#that makes it look like he got kicked in the stomach

[onceinablueberrymoon]

made for this | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

scenario: pregnant!reader has a doctor’s appointment and wants to help husband!salesman by recruiting some new players at the clinic. the salesman has a different idea in mind… setting: a couple months after the events of season 1; sequel to this but can be read as a stand-alone fic warnings: pregnant!reader; a bit of spice and a lot of fluff; both reader and salesman feel morally superior to others; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 931 notes: thank you all for the love on the first part! i hope i didn’t make the salesman too ooc, i try to keep things as accurate to the show as possible! but i think he is somewhat capable of having soft moments, although very rarely. i have at least one more idea for this series (if it can even be called that), so be on the lookout for that ٩>ᴗ<)و (also if anyone has any ideas for this ship, send them my way!) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“Hey, can I borrow some business cards? I have an appointment at the clinic today and thought I’d pass some out.”

At your call, your husband walked into the bedroom to find you standing in front of the mirror next to your shared bed, adjusting your outfit for the day. He crossed his arms.

“I don’t think so. Any public involvement with the Games could endanger you,” his gaze lingered on your swollen stomach. He sighed, “You can’t defend yourself in your condition, no matter how much you think you can.” 

You just rolled your eyes and shot him a piercing look. 

“My pregnancy doesn’t impact my job, though. I can take care of myself just fine.” You took a couple steps towards him. “Who’s the one who befriended Gi-hun again? You?” You looked around the room before you pointed at yourself. 

“Me, that’s who,” you grinned proudly, only for your husband to cover his face with his hands, his patience clearly running thin.

“Besides,” you shrugged, “it’s not like I’ll be playing ddakji and smacking people. No, my dear husband, that’s your thing.” You brought a finger up to your lips. 

“I have my own ways to play.” You flashed a wicked smile towards your husband, causing him to shiver. 

Right there and then, you knew that you had won the battle.

…or so you thought.

In the blink of an eye, your husband swept you off your feet and pinned you on the bed with only one arm. Your startled expression pleased him judging by the wild look on his face. His unoccupied hand came to gently press on your growing stomach, adding to the tense situation. He brought his lips up to graze your ear.

“See how vulnerable you are? Just think,” he lightly bit at your helix, “others won’t be so nice.”

It was your turn to shiver. 

When you didn’t respond, he continued nibbling at your ear with his hand still firmly planted on your belly.

Soon after, he lifted his head and asked, “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He kissed you deeply, only breaking away to gasp for air. The most smug expression was plastered on his face. 

“Oh wait, I do.”

How cheeky of him. And cheesy, too! 

You huffed, “Wow, already starting with the dad jokes? And not even the good ones either.” His eyebrow quirked upwards before he bent down to press his nose against yours.

“Do you really want to play this game?” He whispered softly, causing you to shudder. “You know I always win.”

Turning your head to the right, you let out a small chuckle.

“Oh really?” You retorted, “Prove it.”

This sent him into a borderline frenzy as he started planting kisses down the side of your neck. You threw your arms around his neck, a smile on your face. Sometimes it was just too easy to manipulate him.

As he was about to leave a mark, a sharp movement stopped him in his tracks. He blinked, snapping out of his trance. You were both confused when there was another movement, although not as sharp as the first.

The two of you looked down at your rounded stomach, and your husband removed his hand. The baby’s kicks continued nearly every minute, while you both just watched, not moving a muscle. Then, your husband lifted himself up off of you, moving to sit on the bed beside you. You sat up and, taking one of his hands, gently laid it on your stomach. Your husband carefully wrapped an arm around you, now acting as if you were made of glass.

“They’re so active. Do you think,” he paused, then in a whisper, asked, “Do you think I hurt them?” 

“No… I think they’re just making themselves known,” you kissed him on the cheek. 

Both of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, only to soon realize that you were now running late for your appointment.

“Is there any chance I can still get those business cards?” You pleaded. 

Your husband chuckled, “Absolutely not. In fact, I’ll accompany you.” 

“I thought we weren’t allowed to be seen together in public?” You furrowed your eyebrows. 

He let go of you and turned to open his briefcase at the foot of the bed. Pulling out some files, he nodded, “There’s quite a few prospective players residing at that hospital. You attend your appointment, I’ll recruit more players.” He flashed his signature smirk, putting the files back in his briefcase.

“Wow, I thought you wanted to come to my appointment with me!” You laughed, giving him a light shove.

Your husband gave you a knowing look, “I can’t do that. But I expect a copy of the sonogram.” He stood up, holding out a hand for you to take.

“What a gentleman.” You took his offer and stood up.

Placing a hand on your husband’s chest, you teased, “Try to take it easy at the hospital, hm? Most of the prospects there are already on the verge of cracking. We don’t want to break them before the Games – it wouldn’t make for a good show.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist, your husband pouted, “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Giving them a tiny sliver of hope, only to eventually rip it away…” You looked him straight in the eyes. “The suspense is so thrilling, don’t you think?”

“And here I was starting to think you weren’t cut out for the job,” he chuckled. He checked his watch, noting the time.

“We should get going – it’s rude to be late.” 

a/n: by the way, i don’t think i have it in me to write full-on smut, the most i can probably do is a bit of lime lol

tags: @preppyfella

[meadowfics]

boredom got a new bestfriend

kang dae-ho x pregnant!reader

pregnancy has been exhausting, but luckily your partner is here for you.

warnings: post-squid game au. ptsd themes included but this is mainly comfort I swear

it felt like you were feeling postpartum depression before you even gave birth to the baby.

your daughter is the best thing to be happening for you right now, a human-being sharing the dna of you and your sunshine of a husband.. but you hate the discomfort.

your belly is a little bit bigger for someone who is 34 weeks along.

the doctor predicts that your girl will come out a little bit more developed than the average infant.. great.

growing up for all of your life, you slept on your stomach.

sleeping on your side and/or back during this pregnancy makes you wake up each hour, ready to throw up or cramped due to the uncomfortable position.

the lack of sleep has been killing you, and you know it will not get any better once the girl arrives.

don't worry, dae-ho has been the best partner ever, doing as much as he can to help you!

he doesn't know how it feels to carry a baby for nine months, especially a baby thats in a bigger percentile (thanks to his genetics), but he can see how much its affecting you mentally.

the man will cuddle you to sleep, give you foot massages, head massages too.. but it seems like his daughter wants to give you hell.

you're bored throughout the day as well.

its all of the time.

before your pregnancy, you used to go on walks and do chores and run errands for other people for money.

well, you had to before you joined the games.

the games are apart of the reason as to why you barely get any sleep, scared that you will wake up to someone killing you with a fork to add money to the pile.

however, you remind yourself that you are safe.

the baby is safe, you are with dae-ho, and you're all alive and safe.

even if you aren't comfortable due to your belly..

now, you cannot do a simple task like going to the grocery store without getting tired.

you've had enough, you cannot wait for the six weeks until your daughter is born.

one night, it reached its point when you went to sleep beside dae-ho.

the man's arm was wrapped around your fully developed belly, he loved to hold his daughter that you carried.

you laid on your back, your head laid down on the pillow looking up at the ceiling.

it was 12:02am when you fell asleep.

a big kick caused by your daughter made you jump awake.

dae-ho didn't wake up after you moved his arm from your stomach.

thankfully since you want him to get his sleep at least.

when you checked the time, tears immediately poured out of your eyes.

its 12:12am..

you couldn't even get ten minutes of good sleep without your body, or your daughter, stopping that.

walking out of the bedroom into the living room, you decided to turn on an old sitcom rerun that played on the overnight channels.

that did not entertain you.. nothing seemed to.

you tried to romanticize the moment, going to quickly grab some water and a fruit bowl so you could eat and relax.. but nothing worked.

sleeping was the best option, but waking up every ten minutes is driving you insane.. so why sleep at all?

