#seems like it came out pretty good though

[pomrania]

Now that these polls are over, let's talk about the results. My main qualification here is that I'm the OP, thus (except for when I turned off notifications for this post) I saw every tag and comment in my Activity feed, so I have a pretty good feel for what people have been saying here.

First, some numbers. "I know who the mayor is" had a couple of different options to it, but all put together, it's around 52%. In the second poll, once you remove the "I knew who the mayor is" and "show results" options, leaving only people who definitely didn't know who the mayor is, the results are more like 52% "voted", 27% "not eligible to vote", 5% "intended to vote but didn't", and 16% "didn't vote".

As for why I didn't include an option for "we don't have a mayor"… I genuinely hadn't known that it was so common, I'd thought it would just be a few rare places, and would fall under "it's complicated" or "show results". Which seems to have mostly been the case, although there's a suggestion that some people voted "no", as in "no, I don't know who the mayor is, because there is no mayor".

Second, on the subject of the large number of people who didn't know who their mayor is. I've already shown that it's not quite as large as it seems, 37% who don't know compared to 52% who do know. A number of people said that they hoped that 37% was all children; if the second poll can be taken as a representative sample (at n=779, and with the results pattern having been more or less consistent once it got into the double digits, I'd say it can), this is clearly not the case. (At a minimum, over half of them voted; "not eligible" includes "didn't live here then" as well as "too young".)

A bit of first-hand anecdotal evidence. When the most recent municipal election came around here, I looked at the various candidates for positions, picked the ones I thought were best, voted; and then completely forgot the names of everyone involved. Plus, I'm reasonably sure that my chosen candidate didn't win the election; so simply from "voting", there was no way for me to inherently know who the mayor is. ("Not following local politics AFTERWARDS" is entirely on me though.) I have since looked up who the mayor is, and I still can't give that person's name with 100% certainty.

Other anecdotal evidence, going by what was written in a comment or added in a reblog. There's people who have moved recently, people who know the mayor of where they WORK (which is more relevant to their daily life) but not the mayor of where they RESIDE, people who can picture the mayor's face but not remember the name, people whose mayor has been doing a competent job and thus isn't someone they need to think about compared to their other politicians who have been causing problems….

If there's one thing you learn from having a poll take off, it's that there's way more variety to life than you originally assumed. That applies to personal habits, environmental conditions, "common" knowledge, and anything else you care to name; even things where 99% vote for a single option, either it turns out you're in the minority and hadn't known it, or you learn about minority situations / opinions you'd never even imagined.

In some places, you'd have to go out of your way to know who the mayor is; in some places, you'd have to go out of your way to NOT know who the mayor is. "SHOULD someone go out of their way, if necessary, to learn about the mayor" is a separate issue.

[hyenabeanz]

Rule yapping time for the Abby Roque hand goal!

An aside: I realize I really need to learn how to make gifs from live streams cuz these nerd dives would be better with the play in question visible for reference. The method I used before doesn't seem to work anymore, so if anyone can shoot me a tutorial of how TF to do so for Android, pls do. If someone gifs it I will reblog with that attached.

ANYWAY.

The relevant rule:

So, catching it out of the air and passing it down to yourself is totally legit. It becomes illegal if a player skates with puck in hand. I rewatched it a couple times and think Roque came RIGHT up on the edge of that when she leaned forward, but didn't really skate with it imo. Not more than when people catch it in the neutral zone and they drop the puck in the most advantagous spot. It was a hard call I think, very borderline, so not nearly as egregious as the crowd felt it was.

I'm not 100% sure if it was actual coaches challenge on the review. If it was, the guidelines are pretty clear that borderline evidence isn't strong enough to overturn an on ice call; it has to be very clear and conclusive. I believe that's generally the standard for all video review, though it's not spelled out as clearly anywhere I can find.

