realization making you even wetter than before, if that’s humanly possible. Immediately your hands were tugging at her pants as you stood to pull them down her thighs, the large purple strap on springing free.

“You didn’t think I’d forget your favorite part did you…” she teased, reaching for your chin as your jaw dropped.

“Why don��t you show me how you get ready to ride my dick?” She demanded more than suggested. You dropped to your knees in front of her again, dragging your tongue along the length. You let the tip smoothly slide into your mouth swirling your tongue around the toy, and quickly realizing it wasn’t just a toy when her head dropped back lips parted. Her hand came to wrap in your hair as you slightly bobbed your head.

She could feel this.

You grasped her thigh to steady yourself before taking the whole member in your mouth, almost gagging as it slid into your throat, her hand in your hair tightened but the sting only encouraged you. Your lungs burned for air as her hips jolted against you, but before you could continue she pulled you off, as she breathlessly readjusted in the chair. She smirked down on you before her nails lifted your chin, digging into the soft skin.

“I’m so screwed…” you whispered before bending down to kiss her again.

“fucked, darling… you’re so fucked…” with a wave of her hand you were both completely bare accept for the dick she was currently sporting, she grasped your hand to pull you into her lap, her hands coming to your thighs as she steadied you.

You bit your lip and a small whine escaped as you felt her pull the tip through your dripping core, she could see you dripping down your thighs, glistening in the soft glow from the fireplace.

“I’ve missed seeing you so desperate… so needy for me to fuck you senseless…” She whispered as she pushed herself inside you. You took a moment to adjust as you sank down onto her, you didn’t remember her ever being this big, but the pain quickly turned to pleasure.

You slowly start to move up and down, swirling your hips the best you could, you were so close already.

“Mmm…” she moaned before biting her lip, watching you move, “I forgot how good you look riding me.”

Her sultry tone was igniting a fire in you, your movements speeding up as you brought yourself to the edge of pleasure, one hand pressed to her chest as the other was on her thigh. You could feel her enchanted strap, her dick pulsing inside you, she moved an arm to wrap around your waist and roughly pulled you close.

You tried steadying yourself at the loss of balance, one hand coming to the back of the chair and the other slid up to grab the only thing it met, her neck.

You gently grasped to steady yourself and you could feel her groan catch in her throat, her hips bucking into you roughly and you clenched around her, sending you both tumbling over the edge. You bend down pulling her into a breathless kiss as your orgasm overtakes you, you can feel her painting your walls white as she cums inside you.

You stay like that for a moment before your hands lower to wrap around her shoulders, your brain barely able to form a thought.

The world around you blurs and you barely register as she shifts, so effortlessly changing the dynamic that your head spins. One moment you’re in control and the next you’re under her, her body caging yours on your plush couch. She pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other slipping down to grip your thigh.

“Still think you’re in charge?” She asks, her breathe warm against your ear.

“I let you think you’re winning,” you grinned lazily, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh sweetheart, I never get used to anything with you, that’s the fun of it.” Agatha bends down her lips trailing the soft skin of your jawline and neck. Her hands mapping your curves with possessive hunger as she adjusts herself between your legs.

She has your entire being at her mercy, your magics surging through the room. Her hand comes down between your legs, finding your core dripping from the aftermath of both yours and her orgasms, her cum mixing with yours and leaking out of you, her fingers dip down to collect it before teasingly playing with your clit.

“Such a good girl, greedily taking my cum like that.”

She smiles devilishly, but before you can respond her mouth is on your pussy, eating you out, her tongue swirling on your clit as two fingers easily slip inside you, curling to hit that sweet spongy spot.

Your moans fill the room as she drags your body to the edge, her fingers continue to pump in and out, as her lips trail softly against your inner thigh, her teeth grazing to leave marks that you will find later. Your hand tangles in her hair as her mouth returns to your clit, your hips bucking into her, grinding against her mouth as she smirks up at you.

That’s when she pulls her fingers out, her tongue flatly coming to drag through your folds before she realigns her strap thrusting deep into you… a moan escapes your lip as she leaves wet kisses over your stomach and back up to your chest. You turn into a mess beneath her as she slowly, almost painfully slow, moves in and out of you.

Her voice is low and sultry when she finally breaks the silence, “Do you have any idea how stunning you would look pregnant?” She murmurs, placing wet kisses along your collar bone.

Your breath catches and you blink at her startled, “Excuse me?”

Agatha chuckles, her hands sliding down to grip your hips roughly. Her nails dig into your skin, possessive and firm. She lifts her head, her piercing blue eyes meeting yours,

“You heard me,” she says, her tone dripping with confidence. “I’m going to put a baby in you.”

Your mind spins at her words, a thousand responses swirling through your head. But Agatha doesn’t give you a chance to react, her lips return to your skin, and her voice drops into a whisper.

“Can’t you picture it, darling?” she says, her words punctuated by the warm press of her lips against your neck as she slowly thrusts into you again. “You, round and glowing, carrying our child. You’d look divine. Absolutely ravishing.”

The thought catches you completely off guard, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Agatha takes advantage of your silence, her hand sliding up your side, her touch gentle and grounding as her thrusts become quicker.

“You’d be mine,” she continues, her voice thick with possession as she feels you buck and clench around her. “Completely, utterly mine. Everyone would see it… see you… and know you belong to me. We’d belong to each other.”

You inhale sharply, your pulse hammering in your ears, your brain going completely blank aside from the image of you heavily pregnant with her baby. “Agatha,” you start, your voice uncertain, but there’s no denying the way her words send heat pooling low in your stomach, the knot tightening inside of you ready to burst.

Her voice drops to a husky murmur. “You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you? The thought of me putting my mark on you, making you mine in every way that matters.” Her lips ghost over your jawline, her breath warm against your skin her hips meeting yours harder. “You’d be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The boldness of her words makes your cheeks flush, but beneath the surprise theres a thrill you can’t ignore. The idea is outrageous, unthinkable… and yet, there’s a part of you that finds it intoxicating.

You tilt your head, eyes meeting hers and you breathlessly whisper, “You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t asked my opinion.”

Agatha’s grin widens, “Oh, I don’t need to ask... I can feel it, the way you clenched around my dick when I mentioned filling you up. You’re tempted. You want it as much as I do.”