"baby?"

you saw dae-ho enter the living room, wiping his tried eyes with his hands.

he is just wearing his plaid pajamas and no shirt. sexy.

sex could help the boredom, since intimacy with dae-ho is never boring, but you were too exhausted to even move at all.

"why are you awake?"

you softly ask, unaware that he could ask you the same thing.

which he is..

"I was going to ask you the same thing, since you're watching a sitcom marathon at one in the morning.."

dae ho mumbles, his big hand resting on your thigh as he looks ahead at the show on the television.

"your daughter is not letting me sleep, so I figured that watching television could pass time.. but that is not helping."

you frown.

dae-ho frowns too, moving his hand from your thigh and gently rubbing your belly.

he moves his head down towards your belly as well, going to talk to your daughter through your nightgown.

"awh, sweetheart, why are you being so mean to your mommy?"

you smile at this gesture, knowing your daughter will go right back to kicking your organs all over the place.

"I can't sleep and I am very bored.. I don't know how I am going to last these six weeks, dae."

you plead.

the man looks up at you, guilt in his eyes, as he tried to think of a solution.

"well, I can offer besides cuddles and physical affection to help you sleep comfortably.. but maybe I could stay up with you so you are not so bored as well?"

the tired man speaks through his raspy voice.

"no, dae-ho, you need your sleep."

"you need it a lot more than I do.."

dae-ho smiles,

"you will need to gain enough energy when its time to push next month!"

he's right.

how were you supposed to birth your daughter if you were too tired to push?

the man sees worry flash before your eyes and retracts his words,

"wait I was kidding, I--"

"dae-ho, I know, don't worry!"

you giggle.

you relax into your man's arms while watching the boring show on the television.

it feels like your daughter stopped her soccer/football game happening inside of your uterus.

so you close your eyes to see if your mind will take you to sleep.

you focus on dae-ho's scent since your nose is against his chest.

the first thing you notice is that dae-ho used your body wash while he showered at some point.. your vanilla body wash.. wow!

suddenly, you couldn't process anything else as you fell asleep with dae-ho.. since he already fell asleep before you.

when you wake up, the sun is shining through the curtains and you were back in your bed.

you were... comfortable.. woah.

something you haven't felt since before your belly starting growing with your baby.

the soft ivory blanket was warm against your cool skin, the pillow soft underneath your ears.

dae-ho is still asleep, his back facing towards you.

you move yourself to get behind him, big spooning him as your belly pokes his lower back.

"goodmornin', my baby."

dae-ho's raspy voice speaks, taking your small hand and kissing your knuckle lightly.

"good morning, handsome."

you smile, feeling refreshed.

looking over at the alarm clock, the time reads 10:38am

taking a huge sigh of relief, you cuddled into dae-ho more, happy to finally get some good rest after months of failure.

"how did you sleep?"

dae-ho mumbles against your soft hands.

"I slept good, for once."

you giggle.

"see, I knew my little talk to (daughter's name) would work!"

dae-ho smiles and you giggle.

"thank you, love."

masterlist

[enemiestolovershoe]

Backstage Comfort

Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: Noah takes care of reader while being on her period. Matt and Folio wouldn’t be Matt and Folio when they wouldn’t tease Noah.

Words: 798

Warnings: Period and Cramps, Teasing

A/N: This was requested but I somehow deleted the request. I wrote another version of this with just reader and Noah. Click here.

The backstage area of the venue buzzed with pre-show energy. The hum of amplifiers being tested, the shuffle of crew members setting up, and the distant roar of an excited crowd all blended into a chaotic symphony. Normally, you thrived in this environment, feeding off the adrenaline of watching Noah and the rest of Bad Omens prepare for another killer performance. But today, you weren’t feeling quite as enthusiastic.

You sat curled up on a couch in the corner of the green room, clutching a small pillow to your stomach. The ache in your abdomen hadn’t eased all day, and no amount of ibuprofen or deep breathing seemed to help.

Noah walked in from the hallway, dressed in his signature all-black outfit. His dark eyes scanned the room, immediately landing on you. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with concern as he crossed the room in a few long strides. “You okay?”

You managed a weak smile. “Just cramps. I’ll be fine.”

Noah frowned, crouching in front of you so he could meet your eyes. “You don’t look fine.”

“It’s just one of those days,” you admitted. “Don’t worry about me. You have a show to get ready for.”

“Yeah, well, you’re more important than the show,” he said simply, his brow furrowed. “What do you need? Food? Tea? Heating pad?”

Your heart melted a little at how quickly he shifted into caretaker mode. “I don’t think they have a heating pad in the green room,” you said with a small laugh.

“Then I’ll improvise.” He stood up, glancing around the room.

At that moment, Matt walked in, clipboard in hand and his headset slightly askew. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and teasing. “Why’s Noah looking like a guy on a mission?”

“She’s got cramps,” Noah said without missing a beat, turning to Matt. “Do we have anything warm she can use? Like a towel or something?”

Matt’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “Look at you, Dr. Caregiver. You thinking of adding ‘period expert’ to your résumé?”

Noah shot him a flat look. “Are you going to help, or are you just here to make jokes?”

“Both,” Matt replied, his grin widening. “But mostly jokes.” He turned to you, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You sure you’re okay? He’s not being too overbearing, is he?”

You smiled despite the ache in your stomach. “No, he’s perfect.”

“Perfectly whipped,” Matt muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from Noah.

Folio wandered in next, a drumstick twirling lazily between his fingers. “What’s going on? Why’s Noah looking like someone kicked his puppy?”

“He’s trying to MacGyver a heating pad,” Matt explained, clearly enjoying himself.

Folio raised an eyebrow. “So, full boyfriend mode, huh? Let me guess—he’s already planning a tea ceremony and a hot towel spa experience for you.”

You chuckled at their antics while Noah groaned. “You two are so helpful,” he said dryly, heading out of the room.

“Always,” Matt called after him, winking at you.

When Noah returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a warm towel and a bottle of water. He placed the towel gently over your stomach, adjusting it with care. “Better?” he asked, sitting beside you.

“Much better,” you said softly, leaning into him.

“Need anything else? Tea? Snacks? Ice cream?”

“You’ve already done enough,” you replied, touched by his efforts.

“Too bad. I’m not stopping.”

Matt, who had taken up residence on the couch across from you, grinned. “You’re really setting the bar here, man. How’re the rest of us supposed to compete with this level of dedication?”

“You’re not,” Noah replied without missing a beat.

Folio snorted. “Okay, but if she starts expecting this every time, we’re blaming you for creating unrealistic standards.”

Noah smirked. “Good. You should all take notes.”

Despite their teasing, Matt and Folio made themselves useful, making sure the crew left you alone and bringing over a blanket they found in the equipment closet. Between Noah’s warmth and their lighthearted banter, the ache in your stomach seemed just a little easier to bear.

