#triple dresser

[delicatetaysversion]

just found out that instead of my mom my fucking shitass dad is coming home FOR A WEEK

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

[pearlessance]

Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions. 

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs. 

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words. 

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it. 

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed. 

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless. 

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now. 

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?” 

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples. 

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures. 

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?” 

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.” 

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you. 

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even. 

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment? 

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head. 

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men. 

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.” 

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound. 

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself. 

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio. 

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs. 

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands. 

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case. 

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine. 

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. 

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.” 

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.” 

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan. 

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor. 

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long. 

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe. 

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you. 

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes. 

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years. 

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?” 

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes,  Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do. 

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out. 

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly. 

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him. 

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time. 

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin. 

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you. 

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything. 

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.” 

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all. 

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet. 

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks. 

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.” 

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.” 

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

A hand dynamometer. A device to measure a person's grip strength. Your friend bought it off from somewhere during one of her impulsive shopping sprees. She lent it to you for the day.

You tried it out yourself, squeezing the handle as hard as you could and having your whole arm contracting. You were lukewarm with your results, your strength fell into the average category. Nothing more, nothing less.

You kept it away, forgetting about it for a while and your friend did so too. It's almost like she gifted it to you.

Until one day, you were searching for something from your drawers. You stumbled upon the dynamometer again.

You were curious about Yves's grip strength, he's quite lean and built. His readings must be high, but you wouldn't know until you've tested it on him.

So you went back out to your living room. Yves was folding your laundry neatly, it was warm and fragrant as he did it for you earlier. His fingers smoothened the wrinkles delicately, caring for everything you own.

Yves didn't have to do your chores, but he insisted because he said he loves doing it. Especially when it's in service to someone he loves to death; you.

He did offer to let you move in with him. Although it was tempting, you didn't want to feel like you're taking advantage of his willingness to take care of you. It would be even worse if you lived with him, Yves would become your full time maid! It feels unsettling despite Yves's reassurances that he's enjoying doing such tedious tasks.

"Yes, my love?" He asked while picking up a stack of shirts to be returned to your dresser; It's arranged by colour and makes it aesthetically pleasing to look at. Yves reflexively used a hand to tidy the strands of hair away from your face.

You presented him the device.

"Ah..." Yves smiled charmingly as he picked it up from your hands. You knew he knew what it was, this is something you've appreciated about this relationship. It's as if he would read your mind and words aren't necessary to convey your wants at times. It saved you a lot of energy and you felt... Special. It's something no one has ever made you feel before except your new partner.

Yves barely gave it a squeeze before you heard a defeaning crack that made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. It also made Yves's green eyes widen in surprise too.

He slowly uncurled his slender, delicate fingers from the handle. "Oh?" Only for the gadget to fall apart, shard by shard, screw by screw and spring by spring. It crumbled like a scone to the floor, miscellaneous pieces bouncing off everywhere and landing on the tip of his high heels.

Your jaw was slack, just how strong is he? You remembered using all your might and maybe about to burst a vessel in your eye from the power, just so you could get an average score. Yet, Yves is leisurely holding your neatly folded clothes in one hand, while the other merely gives the dynamometer a light compression at best- and he obliterates it.

He sets your clothes back down into the clean laundry basket before kneeling on the floor to pick the debris up.

You asked him how he is so strong.

"I am terribly sorry for breaking your handheld dynamometer, dear." He spoke, picking the sharp pieces up first, so you wouldn't get cut. "But it was already faulty before I could even perform a fair test." Yves continued

That made a lot more sense. Because that device can handle up to 200 pounds, or 90 kilograms. To make it shatter like that, Yves would have to at least double, triple or even quadruple its maximum limit. And within a blink of an eye too? Without breaking a sweat or grimacing? It's impossible that Yves possessed superhuman strength to do that. Right?

"Where did this come from?" He asked, rising up to his full height as he carried the broken dynamometer in his deceptively dainty hands. "It isn't of good quality."

You told him it came from your friend, you have forgotten to return it to her and it seems like she has forgotten to ask for it back.

He cocked an eyebrow. "The one who regularly partakes in flagrant overconsumption?"

Your eyes darted around, trying to defend her. But ultimately, Yves is right. She buys more than she can afford. And she tends to visit sites that sell for cheap, but in horrible quality.

"That explains its... Intolerance." He brought the mangled dynamometer to your eye level. Yves sighed before chuckling, "I'll replace it as soon as I can."

Yves kissed you on the forehead before walking past you, so he could reach the trash can to dispose of the broken dynamometer.

You didn't catch the second, silent sigh of relief, though. He thinks he's getting sloppier, Yves was trying to impress you by achieving a grip strength comparable to those of elite athletes. But he was much stronger than that, Yves was supposed to control the contraction of his muscles to not scare you off. But he must have gotten distracted by your presence, all he could think of was how kissable your cheeks were and his cuteness aggression must have gotten the better of him. That damned device was actually functioning perfectly fine.

You seem to buy his coverup. But regardless, he must do something about his near uncontrollable urge to squeeze you out of sheer love and affection.

He dusted his hands off and turned around. Yves caught a glimpse of you carrying your folded stack of clothes back into your bedroom.

His eyes tracked your every movement, big or small. Cherishing and memorizing each sequence. Yves's face may be unreadable, but his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand and the momentarily dilation of his pupils could tell a story of a thousand words about his rawest feelings towards you.

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings Part Four

I smirked, "Toxic in a sexy way, huh?" I teased.

He bit his lip, "You don't think so, love?" He asked, trying to keep his face as serious as possible. 

I looked at him, in the bed beside me, only wearing his Calvin Klein boxer briefs, my hand still resting on his chest. "I happen to think you're sexy in other ways." 

He tilted his head at me, "Oh?" He asked curiously, raising his brow in my direction. 

I nodded enthusiastically, "I think you're really sexy when you make me food." I said sarcastically.

He giggled, "That's not where I thought this was going." 

I propped myself up on my elbows beside him, "Where exactly did you think this was going?" 

He chuckled, "You really want to play innocent, don't you?" He asking jokingly.

I smirked, "Would it really be that fun if I didn't?" I said while tapping my chin causing him to laugh. 

He glanced at my cleavage before glancing back up to face me, "You're going to act like you didn't purposely wear that top?" 

I shook my head, "This wasn't for you. I packed light." I said matter of factly causing him to snicker. 

He glanced over to the side of the dresser noticing that I did in fact not pack light, nor had I ever for literally anything and laughed, "You're something else." He said, bringing my hand up and kissing my knuckles lightly. 

His phone began buzzing again, he grabbed it, answering it on speaker phone. Ryan's voice immediately filled the room, "YOU DIRTY DOG!" He shouted trying to contain his laughter causing Hugh and I to look at each other and begin dying laughing. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, mate." Hugh said bluntly. 

"You don't know what I'm talking about mate, my fucking ass, Jackman!" Ryan yelled, in an awful attempt at an Australian accent. 

"Blake said she was busy." Hugh snickered back.

Ryan failed at containing his laughter, "I'm not mad at you. Get your dick sucked and call me later. Tell her I said g'day." 

"Bye, Ryan." I said giggling, cutting Hugh off as he went to speak before ending the call. 

I grabbed my own phone, noticing my followers tripling as I noticed he tagged me in his post on his Instagram. He pushed at my hand that was holding my phone, putting on his best pouty face, "Put your phone down and kiss me." 

I giggled, "Will you stop making that god awful face if I do?" I said while sitting my phone on the bedside table. 

He shrugged, "It depends on how good of a kisser you are." He joked, making the pouty face more dramatic. 

I playfully rolled my eyes, "I hate you. Come here." I said as I pulled him over towards me, locking my lips on his as I grabbed both sides of his face, holding it in place. 