Her words are a challenge, daring you to deny her, but instead of pulling away, you arch an eyebrow, your hips grinding roughly against her. “And what if I do?”

Her eyes darken, the air between you crackling with tension. “Then tell me,” she murmurs, her grip on you tightening slightly. “Say it… Tell me to do it.”

For a moment, you hesitate, the weight of her words settling in your chest. But then, as you meet her gaze, steady and unyielding, something inside you shifts. This is Agatha… chaos and passion and raw, unfiltered power. If anyone could make such an impossible idea feel like destiny, it’s her.

You lean in, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper, “Do it, cum in me and make sure I’m pregnant with your baby… make me yours.”

She grinned before pulling you into a breathless kiss, the sounds of wet skin meeting skin filling the room as she rammed into you over and over, your back arched into her as her hands ran over your body, gently slithering up your sides before one came to grip the back of your thigh.

You could feel her getting sloppy as she thrusted, her lips coming down to suck on a erect nipple as you tangled your hand in her hair, your other hand dragging your nails over her shoulder, leaving a wake of red scratches.

“Agatha… baby I’m gonna…” Before you could finish, the knot snapped, pleasure flooding your body as she continued thrusting harshly into you, soon you could feel her as she released inside of you.

“You did so well darling…” she trailed as she tried holding herself above you, the strap on still inside you.

After a few moments later you moved, with a flick of your wrist you found yourselves in your bed, still naked, but cleaned up and cozily tangled together underneath your blankets.

“You won’t regret this…” she trailed her skilled fingers tracing lazy patterns against the skin of your stomach and hip, “I’ll give you everything you wanted… and more.”

You didn’t say anything as you heard her breathing slow, her hand falling softly against you as she slipped into a deep sleep. There was a part of you that knew it might not work, you had been enemies turned lovers before and she abandoned you, but there was a bigger part of you that still loved her.

No matter how much you wanted to hate her, you loved her and wanted nothing more than to make it known that you belonged to her… and that she belonged to you.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Fifteen

Steve’s left bloody smears on the tiles, but the bleeding does seem to have turned a little more sluggish; he’s too frightened now to pull his sock away, he’s pretty sure it’s stuck to the wounds where the blood has started to crust over.

From the floor, Steve manages to reach up for the phone, it rings nearly a dozen times, but Steve persists. He knows Hopper will assume it’s an emergency.

Steve hates doing this, but he definitely can’t drive. Just the thought of making it to the car on his own makes him cringe, and the dull, thudding pain is radiating out to the rest of his foot.

“Hopper.”

“Hop. Sorry. I think I need some help.”

“On my way.”

The doctor frowns at Steve spectacularly, “a raccoon?”

“I know, wild right?”

“So that means he definitely needs a tetanus,” Hopper says unhelpfully from where he’s perched on the other side of the treatment room. He’s got a coffee in a Styrofoam cup and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Steve hisses as the doctor uses some saline to loosen the sock, peeling it away from the wound, “I’ll give you something to numb the area, and then it will need some stitches. An x-ray might-”

“Nah,” Steve interjects, “stitch me up, I need to get home.”

The doctor has that look on her face again. From the other side of the room, Hopper sighs, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve can hear El and Eddie from where he’s standing in the kitchen. El’s been teaching him stuff again; today she’s taught him the ABC song. They rush through when they get to the ‘LMNOP’ part, making Steve smile.

“Okay Steve, we’re ready!” El shouts for him from the next room, and Steve goes in.

The furniture's been moved out of the way, Eddie lying on his back in the middle of the room. He’s laying on a white sheet, the long point of his tale stark black against the material. Next to his hip, there’s a pair of legs. They stand perfectly fine on their own, disembodied, rounds of flat pale skin on top, where they end at the thighs.

Eddie looks over smiling, “oh good, you’ve brought it.”

Steve looks down. In his hand he’s holding a saw.

Steve wakes, flailing. He’s gasping for air, trying to orientate himself. Panicking.

He’s sitting. It takes him a few confused seconds, but it all comes flooding back. Fuck, his neck hurts, and his back.

Just a dream he thinks on repeat to himself. Just a dream just a dream just a dream.

His foot. His foot is still up on the coffee table, “Steve, come on, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“What,” he manages to croak out.

“Here, drink this,” Robin hands him a half glass of tepid water, Steve downs it, “you had a nightmare.”

There’s a towel and a bag of peas draped over Steve’s ankle; trying to cool the area. Keep the swelling down, or whatever. The peas are melted now, the bag sagging in either direction with the weight of the mush inside.

The sight of it makes a sob catch in Steve’s chest, it comes out in a huge shudder, and Steve’s only vaguely worried he’ll never be able to walk the frozen isle in the store again. That he will cry spontaneously every time someone offers him a pear.

“When did you get here?”

“Mom dropped me off, Hopper wanted someone to watch you. He’s going to go check on El.”

Steve’s head feels muzzy. Too much has happened. They didn’t get home until the early hours, and Steve’s blinking in the full light of day that’s streaming into the lounge. “Where is he now?”

“Back yard.”

That takes a second to process, “no.”

Steve pulls his foot down, wobbling as he stands, leaving the towel and peas abandoned, “Steve, hang on.”

The dressing and stitches feel like they’re pulling as Steve takes a few tentative steps, the whole end of his foot feels like it’s burning, Steve moves until he can see Hopper; he can see him from the back, he’s smoking and looking down into the pool.

“Robs, get him away from there, please. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding her hands out like she’s dealing with a skittish animal, she goes to the door, opening it and calling, “Hopper, he’s up!”

Hopper comes back in, dropping the end of his cigarette and stamping it out with his boot on his way in, “kid, are you sure he went into the pool?”

The implication of Hopper's question has Steve’s moving before he can really think about it, Robin calling after him that he’s got nothing on his feet, that it’s cold out. Steve ignores her. He has to walk funny, keeping all his weight on his heel on the left foot, but he makes it work. He sees why Hoppers asking; the water of the pool is opaque white.

It looks like the whole thing is filled with milk.

Hopper leaves to go and check on El. Steve’s glad, he did cause Hopper to have to leave her in the middle of the night, and that’s not fair on El, she might be worried.