When it was finally time for the show, you felt well enough to join the crew at the side of the stage. Matt gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up as you took your spot, while Folio leaned over and muttered, “Let us know if Nurse Noah slacks off.”

Noah rolled his eyes, but his arm slipped protectively around your waist as he glanced down. “You good?” he asked quietly.

“Perfect,” you said, smiling up at him.

And as the lights dimmed and the first chords rang out, you couldn’t help but feel grateful—not just for Noah, but for the ridiculous, wonderful team around you who made even the worst days bearable.

Taglist: @courta13

[y0ur-lovrr]

—A fighter, huh?

A/n:Im not really sure If this may be a bit out of character for him, but I wrote this when I was half asleep forgive me! 😭

I will also say that I will take requests for posts if you want to leave a submission and what not-enjoy reading! <3

Pairing; Chishiya Shuntaro x reader <3 (no gender applied I don’t think)

—chishiya hums quietly under his breath to himself as he situates himself against the railing of the hotel building, his eyes watching the floors below as the tagger moves, the sound of bullets hitting bodies and the footsteps of players and the tagger.

He got high up to get a good view of the other floors, an advantage point of finding the symbol needed to clear this game of ‘tag’.

Safe to say, it’s been a little boring to him, not having a clear idea of where the symbol is yet, but he doesn’t draw his eyes away.

Until something catches his attention, the sight of an altercation happening at one of the lower floors, between the tagger..and a player, or a couple of players.

“A fighter? Interesting..” he hums with a slightly smirk, leaning forward slightly, the slight breeze making his hair sway slightly from underneath his hood, but he just watches.

He recognizes one of the players as aguni, since he was a military man at the beach, so him being a fighter was expected. But even he was close to be downed. The other being a guy with blonde hair and an orange pull over shirt, bleeding from his side and leaning against the wall-probably got hit in an artery.. if chishiya could recall his name was Karube or something along the sort, he heard his friend call him that earlier at the starting point. But he wasn’t really paying attention.

But the one that caught his attention was the person actually fighting majority of it. Your moves were maybe a little sloppy, but it made it almost graceful with the way you were throwing punches left and right, ducking to avoid any hits-and it works in your favor considering the tagger’s gun was left laying on the floor.

“Hmmm…” he huffs out with a light snicker, clearly interested as he watches, even from here he can see that you were kind of roughed up-but not as much as he thought you would be. A bloody nose and maybe a busted lip, and he can just imagine how scratched up your knuckles were.

He watches as you throw another punch at the tagger-hitting them right in the face, hard enough to make them stumble back, before they suddenly lift their leg and kick at you, the hit hitting you right in your stomach, sending you stumbling back into the railing, back harshly landing into it, and he’s sure it would leave a bruise.

“Damn it..anyone tell you that kicking is a cheap move?” Your voice mumble out with a small grunt, lifting one of your hands to wipe the blood off of your nose. If he was an idiot he would have thought you were done-but he was no idiot.

Chishiya huffs out another light snicker of amusement as he watches as you throw yourself forward and collide yourself with the tagger, sending both you and them down the stairs, and he can hear the noise of you guys thudding down the stairs with grunts, giving Karube and Aguni to help find the symbol.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He mumbles to himself under his breath as he sees that’s theirs only 10 minutes left of the game, taking off his hood and turning and walking, having an idea where the symbol is-Arisu having the same idea

After the game is cleared, Chishiya and Aguni are walking out of the building, before Aguni stops and turns to a different direction, looking at something, making Chishiya raise a brow slightly and look over too.

“Damn kid took on majority of that fight like an idiot.” Aguni huffs out gruffly as he shakes his head, watching as you stand a few feet away from them, your head tilted back with your hand lightly against your nose, clearly trying to not get any more blood on your shirt.

“C’mon…I like this shirt…” you huff under your breath, annoyance in your voice along with a hint of pain, Chishiya lets out a small huff, finding it quite amusing that your shirt is what you were worried about.

“You might have a broken nose, you know..and your priority is your shirt, how straight forward that is.” He calls out casually, hands shoved in his pockets as if he wasn’t just at deaths door with his close this game got.

“So? It’ll heal. And I can’t get blood out of a shirt, it’ll just stain.” You retort with a huff, turning your head to look over at them, and lightly glaring at Chishiya, not finding his comment very amusing.

Chishiya quietly scoffs in reply, a slight smirk dancing across his lips, and Aguni isn’t really amused by your back and forth either. But before either of them can get another word out, you speak up for them.

“Man, you got roughed up, guess we kind of underestimated the dude, huh?” You mumble with a hint of sarcasm in it-referring to how Aguni told you and Karube that the tagger was a human and probably easy to beat with the three of you. Though he won’t admit that it was harder than expected. Aguni couldn’t help but scoff at your snarky comment, speaking as if you weren’t also a bit roughed up.

“But I had fun, so hopefully next time we meet I’ll be able to fight someone with you again.” You mutter with an amused huff and pat Aguni on the shoulder in a sort of mocking way-but he couldn’t really tell, you were kind of hard to read, but once again you don’t let them speak as you push past them and call out to Arisu and Karube in the distance.

“Hey! Can we go see Chota now? I wanna tell him about how I beat the hell out of that guy!” You exclaim enthusiastically as you jog slightly to catch up to them, Chishiya watching as you and your friends figures disappear into the dark streets.

“Hmm…she’s a fighter huh? And a good one at that.” He hums and slightly raises a brow at Aguni who just huffs and rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly and gesturing for him to follow along as he heads away from the building, planning on going back to the The Beach. And Chishiya follows after him, you were definitely a character, that’s for sure. And he couldn’t help but wonder what’ll happen when he sees you again. You’ll most likely meet in another game anyway. But, he was interested in when that’ll be.

[procyonloser]

(this was inspired by me watching got scenes)

Lucifer could feel the cold biting into his skin, until it hit his bones, but there was little reprieve from it - no comfort in between warm layers of silk and cloth. Just the vastness of the Great Hall, and roaring fires that did little but remind him of what he didn't have. When he was young, a boy playing between pillars and hiding behind statues to listen to his father speak and rule, he'd not felt it then.

It'd been hours of council meetings, of paperwork, and of hearing from his people, their problems and worries. The winter had been long, food was running slim, and their coffers were beginning to dry up. Lucifer had a beloved wine that had not touched his lips since the beginning of summer, and he missed it greatly, though at the very least his stomach was still full.

There was a sudden commotion as one of his commanders marched into the room, followed by lines of soldiers, all with flowing red capes that depicted his sigil on the back. Lucifer barely recognized most of them, he'd grown too old to know every single one of his soldiers.

"My Lord, raiders attempted to attack the most northern district of Pentagram. Unfortunately for them, one of our garrisons were making a routine patrol through the neighboring village. They were able to respond, and kill many of those that were part of the attack. We were able, however, to capture a man who seems to be their king." His commander spoke, after a deep bow before his king. Lucifer felt his eyebrows raise; it'd been a long few months of raiders stealing grain, weapons, lives, women.

"The raiders have no king, only distinct leaders of different factions." Carmilla spoke from her seat alongside Lucifer's council. "You can stop one, but another will arise. Don't mistake one success as a war now won."

Lucifer appreciated her words and experience in the matter, but it didn't change the success they had attained. He nodded his head at the woman, before turning to the commander.