His hands found their way to my hips as he pulled me on top of him, continuing to kiss me as I sat on his hips. He slowly removed his lips from mine, "You're an incredible kisser." He said before locking his lips back on mine as I deepened the kiss. I could feel his excitement beneath me growing, but everything suddenly came to an end as my phone began ringing. 

I moaned annoyingly, reaching over to grab it. My mouth dropped as I saw the name "Debbora-Lee" pop up on my phone. This was about to get interesting... "Who is it? What's wrong, love?" Hugh asked. 

I turned my phone around for him to see, "Oh, fuck. Just don't answer it." He said sternly.

Why should I not answer it? Is she mad about the Instagram post? Was she not just sitting with another man on her own Instagram? I decided to ignore Hugh's wishes and answer, bracing myself for impact. Deb never had an issue with me. She had her suspicions, but she could be a jealous person from time to time. For example - He was never allowed to make a movie with Angelina Jolie. 

"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound as nice and normal as possible. I knew she'd seen the picture. It was making waves online. 

She wasn't having it. "What do you think you're doing?" She asked with a hint of attitude in her voice.

I sighed, "What are you referring to, Debbora-Lee? I'm sitting in bed, at my hotel room." 

Hugh looked at me, clearly annoyed I didn't listen and answered the phone. She began raising her voice at me, "Yeah? In bed with my husband?!" 

I chuckled, "So we're just going to act like you're not also with someone?" I asked, amusement dripping from my voice. 

"That is my friend! Nothing more! You've been in love with my husband for years! Don't play stupid!" She yelled. 

I rolled my eyes, "First off, why in the fuck are you calling me? Maybe if you actually acted like you gave a shit about your husband, he wouldn't have confided in me so much. But where were you? You obviously were too busy when his dad died, which ended in me having to go to England to deal with shit you should've been dealing with! But where the fuck were you?!" 

She sat silenced.  "I mean fuck, you told Hugh it was the dogs. You told me it was the kids. Whose dick were you too busy riding? I mean seriously. Don't act so fucking innocent, Debbora. I should've ripped your ass in half in England, but your husband saved your ass." I spat back. 

She chuckled, "You don't know what you're talking about, you dumb bitch!"

Hugh finally spoke up, cutting us both off, "Okay, let's stop. Deb, she did nothing wrong. If you're out living your life, I'm going to live mine. What do you want from me? Do you expect me to sit and beg for you to come back home?" He asked, a bit annoyed and feeling somewhat defeated. 

She no longer wanted him, but she didn't want him to want others. She expected him to bend over backwards for her like he'd had for 27 years. 

Deb's voice softened, "No Hugh, I don't. I'm just pissed you're with her. She's spent years around our family and now she's your little girlfriend. Do you not realize she isn't but two years older than our son?"

"She's not my little girlfriend, Deb." He said nonchalantly. 

So all of the last 24 hours have been what exactly? A hot young rebound? His words shook me to my core. He noticed and told Deb they would speak later and to not call me anymore. As he hung up my phone, he looked over at me, "Listen-"

I cut him off, putting my hand over is mouth. "I'm good. We're friends, right? Friends don't sleep in other friend's beds, so feel free to find your way to the sofa or get your own room. Either way, I'm going to sleep." I said coldly. 

"Babe-" He tried to interject, grabbing my arm. 

I jerked it away, "I'm done talking about this. Look, I'm tired. I want to go to sleep. I don't want to hear anything else." I said, raising my voice. 

"Will you please just fucking listen to me?" He said, becoming annoyed. 

I shook my head, "There's nothing to listen to. Get the fuck out of my bed and let me go to sleep. I'm literally begging you at this point."  I got up, grabbing the blanket, "Fuck it. I'll go to sleep on the sofa." 

He grabbed my arm again, getting up from the bed, blocking me. "Why are you acting like this?" He asked. 

I shrugged, "I don't know, Hugh. But I'm getting really fucking tired of cleaning up your and her bullshit. I'm tired of always running to fucking fix you after she's hurt your feelings for the millionth fucking time all to watch you fall right back into her and her magical vagina or whatever the fuck she has that keeps you running back." 

He rolled his eyes, "I never said I was going back to her. I told her we'd talk later to end the conversation." 

I chuckled dryly, "Why? So you could spend more time with me? I'm not your girlfriend, remember? I'm just some sleazy ass rebound so you can get your dick wet for the first time in a year. Do not play me like I'm fucking stupid!" I screamed as I tried to get past him. 

He grabbed my hands tightly, "I'm not trying to play you like you're stupid, love. You're not a rebound. If you were a rebound, I would've had a go at you last night or I would've tried to make a move when we were alone in England in bed together." 

I stood, looking everywhere but him as he continued, "You are my best friend. I mean motherfucker, you've watched me cry like a bloody baby. I would never do anything to hurt you, love. This is why I told you to ignore her when she rang you. You get so in your head and you let others get into your head. Had she not rang, would you be acting like this?" 

I slowly shook my head, still refusing to look at him, "No, I'm just tired of this shit."

He sighed, "Can I hug you?" 

I nodded, "I told you, I'm yours. The only reason I didn't tell her that was because I was tired of hearing her bullshit. I wanted off the phone, I wanted you off the phone. You said we should lay low for a bit, so no, I was not going to tell her about this." 

I sighed, "You're not wrong. I mean, I understand why. I guess I'm just scared of getting hurt." I said, looking up to face him as he pulled me into a hug. 

He stroked my hair, "Love, I wouldn't ever hurt you. You know I wouldn't. Stop letting her get into your head. She's bitter and probably hurt. I don't think she ever truly thought I'd move on. And you know how she is, you know she's going to say whatever it takes to get under your skin." 

He wasn't wrong. I've known them for years. If she's mad, everyone knows it and she makes sure of it. Even if he has to completely pull something out of her ass just to upset someone, she doesn't hesitate. 

He looked at me as I looked up to him, "Please come back to bed with me." He asked, almost pleading with me. 

I gave him a half-smile, "Fine..." I walked back towards the bed, pulling his arm to come with me as we collapsed beside one another. I climbed back on top of him, "Now, where were we?" I asked, smirking. 

He giggled, "Were you not just accusing me of using you as a rebound and now you're on top of me?" 

I shrugged, "I don't know. Wasn't me. Must've been Patricia." I said channeling my inner Split. If you've never seen Split, it's the dude with multiple personalities. Patricia being one. 

He laughed, "Yeah? Let's bring the regular version out please. Patricia's depressing." He joked. 

"Really? Damn, I guess I know who to not call when I'm having a bad day." I said sarcastically. 

He smirked, "Oh, stop it." He said as he leaned upwards kissing me. "I thought you were going to bed." He said.

I leaned down to whisper in his ear, "I was, but I'm just going to be honest, I felt your boner earlier and I'm kinda curious." 

He erupted in laughter, blushing, "Really?" 

I nodded, "Hugh, Huge, whatever your name is. I can see why. 100%." I tried to keep my face straight but was failing. 

He chuckled, "You know, I started that rumor. So do with that information what you will." 

I snickered, "Can I at least see it?" 

He looked at me wide eyed, "Are you-are you seriously asking me this right now?" He tried to stop chuckling as he began turning red. 

I shrugged, "One little peak."

He laughed, "Can you go to bed?" 

I smirked, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." 

He playfully pushed me off of him, "What are you? 5?" 

I bit my bottom lip, "6 actually, now can I please see your penis?" 

He threw a pillow at me, "Not when you say it like that, you absolutely cannot." 

I fake pouted, "I offered to show you mine." 

He shook his head, "I don't think I want to see your penis." 

"Goodnight Hugh, I do not have a penis, thank you very much. Except the one in my suitcase. But I would've shown you something you would've really liked and now that's not happening." I said, while laughing, losing whatever composure I was holding onto. 

I rolled over with my back facing him. I felt him snake his arms around me, trailing light kisses down my exposed neck to my shoulder. 