Steve’s had maybe a couple of hours sleep on the couch, passing out when they got back from hospital. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells Robin; she’s scrubbing at the bloody smears Steve’s left on the kitchen tile.

“It’s fine, and it’s not like you’re in any condition to do it. What the fuck Steve, Hopper said he bit off two toes??”

Steve looks down at where the dressing’s covering his foot, “yeah.” Robin sits back on her haunches, bloody rag in hand, glaring. “He said that...if he eats Demogorgon, then that’s what he becomes. And if he eats Demodog, he becomes one of those so…”

“So you let him eat some of you instead? Because that’s the sane response-”

“I love him, Robs.”

She sighs, “I figured.”

Robin spends most of the day. She talks him into eating some toast; he balks at the thought of soup. Steve takes his pain killers and his antibiotics under Robins close supervision. They have the TV on, and Steve sleeps more.

She tells him to come away when he spends too much time staring out of the window.

Robin has to go that evening; she only does because Steve swears on everything she can think of that he will be fine. He will eat some eggs. He will take his pills. He’s not a complete invalid.

Robin leaves him after what is probably a ten minute hug, and a promise that she will sell Keith on Steve’s 'family emergency.'

The eggs are sitting heavy in Steve’s stomach when he hobbles outside. He managed to get a sock on over his dressing, but couldn’t bare the thought of anything else pressing on his wound, so he goes out like that. Just in socks.

He has a coat on at least, and takes the blanket, knocking snow off a pool lounger and moving it to the edge of the pool so he can sit with his feet up, wrapped in the blanket. The water still hasn’t frozen; but it is darker than it was. It’s turned a sort of pale mucky brown, like someone's mixed some dirt in.

Or chocolate milk.

Steve sits, and he waits, and he cries quietly.

Eventually the cold gets too much, and he heads back inside to try and sleep on the couch.

Steve stares blankly at the unlit Christmas tree, and considers dragging the thing outside and setting fucking fire to it.

He hasn’t cried since he woke up, which is a new current record, and he doesn’t understand where the anger has come from...but he thinks he might prefer it. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair, and it fills Steve with a rage he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before.

Hopper sits opposite Steve, leaning forward, his hands dangling loose between his knees, and Steve knows that this is Hoppers ‘I’m trying to be kind, or sympathetic, or understanding face,’ Steve also knows he’s not going to like whatever is about to come out of Hopper's mouth and he’s already angry about it.

“Kid, I really think we should drain the pool.”

“No.”

Hopper takes a deep breath, “son,” and that one word fills Steve with a rage so complete he feels utterly still. Utterly calm. He’s completely empty, in that moment, except for the rage, “if we don’t, his body will rot into the water, and if you want to be able to bury him? Then-”

“Out.”

“-what?”

“Out,” Steve stands, and he speaks calmly and levelly, “get out of my house. Right now.”

Hopper doesn’t stand, he spreads his hands in a non threatening gesture, “El says she’s can’t feel him, kid, he’s gone-”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Steve screams at him, suddenly full to brimming, his hears his pounding, breaths sharp, “I said get out!”

Hopper sighs. He looks at Steve with...pity on his face, but he gets up, and he leaves.

The water is so dark now it looks nearly black. Murky and shitty. There are black, choking vines growing up the inside of the tiles; clinging to the sides of the pool. Some of them are long enough to creep up over the edge, like The Upside Down is bleeding into Hawkins again. Steve is reminded viscerally of Barb Holland, and he hates it.

The phone is ringing. Steve ignores it until it stops.

It makes him itchy, ignoring the phone. It’s too ingrained in him that something could be wrong. It’s an emergency. The kids might need him.

It starts ringing again; Steve answers it this time, but only as a preventative measure. If he doesn’t answer it, whoever it is might show up, and Steve would really rather not right now.

“Hey, Steve.” Robs is uncharacteristically quiet. Reserved. “So...it’s Christmas tomorrow and, I know you said you didn’t want to come for the day but...what about in the evening? Just for a little bit?” She asks, hopefully. “Mom says we can save you some leftovers, you know.”

“Yeah...yeah, that’s really kind and everything Rob...” Steve trails off scrubbing at his face. He’s got a fair bit of stubble going on, and he only showered this morning because even he could pick up on the fact that he stank.

She sighs quietly, “have you been eating? Taking your meds?”

“I...yeah. Some. And finished the antibiotics.”

“Good. That’s good. You want me to come over then?”

“Uhm. No. No that’s fine you, you should have a nice Christmas with your family, okay? We can talk after.”

“Steve…”

“I know, Robs, I know, but I’ll be fine,” Steve tells her with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

“Okay, well, I’ll call tomorrow. Love you, Dingus.”

“Love you too Birdie.”

There are thick black vines growing up the legs of Steve’s pool chair; he ignores them. He climbs into position, wrapping himself in his blanket. He has a beer, his pills are finished now, so he can’t see the harm.

“I had a shower Eds, sure you’re pleased to hear that. Took the dressing off my foot, and it looks fine, you didn’t hurt me, not really.” Steve tacks on, “not ow,” out of habit.

Steve sips his beer, pulling the blanket tighter around his legs, and not thinking about Eddie's tail doing the same, “I’m supposed to have an appointment to get the stitches out, but it’s not until like the twenty seventh, or something, you know, everything being shut for Christmas. Which is tomorrow, by the way.”

Steve sighs, “anyway, I probably won’t go, it really doesn’t look so bad now, I think I could get them out with nail scissors and some tweezers, so I might just do that.”

Steve sips his beer, watching the laden pale clouds scud along overhead, “I think it might snow again, that’d be nice, right? White Christmas and all that stuff.”

Steve sighs again, and quietly admits, “I think you would have really liked Christmas. You get like, gifts and stuff-”

There’s a frantic splash in the pool, Steve’s up as quick as he can, fighting with his blanket, his beer bottle falling, forgotten, and rolling away on the tiles, getting caught on a vine.

Steve’s flooded with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, he doesn't register the chill as he scrambles up, stepping to the edge of the pool.

Eddie’s on the steps, he’s covered in so much slime and shit from the pool it's hard to see him, but Steve doesn’t care how dirty it is, he’s knee deep and helping to haul Eddie out the rest of the way.