I know one of the other concerns was that they had missed a slashing call on Larocque, but goals can't be overturned for those types of penalty, as slashing would fall under penalties under the judgement or discretion of officials.

So, yeah. It was weird as hell and I mean of course home team is gonna boo it, but this nerd's opinion is right call was made. Didn't earn NY the W, but I imagine they'll at least take the point.

As a reminder: I do the rule dives because I think it's fun. I like reading policy and rules and seeing application. I like trying to understand the game better. This does not indicate I necessarily have strong feels about it, nor am I interested in angry debate about it. I'm just nerding out. Fellow good-natured nerding happily accepted tho. :) if you don't want to see it, or do want to see more, my tag is "rules yapping."

[spot-the-antisemitism]

Recently, anti-tankie subreddit r/tankiejerk came out with this anti-liberal, anti-social democrats (because they're not REAL democrats!!1!) and anti-two state solution/anti-Israel-and-technically-also-anti-other-countries-but-for-some-reason-we-only-mention-Israel statement!

https://www.reddit.com/r/tankiejerk/comments/1iwb6jc/important_rule_changes_regarding_liberals_and/

I've gotta say, it seems a bit lacking in self awareness for an anti-tankie subreddit to be engaging in dumb leftist infighting. I mean, socdems? Really? The mod(s) are also very anti-Democratic Party/Joe Biden/Kamala Harris of course, from what I've seen.

This bring us to this buzzword-laden statement on zionism, which is bad because if Jews are a majority then that automatically means oppression for Palestinians, or something. I feel like I can't understand the thought process here. I mean, it's bad if Jews "rule" over the land... but it would be ok for Palestinians to rule over a Jewish minority? What is the logic here?

Comment raised a pretty good question. What does the mod answer?

So, according to their own source, over 50% of Palestinians want a 2SS, or a 2 state confederation...

...so we, as leftists, should ignore what THEY want, and focus on supporting what WE think they need???

I seems so presumptuous. "Oh, it's ok if they want a 2SS because for them it's just a temporary fix/step into an integrated 1 state solution" bitch what if they want a permanent or long term 2SS, did you even care to ask or find out?

As you can see from the down votes, this post and the mod's comments were pretty controversial to say the least. There weren't many comments against it though... Presumably because they were deleting those as "liberals" lol

Dear ara line,

I think the colonialist tankie coup that wants to impose their color revolution on Palestine and bring them “leftist democracy” doth protest too much

Cecil

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART SIX)

We hit a rough patch. I guess it happens in every marriage. Braden and I made sure not to fight in front of the boys, but we were arguing more. Some of the usual stuff, about me being a workaholic and not doing enough parenting duties for our youngest, Evan and Keith. It was like me and my eldest son's earlier dynamic was coming back in a different way.

But behind it all was Brade still wasn't pregnant. He and I had decided to have a fourth son, and it just wasn't taking. We'd come back from our belated honeymoon fucking like bunnies, but after a year, the sexual intensity had faded. We still had sex once a week, but maybe that wasn't enough.

I'd talked to the younger Dr. Fiedler about it, and Todd said that fertility starts to decline in a man's mid-30s. He said he could write a script for some fertility pills, if Braden and I wanted to try them. But I figured I'd hold off on that. I didn't want Braden to feel I was putting pressure on him to conceive. For all we knew, my swimmers weren't doing the job.

Todd Fiedler was the one man who I could unload my problems to and I knew he'd keep them private. I suspect one part of the marital issues was that Braden didn't have a close confidante when it came to incest marriage. And my husband was starting to resent the Saturday tee times with my golf buddy.

Still, I wasn't going to give them up. Junior had taken to golfing, in a big way, and at 14 was pretty damn good. It helped that the Fiedlers had a son Junior's age, Sam, so we became a regular foursome.

"He's gonna beat you today, Bill," Todd said with a grin as he slid his club into the bag. The boys were walking ahead of us.

"Seems that way," I said. "Guess my game is off."