"We will celebrate your success, but the Lady Carmine speaks truth - we shall not grow complacent, make certain to continue patrols in the area. It's possible that his men that fled or survived will want revenge."

At that, the commander made a queer expression, uneasy by something Lucifer said.

"Do you take issue with your king?" Lucifer asked after a moment, amusement on his tongue. He was used to being questioned, not the inspiring figure that his lady wife had once been. They saw him as weak.

"No, my Lord. It's... All but their king, their leader, whatever we may call him... They're all maidens."

Silence spread around the busy room.

"The raiders are... women?" Lucifer asked slowly, making certain he understood what was being said. The commander nodded briefly, and suddenly there was a flurry of whispers and gossip throughout the Lords and Ladies in the hall, and even amongst his council they seemed stunned. What monster would force young girls to fight their wars?

"Bring in their leader," Lucifer ordered.

The commanders dragged in a man in chains, and they needed more than one to do so. The man was tall, but not thin like those who struggled to find even corn on which to eat. There was no gauntness to his face, just a few bruises. He had brown hair, and wore a mix of furs and clothing that had most certainly been stolen from someone of higher standing. He'd woven fine royal purple fabric around his waist as what Lucifer could only interpret as an insult.

But, he was handsome, in his own way. Lucifer had taken many men to bed who were far less attractive, and they were all too eager to please their king. They were simple, easy things that filled a gap since his wife had passed. But, they weren't interesting, they weren't fun.

"I don't bow," the man said with a cocky grin as he reached the throne. The commander responded by kicking his knees out from under him, until the man fell. The look he sent the man promised a violent and bloody death, as though the raider wasn't the one in chains.

"That's enough," Lucifer said tiredly, gazing down at the man. "What is your name and title?"

"Adam, the First Man." He said instantly, to giggles in the crowd.

"Curious, I seem to be older than you - how exactly did you come by that title?" Lucifer asked with some humor, which got him a sharp grin in return.

"Cus none of you are real fuckin' men. You don't fight, you don't fuck, you just live in pretty castles. Look at you, a small man in all your fancy things. Pathetic. I bet you couldn't kill a hart, let alone a man." Adam jeered at him, and the crowds began to murmur.

"And yet you steal these pretty things, you rape, you kill." Lucifer shot back, getting to his feet, though it did little but demonstrate their height difference. "It seems to me as though you desire life of the gentleman, while you behave as a beast, first man."

Adam spit at his feet. "I don't rape, that's your soldiers."

Lucifer prickled at the implication. "You kidnap women and force them to fight for you."

"I do no such thing, they are offered the chance to live a more fulfilling life, and they come to me willing." Adam answered with a cocky smile. "You know, don't you? Little king? Since your dead wife was the one this nation truly feared, and you're just a placeholder."

Lucifer stared at him, before looking at his commander. "Remove his bindings. Don't question me. Remove them, and hand him your sword."

The room slowed to a stop, faces turning pale, confused. His council began to speak up, though those who knew him best kept quiet.

"If I best you, you will be my pet, you will no longer be a man. You will live out your days here, in the castle." Lucifer spoke easily, pulling his own sword from the hilt. Adam looked amused, eager, a bloodlust in his eyes. "If you kill me, well... You've killed the king. You'll be a legend, a hero, and everyone will know your name until the end of days."

"Deal." Adam breathed out, grabbing the sword eagerly. His stance was untrained, but strong. Proof he was a strong fighter.

But, Lucifer had been underestimated his entire life.

And he'd killed many men much larger.

He'd enjoy keeping Adam around.

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS VS SAXTON HALE

cw: gore and violence

we’re going to begin this with a general statement that really, it didn’t matter how the mercs felt about saxton before he forced this idea on them. after its implementation, every single one of them hate him. with a burn in their souls so bright that when hale gets the itch, the base is silent. everyone is preparing.

scout: initially— and frankly this goes for the whole team— he was incredibly excited for the idea of getting to beat the shit out of saxton. but that was not at all what happened. scout was incredibly easy pickings. overconfident. treating it like any other fight. he really didn’t even feel it happen. he just blinked and he was in the respawn room. and as he turned to look at everyone else, they had to come to the conclusion, as a team, that they lost. but as scout learned hale, he got very good at learning exactly what his role is to take the australian down. and it’s hard, but scout can outmaneuver him, if only for a moment. the first time scout cinched a win was when he chickened out and capped the point while his team got obliterated. by the time he capped it everyone was dead. it was a long walk back to base. it hurt to tell them they actually won. as it’s gone on, he’s gotten better. faster. more flexible. but there gets to a point where it’s still not enough. the first time he got the killing blow he stood there in shock. everyone did. but the uproarious cheers from the few survivors filled him with something unspeakable. he’s gotten hale once. he can get hale again. has a playlist for fighting hale.

soldier: soldier still looks forward to fighting hale. if only for those times when he gets the final blow and gets to watch his rocket blow that man to pieces. those moments are euphoric. he laughs and kicks the body parts around, feeling the squish of a monster under his boots as he steps in the viscera. but he can’t hold his own against him. he becomes even more team oriented, he calls everyone in for a strategy session, and everyone is there. the meetings are hushed, and serious. they are never laughing matters. he spends the night before cleaning and polishing his weapons. inspecting his helmet. and rises first in the morning. he can only stomach a couple of hits. and they hurt. if he wasn’t grateful for medic on the normal battlefield, he definitely is in that arena. kisses the doctor’s boots if he survives to the end. there have been many times they have rushed hale together and barely escaped to live for the next few minutes. they have trauma bonded over this now regular event.

pyro: pyro is never ready for what’s to come in the arena. and frankly, and has only ever made it to the end once. and the one time they made it to the end, out of the sheer shock that they were there to kill him, they unloaded the clip on the corpse. torched it. left for more ammo. came back. unloaded again. left again. came back. did it a third time. and a fourth. and a fifth. the team stepped in after the tenth time. they prayed he would not get up. they don’t get why he keeps coming back. they wish he would stop. tried to boycott the fight, and was physically dragged to the arena by hale. that was the day pyro absolutely torched his remains past the point of ash. they can’t outrun him, and they have to get too close to do damage. they just don’t make the cut. so it’s always a guaranteed death and the most stressful ninety seconds of their life. always tries to push medic to heal the others because they can actually do damage, and let pyro crawl somewhere and hide, or die.

demo: get his fuckin sword right now. immediately. it is increasingly less rare that he gets to get a good hit in on the australian, and every hit fuels him to kill that son of a bitch. regardless of whether they win or lose, he’s drinking himself into a stupor. it’s not even fun to win. he gets no joy from his final blows. he gets no joy from the news when he shows back up in the respawn room. he can’t wait for the day that man dies a bloody, painful death. or loses the company. both work for him, frankly. whatever stops these godforsaken fights. he’s well aware he can’t hold his own against hale in standard conditions. he certainly doesn’t try if he doesn’t think he’s up for it. and those blows… he’s grateful when he can’t feel them. it’s the only time he’s sober on the battlefield. he needs every wit about him to be of any use to his team.