He has no hair; but he does have legs, and he takes a stumbled step with Steve before collapsing to the ground. He can’t breathe, he’s bent over, on his hands and knees, choking. Steve’s lifeguard first aid training kicks in before he can really think about it; fueled by adrenaline, he braces Eddie with an arm about his middle, then using the palm of his hand he delivers one hard upward blow between Eddie’s shoulder blades.

Eddie splutters, but there’s nothing, so Steve does it again. Suddenly, like a seal has been broken, Eddie coughs up what might be nearly a pint of fluid, yellow and green and streaked with pink blood, it splatters loudly on the ground.

Eddie drags in a huge breath; it might be the most beautiful sound Steve’s ever heard.

They collapse down again, Eddie shivering like crazy, his teeth chattering; Steve grabs his blanket, covering Eddie. He’s naked and covered in gross shit, completely hairless, and has long gangly legs. Steve doesn’t pay attention to any of it really. Just Eddie. Eddie’s here.

He smells fucking awful, but Steve doesn’t care, Steve bundles him up and pulls him close, “Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie blinks, his eyes crusted with gack from the pool, pink and puffy and sore looking around the lids, the whites bloodshot to fuck, his voice a raspy mess, the words broken by how violently his teeth are chattering, “Eddidie good bad.”

Steve bursts into tears.

Part Seventeen

[nymphoniah]

thinking about old man logan all tired, but you’re so needy that you take matters into your own hands…

you find logan resting in his office, seated on his leather arm chair. white button up messily undone, revealing his worn out beater underneath. his chest hair peeking through the shallow neckline of the shirt, leaving your mind to wonder about.

you couldn’t help but approach him. curling up in logan’s lap, your head resting against his broad chest. your fingers gently rubbing against his ribbed tank top that fits snug against him. his body isn’t what it once was before, but he still remains defined and muscular.

logan’s salt-and-pepper beard tickling your rose tinted cheeks as you litter his face in kisses. you can’t help but take in his beauty, he absolutely aged like wine.

moving your fingers from his chest to the shell of his ears, you swiftly remove his glasses from his face. you press your lips gently against the crow’s feet that defined his tired eyes, making him crack a tiny smile.

“you’re so handsome, logan.” you sigh, placing his glasses onto the side table placed on his right. you rest your head back on his chest, taking a deep sigh. the scent of his cologne floods your senses, bourbon and vanilla.

nsfw below <3

you shift around, straddling yourself onto his left thigh. your legs wrapped ‘round him like a vice whilst your core pulses for attention against his tense quad.

“looks like someone’s needy,” he hums out, placing his hands on your hips, gently guiding you back and forth against him. “cmon baby, take it out on me.” you gently rock your hips, keeping a slow and steady pace.

with age, he’s lost his stamina for sure, but he always has the energy for you. making sure that you get off, anytime and anywhere. you’re his princess, and he makes sure to spoil you.

your hips rock in tandem against his thigh as he rhythmically bounces his leg to match your pace. you mewl in pleasure, tilting your head back as ecstasy fills your mind.

logan places gentle, sloppy kisses against your neck, making sure to pay close attention to your pulse point. he’s nipping at the soft skin of your neck, concentrating on one area enough to leave a maroon bruise the next day.

both of your movements become more erratic. as your pace quickens, his hands move to your chest, groping your breasts, thumbs nimbly working at your buds, rolling and gently tugging on them.

you hiss out in pleasure, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. “so close…” you whimper, biting your bottom lip tightly to alleviate the growing tension in your stomach.

“let it out bub, i know you can do it for me,” he grunts into your neck, his hands finding their way back to your hips, pushing you harder down onto him.

absolutely soaking through your panties, you can feel the patch of wetness you left on his light washed denim jeans. you’re faltering on the edge, not wanting to let yourself go so soon.

“you want this princess, let go for your daddy,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and you finally tick.

you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you, your pants becoming more and more exhausted. your hips thrust forward and hard around him one last time, and the knot in your stomach finally snaps.

“f-fuck logan, fuck!” you whine, your combined moans filling his office.

you gently pull away from him, pressing your forehead against his, your lust blown pupils meeting his stern gaze.

“yknow how to rile me up,” he says cheekily, gently molding your ass between his fingertips. “almost got me to come in my pants like a teenager,” logan snarkily adds.

“shut it old man,” you quipped, taking his glasses from the side table and placing them back on him so that they sit on the edge of his nose bridge. you press a quick kiss to his lips which soon formed into a smirk.

“let me show you what this old man can do…” he murmurs against your lips.

[gravid-transluna]

Two Birthdays

words: 4111

content: lactation, milking, clothing birth, birth denial, fpreg

Part One

A birthday is a special day. Her friend’s twenty-first should have been Mari’s only focus. However, Mari had been distracted the entire day as they spent time at the resort’s expansive pool and spa. It hadn’t been so bad at first. Her friend’s mom, Noemi, was nearly a week overdue with her second child, and though she had started the day in modest clothes—a maternity sundress draping her huge, full swell, navel protruding starkly, pressing downward from her middle—, the afternoon sun had continued to shine down on them, forcing Noemi to shed her dress, pulling it up her belly and over her head.

Mari’s face had flushed and she’d turned away, ashamed and furious at herself for her own thoughts, but she’d already seen the nakedness of Noemi’s belly, taut at the seams and painfully overdue, hanging low over her hips and melting into her otherwise small, slim frame. Sweat had shimmered, bright, on the stretched, striped skin. A dark linea nigra ran down her middle to her navel. Her belly button was hard and round like a stone. Underneath, she only wore a white two-piece bikini, and her breasts, once small and subtle, hung swollen in her top, nipples and areolae visible.

Mari’s heart wouldn’t stop fluttering every time Noemi lifted her slender hands to cup her swell, or when she rose from the sunbathing to reapply sunscreen and Mari saw her from the back; though she still tried to step with her usual grace and poise, her gait was wide, baby obviously dropped between her narrow hips, reducing her to a waddle.

It was a very uncomfortable day to be a lesbian with a fetish that especially appealed on an older woman.

This wasn’t the worst of it, though.