Todd patted my shoulder. He could be flirty with me, in an understated way though Brade and I never fooled around with the Fiedlers like with did with the Connors men. "Maybe. But your son's a natural." He got a playful look in his eye. "Took Adam a lot longer to beat me." Adam is the oldest Fiedler son, just then starting college. "But I'll tell ya, the sex was fuckin incredible that day."

Todd's eyes fixed on me as he dropped that bombshell.

"You mean...?" I asked.

He nodded. "I figure I can tell you and Braden. But yeah, that's developed and it's pretty incredible."

I was trying my best not to get hard in my golf shorts, but it was probably going to be a losing battle. "Jesus, Todd... we're gonna have to talk more about this."

He smiled. "You got it. Dad and I still have to pinch ourselves that it's happening." I sort of resented we didn't have the time or full privacy for him to share the full story.

We walked along. "I've been meaning to bring this up, Bill... but a friend of mine is doing a study of incest families... it's all confidential... I told him I'd see if you were interested in being part of it, too."

"What kind of study?" I asked. From anyone else the request would have seemed far-fetched but I trusted the Fiedlers.

"Psychology, mostly interviews with me, Dad, and our sons. I'll just say Mark is, um, sympathetic to our kind of families."

I chuckled. "Is that right? It's funny how I spent years thinking Brade and I were the only ones, and gradually we find more sympathetic family men."

"Besides the Connors?" Todd asked.

I had never told him about the Newcombs, the father and son we'd met in the Caribbean. I'd half forgotten about them myself. Only..

"Braden and I met these guys on our honeymoon. We drew them out of their shell a bit.""

"Yeah?" Todd's eyes gleamed. He knew Braden and I were open to playing with the Connors and suspected that was the case here.

I didn't spell it out though. "They kind of freaked out on us, but I just got a LinkedIn message from the dad."

Todd was listening with rapt attention.

"It was all coded, but basically he was thanking me," I continued.

"Seems like we both have some stuff to talk about," Fiedler said. We were now catching up to the where the boys were already setting up their tees on the next hole.

Sam hit a good shot, but Junior's was the incredible drive right down the fairway. Yep, my son was gonna beat me that day, for sure.

***

The next couple of weeks were busy. That's why the news came out of the blue for me.

"Dad... can you come in here?" I heard from the master bathroom one morning. It was a weekend, and I was putting away folded laundry.

"What is is, buddy?" I asked, stepping into the bathroom. Braden was still in his pyjama pants and a worn T-shirt that hugged his ex-Marine muscle body. If we hadn't had sex first thing that morning, I would have been initiating something right then.

He had a nervous look. "Shut the door... " he said softly. "I just have this feeling, call it a daddy's intuition."

I'd barely shut it, when my son pulled down the flannel pants and hauled out his soft dong. He grabbed the stick of the pregnancy test and let his piss stream hit it for a few seconds.

"You mean...?" I asked excitedly.

Braden looked at me with nervous hopefulness. I realized then how much he really wanted this. Wanted to be impregnated with our fourth.

I was getting hard just waiting for the result, and I could see Brade chub up. I stepped up close and placed my hand on his shoulder as we both watched in anticipation. Then, clear as day, a plus appeared on the stick.

"God, Dad..." Braden said. He was 38 years old now, but he had almost the innocent enthusiasm he showed when he was 18.

We kissed. I'd missed this romantic connection, but it was like riding a bike. Braden was the best kisser I'd ever known, and his tongue dancing against my own, sucking me into his mouth before nudging back, was driving me wild.

"I need you inside me, Dad," he hissed. Already he was pushing those pyjama pants down.

"The boys..." I warned. We had to be restrained with even a quickie during these weekends.

"The door's shut," Brade hissed. He was turning away and leaning over the bathroom vanity slightly. Ready to be taken.

The lube was in the bedroom, but I opened the medicine cabinet and found the petroleum jelly, which we'd used a couple of times before. I smeared my breeder cock and got into position.