"Are you sure you want to do this? Just 15 minutes ago you thought you were my rebound. I don't want you to get that idea." His voice now serious while stopping the kisses. 

I sighed, "I know I'm not a rebound for you. I was just hurt and she pissed me off."

 He softly kissed my shoulder, "Okay, but if at any point, you want to stop or if you start feeling that way, I want you to tell me..." He said reassuringly. 

I nodded, "I will. Promise." 

[mindofharry]

Anything

pyscho!harry is my absolute fav. obviously he comes with warnings so if this triggers you please do not read. kidnapping and m!rder mentioned. please send in your thoughts!

Harry liked to watch her. 

At first, it was for simple pleasure. He enjoyed going to see his favourite girl after a gruelling day of work. It did not consume him. Not until now. Not until he saw Y/N, his perfect, beautiful, Y/N with another man. Of course, Harry had to do something about this. 

And that is why a man is on his basement floor, choking on his own blood.  

“Do you get hard thinking about her?” Harry asked manically, kicking the man who lay on the floor. He didn’t wait for a response, moving towards a little desk in the corner of the room. Harry smiled wiggling his fingers at his toys. A gun would be too quick, too messy. A knife is exactly right. He picked up the butcher knife, humming to himself softly. The poor guy was still on the floor in a mixture of blood and vomit. This sight is the only thing that could get him hard, other than Y/N.  

“This is going to be incredibly fun. Not for you, but definitely for me,” 

Y/N had been stood up. For the fourth time. She wonders if there was something wrong with her. Four times cannot be a coincidence like her friends keep telling her. The men seemed desperate for even a second of her attention and then when given it – radio silence. She just didn't understand. She would get excited, finally having a guy to tell her mother about. And then after three days, that dream guy disappears.  

Lana, Y/N’s roommate, and best friend of three years sits in front of her, “You just haven’t found the one that's right for you. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said trying her best to comfort her best friend.  

Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“I’ve got work. I’ll see you later,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and walking away. Y/N had worked at the diner on main street since she was a teenager. Thats where she met most of her admirers. Mostly the elderly locals and the odd few college students cramming for their next exam. Y/N used to be like those students too. Until she dropped out and thought working full time at the diner was better than a law degree.  

Y/N quickly pulled her leggings down, along with her pink panties. She walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out her work uniform, which was a white dress, apron, and knee-high sock. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, not giving much thought to it or the make-up that adorned her dresser. Quickly, she put her comfortable sneakers on, grabbed her phone and jacket and made a beeline for the apartment door. 

“Working the night shift, so don’t wait up,” Y/N yelled, she heard a quick mumble from Lana and then grabbed the keys on the table beside the door. She always forgot them. The last time she did a night shift, she wobbled home and had to sleep in the hallway as Lana was fast asleep and couldn't hear the calls or bangs from her roommate. 

Harry’s day started like it usually did. 

He got up. Showered. Got changed and had food. Brushed his teeth and checked on his cats. 

And then he butchered someone. Cut them up piece by piece and then throw them in the river. It was a normal morning for him. 

He felt hard at the thought. 

His alarm on his watch beeped and he sighed happily, it was time to see his girl. Although Y/N didn’t know him and had never actually spoken to him, he knew she loved him the way he loved her. There was no other choice and Y/N is a good girl. She would grow to love him one way or another. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, straightening his tie. Today is the day he would introduce himself, claim her if you will. Every time he saw her, he wanted to ravish her and today would be that day.  

While Y/N was serving customers, harry was rechecking the rope in the car. When Y/N started to clean the counters, Harry tripled checked the security cameras. Finally, when Y/N was closing the diner, early in the morning, Harry was behind her.  

Instead of flowers behind his back, he held a cloth full of dangerous chemicals. 

Y/N spotted him, startled dropping the keys. 

“I am so sorry, we just closed,” she apologised bending down to pick up her keys at the same time as this mysterious man. She gazed up at him, being met with green eyes, pale skin, and hot breath. She thought he was beautiful. Tortured, but beautiful. 

“It’s ok,” Harry murmured, his ring covered fingers grazed her own sending a shock through her system. Y/N swallowed heavily, not sure if her stomach was producing anxiety or arousal.  

“I feel like I know you,” Y/N hummed, finally picking up the keys and straightening herself up, the man did the same. 

“Maybe we’ve met in another life,” He smiled, for some reason, Y/N blushed. That would have never worked with any other man. To be honest, she would have made a run for it the minute she saw him if he was not this man.  

She put it down to the little male validation she got. 

“Maybe,” Y/N replied after a few beats of tensioned silence.  

Harry’s heart was beating wildly, not because of the possibility of getting caught but because of this woman. She smiled at him. Blushed at his words. 

Oh, he was going to keep her, there was no doubt about it. 

“Anyways, I have to get going, I’ll see you around?” Y/N asked, hope invading her voice.  

“You’ll be seeing me,” Harry said, grabbing her arms, holding her tight as she squirmed. He placed the cloth to her lips and within seconds her body lay still. 

“Mine,” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 5

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

“One triple fudge with oreo,” Lloyd bursts into the room as you lay on your side, dazed and distraught. You blink as he walks sideways into your view. “Hey, baby batter, you asleep?” 

You sniff but don’t answer. You just rub your stomach. You’re starving. You sit up with a groan as you eye the covered tray in his hand. 

“Got a few other things,” he raises a bag in his other, “so, if you want your dessert, you’re gonna have to earn it.” 

“Huh? Earn—But you said--” 

“You give, I give, it evens out in the end,” he sets the tray and bag on the dresser. “So you can have that hunk of sugared cheese but only--” he pauses and reaches into the bag, rustling it, “if you’re wearing this!” 

He pulls out a lacy white teddy with a split front. The sort that when you put it on won’t hide much, especially not your stomach. Your eyes round and you sputter. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, babes, come on. I got you bottoms, don’t worry.” 

He turns back and fishes out a lacy thong. “See?” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Dead serious. Dead horny,” he smirks and tosses them on the bed. “Now you can put them on and I’ll serve you cake on the tip of my dick if that’s what you want. Or you can see if you get through me. Your choice. I don’t mind either.” 

You look at him. You haven’t forgotten how strong he is. Look what he did at the grocery store. How easily he took over. Now you’re all alone with no one to cry out to for help. You should have done that when you had the chance. 

You pout and reach for the teddy. You hook your finger in the string of the thong and stand. Your moping turns to a grimace. 

“You’re a pervert.”  

“Sure am, sugar tits,” he eyes your dress as he licks his lips. “Fuck, I can’t wait to get all up in the baby goo.” 

“Ew,” you turn and shudder. 

You go into the open bathroom and slam the door. At least there’s that sliver of privacy even if it’s redundant. This damn lingerie won’t hide anything. 

You take your time. You pee then wash your hands before you untangle the lingerie. You undress and mutter as you pull on the thin fabric. Your nipples are pert beneath the sheer cups and your stomach peeks out between the split tails. The thong rides up uncomfortably. 

You turn and give a start as you find yourself gaping back from the full-body mirror on the back of the door. You frown. You don’t look bad but you’re still adjusting to all the changes. Your hips, your tits, your tummy... 

You grab the hand and brace yourself. A knock comes from the other side, “you need help in there, shortcake?” Lloyd calls through. 

You answer him as you swing open the door. A swell of irritation creeps up your spine. You lift your chin and shove his stomach. He hums as he devours you in a glance.

“There. Now give me the cake.” 

“I don’t hear a please or thank you,” he scoffs. 

“I want the cake,” you growl. “Now.” 

You push past him and he lets you past. You go to the dress and uncurl the edges of the tin tray. You peel off the lid and the dusting of oreo crumbs makes your mouth water and your stomach roar. You lick your lips. 

“Allow me,” he approaches as he pulls a knife from inside his jacket and unfolds it, “can’t have you handle sharp objects.” You eye the blade and he points it at you, “Don’t think about it.” 