heavy: you know, the first few times he won against hale… no. he got no joy from it. he just ached, profoundly. his body, his heart, his mind. most of the wins happened with three quarters of the team dead, and those who survived mainly wished they didn’t. as he’s faced off more against the australian, he has grown to hate that man so much every hit he lands is a blessing. every bullet is a prayer answered. always aims for his nose as they fistfight. he wants to absolutely wreck that man’s face. permanently scar it. hale’s punches hurt still, but now he just doesn’t even feel it. the burn of a broken rib, teeth knocked loose, his arm snapping, all of that is nothing to the utter burn of hatred in his soul for hale. he doesn’t even consider saxton a person anymore. that is a goliath he regularly has to fight and regularly loses against. but he’s getting better. and if hale doesn’t regain some sense and end this madness heavy is going to wipe him off the face of the earth, permanently. when hale tells them to get ready, his face is stone. in the arena, his face is steel. there is no more reaction to the pain. there is no more ache. only the resolve to hit back harder.

engineer: he wants to quit. genuinely a mental breaking point for him. he knows he’s got no chance. he can’t do much without his buildings, and taking a hit is a death sentence. he’s learned that aggression is his best bet, and careful consideration of where his machines go. he never lasts very long, unless hale is having a bad day. luckily, he doesn’t piss hale off as much as sniper does. but hale makes sure to keep engie humbled. there’s been a few times he’s been able to hold his own against hale, if only for a moment, but never long. sometimes he wonders if they killed him away from the arena whether he would come back. he’s very tempted to try every time hale tells them to get ready. a firm believer in capping the point and ending the carnage as fast as possible. he’s never lived to see the man die. hale hates when he tries to cap the point and call it a day. that’s not the point of him bringing them there. engineer does not give a single good god damn. but it does get him killed more often than not. when scout capped the point the first time he thought it was the smartest thing the kid had thought to do. they’ve ended a few battles that way.

medic: fighting hale is the only time medic genuinely considers if he’s cut out for this line of work. he never wanted to learn that he could survive more than one hit. the first time he experienced that, it sent him flying. he genuinely thought he died but it still hurt so much. he hit the ground limp, and frankly everyone thought he was dead. he laid there for a while, it took demo backpedaling and tripping over his body that he even registered he was alive. as he staggered to his feet, he immediately doubled over and vomited. and he throws up every time he gets hit. he’s had to learn to swallow it back down. the only time he is genuinely terrified is going against hale. hale makes him feel like prey. as he’s fought against hale, he’s found he is not powerless against him, quite the opposite, even. it has taken many, many deaths to gain the reflexes and the nerve to survive going toe to toe. his medigun has never been more viable, and never made such a stark difference. he’s killed him a few times. it never feels good. there is no urge to inspect the carcass when it’s done. the first time he got the killing blow, he just kept stabbing. the team had to drag him off, and he kicked and screamed. something in him is permanently altered every time they are face to face. something about the fact that he doesn’t even seem to care. it doesn’t frighten him on its own; but it stuns him.

sniper: snipes gets a good feeling he knows why he pisses hale off so much. frankly he’s glad for it. he relishes every successful shot he makes. fuck that guy, really. of course, the second hale gets a whiff of him there’s not many opportunities for escape, but also: sniper doesn’t care. because it’s worth every connected bullet. relishes in using jarate on him. he hopes he hits him with it enough times he can’t get the smell of piss out of his skin. more than prepared to die as the man barrels toward him. and he shoots the entire time. sometimes, rarely, snipes can see him coming and move just fast enough to get out of the way, but hale won’t leave him alone, and he simply can’t outmaneuver the man. the first, and only time he got the killing blow he almost blew a load. he achieved enlightenment with that final shot. he saw god, and god looked down upon sniper, and gave him the biggest thumbs up, and his ego imploded in on itself, causing a big bang that created a whole new realm of reality that sniper entered, fundamentally changing the way in which he saw himself. hale has never let him have that again. he is one of the first people picked off every time unless the team is giving him a hard enough time. having to track hale has made him vicious on the battlefield. he’s not missing shots unless he’s not paying attention.

spy: spy does not let it show that he a: hates that man, and b: can not outmaneuver hale on his best day and hale’s absolute worst. when they fight hale, spy takes every page he can out of sniper’s book with his own little twists here and there. he stays as far out of the fight as he can. his aim has only gotten better as he snipes hale from a distance. he knows sniper pisses hale off, and he can tell he does too, especially once he cloaks and hides. he’s actually pretty sure that pisses him off more. the dead ringer is his best friend. hale falls for it every time, but the second hale realizes spy is not dead it’s like a target on his back, and he can’t run long. it’s the only time he gets ubered consistently, and he’s getting addicted to tanking punches from hale as he fervently stabs into him. even though it hurts, he just doesn’t care. nothing beats stabbing hale over, and over, and over. when he fights hale, he almost gets why medic acts the way he does on the battlefield. there is something exhilarating taking on an opponent you know can kill you and having the wits to at least go down fighting.

[cosmic-evening]

ᯓ★ it's been ages, different stages

kaminari x gn!reader

based on habit by louis tomlinson

read pt.1 here

fuck you, denki.

we're done.

denki knows he's really fucked up when even bakugo tells him off about it.

he knows he's been an idiot. who just leaves their date at the restaurant without telling them he wasn't coming?

it had slipped his mind. it really did, but when he went to text you about it, he found his messages turning green. there's a heavy feeling in his heart when he realises that you've blocked him.

he tries to play it off in front of his friends. he always said he'd mess up eventually, so what did you expect? he wasn't known around the school as boyfriend material, so this really shouldn't have come as a surprise.

none of his friends buy it. denki keeps up the pretence anyway.

until he sees you coming back to the dorms with todoroki. it's just to two of you, laughing and chatting as you bid each other goodnight and disappear into your dorms.

he could feel the exact moment, after the door to your dorm shut, that his friends' heads turn to look at him.

it's hard to pretend he doesn't care.

a week goes by of you hanging out with todoroki.

denki can't stand it.

he can't stand knowing it was his fault. that he wants you to hang out with him, but it's his fault you're not talking to him. you haven't talked to him in a week.

he can't help but see the way you laugh at todoroki's jokes instead of his.

the way his stomach drops when he sees that restaurant down the street.

the way he sees something you would find hilarious on the internet, but he can't send it to you.

it kills him.

his final bit of resolve snaps as he makes his way to your dorm room.

he knows he shouldn't, but his heart betrays his brain as he knocks, three times, on the door he knows you're behind.

"who is it?" your voice makes the knot in his stomach tighten. god, he's missed you.

"it's me."

denki can't being himself to say more.

there's a pause. all movement from inside your dorm ceases. denki holds his breath.

"...kaminari?" your voice is quiet. like you're unsure, and a little scared.

denki's heart clenches at the sound of his last name. suddenly, all bravado he had mustered up vanishes.

"yeah. can i come in?"

you open the door slightly.

denki's shoulders sag in relief, but he doesn't miss the way your eyes are guarded, wary of his presence in your dorm.

the inside of your dorm is exactly the same as he remembers, except the framed photo of the two of you was gone.

denki tries his best to ignore it.

"um, so... i wanted to say i'm sorry."

you scoff. "a bit too late for that, huh?"

denki mentally kicks himself.

"please," he tries again. "hear me out. i'm not above begging."

you cross your arms, but your lack of protest is enough for denki to keep going.

"i'm so, so sorry. i didn't mean to leave you at the restaurant, i swear. i just got caught up at training and i completely forgot to tell you. i even got flowers for you." he holds them out, and you can see that they're slightly wilted. "i know they look pretty shit right now, but that's because i picked them up last week."

one look at your face tells him you're not convinced.