"Ooff!" Braden grunted at the sudden penetration. Then, "fuck me, Dad." He braced his hands on the sink ledge. "Fuck your son."

"My oldest son," I hissed. While Braden and I had kept up at least some regular sex life, it had been WAY too long since we'd indulged the verbal.

"Oldest of four... now five... oh fuck!"

I was thrusting now, and Braden was opening up for me. Our eyes locked on the mirror. At the vision of me mounting and fucking his newly pregnant muscle body.

"I love fucking breeding you, Brade... knocking you up."

"My hot fucking dad. Fucking stud patriarch."

God, Braden was gonna get me off quick. That and the pregnancy news.

"My hot fucking pregnant son." My hips were piledriving harder. We might not be able to get this hard later in Braden's pregnancy so I felt an urgency to take him like this while I could.

"Gonna keep barefoot and pregnant, Dad?"

Fuck, I was cumming, my hips locking and my dick spurting a heavy load inside Braden. His eyes watched my O face in the mirror as he stroked off to a heavy cum himself.

I gave my son a playful pat to his muscle ass when I withdrew and we kissed softly once more. "If you wanna clean up, Son, I'll go check on the boys."

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"For what?" I laughed.

He laughed back. "For being my father. For giving me another kid. For that fuck. I don't know."

We kissed again then Brade started the shower.

I made myself presentable and went to the family room. There was inevitably the emotional whiplash of going from sex and romance time with Braden back to parenting mode. I had an intuition and sure enough Evan and Keith were fighting over the iPad.

"Dad! Keith is hogging it" The two brothers were just a year and a half apart in age. That meant they could get along famously one minute and be at each other's throat the next.

I had to play stern dad. "I'll take away both your screen time, fellas. Don't think I won't."

Junior's attention was on his phone but even in my peripheral vision I saw him smirk.

***

We did that study. Or at least we started. Fiedler's psychologist friend Mark said it was a long term study, though we could drop out any time. He assured us he'd only ask the boys general questions, whereas Brade and I would each be asked more probing questions.

It felt freeing to talk about my sex life and what incest meant to me in the privacy of his office. I had to hide my boner, but then realized it probably didn't matter.

"Do you feel normal?" the man finally asked me.

I had to think. "I know I'm not the norm," I said. "But deep down, what I have with Brade, our family, feels normal to me."

"What's been the hardest part for you?"

I didn't have to think, I knew right away. "The secrecy. Pretending I'm a coparent rather than Braden's husband."

The shrink wrote in his pad, then set it down. "That should be enough, Bill. I really appreciate you taking the time and opening up about your family."

It was weird being studied this way, but I liked the doctor's nonjudgmental approach. Reading between the lines of what Todd Fiedler told me, I wondered if Mark had an incest history of his own, or if it was something that turned him on. I almost asked.

Braden seemed in a quiet mood when I got home. But we enjoyed family time, watching a movie until it was time for Evan and Keith to go to bed. I'd had to lay down the law about a reasonable bedtime, and I could see Braden amused as I dealt with their pleading to stay up late this time.

But finally they went to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. I checked on them and when I came back, Braden was talking to Junior about starting up high school in a couple of weeks. It was the most animated I'd seen our eldest be in a while.

"I just know homework will get harder," he said.

"You're a good student, Junior," Braden said.

Our son smiled at the compliment. I didn't even have to get on his case, Junior was diligent when it came to school. "I just worry about balancing school and golf, you know?"

Already Junior was anticipating joining the golf team.

"You'll do fine," I said. "It's the dating life which might suffer," I teased.

Junior blushed but tried to be part of the grown-up conversation.

"I guess that's another good thing about high school, huh?" he said.

"It was for your dads," Braden said, leaning into my arm as we sat on the couch. I could tell he was feeling far more relaxed talking about these things with Junior.