You back away and he slices into the cake.  

“Bigger,” you demand as he cuts it too small. 

“Damn,” he cuts another piece, “that good? Or you want the whole thing?” 

“May as well,” you grumble. 

He reaches into the bag and takes out a napkin. He wipes the blade off and folds it away. He plucks out a package of paper plates and splits the plastic. He slides one out then finds the box of disposable cutlery. He scoops out the hunk of cake and serves it up with a splat. 

“Here you are,” he faces you. “I want you to eat with your legs open.” 

You shiver. He’s so gross. You’re so hungry you don’t care. You take the plate and the fork from him and retreat. You sit on the foot of the bed and stop before you can stab into the cake. 

“The crust... isn’t oreo.” 

“Hmm?” He crosses his arms and tilts his head. You push your knees together. 

“It’s graham cracker,” you sneer at him. “I said oreo crust!” 

“Ah come on, shortcake, how could I know? Cake is cake, right?” 

“No, I want chocolate!” 

“There’s chocolate--” 

You snarl and drop the plate on the floor. “You said you would get me what I wanted.” 

“Okay, well, you don’t have to be a child about it--” 

“I don’t-- you abducted me! You put me in a trunk,” you kick your feet as your eyes water. “I’m pregnant and all you’ve done is mistreated me.” 

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration--” 

You cover your face as you heave, “you’re mean!” 

“No, I got you cake. You’re just being picky.” 

“I’m scared and emotional and hormonal,” you lift your head and growl at him. “And I’m hungry!” 

You stand and step around the cake. You march towards him and he winces. You jab him in the ribs.  

“I need food for my baby and if I don’t get an oreo crust, I’m going to—I'm going to--” your blink as another flow of tear swells, “I’m going to break down!” 

Your tears stream out and you try to mop them away. He looks startled as he stares down at you. Then his eyes fall down to your chest and his brows rise. 

“You know what, baby, I’ll get you the right cake,” he grins. “And I’ll lick all the crumbs off your tits for you.” 

You snivel and wipe your nose, “why are you so gross?” 

“Wish I could say but all the bloods no longer in my brain,” he shrugs and gives a wink. “Now, let me go find you that damn oreo crust.” 

[dilfl0v3rss]

Basketball player ony x cheerleader reader?

coming right up boooo🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

tonight was game night, but not only for your boyfriend. as a cheerleader games were just at important to you as they were to ony. “mama you seen my socks?” he yelled from the living room as he dug in his bag for the third time looking for these damn socks. though it was nine in the morning and the game was at 8 in the afternoon, you and ony both had prep to be at by eleven. usually the two of you would still be in bed at this time on a saturday regardless of the game, but due to your recent activities last night neither of you prepared anything for the morning.

“in the dryer baby. they might be a little damp cause i just put em in ten minutes ago.” you yelled from the bathroom. words muffled as you leaned over the sink with your toothbrush still in your mouth. “shit” he mumbled as he ran towards the dryer. still in just his boxers and durag as he opened the still running dryer to feel for any water still in his socks. “shit!!” you had just finished brushing your teeth. pink scarf wrapped around your ponytail as you ran towards your bag to double check your uniform.

“papa you seen my bow? s’not in my bag!” you walked towards the door to find your boyfriend when you were met with his hard chest. face in a pout at he held pink socks in his hand. “babyyyy loookk” he whined as he showed you his usually white compression shirt that was now pink as well. “shit!!” you yelled. “what we gon dooo?” you sucked your teeth before running to your dresser. pulling out a pair of fresh socks. “cant do nun about the shirt so you gon have to play with just the jersey on, but you can wear these and i’ll get you some more tomorrow.”

ony quickly kissed your cheek before pointing towards his bedside drawer. “ian know where to put it so i just put it in my drawer” you gave him a quiet ‘okay’ before quickly walking to his side of the bed, pulling the bow out of his drawer before putting it in your bag. you took a deep breath before you looked up at your still half naked boyfriend leaving the room. “ony?” he walked back in the room with his bag on his shoulder. “hmm?” “where your clothes at?”

panic began to set in his mind as he thought of the last place he seen his team sweatsuit. eyes glued on the ceiling as he was deep in thought. “aww hell nah. baby where is it? you literally can’t leave without it on.” ony lifted his hand, cutting you off. “i know mama, i know. i’ll find it. you got yours?” you immediately closed your mouth. where did you leave that sweatsuit? “see?! look at you in my business and you don’t even know where your shit at.”

now it was your turn to wave your hand to cut him off before you walked out of the room in search of your cheerleading warmup. you ended up finding them both folded up on the dryer. at least you got one thing done last night. you gave ony his clothes and the both of you got dressed. before you got in the car the two of you made sure to double and triple check your bags before leaving your apartment.

“what you getting for breakfast?” ony mumbled as he made his journey to the starbucks that was just two minutes away from campus. “whatever i get we gon have to share cause we don’t got time to wait for two orders.” he nodded in agreement as he parallel parked right in front of the store. before you left the car you felt a light tug on your arm. “none of that healthy shit mama. i’m a big boy i want sum wit meat in it.” you rolled your eyes as you pulled his arm off of yours.

“you gon eat what i bring lil boy.” ony sucked his teeth before watching you walk into the starbucks. you ended up coming back with a bagel with avocado spread, which your boyfriend wasn’t happy about, but he didn’t have the time to argue with you so he sucked it up and ate his half as he drove the two of you back to campus. you were making good time since it was just hitting 10:15 when you got there. as the two of you approached the locker rooms you gave ony a kiss.

his large hands gripped your ass as he slid his tongue in your mouth. deepening the kiss to the point where you felt like if you didn’t stop him soon the both of you would end up in the locker room getting each other in trouble. “nuh uhh papa save it for after you win.” his lips curved into a smirk as he slid his hand off your ass, putting his finger under your chin so he can look in your eyes. “make sure you give daddy a show during halftime aight? ion get to watch the whole thing, but for the little part i do watch make it real sexy f’me”

you roll your eyes as you nod at his request, giving him another quick kiss. “i love you mama” he pulled you into a tight hug, breathing in your scent as much as he can before he’s separated from you for the rest of the day. “i love you more baby. good luckkk!!” as you released each other you gave your boyfriend two more quick pecks before he put his hand on the doorknob to his locker room.

“ion need luck when i got you”

[heartfullofleeches]

C.C [Incubus Yan] and Bodyguard Reader

The horny simp levels would be off the charts

I imagine C.C first notices them as a bouncer at one of the clubs he frequently visits/djs for. Falls head over heels for Reader the night they apprehend a crazy fan seeking to hurt the devil for blocking them online. He could've take care of them on his own, but there's something about seeing a person choke slam someone attempting to take his life that really lights a fire in him. Offers to pay them triple whatever their former bosses were paying if they quit on spot. They'll be doing pretty much everything they did at their old job. Keeping a close eye on C.C, keeping him safe......washing his car in nothing but a tank top and shorts in the summer, moving his dresser just a little more to the right so he can get a good look at them bent over and sweaty, let him use their thights as a pillow....

Makes a point to give Reader their paycheck by tucking it in their back pocket just because he feels like it. If they ever want their yearly raise early the strip pole in his room is always ready and waiting. Sure, they're supposed to protect him, but if anyone puts a scratch on his human their entire bloodline has hell to pay. Unless their injuries are life threatening, he refuses to let them to go to the hospital as they have the perfect nurse right here.

C.C drools over this pour soul at every turn, but if anyone does the same he is fuming. Stalks his fan pages for any mentions of Reader, starting wars with random people on his alt accounts for their crimes. How dare they post/talk about Reader's ass online - that ass is his and the only pictures of ut should be in his phone.

-

Fan: C.C, C.C!

C.C: Hey, babe! Want a picture?