"this week... it's been hell. i got the time and space i thought i wanted, but it's not what i needed. there's nothing i regret more than not spending more time with you. i was out of control, and i'm sorry i let you down."

you've never seen denki so mature before.

it's almost impressive.

"i guess i learned- but i already knew this- that i'm better with you. and i miss you so much. i'm so sorry, y/n. i'll never stop trying to find ways to make it up to you, if you'll let me."

there are tears pricking in your eyes. "denki..."

denki's eyes light up. he hates the spark of hope growing in him.

"i tried so hard to forget you. to move on. but... you're like a habit i can't break." you confess.

denki smiles, for the first time in a week. "then i never want to break this habit."

for @juni0njup1terr

[419jhat]

Back before Steve met Dustin the way he does in Steve and Eddie's Tryst Through Time, this was the original scene. I cut it up and added bits and pieces elsewhere. I thought it would be fun to share the original idea, even if it's incomplete because I scrapped it.

***

Steve woke up to the sound of the door being kicked in. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Eddie groaned and flipped onto his stomach. Steve stared at him for a moment, taking in the first time he’d seen Eddie in a sleeping position other than “Dead in a Coffin.” (Except for the time they got high, and Eddie fell asleep hanging half off the bed. But Eddie’s drug-induced state didn’t really count.) The banging continued, so it was up to Steve to handle it. He slipped out of bed and opened the front door, only to look down. There was a child in front of him.

“Who the fuck are you?” the child asked.

Steve rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Uh, hello? Dude, are you listening to me? Who are you?”

Jesus, the kid had an attitude. Steve examined him closer. He had a mop of curly hair shoved under a baseball cap and a Hellfire club t-shirt. This was one of Eddie’s kids.

“Are you looking for Eddie?” he asked.

“Why are you in pajamas?” the kid asked back.

What had he done to deserve this? Steve looked down at himself and then shrugged. “Probably because I was sleeping before I opened the door to the world’s bitchiest Oompa Looma?”

“If you're making fun of my height, I'll have you know that I grew two inches over summer and my family doctor says I'm going to keep growing. Why are you sleeping at Eddie’s place? Are you his brother? He never mentioned having a brother. You don’t even look like him. Are you adopted?”

“Ok,” Steve muttered. He swung the door shut right in the kid's face.

“Hey!” the kid yelled, and then the banging continued. Steve walked into the bedroom and picked up a pillow. He fluffed it for a second and then swung it as hard as he could at the back of Eddie’s knees.

“AAHH!” Eddie shrieked, leaping into the air and landing on his back. He scrambled out of the bed, arms out, ready to catch any more swings of the pillow.

“Why would you do that?” he whined.

“Go handle your kid,” Steve said.

“What?”

The banging continued.

“Oh my god what is happening,” Eddie whispered.

Steve followed Eddie to the door, which Eddie ripped open, looking more than upset he’d been woken up for this.

“Eddie! I figured it out! Your problem was that guy, wasn’t it? Is he a criminal or something? Are you hiding him from the police?”

“Your problem?” Steve repeated.

“How did you find out where I live?” Eddie asked the child.

“Chris told me,” he said.

“Fucking Chris,” Eddie sighed. “Dustin, it’s too early for this. What do you want?”

So, this was Dustin. Suddenly, Steve understood Eddie’s fear of children, if this was what he had to deal with. Steve wandered into the kitchen, where he could watch the drama unfold and make coffee at the same time. He never drank coffee to wake up, but Eddie did, and for once, he felt like he could use it too.

“You said we could come to your place to watch a movie.”

“At five in the morning!?”

“No, I’m just here to ask if you got the movie,” Dustin said.

“At five in the morning!?” Eddie repeated.

Dustin at least had the self-awareness to look embarrassed. “I thought it would take longer for me to bike here. I wanted to get here at six.”

“Hey little man, I respect the effort,” Steve said.

Dustin looked disgusted.

“Who is this again?” he asked, waving in Steve’s general direction.

“What are you, my mom? Why are you so up my ass about this, Henderson?”

“My name is Steve,” Steve said, as he poured boiling water into a cup with instant coffee mix.

“Steve!” Eddie barked.

“What? Is he not allowed to know that or something?”

“He’s never going to leave us alone,” Eddie whined. Steve handed him the coffee and Eddie took a careful sip. He made a face and leaned over the counter to grab the sugar.

“Why are you talking about me like I’m not even here?” Dustin pouted.

“Because I’m pretending you aren’t,” Eddie said.

“Can I have some coffee, Steve?” Dustin asked sweetly.

Steve shrugged and handed the kid his cup, which Eddie intercepted.

“I’m sorry, no. He’s already lost his fucking mind; he doesn’t need to add a stimulant to his current state.”

“You’re rude when you’re sleepy,” Dustin said.

“And you’re rude, like, all the time, you little stalker.”

Steve opened the fridge and grabbed some orange juice for him instead.

"I'm not a stalker!" Dustin protested.

Eddie looked like he was about to kick him out of the trailer. "Uh you found me when I was dealing at the quarry, and now you've managed to find my address. What, do you want my phone number too?"

"The quarry was different...we didn't mean to find you there," Dustin said with a degree of hesitation that Steve found to be odd.

"That's not what you said when you found me! You need to learn some boundaries, dude!"

Steve didn't know a lot about children, but the way Dustin looked down at his own hands and began fiddling with them made Steve think Dustin was hiding something. Then, Dustin looked right up at Steve like he was the real intruder that morning.

“So, was I right? Is Steve why you canceled D&D?” Dustin asked as he downed the orange juice in one gulp.

Eddie sighed and slowly collapsed onto the counter.

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell us. Unless he is a criminal or something. And if that’s the case, we may still be able to help you out depending on what he did. We know people.”

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but Eddie looked beyond irritated, so he figured it was his turn to jump in.

“I’m not a criminal, Dustin. Eddie’s an old friend and I’m staying with him for a bit. I had an emergency and he helped me out.”

“What kind of emergency?”

Who did this kid think he was, the FBI? He was nosier than his mom. Good thing Steve knew how to handle nosey people. He slammed his coffee cup on the counter and went with the closest thing to the truth he could think of.

“My parents died,” he said.

The blood drained out of Dustin’s face so fast Steve almost thought he’d fall over. Eddie turned around and gave Steve a look. Steve reached over and nudged his shoulder.

“Oh my God dude, that’s awful,” Dustin breathed.

“Yeah, so stop asking questions, you little shit,” Eddie said.

“Sorry,” Dustin said. He looked down at his shoes with guilt swimming in his eyes, like a puppy. Steve decided to take pity on him.

“Did you eat breakfast yet?” he asked.

“Yeah, I had some toast.”

“That’s not a real breakfast,” Steve said.

“That’s what we usually eat for breakfast,” Eddie muttered.

"I'll make you some eggs, and you can tell me about your D&D plan to turn on everyone."

"YOU TOLD HIM!?" Dustin yelled with all of the power of an energetic child. Eddie looked like he was going to cry into his mug.

"He's not in the campaign dude, it's ok."

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET!"

Eddie dropped his face onto the counter and Steve decided to intervene again.

"I don't really understand D&D, but it sounds like your character is secretly a bad guy? I thought it was super cool."

Steve cracked some eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. When Dustin didn't answer, he looked over his shoulder. The kid was just staring at him.