Our son took that in and with hesitation asked. "Dad.... Daddy... how did you first start dating?"

Braden looked at me in a "should we tell him?" way.

I figured our son was old enough. I wouldn't give all the details, but I could start.

"Well, your Daddy was attracted to me, and deep down I was attracted to him, but I had to be a father first, you know. But when he was a senior, we let it happen. And pretty quickly, we knew it was serious."

"That's cool," Junior said. "I hope I find someone special like you two have."

"You will," Braden said.

Junior paused. "Dads... I haven't told you, but I'm pretty sure I'm gay."

"Pretty sure?" Braden asked.

Junior chuckled. "Well, completely sure."

I don't know why the news surprised me, but it did. "I'm proud of you, buddy... for realizing who you are. It took me a long time."

"Gosh," Junior said. Then thoughtfully, he added. "You know, I guess I worry what people with think. Having two dads, and if you made me gay."

Braden chimed in. "If your Dad and I cared what people think we wouldn't be happy."

That made Junior smile. He'd been lectured on the need of secrecy and the taboo about incest since he was young. "I guess not."

We made some more talk, mostly general stuff about dating, then Brade and I said it was time for bed.

As my husband and I got ready and stripped down, the conversation weighed heavily on us. "He's gonna be trouble," Braden said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," my son replied. "He's a good looking kid... smart, maybe too smart." He snuggled up to me. "I wouldn't be surprised he if ends up a teen father like you."

Maybe it was the warm feel of Braden next to me, but I won't lie, my cock went rigid. Rock hard against my son's softly furred abs. That got a chuckle out of Braden.

"You like that idea," he said.

"Come on, Brade," I objected. It was an idle fantasy, not reality.

Braden didn't press me on, it though. Nor were we amping up to sex quickly. Instead my son kissed me softly. He was in a romancing mood, and I did my best to respond.

"Sorry if I was moody earlier," he said. "It was that interview with Mark."

My protective streak kicked in. "We don't have to participate, Brade," I said.

He nodded. "It's fine... only... did he make the moves on you?"

"No. Why?" Did Mark hit on Brade?

"He and I talked. The dude has SO many daddy issues. Jerks off to pictures of his dad each day. Only goes for guys who are older as a substitute."

"We didn't get personal, not like that," I said. I reflected. "Maybe it's common."

"I'm sure it is," Braden said, relieved. "I'm lucky as hell I have my actual father."

We kissed more intensely then Braden pushed me on my back. "Lie there, Dad," he said and reached over for the lube. "It's been a while since I've ridden that dad cock."

I placed my hands behind my head and grinned. "Pregnancy hormones kicking in?" We'd had sex that morning and usually didn't find time for twice in a day.

Braden smiled. "In a big way, Dad. Maybe that's why I got turned on hearing the doc talk about his father."

"Incest is really hot, isn't it?"

Braden slicked up my hardon and straddled me. "God yes." He settled back into place. I thought back to those homecoming fucks when Brade was in the Marines, coming back on leave, or home from deployment. And after our conversation with Junior, I realized how much Brade and I had almost forgotten about that phase of feeling each other out, trying to decide how much was physical transgression between father and son and how much was true love.

My dick penetrated him. Brade's hands were on my chest, feeling me up as he lowered down. "I love your cock, Dad. So much."

"I love your ass, buddy. Can't ever get enough."

"I wish more people could see us, Dad. See how a father and son mate." He settled further down. Lost in his sexual fantasy but also very much in the moment.

"Like Doug and Eric Newcomb?"

His eyes went wide. "You hear from those guys again?" I'd told Braden about

"From Doug, yeah. He and his boy want to visit sometime."

"God, I want you to fuck me in front of them... with my big pregnant gut..." OK, Brade wasn't kidding about the pregnancy hormones. His voice was getting louder.