Mari first noticed it when Noemi reached across the table for her drink.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Of course!” Mari squeaked.

Then Noemi’s face changed. Her reaching hand flew to her belly, and Mari followed it to see visible tensing, muscles clenched on either side, misshapen around her huge baby.

“Oh!” she said. There was something in her face now. Surprise, but also a slight urgency.

“Ms. Noemi?” Mari asked. “Are—are you okay?”

“Mm,” Noemi said, and took her glass. “I’m fine. Thank you, Mari.”

This happened multiple times throughout the day, and every time she saw that mound tense then sag, muscles relaxing, Mari’s pussy pounded badly, pulsing.

She stayed in the shade, sipping nothing but cold water with ice while her friend and the others ordered drinks at the pool bar.

After about another hour of this, Mari couldn’t take it. She left and walked to the restrooms and found a stall. Inside it she immediately yanked her bikini bottom down her legs and pressed her fingers to her clit. Her pussy throbbed for release, dripping and clenching. She began to masturbate standing over the toilet, imagining closing her lips around one of Noemi’s stiff, milk-heavy nipples.

Fuck, she thought. Fuck, fuck. Her pussy began to pulsate under her slick fingers. Her thighs shook as she came.

“Shit,” Mari said aloud, then she wiped herself down and pulled her bikini bottom back up and exited the stall, washing the slick from her hands in the sink.

Suddenly the restroom door was flung open. Mari jumped guiltily, then her eyes widened in shock as Noemi raced past her, not even noticing her at the sink, bowed over her low belly, a hand clamped to her crotch. She ran into the handicap stall and slammed the door shut. It was quiet for a moment. Then—

“Ohhhhhh.”

A muted, breathless moan and a loud splashing sound.

Mari stood frozen. She heard a small gasping from the other side of the stall door, and approached hesitantly. She rapped a timid knuckle on the door and the gasps stopped.

“U-um, Ms. Noemi? Are you okay?”

There was silence. Then, “Yes, just some Braxton Hicks contractions. I’m sorry if I startled you, Mari.”

Noemi’s voice sounded strained, so uncharacteristic of her usually soft, modulated tone.

Mari hesitated. “Are you sure? Do you need any help?”

More silence. The stall door unlocked from the inside. Mari pushed it open and her heart thumped in her chest at the sight inside.

Noemi was standing over the toilet, thighs wide apart, knees slightly bent. Her bikini bottom and legs were soaked with fluids. Her belly, somehow, appeared to hang even lower, navel pointed almost to the floor now with weight and fullness. Her face was sweaty, cheeks flushed, short dark hair clinging damply to her forehead.

“Oh my god, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “Your water broke, didn’t it?”

Noemi’s face tightened and she pressed her lips together, nodding and closing her eyes. She clutched reflexively at the orb between her thighs as it flexed, hardening, muscles like iron. Her brow wrinkled and she grunted as though she couldn’t stand the pressure anymore.

“Mari,” she gasped. “I need you to step out, please. I’m—I think I need to—relieve myself.”

Mari shook her head. “I think it’s the baby! Are you feeling like pushing?”

“Ughh.” Noemi’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Yes. I need to push.”

“Oh my—“ Mari trailed off. “We’ve gotta call you an ambulance.”

Suddenly the contraction released Noemi. Her belly slackened. She collapsed onto the toilet seat, thighs spread wide to accommodate her massive stomach. She panted, chest heaving.

“No,” she said. “It will ruin the party.”

“But—“

“Please.” Noemi’s eyes softened, and Mari perceived her desperation clearly. “You’re one of my daughter’s more mature friends. I don’t want to embarrass her or cause a scene, and I need your help.”

Mari gulped. “What can I do?”

Noemi sighed. “Thank you. I just need to last until the party is over.”

The restroom door opened and someone walked in.

“Ms. Noemi? Are you in there?” The voice was a little slurred, tipsy from afternoon drinking.

Noemi composed herself and raised her voice. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“O-o-okay. Haven’t popped yet, have you?”

Noemi managed a weak laugh. “Holding it in.”

For now, Mari thought.

They waited until they heard the door close. Then Noemi said, “Could you—I need you to—” was she—blushing? “I can’t go back out covered in my waters.”

“O-oh,” Mari said, and she was suddenly aware of the distinct odor coming off of Noemi, the scent of her fluids, fecund and thick, the musk of a woman close to birthing. Noemi stood as Mari grabbed a wad of toilet paper and began to dab her formerly lean thighs, thickened over the course of her pregnancy.

“And–” She was really blushing now, Mari marveled. “I’d do it myself but–I can no longer reach around my stomach.”

Happy to. Mari drew her fingers around Noemi’s hips, noting the slight intake of breath as her thumbs brushed swollen underbelly. She hooked her bikini bottom and exposed her fleshy pregnancy pussy, damp and swampy, and the odor was stronger now. Mari breathed.

Then, “you have to close your legs.”

“Mm, trying.” Noemi struggled, the baby lodged in her pelvis making it almost impossible to pinch her knees shut. Her eyes widened. “Oh no…”

Her belly hitched and went hard. Her knees immediately buckled, thighs wide again.

“I need to push,” she said. She groaned as she began to bear down. The sides of her belly sucked in with the force of her pushing.

“No! Ms. Noemi, you have to hold it in, remember?” Mari said.

“Hnnnnfgh,” Noemi groaned. She tried to resist. “Hooh-hooh, god. I need to push.”

Mari, not knowing how to help, planted her palms on Noemi’s belly and rubbed the hot, furious skin. It burned under her palms, fevered. She could feel the desperate convulsions of Noemi’s strong internal muscles as they worked to expel her baby against her efforts.

“Oh,” Noemi grunted.

“Sorry!”

“No! No–ouugh–please. Don’t stop.”

Noemi closed her eyes and raised her chin, swaying back and forth as Mari stroked the tight, oblong surface. Experimentally, she flicked her thumb across Noemi’s bulging navel, and Noemi shivered.

The contraction ended, leaving Noemi worn and restless, her baby’s head burrowed deeper into her birth canal, fuller even, than she’d been before her labor. Mari removed her hands from Noemi’s belly, and Noemi appeared embarrassed, almost bashful.