"You thought it was cool?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, little dude. It's super creative. And to have kept it a secret this whole time? Genius."

He was laying it on a little thick, but it worked. Dustin's face lit up with the compliment and Steve realized he must have awakened something because then Dustin began to ramble about his character's story. The kid was talking so fast, all Steve could do was nod and hum in agreement as he fished around the fridge for cheese and any vegetables he could add to the omelets. Onions were his best bet. Eddie looked like he'd passed out right there standing up. When the eggs were done, Steve placed a plate in front of each of them.

"Wow, these are soooo good!" Dustin exclaimed. Then he turned to Eddie and smacked him on the back. Eddie shot up, nearly knocking his coffee over. "Dude, try this! Steve made it! He can cook better than my mom!"

"That's probably not true," Steve said.

Eddie didn't even wait for Steve to grab him a fork. He grabbed it with his bare hands and shoveled the omelet into his mouth like it was a hot dog.

"What are you-"

Eddie cut Steve off with an overdramatic moan of appreciation. Steve had to bite his lip to hide his smile.

"Oh. My. God. This is so good, I don't even want to add ketchup!"

"Alright dude, calm down they're not that good," Steve said.

"Steve. They're that good. They're so good I'm wondering why the fuck I've been making toast and peanut butter sandwiches every morning when we could have been eating like kings."

It wasn't polite to fish for compliments, but Steve was enjoying the praise.

"You want me to cook for you more often, Eds?" he asked, unable to hide his smile.

"If it's like this? Every fuckin' day, Stevie," Eddie replied. His fingers were greasy from eating with his bare hands like a weirdo and he'd dripped coffee on the front of his white T-shirt. He was a total mess but Steve couldn't stop smiling back at him.

"Will you cook for me too?" Dustin asked.

"No," Steve and Eddie said at the same time.

[citrusbarking]

just the smut part- for the freaks :3

“I’m gonna breed ya in the damned bed you were made in kiddo…if your so determined that you’d be a good lover cause your more like your ma” he pushed his head into the pillows, a panicked little noise coming from the younger boy “then maybe I should fuck you the same way I did the night I knocked her up yea? on the same damned mattress. In the same position… breed you with the same seed your made out of…” his voice reverberated in the boys ear, his final statement punctuated with the sound of his belt unbuckling…

In one swift movement he yanked the boy to the edge of the bed, a deep fearful whirlwind starting in boys gut made him second guess himself about this, he just wanted to alll his dads love and attention like he always had but..this..this felt to far…His heart was racing, knowing that this was crossing a line he should never have approached but before he could calmly tap out he felt his pants and briefs hit the floor.

“wait-wait dad-I’m sorry- never mind I’m sorry!-“ he began to beg and kick a little only to be cut off by his face being pushed into the pillows from behind. The soild feeling of the front of his fathers thighs pressed against the back of his was gut churning, he hit the mattress and tried to get free but he was completely trapped as his father thick arm wrapped around his torso and raised his legs as his back was in a perfect little arch. The father whistled “jeez boy….maybe I should be thanken ya kiddo…been a long time since iv seen a sight like this…lets see just how much you’ve taken after your ma.” He muttered, freeing his arm to thumb open the shamefully wet slit between his sons shaking thighs, his kids muffled protests and panicked tap outs got more frantic..with a harsh open palmed slap to the boys soft butt he reminded him “oi. Remember….you asked for this.” He gruffed in his fatherly tone, sliding two thick fingers inside his little boy.

He slowly started pumping them, the plush gummy walls of his own kid clenching and begging for more as the boy cried for less…. “Atta boy! See? Look at ya….fuck…breakin in just as easy as your ma did…” he praised and let go of the boys hair..

Pleasure started to slowly build in his stomach. It felt so good, but the knowledge of what he was doing to his own father was making him feel guilty, which only made the pleasure burn even more.

“Is this..is this how you acted with m-mama?” The boy whimpered through blubbering lips…his tummy twisting the fingers where suddenly removed, a void he wanted stuffed. “D-dad?” He whimpered before, in one sudden harsh stroke his dad buried himself balls deep into his little boy, the stretch made him cry out in pained surprise.

his pace was harsh and rymathic “I don’t want you whining about me loving on the farm boy again after this or next time you’re on your knees in front HIM. Got it?” he growled through moan strained pants, sliding nearly the full way out then plunging all the way back, his head kiss his own sons cervix at a unforgiving pace. Hitting all the right spots in the slick tight walls. Soon he became undone was deep moans and gunts.

all the ruined kid could manage was a string of “ah-ah-ah” and singing the word dad over and over between sobs, his thighs shaking and clenching, he could feel where his dads cock hit every time. The boys noises started to run together as the pleasure started to burn hotter and hotter in his stomach. He gripped onto the sheets and anything else he could grab tighter, his breathing getting quicker and louder as suddenly he spasmed around his dads thick cock. Screaming his dad’s name through it, sobbing. The sudden tightness and sight of his own boys cummies just….completely blanked his mind as he made a final swift plunge into the boys cervix, his seed filling him…it had been years since he came…it over flowed the boys beaten womb…..

after a couple seconds of hazy glory the older man sighed slowly pulled out of his shaken and broken in boy “shh..shhh easy now..atta boy…” he whispered gently turning him onto his back “deep breaths….g-god dammit..” he groaned seeing the pleasure drunk look on his boys face “Your not..meant to want this..this was meant to be a reality check bud…not..feed into your perversion” he whispered almost shamefully, it was no use though…his dad came inside……now he wound have his dad all to himself..forever <3

[rhyrhy]

hiii i was wondering if u could do headcanons/anything of abby being your bestfriends older sister or ur brothers bestfriend???

I couldn’t pick so I mixed them! Mwah, TY for the request 💐

Brother’s older bestfriend - headcannons, Abby!

Older Abby! Who religiously spent the weekend hanging out with your brother, for as long as you could remember. Giving you her usual “heya” greeting before disappearing upstairs.

Older Abby! Who on the days when your brother forgets about you for whatever girl he’s seeing at the time, always offers you a ride. “I’m going to your house anyway” she always said with a shrug.

Older Abby! who can’t resist chiming in when you’re talking to your brother about your own girl drama. “If she sucks, dump her. Easy.” Like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And every time you show a picture of a girl you’re talking to, she twists her face in disapproval and adds “ugh, You can do better.”

Older Abby! who always makes your brother apologize when he’s upset you, even over the smallest things. “Don’t be an ass. Go say sorry,” she’d say with her arms crossed. When he came back with an eye roll, she’d chuckle, “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Older Abby! who gets a kick out of ruffling your hair after you’ve spent an hour perfecting it. Your pout or exasperated “Knock it off!” only makes her laugh. “Relax, it looks fine,” she’d say, smoothing it down after she’s had her fun.

Older Abby! who notices your glances at her arms and subtly flexes just to see your reaction. Every time, she bites back a grin, watching your reaction. She’d figured out your little crush a while ago, but she thought it was harmless.

Older Abby! who’s always had a good relationship with your parents. She even helps clean up whenever she stays for dinner. Once, she cleaned up after you when you got distracted with something else, and when you patted her arm to thank her, she realized how much she secretly enjoyed your praise. “Mhm, No problem,” she’d reply casually, though her cheeks would flush the second you turned away.