I held onto his hips and pumped gently as we got deeper into the sex talk. But this was mostly Brade's fuck, his hips driving it like he wanted. He fucked himself on my dick to a hands-free cum. The very sight pushed me over the edge. The post-fuck kiss was amazing and we took our time to uncouple.

***

The next morning Junior had a knowing look on his face when I came into the kitchen to pour my coffee. We had one of those coffee makers with an automatic time. It took me a second to realize the pot was a little short.

"You drinking coffee?" I asked Junior.

"That's OK, Dad, right?" he asked, a combination of innocence and challenging me. Junior was a good kid but Braden was on to something. He was going to be a challenging teen to raise in his own way.

"Yeah, buddy, it's OK," I said. Pouring my own cup.

"Dad..." Junior said.

"Yeah?"

He stood up from the counter and dropped his voice to a whisper. "No disrespect. But you and Daddy might want to be quieter. I could hear you guys..."

I gulped, while trying not to act like things were out of the normal. Brade and I kept our sex life private, but we never wanted our boys to see anything unhealthy about our relationship. "Sorry, kiddo," I said. Trying to give a conspiratorial smile. "Though I guess you have something to tell that shrink next time."

At least that made Junior laugh. "Don't worry, Dad, I can keep a secret." He passed me and put his mug in the dishwasher. And he walked out to get ready for school.

***

I almost didn't make Braden's obstetrician appointment, and I was five minutes late. Everything seemed routine, until after a few tests when Doc Kennedy called us into his office.

"Braden... Bill... it turns out Braden's carrying twins."

I looked over at my son, who was stunned by the news. I, meanwhile, couldn't hide the big smile. Doc could tell and he chuckled at watching both of us.

"It'll make for a more physically exhausting pregnancy, Braden, but many men bear twins each year and have healthy young babies. Particularly since you're in your 30s still. We'll set up extra appointments to check in, and I'll give you some websites to read."

It was sinking in. "Wow, twins... " The smile was forming on Braden's face as he looked at me.

"Not the news you expected," Dr. Kennedy said with a chuckle.

"No, sir," Brade said.

The doctor explained, "It often happens when men take fertility pills."

"No fertility pills, Doctor," I said. "Just the old fashioned way."

He shrugged. "Like I say, it happens."

Braden and I couldn't wait to get home. I was supposed to go back to the office for a meeting, but I called out instead. My son and I had about forty minutes before we had to go pick up Evan and Keith from school.

"Goddamn, Dad," Braden said, excitement building in his voice as we stepped into the house. "We went right for number five, didn't stop at four sons."

"I'll be my fifth and sixth," I reminded Brade. I adjusted the hardon in my suit trousers.

"Guess I wasn't kidding about the barefoot and pregnant thing."

Brade and I kissed, hard. Our bodies connecting through our clothes, then the impatience as we stripped each other.

"Brade... Sport... I want you to go off the pills."

He didn't get it. "I'm already pregnant dad. Knocked up with twins."

I tugged his arm to guide him back to the bedroom. "I mean, once they're born. I want us to fuck unprotected from here on out... let the chips fall where they may."

"Jesus, Dad!" Brade really liked that idea.

"Your natural womb giving us a son whenever it happens."

"Yes, sir," Brade growled.

I wish I could say we consummated the news with a nice long romantic mating, but it was maybe three hot minutes of missionary sex. Brade's way. Legs wrapped around my waist, us kissing deep. Envisioning the two sons that were gonna grow inside Braden. And the future ones we gonna make.

It was hands-free for Braden, which seemed to happen more and more during his pregnancy, and I was three strokes behind, loading up my son-husband deep.

"I can't believe I'm getting two more grandkids," I said as I lay in the afterglow, stroking Braden's chest. Even those pecs would get full again, and I'd be able to milk feed from my son's bosom.

"Gonna need a bigger SUV, Dad. And we only have one car seat."

I mussed Braden's hair. "I thought I was supposed to be the practical one, Sport."