“I wish–hah–you didn’t have to see me like this, much less care for me in such a compromising–ugh–condition. Modesty is hard enough to maintain when it comes to pregnancy.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mari said honestly.

Startled and disarmed, Noemi looked at her. It could have been the heat flush, or she could have been blushing again.

Part Two

They exited the restroom together and for the next hour, Noemi mingled near the pool bar, a drink in hand, and endured the powerful, relentless contractions. Mari stood beside her, and the first time another contraction struck she saw Noemi double over, muscles banding her belly, legs widening instinctively.

“Oh,” she whispered. “OH. I’m pushinnng-hnnngh.”

“No, you’re not,” Mari hissed back. “You can do this.” She placed a covert hand on Noemi’s curved back, massaging it gently, already accustomed to touching Noemi’s exposed, laboring body.

Noemi straightened, and painstakingly closed her legs as much as she could, attempting to hold her baby firm in her canal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her grunts diminished into effortful pants.

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I don’t think anybody noticed.”

“Good,” Noemi moaned under her breath. “Good. I’m feeling like pushing all the time now, even when the contraction’s gone. There’s so much pressure, right between my legs.”

Another contraction that hour had Noemi leaning heavily on Mari for support, her obtrusive belly pushing into Mari’s own flat tummy, making Mari wonder at the sensation of such a packed, heavy womb. She could feel the steely stretched muscles rippling against her. The skin contact moved heat from Mari’s stomach to between her legs, and again her pussy was beating, quick and warm like a pulse. She worried that she was leaking through her bikini bottom now, dizzied by arousal. Then Noemi moaned in her ear, arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Mari felt a wetness drip down her inner thigh.

“Aye, go get your mom!”

“Should she be drinking in that state?”

Luckily, everyone was too drunk at this point to think much about it.

Contractions were gripping Noemi mercilessly now, with barely any pause or respite, and she was barely holding on every time, fighting her body, her deep primal instinct to bear down against the baby in her canal. Every time Mari anchored her, caressing her hard belly, urging her gently, just hang on a little while longer. The last contraction left Noemi senseless with pain and need, foggy-headed. Her legs were permanently spread now, stance ridiculously wide.

“Oh, dear…” she breathed, and Mari followed her gaze to her front. Two wet spots had formed in her bikini top, nipples standing straight through the fabric.

“Ms. Noemi,” Mari said, summoning her courage. She looked Noemi in the eye. “Let me help you.”

Noemi let herself be led to the restrooms again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, everything about her so full and aching.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she said. “I can, ah, expel the milk on my own.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I promised I’d take care of you.”

Noemi was blushing hard now, appearing almost drunk in her labored state. She allowed Mari to sit her down on the toilet. Mari gently teased the white bikini top from her breasts, and Noemi shivered, curling her toes at just the light brush of fabric against her sensitive nipples. Her dark areolas spread over her breasts, and around them blue veins ran through soft, tan skin. Her nipples jutted stiffly, heavy and laden, beaded at the tips with milk.

Mari set the flat of her hand against one and marveled as more milk beaded at the surface and then began to drip down the swell of Noemi’s breast and onto the long shelf of her belly. Noemi hissed, a sharp intake of air.

“Okay?”

Noemi nodded, unable to speak. Keep going.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Mari said. She sat on Noemi’s lap and clamped her mouth around her nipple, cupping her other breast in her hand. Milk spurted from both breasts in tiny forceful streams. Noemi clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a sharp noise of pleasure and release, her back arching, other hand raised, opening and closing in the air. Mari suckled, feeling Noemi squirm under her, and lowered her free hand between her own legs, strumming her clit. Suddenly Noemi’s belly went hard again and she threw back her head to moan loudly, and Mari couldn’t tell whether from ecstasy or agony or a thrilling mixture of both.

“Oh, oh—Mari, please don’t—don’t stop. Fuck.”

Mari continued to suckle and the hand groping Noemi’s breast slid to her swell instead, tracing her linea nigra. There was no give to the surface, drum-tight, and Mari could feel Noemi’s belly seize violently, driving her baby down in a deep, involuntary push. Noemi’s moan lowered, guttural with sudden pushing, and Mari instantly took her lips away from Noemi’s breast. The milk stream diminished to dribble, her breasts not even close to being drained. Noemi squirmed at the sudden lapse.

“No pushing, remember?” Mari had settled well into a dominant role, playing out her ultimate fantasy, Noemi utterly receptive, responding to her every demand.

She breathed, slowly, and her hard belly relaxed somewhat.

“Good,” Mari said.

Noemi shuddered. “Yes, just—please. Continue.”

Mari smiled and said something she’d always wanted to say to Noemi: “Good girl.” The faint marks in the corners of her mouth, the maturity in her maternal hips, the refined elegance of her fingers—it was all subversive.

“I’ve never—never been called that by anyone,” Noemi panted. “Especially not someone no twenty years my junior.”

Mari bent her head again and Noemi’s lips tightened in preparation. She latched back onto her nipple, milk gushing into her mouth, and began to thumb Noemi’s stony pointed navel, her entire belly an erogenous zone at this point, her navel the sensory peak. Noemi nearly shrieked, delirious, and beneath her thighs Mari felt her hips bucking, building not only toward delivery now, but a climax. Mari continued to masturbate herself furiously, working her mouth at the same time, sinking her teeth lightly into Noemi’s breast, just enough to leave light, red marks. Noemi’s thighs began to quake with tremors and Mari’s pussy squeezed tight, clit bared—she gasped against Noemi’s soft chest at the same time that Noemi’s lips parted in a perfect O. Then they both trembled through watery orgasms.

Noemi looked at her with glassy eyes, hazy. She leaned in, lips soft and open and receptive for a kiss—then stopped, delicate features twisting into a grimace, and released a thunderous groan, lifting her bottom off the toilet seat with the force of her pushing. Her eyes went wide. Mari could tell something had changed. She was feeling something, deep inside of herself.

She tried to articulate the sensation. “Guh—the baby, it’s—mmmm, it’s right between—the baby’s in my vagina!”

Mari looked at her. She was desperate, out of control, her face flushed and beaded with sweat, moist short hair clinging to her forehead. Her contracting belly, lower than ever.