Fan: Yes, but I was actually wondering if that person that follows you around is single? They helped me find my ring the other night and I wanted to thank them...

C.C: ...

C.C: Know what, why don't we go take that picture up on the roof? The lighting is super nice this time of night.

-

C.C: Hey, love - got your paycheck here. Decided to try a different method this time around - no biggie

The method in question:

[jeon-ify]

1, 16, 19, 32 Yeosang!! *runs and hides*

woah. you are a mastermind. im gonna have fun with this one

1. “open up, baby”

16. “stop fucking crying”

19. “yeah? you get off on me talking down to you?”

32. “you belong to me, understand?”

————————————————————————————

you belong to me- yeosang

this morning, you woke up to the sound of no one. each room in the house was empty, curiosity rising from your chest. you’d triple checked every room, your closets— nothing.

yeosang was no where to be found. you called and texted, but no answer.

an hour or so later after contemplating on whether to give up or not, you pick up your phone and text again, in hopes he responds this time.

————————————

y/n: baby? where’d you go?

y/n: ur not picking up 🫤

y/n: at least leave me on seen

y/n: did i do something wrong?

y/n: ur scaring me sangie :/

y/n: was it because i braided hwas hair?

*seen just now*

y/n: bro.. theres no way

y/n: ur mad cus i-

y/n: nevermind

sangie 🧡: on my way home. u better not have any clothes on or i’ll rip them off. understand?

y/n: i understand

sangie 🧡: good girl

———————————

you never thought that braiding seonghwa’s hair would be such a problem to your boyfriend, since you already asked and made sure it was okay with the both of them.

“hwa, stop moving or it’ll hurt—“

“then fucking hurry up its only three little pieces” he whined to you. you’re really not hurting him, but he just likes whining.

“i’m sorry!! i’m just trying to make them neater.”

yeosang sits across the room, watching the two of you whine and yell at each other. the smirk that plasters over seonghwa’s face is what makes yeosang’s stomach flip and twist in jealousy. yeosang was never ever the jealous type, but when he was, it was dangerous for the both of you.

he glares at you and you swear you saw smoke coming out of his ears. he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his black nike sweats, and your phone dings twice.

sangie 🧡: just wait.

sangie 🧡: are you enjoying yourself?

sangie 🧡: bet you wanna fuck him and pull on his hair dont you

sangie 🧡: bad girl.

he slides his phone back into his baggy pockets, taking a deep breath to calm himself from the scene happening before him.

he stands up, walking over to the bowl on the counter in the kitchen where his car keys were. he starts his car, puts on his slippers and leaves the house; slamming the door behind him.

“someones jealous.” seonghwa snares.

“shut up.” you smack the back of his head, as you knew he was being petty.

“ow, dumbass. didnt you ask him if you could braid my hair already? its for a music video. he’s so fucking petty.”

“yeah, but if you keep looking at him and fucking smiling of course he’s gonna get mad and think you wanna fuck me or some shit.” you argue. you knew seonghwa had heart eyes for you since the moment you met him through yeosang. you hung out for dinner, seonghwa tagging along since he was bored out of his mind.

yeosang made the mistake of trusting seonghwa around you.

————————

you hear the door unlock and keys jingling around the knob. you run upstairs to your room before the door could open, saving yourself the hassle of yeosang carrying you and tossing you across the room.

“baby, i know you’re home. where are you?” you hear his deep voice rumbling throughout the dark home, as you sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for yeosang to find you waiting for him.

you hear his footsteps coming closer to the room, his breathing picking up as your breath hitches in fear and excitement at the same time.

he shoves the door open, being met with you at the end of the bed, cheeks flushed red and your heavy breathing ringing in his ears. he drops his wallet, phone, and keys onto the dresser as he turns back around and grabs a fist full of your hair. he pulls your head back so you’re looking up at him. he towers over you with his hand tugging and squeezing at your brown locks.

“i shouldn’t even be looking at you. but you’re fuckin’ lucky im nice to you.” he groans. he comes closer to you, prying at your lips, pushing and pulling, almost placing a kiss onto your lips. you scoot your face closer to his as he pulls away. he swipes his tongue vertically across your lips, as you sigh in relief that he finally touched you.

“open up, baby. gonna fuck that little throat of yours. you know your safeword, but i doubt you’ll use it, fuckin’ whore.” he takes his painfully hard cock out of his sweats as your throat becomes dry. you lose all words and all thoughts. you open your mouth, sticking out your dry tongue far enough for yeosang to shove his entire length down your throat.

“there you go, baby. now imagine seonghwa fucking your throat like this— fuckk, so warm.”

he’s relentlessly fucking your throat while your spit and his precum pools at the base of his cock. you scratch and grip at his clothed thighs, his neck veins pulsing and his arm muscles tightening against themselves.

“gonna cum in your throat, y/n. swallow it all like the good little bitch you are.” he groans— you could cum just from his filthy words alone. he watches the way your bare thighs wriggle and press together whenever he says things like this.

he pulls you away by the back of your neck after spilling his load down your throat. you stick your tongue out, moaning an ‘ahh’ sound so he could see that you swallowed completely. “fuck, look at you. dirty slut. bet you like when i use you like this.”

he watches the pool of tears flood your eyes from how overly pleasured you are. he mocks you, watching the way you sob and whine for him to just touch you and fill you up the way you need.

“sangie, please just fucking touch me, ‘been so good-“ he cuts you off as his heavy hand lands a sharp slap on your right cheek.

“good? you giving seonghwa ‘fuck-me eyes is good? you playing with his hair and laughing ‘n shit with my fucking friends is good?” his eyebrows furrow as he yells at you.

he’s not angry, but he’s disgusted that his friends would do such a thing, trusting them around you and wanting to build that bond with all of you.

“im sorry, daddy. just wanted you to fuck me.” you argue and plead him to just fucking do something. his large hand wraps itself around your throat as your tears spill down your cheeks to his fingers. you’re not sad, you’re intrigued by his possessiveness, thus making you so overly pleasured and excited, you decide to cry— turning him on as he loves seeing you weak before him.

“stop fucking crying. i didn’t do anything to you and you’re already cockdrunk. do you deserve to cum tonight?” he slides your panties down in one go with one hand, spreading your legs and shoving his middle and ring fingers into your mouth.

“suck. get ‘em all nice and wet so i can touch you where you want.” you suck and spit around his fingers while he fiddles with your throat.

“fuck— i can’t take it anymore, just fuck me please, daddy. please please please!” you moan as he rams his fingers into your sopping cunt

“i asked you a question. what do you do when i ask you a question, darling?”

“a-answer.” you manage. you don’t know how but words finally managed to leave your mouth.

“exactly. so, do you deserve to cum?” he caresses your cheek, giving you a kiss on your forehead. he’s acting gentle and kind to you, but this is the calm before the storm.

“no, i don’t.”

“and why not?” he questions.

“b-because i was touching your friend.”

“you got it, baby. you finally know common sense. now when i fuck you, don’t try to run from me. you belong to me, understand?. not seonghwa, me. turn around, and let me fuck your tight cunt.” his voice gets gradually louder when he claims you, the veins in his neck becoming prominent.

you get on all fours before him, ass up as your face is buried in his silk navy blue pillow. the cold sensation making you feel way above the clouds as yeosang undresses and runs his slim and long fingers through your folds before sliding his thick cock inside of you.

“i understand, daddy. you feel so fucking good. s-so big!” you moan. you feel like such a pornstar right now, being open and exposed for the man before you.

“look at your legs already shaking, wish i could get this on video and send to seonghwa so he fucking knows— fuck— that you are mine.”

he groans and brings his hand to land a slap on your ass cheek, eliciting a deep moan from your throat. he moves his warm and muscular arm to put you in a headlock, white stars and black clouding your vision.

his muscles contract around your throat, cutting off your air supply as he feels you clenching around his length, gripping him like your life depended.