Braden laughed. "I guess you're rubbing off on me, old man." He leaned up and checked his watch. "Time for pick up duty."

"I got this, Brade," I said, sliding out of bed. I dug into my drawers and found clean underwear and a casual T shirt. "Why don't we go out as a family tonight, to celebrate? We can tell the boys the great news."

[merinarasauce]

Well, this is it, then.

It wasn't like Yaron hadn't... expected this. No-one on her father's side of the family made it to twenty revolutions. They just... wilted. To humans, they were remarkably long-lived, but any other member of her species would have a good thirty revolutions left.

She laid on the hot pavement as the humans shouted at her desperately, thinking to herself, what a fiasco this would be. Not only would her body have to be shipped to the nearest Jakta station for autopsy, they'd have to launch an investigation as per interstellar law, and then they'd have to transport her six hundred light years to her home planet so her family could bury her...

It was a shame. Really.

Yaron wasn't afraid to die. She'd had to confront the idea as a mere sapling, and she'd come to accept it. But still, knowing that the grieving process of her friends and family would have to be disrupted by lawkeepers, that broke her heart.

There was nothing to be done about it. She couldn't speak, couldn't move, so... she just let go.

~~~

Yaron came to with a raging headache, and she shot upright with an alarmed warble. It was so bright. There were tubes and wires running all over her body, and she felt a bandage taped over the left side of her torso.

A human in the corner wearing dull, stiff clothing yelped, dropping a tray full of tools. "Ambassador Yaron-!"

"What happened!?" she demanded, trying to stand. "Why am I not dead??"

"Please calm down-"

"Am I dead? Can't you tell me anyth-"

As soon as Yaron put her full weight on her feet, her joints gave out, and she crumpled.

Lying face-first on the ground, she cursed after a few seconds. "Is nothing simple with you humans?"

Yaron figured pretty quickly that this was a human hospital. It wasn't too far off from those built by her kind- clean, sterile, well-lit. It was much louder, that was certain. And cold.

The humans settled her back into the bed rather quickly, and as they ran some tests, someone in a white coat walked in and sat next to her. She had a round face and dark eyes, her hair pulled back neatly.

"Ambassador Yaron? I'm Dr. Nadia Mundell. I'd like to inform you about the surgery you received."

She extended a hand, which Yaron ignored, feeling sick. "Surgery? You mean- you cut me open?"

Dr. Mundell seemed a bit nervous at that. "Well- uh- it's not quite that simple. I assure you, it was a lifesaving procedure, and we took all possible measures to prevent infection."

Yaron groaned, lacing her fingers through the dense leaves on the nape of her neck. "Of course. Out of anyone, I had to be the unlucky machtarak who collapsed on the human homeworld...!"

The doctor raised a placating hand. "Let me explain what happened and what we did, alright?"

She was met with a huff and a grumbled "Fine."

Dr. Mundell reached over and took a clipboard from a nearby table, flipping through it. "We found out the reason for your collapse was an arrhythmia in your vascular heart. We performed an ultrasound scan- it's just reflected sound waves, completely harmless- and discovered a hard burl nearly blocking your aortic artery."

Yaron watched as the doctor showed her a black-and-white image, and though she didn't know much about anatomy, she could tell the bright white thing circled in red probably wasn't normal.

"It's likely your heart was working much harder than normal to maintain proper blood flow. And, thanks to your venous system, you likely didn't experience many symptoms beyond some mild pain now and again. Does that sound right?"

The ambassador just stared, dumbfounded. "...yeah, I- I guess so..."

"From what I can tell, you were probably born with a thin arterial wall, and micro-tears caused the burl to form. I know the Galactic Council finds it... uh, what did they say... barbaric. But in order to save your life, we had to remove it. Thankfully, it was a success. We'll have to keep an eye on you for a few days. I'd prefer if you kept activity levels fairly low while your artery heals and your heart recovers."