Mari leaned forward and rammed a kiss onto her lips, and made her taste her own milk.

Part Three

Mari rose from Noemi’s lap. Her tortured spasming belly hung so low at this point that even when she raised herself from the toilet seat Mari still couldn’t see her pussy, just the creases where her extreme underbelly sank into the flesh of her hips, and the tiny white string of her bikini bottom wrapping them, dragged by the heavy downward sag. Noemi was already trying to push again, nothing else in her mind except the baby now coming out of her. Legs planted wide, firmly squatted. It didn’t seem like she could even straighten up at this point, so heavy and low with the head. She grunted loudly, frantic in her efforts to pull her bikini bottom down her thighs and alleviate the immense pressure in her bottom. Sweat poured from her slick skin. She was obviously in the final stages of labor, and like she had been twenty-one years ago, she was consumed by the need to birth her baby.

Mari stood, watching in the sticky panties she’d just masturbated herself hard in, pussy still convulsing. She could see the light red teeth marks ringing Noemi’s areola. She had marked her. Noemi was hers. And yet, she wasn’t paying any mind to the girl who had suckled her to orgasm. Her only focus was pushing her baby out into her bikini, and once she did that she would become a mother again. Mari felt insecure, possessive. Would things return to the way they had been before? Noemi never noticing her, never giving her the attention she had craved. Suddenly, Mari reached for Noemi’s fingers at the hem of her bikini.

“Ms. Noemi.” Her voice was a firm reprimand. “I thought you wanted me to help you. I can’t help you if you push your baby out right now.”

Noemi could barely talk at this point. “Have—to—PUSH.” Mari still felt that awe, seeing such an articulate, modest woman reduced to animalistic instinct. She groaned, bearing down more, and her groan tightened as the baby was driven deeper into her bottom.

Mari circled her, tracing her fingers lightly from Noemi’s contraction-wracked torpedo belly to her curving bent back. Standing behind her now, she took Noemi’s delicate wrists in her hands and moved them away from the bikini bottom. Then she bent to see Noemi’s squatted thighs and bottom, and between her cheeks the wetted white bikini was beginning to tent outward. Mari gently rolled the bikini down to Noemi’s widespread knees. The pregnancy pussy she had just seen hours ago was now unrecognizably swollen and bulged with a startlingly huge head, yet her lips had barely parted. Mari wasn’t even sure if Noemi could birth something so big. Between Noemi’s thighs she could see her brown hanging belly harden again, the contractions now relentless, forcing Noemi into constant pushing.

As she watched, Noemi’s pussy bulged more and reddened. Her lips slowly began to part, distending—until Mari clapped her hand over the head. Noemi’s hot pussy strained against her palm, but Mari didn’t permit the head to progress any further. She heard Noemi’s strangled sob of frustration.

“It’s okay,” Mari cooed. “If you can’t hold it in, I can for you.”

Gently, she slipped the bikini bottom back up Noemi’s thighs and pulled it firmly over her hips, wedging the baby tight in her pussy. It yielded a little, but certainly not enough for Noemi to deliver the head. Noemi gasped at the feeling of the fabric against her sensitive, tender opening.

Mari then redid Noemi’s top, tying it in the back.

“There,” she appraised Noemi, trembling and gasping, filled completely with her baby. “I think you’re ready to go back out. People are probably getting suspicious of us.”

“Okay,” Noemi closed her eyes. “Just a little longer.”

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi!” Mari’s eyes lit up. “Hold it in for me.”

It was evening now. A lot of people had deserted, and those who stayed were trashed, too inebriated to notice Mari step out with Noemi in tow. They didn’t notice that Noemi only walked in a squatted position now, knees bent, legs far apart. They didn’t notice the sweat beading her forehead, or the flush of her cheeks. They didn’t notice her hanging belly, constantly constricting with contractions and hard unceasing pushes. And they certainly didn’t notice the conspicuous bulge straining her bikini bottom, dripping fluids from between her thighs.

Nobody assumed such a composed woman would be bent under the thumb of a girl twenty years younger than her, crowning into her bikini right there at the poolside.

Noemi staggered to a wicker pool chair, and slowly lowered herself with Mari’s help, only to yelp and cringe away when her bulged bottom made contact with the seat.

“Here—“ Mari said. “Try to sit back instead.”

Noemi sat with her back arched, legs open to the poolside, so that the head rested in her pussy without being crammed between her and the chair. She was already pushing, her knuckles white, gripping the arm rests so hard, Mari thought they might snap in her grasp. Her toes curled. Liquid pattered the deck beneath the chair, a puddle spreading under her. The head parted her more. She seemed unable to spread her legs wide enough, grunting and pushing and stretching. Even when she paused, it no longer slid back in, kept her lips taut and spread.

She pushed. The head no longer moved. The fabric trapped it snugly. She pushed again. Hard. Nothing. She pushed and pushed, caught in endless contractions and pushes. Mari heard her name panted, again and again, as she circled the head over the fabric with light fingers. Satisfaction stirred her.

Noemi was hers.

Finally, Noemi clambered heavily from her seat. She dropped into a deep squat on the deck and threw her head back, interrupting her silent pushes with a strained moan as she bore down once again, pained for leverage, obeying her instinctual need for a position change despite her unyielding clothes. Mari heard her joints pop; her forty-something body was at its limit.

It was time. They both sensed it.

Mari leaned in. Her breath shivered Noemi’s ear. “Are you ready, Noemi?” she whispered, forgoing the “Ms” title for the first time.

Noemi nodded. Once.

Mari paused. “Are you sure?”

Noemi nodded vigorously as she heaved with another push.

“Come on, then.”

The party was over. Nobody was left except for Noemi’s daughter, who had been laying passed out in a reclining chair since noon.

The pool water was cool on Mari’s skin as she waded down the steps. She discarded her bikini as she went, and the cold pricked up her bare nipples. Noemi breathed a deep sigh as she waded in herself. The water enveloped her thighs, her heavy submerging belly, and finally her splayed breasts as she sank. Mari swam up behind her and hugged her around the circumference of her gravid belly. She pressed herself to the curve of Noemi’s back, naked skin touching as they drifted for a second. Only a second, though. Soon it was over and Noemi was placing her head back, into Mari’s shoulder, and pushing. Mari’s hands traveled to Noemi’s bikini bottom and—

“Push for me,” she breathed, and pulled it down.