“daddy— fuck— call me a whore!” you moan and cry out as he pounds you ruthlessly and probably the fastest you’ve ever been fucked.

“yeah? you get off on me talking down to you? nasty whore.”

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want yeosang to put a baby in you, just so you could be full of him. truthfully, you both werent ready for a baby, but you just wanted to walk around with him inside of you forever, everywhere you went.

he groans and moans in your ear as you feel him twitching deep inside you. you cum around his length, his thrusts becoming quicker and harder, you feel him chasing his orgasm.

“gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you. so seonghwa knows who you belong to. walk around the house with my seed in you, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, y/n?”

“yes- fuck, please please please~” you moan again, arching your back up and down, as yeosang pulls you onto his hips, as you feel him reach a spot he has never reached before, making you squirt and stain his satin sheets.

“made a fuckin mess. look at you. let this be a warning for the next time you touch or look at any of my friends, hm baby?”

“o-okay,” you cry out.

he paints his load all over your pink gummy walls, groaning and stilling his thrusts as you both catch your breaths. he pulls out while you lay down, processing what the fuck just happened.

this was the best sex you’ve ever had.

————————————————————

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS OMFG IT WAS SO HARD TO WRITE CUS I DONT WRITE YEOSANG BUT THIS WAS SO FUN TOO

[jolapeno]

iii - just say that you need me

javier peña x f!reader | chapter three of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: the amount of people who look forward to tuesday's makes me grin. for those who are new, i don't have a tag list. wordcount: 2.6k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

You should say yes more. 

to you or to my pop 

To your pop. I know you wouldn’t say no to me. 

you sure about that 

I’d bet my next paycheck on it. 

for you I’ll say yes to him once

Good. Now we have that out the way answer what the worst date you’ve ever been on was

shit. going with the hard hitting questions today

Just getting you to share, open up

probably when I first came back from colombia someone from my town where I live

They a bad host, bad dinner guest? Gimme more Javi cmon. You said you’d entertain me.

baby, im trying to entertain you but you told me to stop

I said stop flirting while I’m eating and answer the question

she wouldn’t stop asking me for details on escobar

Ah. Yeah I can see how discussing that would be a mood killer.

yeah didn’t wanna go in the first place either

So if we ever meet, do not ask about your Colombian experience. Got it. 

you can ask, doesn’t mean I’d tell you 

Ha! Good to know. I wouldn’t though. If you wanna tell me, I think you will. 

thanks, what’s yours?

Well I was stood up when we first began texting. Think that’s pretty bad, enough.  

he’s an idiot because only an idiot would stand you up 

You haven’t seen me, remember 

statement still stands 

Stop being so charming.

you still eating

No.

then I can flirt

Most of the time, he ignores the mail. 

Lets it pile up on the entryway dresser until his pop makes another reference to it. Unlike his pop, he is never in a rush to open them, knowing no good comes from the contents inside.

The same people contact him. The bureau being one. Sipping his coffee as he glares at the usual federal sign on the envelope, wondering how many more times they’ll try asking him to come in for a chat.

This afternoon, though, the envelope isn’t brilliant white, but rather off-cream. 

Peeling a bit, thumb digging in as he drags it across, the ripping sound filling the small space. It’s only as he opens it does he realise who it’s from. 

His eyes stare at the letter, taking in the number—the one in triple digits with his phone provider logo in the top corner. The number which is making him feel sick, the more he stares at it over and over again. 

“Fuck.” 

Folding it, he swallows. 

Shit.

Motherfucker.

He stuffs it away, tucks it under magazines and other leaflets, as though by keeping it out of sight, it’ll go away.

But it's there.

The edge of it sticking out. He even blinks, and the number is there, tattooed on the back of his eyes. Taunting him—the price of speaking to you. 

It's not that Javi can't afford it. He’s had a chunk of money sitting, gaining dust, in his account since he came home. Only able to force portions on his pop as and when he felt he could get away with it. 

But this was a lot. More than he’d bargained on, more than he even knew he could spend simply by replying to someone. 

There's a chance your day won't be done just yet—his day beginning far earlier than yours even began—but he pulls his phone out, fingers pressing into the keys.

so apparently talking to you is costly  Oh, you've had your bill. I feel I should ask whether I'm worth it? 

It’s instant—the way you make the nauseous feeling vanish. How you force it to slide back to where it came from, and in its place, warmth spreads. All accompanied by a smile on his lips. 

He doesn’t want to show his hand too much. Better at concealing, playing the long game when standing face to face.

This requires a skill he hasn't yet gained. Simply focusing on not sounding ridiculous, or over the top. Unnecessary. Like some of the desperate men, he's happened to arrest over the years.

Even if his chest flutters and his mind screams, of course. Wants to ask, isn't it obvious? But he chooses something easier, uncomplicated.  

yes just didn’t expect it  I had my phone bill the other day. I get it.  did your heart fall out your ass No. But I will be eating ramen for the next month.  We can stop texting so much though, if it’s costing too much.  would rather my bill be double than stop talking to you  You’re such a flirt. 

He drains the rest of his mug, leaning back in the chair—hearing the sound of approaching boots from his Pop’s side of the house. Fingers typing, all hurried and determined 

Don’t forget I’m out for drinks and a movie.  I remember don’t worry 

He remembers as soon as you remind him.

Realising it's the reason you're able to reply right now. You’d been telling him almost every night for the past week. All worried, as though hating the idea of breaking the nightly tradition the two of you have concocted. 

In a way, Javi should have assumed the bill would be high with the number of texts the two of you have been sending. How frequent it’s been—how nice it’s been. 

Nice things do usually come with a tag. 

you decided on sweet or salty  Verdict is still out. You sure about waiting to do the crossword?  if we don’t do it tonight, we’ll do two the next day  You sure? more than sure have a great time 

“Y’sure you don’t fancy coming with me, Jav?”

He thinks of it, tapping his phone against his palm as he thinks of your text the other night. The one about him trying to say yes—something curling in his chest as he realises he’ll be alone, alone if he doesn’t. 

A sentiment he didn’t mind on paper, but now confronted with, rather despised. 

 “Alright, yeah. Can—can I get changed?” 

Mid-grabbing his own jacket, his Pop turns, surprise knitted into his wiry brows. “Y-yeah, sure, I’ll….”

“I’ll meet you at the truck?” 

And he does. All without complaint. Plaid shirt on, a smile being forced as soon as the truck pulls off the drive. He doesn't even complain about the radio choice or the fact his Pop always takes the main roads when he could cut down the dusty roads. 

When he arrives, he doesn’t mind how many hands he shakes, one after the next. He tries not to grit his teeth as each person says the usual things, they’re proud, he’s grown, when is he settling down? Each time he laughs it off. Spanish rolling from his tongue as he smiles and winks. 

It’s performative. 

The old version of him coming out from a hidden place. 

Always there, ready, as his hand shakes another person's hand—one he’s already forgotten the name of. Someone he’s sure he’s met before, too. 

It always happens. The small-town boy who took down drug cartels has become somewhat of a celebrity tale. A thing to gawk at when he visits the store. Chucho's boy who ran away to Colombia and now hides away on the ranch.

For the amount of time it's been, he'd foolishly expected it to die down—but it hasn't. Not enough, anyway. 

After enough time, he excuses himself, sneaking down the corridor near the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, fingers trying to rub out a knot that hasn’t yet appeared in his skull. The one pulsing, threatening to build behind his eye.

He’s unsure what he wants to do, what he needs. Retrieving his phone, just clicking around, before finding himself on your texts—feeling better for it.

Reading them back, smirking at some, smiling wide at others. A shape forming in his head, little details he’d amassed to make up you. A person he was pretty sure meant more to him than evening company, but it seemed tricky to delve too far into it. 

That is until his phone vibrated. 

Just wanted to tell you I miss you. Even if that’s weird. 

His fingers hover over the keys, a retort quick—there in his touch.