Yaron could barely process all this. Dr. Mundell spoke about it like it was normal. Like it was no big deal. Like causing harm to heal wasn't akin to the witchcraft of a thousand revolutions past. Had she not felt their blades simply because she was unconscious? Or was there more human insanity that she wasn't privy to? How, after opening their eyes to a universe of technology beyond their wildest imaginations, could the humans have known that their methods could still save lives?

All that came out of her mouth was a hoarse "Okay."

Despite medicine reaching its near pinnacle form, humanity still prefers to practice surgery. It is seen as barbaric, invasive even by other alien civilizations. One day, an alien diplomat collapses on human soil and wakes up in a bed with small stitches on their body.

[ricky-mortis]

Time Bastard trapped in Tinky’s blorbo box

[yellllowstar]

slowly I'm recovering the beauty of discovery

(creature by half•alive)

(textless + timelapse below cut)

[late-night-vocaloid]

mascotless vocals lose something on an individual level but I think with a bunch of new mascots releasing soon(?) we'll be getting something back we were desperately missing when the majority of new vocals had no designs

[void-tiger]

…wHY do y’all feel the need to mention where someone’s at when they’re not around! Sure I have a crush on that idiot but I’m never going to admit to it, and actively avoid bringing them up myself ‘cause it’d feel like a freudian slip and it’s not my business anyway.

How often do I even come up in y’all’s home conversation. Is it out of pity? Or is this idiot just as insufferable as I am to my friends who are WELL AWAY from this and therefore Safe to repeatedly try spring-cleaning my demiromantic acengst with.

Are y’all pressuring them about me, too, or has that FINALLY, finally eased off.

(And what value can I possibly have, anyway. I’m unemployed and just shy of a shutin from severe anxiety/moderate depression and cptsd, adhd, and a smorgasbord of muscular-skeletal issues that just keep creeping up and staying and moving the goalpost to even TRY getting a job. The idiot has other friends when they have time to spend on them. All I am is stubborn enough to stick around and wait if I’m not actively being chased off IF the other party seems to really want that connection.)

[newwave-lesbian]

.

[felidthing]

i just had a very long complicated dream about some very ooc homestuck kids. jade might be rooted in some form of fanon at least but i dunno

[s0dium]

Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[yawnderu]

Sex Pollen — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

girl dinner since my König sex pollen has over 900 notes♡

"That's it, love..." Ghost growls out as he pushes your hips up and down slowly, your warm, wet cunt engulfing his thick dick as his hips thrust up to meet you halfway. Your womb is already full of his cum, yet Ghost is unable to stop, each orgasm seemed to just be making his cock harder and his balls tighter. Being all the way inside you felt too damn good.

"So pretty like this, sweet girl... like you were made to take my fuckin' cock all the way inside that tight little cunt." He muttered between clenched teeth, trying his best not to cum inside you yet. For the first time in his life, Ghost was willingly having sex, and oh God, he can't believe he has been missing out on this. His thrusts were slow and deep, making sure to put your pleasure before his, hitting all the right spots with his fat cock.

"Ghost...—" His name being moaned out by you felt like music to his ears, his eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on your hips got tighter, pushing you faster up and down his dick as your tight walls gripped him, a mix of your cream and his cum coating his length, making a ring on the base of it. Though his face was concealed by the balaclava, you can see his expressive eyes focused completely on your face, basking in the pretty faces you make when you're cock-drunk. You already forgot how many orgasms he's pulled out of you, yet it all feels too damn good to ask him to stop, even when your cunt is abused and fucked-out.

"Fuck— angel, let me cum in you." He pleads for your consent, just as he did the last four times he came inside. "Want to fill you up so good, baby, please." Ghost's eyes roll to the back of his head as you give him your approval, groaning and grunting as he begins to thrust harder and deeper into you, his gloved hands pulling your hips all the way down so his cock is completely inside you as his thick, warm cum fills your womb up.

[lilreidgirl]

Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a