Noemi shouted loudly and groaned her baby into Mari’s hand. Her vaginal lips stretched, forming an angry fervent oval around the massive head. She groaned, forceful in her efforts. Her thighs gaped open in the water. Her pussy was a slick, round, red circle now, straining and slipping around the head. Her groans were almost inhuman, overwhelmed with need and desire and basic instinct. Mari felt the head inch out with Noemi’s powerful pushes, and admired its size and width. This was coming from Noemi, coming through her, creaking her aged bones and spreading her in a way she hadn’t been since her youth.

Her belly raised and then dropped with a final push, the drawn muscles of her uterus convulsing, and she shrieked. The head reached its widest point. Eyes, nose, ears, she opened around each feature. For a moment her lips whitened, pale around the head. Then a pop, a burst, a release. Noemi shuddered. Her legs jerked in the water and opaque amniotic fluids spilled from her.

“Uggghhh.”

“You did it,” Mari said. She marveled at Noemi’s motherly drive as she caressed the head hanging from Noemi’s pussy. “Just the shoulders now.”

“Ohhhh,” Noemi brought her hand between her legs, holding Mari’s as they both cupped the head. “My baby,” she panted. “My baby….”

“Let’s meet her together,” Mari whispered.

Noemi arched in the pool, belly and breasts and upturned nipples raising above the water. With a sweet, quiet groan, she gave birth into Mari’s waiting hands.

Noemi sat beside the pool on the reclining chair, her stomach sagging in her lap, ruined by a dark linea nigra. Her short hair plastered her forehead. Her attention was on the baby suckling at her milky breast. She looked up when Mari trotted to her with spare towels, and smiled tiredly.

Mari leaned down and wrapped her in the towel, and kissed her on the cheek.

“So,” Noemi said. “How do we tell my other daughter?”

[coca-colas-truck-driver]

john didnt notice at first, and dean doesnt remember if that encouraged him to continue or not. sams pacifier had been lost in the fire, the baby scared and crying in dean’s arms as he held him while his father tried to explain what he saw to the firefighters. john had sounded like a blubbering mess of a man, sounded mad as he told them about how his wife had been pinned to the ceiling, her white night dress stained with her blood and guts. while dean craddled sam in his small arms, watched his baby brother’s face go from being wrinkled up in anguish to a soft and sweet expression of contentment at being offered dean’s own small thumb. dean had giggled, cooing at his younger brother like he’d done when tucking him in bed with mom.

itd continued after that night, john being too preoccupied, for the short time they still lived in that house, with staying up and doing rounds around the house. checking the salt lines around the doors and windows, and drawing symbols on the walls and floors to ward away whatever he could find a deterrent for.

dean doesnt remember those days well, remembers a few nights of staying up with his father while sammy slept cradled in his lap, stirring every time dean tried to take his thumb away.

by the time john realized, it was only a year or so later, muttering something about how its good he’s taking care of sam. it had made dean smile to himself, smoothing the chestnut hair.

but by the time sam was four, it wasnt as cute. john was starting to make comments about how sam wouldnt of even had a pacifier this long, furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes looking down at his eldest son as he told him to quit that “sissy” shit.

dean had stopped doing it where john could see, retreating to the dark shadows of the backseat of the impala, sam in the middle seat next to him with his head on dean’s shoulder. sam wouldnt be able to sleep even though he’d just been out like a light forty five minutes ago before john woke them up to leave, whispering under the loud rattle of music shaking from the speakers sam would tell dean “just till i fall asleep?”

dean would oblige, sneaking his hand around sam’s shoulders and nudging his thumb against his little brother’s mouth. sam would open, sucking softly at the rough pad of dean’s thumb. sam would be out in less than a minute, rocked to sleep by john speeding down an empty highway. dean would smile, wiping sam’s spit off on sam’s pajama shirt as his nose wrinkled up.

it continued well after sam started school, his baby brother nudging his chin against dean’s palm once they’ve laid down for the night in scratchy, stained sheets on top of a lumpy mattress. dean would make any kind noise that wouldn’t disturb their dad in the bed beside their’s, and sam would take it as affirmation. pink lips would wrap around the base of his thumb before sammy’s eyelids would flutter shut. he continued the practice of pulling his thumb away after sam fell asleep. the kid was getting older, and they should of quit it years ago. john already hadnt approved of the habit when sam’s mouth wasnt the only thing making puberty extra hard for dean.

by the time dean was sixteen, he was still letting sam suck on his thumb to go sleep. only now, sam would lay down on his stomach, cheek pressed against dean’s knee as the boy blinked up at him.

it was dean’s own fault, he’d offered sam his thumb when they were watching some cartoon and instead of taking a nap like dean thought he would have, sam had let dean practically hold his head up with his palm while he suckled on the calloused thumb.

dean offered sam the remote, carding his fingers through sam’s hair as his little brother propped himself up on his elbows to scroll through the channels. he picked some action movie, and dean chuckled as he took the remote back from sam when offered, setting it on the side table behind his head.

dean readjusted before sam settled back in, the back of his neck dug into the armrest of the couch, but he barely noticed as sam laid back between his legs, lips parting around a silent, contended sigh as dean slid his middle and ring finger in. sam wrapped his lips around the second knuckles, his tongue subconsciously tracing the seam between the two digits as his half-lidded eyes looked over to the television.

dean didnt pay attention to the explosions and repetitive sound of guns firing, focused on the way sam would occasionally readjust the way his mouth was sucking. he could see it as much as he could feel it, his soft pink tongue taking up too much room as he swallowed the spit that had collected in his mouth when he was in a daze before he’d blush a little more. dean would pet his hair occasionally, barely having to focus on not letting his blood rush south. it was like muscle memory at this point around his little brother.

sam would gnaw softly, barely paying attention, and dean would hiss every time his teeth dug in a little too much. sam would run his tongue over the base of his fingers, eyebrows drawn together in a silent apology. it made dean feel dirty, pulling his fingers out of his baby brother’s mouth as he wiped his fingers off on the shoulder of sam’s shirt. “lunch time, kiddo?”