Older Abby! Who found herself asking your brother about you when you weren’t home. “So, how’s sis?” She’d ask casually, to ease any wondering thoughts she had. “Just askin” she’d add quickly, knowing he’d tease her to hell or worse rung her neck if he caught on.

Older Abby! who starts complimenting you more often as time goes on. “Cool shirt,” or “That looks good,” she’d say in passing, trying to keep her cool while avoiding staring too long.

Older Abby! who begins gravitating toward you without realizing it. Whether it’s leaning against the counter while you’re in the kitchen or hanging over the couch you’re sitting on, she starts subconsciously seeking out your presence and aren’t complaining.

Older Abby! who starts including you in more of her plans with your brother. “Wanna join?” or “That’s boring, come hang out instead,” she’d say, already pulling you out of your room by the wrist.

Older Abby! who gets flustered when your brother catches her staring as you walk past his room. “Abby Anderson, tell me you did not just check out my younger sister,” he’d say, jaw dropped. “What? No! Pfft Absolutely not,” she’d wave off, feeling her stomach twist in knots.

Older Abby! who shows up one day only to find your brother forgot to tell her he needed to cancel. Instead of leaving, she decides to stick around with you. “You busy?” she’d ask casually, already making herself at home on your bed. By the time your brother came back, she’d spent hours with you and had no intention of leaving.

Older Abby! who one day, overhears you squealing about something you got in the mail and can’t resist sneaking down the hall to see what it is. “Hey, what’s got you so excited?” she’d ask, leaning against your doorframe with a grin.

Older Abby! whose eyes widen when you pull her into an excited hug and blurt out the news. She doesn’t pull away, smiling as she wraps her arms around you.

Older Abby! who finds herself caught in the moment when a sudden kiss happens. She knows she should stop, but instead, she pulls you closer, letting it continue.

Older Abby! who, when the kiss breaks, can’t tear her gaze from your lips. “Jesus… Your brother’s gonna kill me,” she mutters, her voice lowered. “But I’m not stopping.”

Older Abby! who realizes she’s returning your feelings and decides she’ll face the consequences later

because right now, she doesn’t care.

[wilfordgaywarfstache]

I bring the ✨️spice✨️ to this story! This is a satoru x sugur story so like......enjoy!

Satoru had been gone for a month due to fighting cursed spirits and whatnot, and he was finally heading home. He had missed his husband, suguru, more than anything. They rarely ever parted these days, but unfortunately this was something he had to do this time. He knew suguru missed him aswell, based on all the things he'd been texting him over the month, and especially over the past few days, without any filter. He would text him, telling him what he wanted to do to satoru once he got home, and satoru knew he had to brace himself as he walked up to the house. Did he want to be fucked senselessly and be reduced to a begging, whiney mess? Absolutely. But he could already feel how sore he'd be the next day. He knew that for today, suguru wouldn't know what mercy was.

He was interrupted from his thoughts as suguru yanked the door open, and pulled satoru inside. "Woah! S-suguru I missed y-mmph!" Suguru had already pinned satoru to the door with his own body, and kissed him. Satoru blushed and melted against him, their lips fitting perfectly as both of them started getting hands right away. Suguru picked satoru up, making him wrap his legs around his waist, and carried him to their bedroom. Satoru peppered kisses along sugurus jaw and neck. "I missed you..I missed you so much.." suguru bit his lip "I missed you too toru...gods so much..I love you" "I love you too"

Suguru kicked the door closed behind them and lowered satoru onto the bed, leaving no time to undress himself. "On your hands and knees for me" satoru blushed and looked at him "wh-what? But I haven't even undressed yet.." suguru just smirked, and satoru knew he shouldn't argue against him, so he did as he was told. Suguru settled behind him and, with his bare hands, tore open his pants and boxers. To satoru, that was the hottest thing he'd experienced in a while, I mean that alone made his cock jump. He felt suguru line up with him "w-wait suguru you're not using lube?.." suguru paused and looked down at him "do you need it?" Satoru nodded slightly. "Please..then you can go to town on me i-i don't care"

Suguru growled a little in delight at his words, and grabbed the lube. He poured a generous amount onto his hand and stroked himself a few times. He dried his hands and re-aligned himself. Without any warning he plunged himself into satoru, making his back arch and a sluttish moan fall from his lips. Suguru smirked and slide his hands around to his front, and snaked his hands up under satorus shirt, letting his hands roam over his torso as he pulled him back against him. He began to thrust, and not so gently, but that's the way satoru liked it. That's the way he *needed* it. His stomach bulged from the sheer length of suguru, and the feeling of him deep inside his stomach was absolutely divine. "Fuck- gods satoru you're a bit tight...i-its been too long" satoru nodded as he moaned "f-fuck- y-yes far too l-long~" he tilted his head back, pushing himself back to meet sugurus thrusts "o-oh fuck- fuck me-ah!~" suguru leant down, and growled by satorus ear. That alone had potential to make his eyes roll back. There was something about hearing that man growl that really did it for him.

Suguru pressed his chest against satorus back and bit down on his shoulder as he pushed himself as deep as he could go, making satoru cry out softly. "S-suguru! A-ah~..yes m-mark me..m-mark me so good i-im yours i-..i-i belong to you o-only you suguru" that was enough to make suguru go absolutely feral. His thrusts became deep, powerful. They really showed just how much he needed this, how much he missed satoru and how he feels around him. He growled and panted with every thrust, and with each deep stroke, satoru let out a high-pitched whiney moan. It was music to sugurus ears. "Good boy...f-fuck you're such a good boy toru...y-you feel amazing around m-me..I love you s-so much...so much...don't leave me..n-never..please?" He was desperate, pleading with his lover not to leave again. Satoru panted heavily, sweat beading on his body. "Y-yes I pr-ah!~ p-promise! I-i promise I'm not going a-anywhere!" He felt himself getting close, his legs trembling, leaking precum. Suguru reached down with one hand and began to stroke satorus cock, making his eyes rolls back from all the pleasure. Satoru was finally reduced to a whiney, moaning mess. Spurting out incoherent sentences and curses as he edged closer and closer. He didn't have time to tell suguru he was about to cum as he tightened around him, and strings of cum oozed onto the sheets below him and onto sugurus hand. Suguru followed soon after, and they both collapsed onto the sheets together once suguru pulled out. "I-im so glad i married you." satoru blushed and laughed "i-im glad i said yes..." they settled in for the rest of the day, with soft aftercare and takeout later that night.

~the end~

[sluttyhenley]

I left before he could wake up. I don't know why.

ANYONE BUT YOU (2023) dir. Will Gluck

[blusandbirds]

eli moskowitz - "am i making you feel sick?"

[neobisexual]

had a very intense semi lucid dream last night where i was the daughter/acolyte of an insane cult leader/my dad who performed non consenual surgery on me and molested and raped me. it inspired me to start writing a lil sci fi novella but also to clean out my closet and find my vibrator cuz i was desperate for it after waking up lmfao

[lunarflare64]

Dad has said talking to us is like walking on eggshells, but honestly the reverse is true too, when he steps on our toes we have to find a balance between not flying off the handle and actually making our anger clear, because anything less is basically no reaction in his mind so he doesn't even realise that something went wrong. We also have to make our point clear and stand our ground, something we're not good at when it comes to him. Fights between undiagnosed autistic parents and their early diagnosed more socially developed autistic adult kids are fucking rough.

[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.