Slowly he presses it out, hearing the click even over the bar’s music as he double and triple taps each button he wants, until it forms what it is he thought:

not weird, you drunk I’m tipsy, not drunk. Still mean it. good cause i miss you too

you never said how the movie was

As someone who flies a lot, I shouldn’t have watched it.

that bad

Will probably have to hold the hand of my seat mate the next time work makes me fly. 

I’m sure they won’t mind 

Depends on the length of my nails I guess. 

some people don’t mind nails clawing in certain situations

You trying to tell me you like nails down your back, Javi? 

if the situation is right, yes 

What about in your hair?

now who’s being a tease 

I’m learning so much tonight. 

and your putting images in my head 

I’d love to know what I look like in it, since you haven’t seen me.

beautiful, you look beautiful 

My face is burning. 

your day been ok

Yeah, was fine. Work has been rough. 

you want to talk about it

Not really, it’s stupid anyway. Plus, would rather do the crosswords and hang with you.

you do have two to make up to me

Best get giving me the clues then, Javi. 

four letters, begins with f 

Is this a Javi crossword or a real crossword 

baby, cmon 

Fuck?

fork 

someone’s in a dirty mood

You’re such a dick. Give me a real clue. 

There's not a point in time where he can track how his thoughts went from nothing to you. But, he thinks about you all the time.

Has been doing so constantly for the last two days, at least—the occasional vibrations from his phone making his lips twitch and his mind wander. Javi’s brain exploding with wonder at what your reply could say. 

Sometimes, he tries not to check immediately. Test—see—how long he can go before he does. It’s not been going well.

An excitement dashing through his veins that fills his chest, warms his neck and makes a ridiculous grin appear (one he’s caught accidentally in the mirror).

The back and forth has been quicker—for as costly as it was—outside of routines and work. His fingers have even improved in the speed of tapping the same key to get one single letter.

Each text makes him feel like he learns a new nugget about you, gathering a new piece of the puzzle—an idea of you forming in front of his eyes. One he likes—craves more of—wishing for other tidbits similar to how you like coffee after breakfast, not before. 

That you don’t care for birthday cake, but love cookies. 

morning hermosa hope you managed to grab the coffee

He doesn’t expect to hear from you.

Remembering that your time management in the morning isn’t to be admired. You are someone who is either awake too early or too late—never in the middle.

But, when he finishes. Sweat clinging to every muscle, he’s surprised to find nothing.

Even a little disappointed.

finished up for the day, unsure whether to lounge around on the porch or push the boat out and lounge in the barn

You’ve become such a part of his day, his shoulders sink when he steps out of the shower to see nothing.

His heart slips down inside his chest, resting unsteadily on his ribs as he checks and checks. His fingers fluff his hair as he runs his fingers through it before finding a strand, twisting, and twisting.

I’m probably worrying about nothing but just let me know you’re ok

A part of him had worried this would happen.

That he would allow the attachment to grow—ropes and threads wrapping around him—and it would be taken from under his feet.

He has a history of becoming hooked—usually combining itself with his need to help, to make someone’s day better, easier.

And on paper, he knew it was odd. To care for someone he hadn’t ever even met. But he cares all the same.

Copious amounts, in fact.

Far past an, ‘I miss you’—something else entirely, not that he’d admit as much.

hermosa I’m really getting worried now

He doesn’t want to call.

Doesn’t want to invade your privacy, your space. But it’s knotting inside of him. The things he’s seen, rushing to the surface, pecking away, making him overthink.

His mind conjures ideas that you’re hurt, wounded. That you’re crying, alone. Each flash of his past has the curated blob-of-a-face he’s created for you, written over it.

His fingers twitch, hand moving to his pocket before remembering there are no cigarettes to be found there. He quit. Ages ago. Felt better for it—for the most part—until now.

Now when all he wants is to focus on the taste, the way smoke swirls with the warm Texas air—

Hey, I'm so sorry, I had a bad day. Just didn’t check my phone.  shit hermosa, you scared me.  almost called you.  Really? yeah  Would you? what call you Yeah?

[Dialing number…]

you declined  I did

His heart sinks, crashes, and plummets. 

Then a new vibration, one that travels down his fingers to his wrist, suddenly staring at an instruction: Give me your landline number, be cheaper. For both of us. 

Glancing into the living room, he taps the number in for you. Hating each precious second he wastes by having to delete a letter that should be a number.

Pushing the chair back, hearing it screech as he hovers. Nervousness thumps through him, making him shake, vibrate. 

Staring, willing the phone to ring.

Even as he tries to collect himself, his mind has already begun running away from him. Hearing his pulse thump in his ear, thump, thump—

And then it’s ringing—you’re ringing. 

His voice shouts out he’ll get it as he picks up the phone from the hook. 

“Javi… that you?”

Grinning, he laughs, light and airy. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me.” 

Silence blankets his ears and the air, thumb circling a knot in his forehead. 

Smiling, he changes the phone to his other ear. “Knew you’d sound pretty. You have a nice voice.” 

“Shut up, Javi. I’ve said three words.”

“And a few more.”

He hears you suck in a breath as heat rushes to his ears, feeling the edges of his lips curl into a smile.

“You wanna talk about it or talk about something else?” 

He hears you take a breath another breath. Different this time, all accompanied by a shuffling sound from your end.

“Something else. If that… that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Alright, lemme… lemme think for a second—“

You clear your throat, “You have a nice voice, too, by the way.”

Pausing, he bites the inside of his cheek. “Like you imagined?”

“Better, honestly.”

“I could have called you. I have this additional thing on our plan—so my Pop could call. When I was away.” 

“From when you were in Colombia?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “Yeah…” 

“Well, if this conversation goes well, you may get a new number to add to your phone book.” 

“That so? Who’s flirting now.”

You laugh, sweet—fluttering its gorgeous wings down the phone to his ear as he readjusts the phone.

Dropping his voice, he turns more to the walls. “So, what you wearing, baby?”

“Oh my god, Javi.”

He doesn’t even mute his laughter, just lets it flow from him—rushing through the house. Not even caring if his Pop can hear him in the next room.

"I'm wearing nothing."

"Hermosa, you tease."

You laugh, and it's different. It's rich, and makes the room glow around him, without you even being here.

"I'm not really, I'm in a baggy t-shirt."

"Not as sexy, but I'm sure I can work with it."

You snort, "Javi, stop."

He wonders if your cheeks are warm. He hopes they are.

Leaning against the wall, he smirks, if only to himself. "I like how you say my name, Hermosa."

an: thank you so much for all being wonderful, i heart you

[esmedelacroix]

I saw fanart where Lyla and Gabriela are twins and hear me out: Miguel going into dad mode but also anxiety mode because he finds out you're having twins and ahhh he doesn't know how to handle this. What if he doesn't pay enough attention to both of them? How is he going to take care of both of them and you and do Spider-Man duty? But also he's hyped because TWO babies! Two! He's got mixed emotions.

hey nonnie! i love this omg, just imagine how excited but also nervous miguel would be to have not one, not two, but three girls to take care of...

Triple Trouble !

dad!miguel o'hara and his three girls !

𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸

futuredad!miguel o'hara who teared up at your appointment when the two of you found out you were having twins during an ultrasound. Afterward, he hugged you and knelt before you, thanking you for giving him a family.

futuredad!miguel o'hara who teared up even more at the gender reveal when the two of you found out that you were having twin girls. Both excitement and worry filled his stomach but mostly excitement.

futuredad!miguel o'hara who spent many restless nights working on the nursery whenever he was stressed or overthinking. You would often sit on the fluffy bean bag in the corner of the room ordering decorations and clothes for your girls. Out of the corner of your eyes, Miguel would be building their cribs and dressers while humming.

futuredad!miguel o'hara who would randomly geek about how excited he was about daily activities with the girls. "I can't wait to take them to the ranch over the summers," he sighed as he laid next to you one night, arms wrapped around you. You would giggle to yourself as he talked about how he got some bikes so he could take them to the park and teach them how to use them.

futuredad!miguel o'hara who started watching videos and practiced braids and hairstyles on you. He said he wanted to be ready to do their hair. He started off kind of bumpy but with consistent practice he got really good at it. He was relieved feeling more prepared to take care of his girls, and you got to have your hair done every day.

girldad!miguel o'hara who let you hold onto his hand throughout the whole pregnancy no matter how hard you squeezed. Who moved your hair away from your face whenever it got in the way and constantly planted kisses onto your forehead even though it was coated in sweat.

girldad!miguel o'hara who marveled at the beauty of his two newborn daughters and at you as you were glowing even after giving birth. "Gabriela and Lyla. They're perfect," Miguel said as held little baby Lyla against his chest. You had Gabriela in your arms and caressed the little hairs on her head.

girldad!miguel o'hara who told himself he wouldn’t be like Peter and bring his babies to work with him but he couldn't help himself. Once his daughters turned five years old and could walk and talk he took them to the spiders society and they loved it. They loved running around with spider-cat and pranking their father with Hobie.

girldad!miguel o'hara who takes the girls to their grandparent's house on Fridays so he can take you out and spend some alone time together. It's hard for him having three girls to take care of, to love, and to protect and not think that he isn't paying enough attention to you or the girls.

girldad!miguel o'hara who loved to see how different his daughters' styles were. The two of you liked to match them up when they were younger but let them experiment with their fashion tastes when they grew older. He liked seeing them have such different styles but still be so similar.

girldad!miguel o'hara who always does everyone's hair before they go out because after all that practice he did while you were pregnant, he got quite good at it. He would do bubble braids for Gabi, and double dutch braids for Lyla, and he helped you straighten your hair.

girldad!miguel o'hara who would somehow juggle being the leader of Spider Society and still make it to all of his daughters' sporting events, concerts, dance recitals, you name it. He drove a mom SUV with the family car stickers with the cute little stick figures. Always has his girls' bags in the trunk just in case and keeps pads and tampons on him and in his car in case one of his girls has an accident.

girldad!miguel o'hara who loves his daughters more than anything in the world and will never stop thanking you for giving him a family. Who loves you endlessly for always being there for him whenever he was overwhelmed or overthinking about whether or not he could be a good father. Who is your rock and helped you all throughout the pregnancy and helped take care of the girls.

girldad!miguel o'hara who is literally the best dad ever and takes immense pride in his daughters and wife <3

𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸 𓅰 𓅸

[darlingdarkly]

New Year, New You Part 7

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4.2k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part 1, 6, 8

You begin to drift up from a deep slumber, your head hurts and the room is too bright, you can tell even through your closed lids that the room is filled with an ungodly amount of sunlight. Had you forgotten to close the curtains before bed? Very unlike you but not an impossibility. You sure as hell were regretting it now though.

You were also still very drowsy, you can’t ever remember waking up this sleepy. Maybe you’ll rest your eyes for a bit longer.

You stir in your sleep, tongue moving over the roof of your mouth, it’s dry as sand. But you don’t want to get water, you’re still so tired and your head, Fuck! Your head kills. Maybe you could get up and get some water, close those damn curtains while you’re at it.

Your eyelids feel like they’re glued closed. One hand comes up to shield your eyes while the other rubs the crustated sleep from the corners of them. Your vision clears, and you're squinting but your eyes are open. You lift your head just slightly and examine the room.

It’s not your room, but it’s familiar. Like a room you’ve seen in a dream. Were you dreaming? Had to be. This wasn't your room. Everything blurs and you blink your eyes, your dream eyes, to clear your vision. It helps. You’re lying in bed, not your bed but the dream bed. The duvet is dark blue, it’s familiar but from where is far from even the tip of your tongue.

The room is neat, there's a dark wood dresser in the corner, a pull up bar and a stand with dumbbells progressing in weight off to the side. You turn your head to see a digital alarm clock, it reads 9:48. Fuck! 9:48?!? You’re late for work. That gets you moving, you sit up but it’s too fast and your headache triples as the world begins to spin. The dream bubble pops. Not a dream after all, but still not your room.

You recover but slowly as the room gradually stops spinning. Where were you? It looked familiar, but you still couldn’t place it. What happened last night? It’s very hazy. Nancy, you can remember that much. You had gone out with Nancy, everything else might as well had been a dream for as much as you could recall of it.

Someone was in this house with you, you could smell something delicious in the air and your stomach growled its approval. You groan and put a hand to your forehead. You needed water immediately. You stare down at the bed, dark blue, a deep navy shade. A memory, hazy, begins to come forth. Your pounding head is slow processing it, it rises to the surface from the depths of your murky brain. Your dry mouth falls open just as the door swings inward and just as your recollection had summoned him, here he was, huge grin on his face and a glass of cold orange juice in hand.

“Bonnie!” You wince at his volume and he tenses up, quieting down and even stepping lighter, trying his hardest to not pain you. “Sorry, lass. Ye might be a bit woozy. Had a helluva night last night.” You must be dreaming, but you’re not. You know you’re not.

You start to say his name but all that comes out is croaky garbles. “Here, drink this.” He hands you the glass and you’ve never coveted a glass of orange juice so hard in your life. You take huge, greedy gulps and when the juice runs over the dried strip of leather that had become your tongue you nearly cry from the joy of it. You downed half the glass and heard him from beyond it. “Easy, hen. Drink slow. Ye can have as much as ye want.”

You reluctantly pull the glass from your lips and lick them, the saliva that had burst forth from your mouth now that you’d had something to drink was overflowing and you wondered how you could have produced so much in such a short amount of time if you had been so extremely parched just moments ago.

With it under control you made another attempt at speaking. “Johnny? What’s going on?” He took the glass from your hand and set it down on the nightstand next to the bed. “Well lass, ye had a bit too much tae drink I’d say. I’m no doctor hen, but if ah’m nae mistaken I’d have tae say maybe there was a bit more to it than jus’ that.”

You definitely had had too much to drink last night. But had you? You certainly don’t remember drinking in excess but then again you couldn’t really remember much of anything about last night. Wait, what did he just say? “What do you mean Johnny?”

“Well hen, I’m no expert, but I’d say maybe ye weren’t watchin’ yer drinks too closely and I’d say maybe someone might’ve spiked ye.” What? Spiked you, like roofies or something? That can’t be. Can it? But fuck your head did hurt something unnatural.

“Ahh fuck, Johnny. I’m late for work, I’ve gotta go.” You begin to pull back the covers and get up when you notice you’re naked from the waist down. “Johnny! What the fuck! Where are my pants?”

“Jus’ slow down there, hen. First of all ye dinnae need tae worry about work, I’ve already called in tae say ye won’t be comin’ in today. Yer in no condition fer it and as yer personal trainer I took it upon mahself tae take care of ye in yer time of need. Dinnae worry, Johnny’s gotcha.”

You groan as the headache throbs back into focus with a vengeance. You have sooo many questions, like how did you get here? How did he find you? What happened? How does he know where you work and how did he call into your work and use one of your sick days for you? They swirl behind your eyes, pulsing in time with the throb of your head and instead of asking all of them like you should, you just don’t. There’ll be plenty of time for questions later.

Instead you grab again for the glass of juice and down it. With it empty he takes it from you and stands. “I’ll get ye some more, are ye hungry?” The question reawakens the grumbling earthquake in your belly and you look up at him and nod. He smiles and says nothing just turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

You sit in place for a moment, staring down at the bed and trying to get a grip on your memories of last night. You remember Nancy suggesting the two of you go out, you remember not wanting to, you remember getting ready and getting in the cab anyway and then it all takes on a fuzzy, unreal feel, like a dream instead of something that actually occurred.

You remember drinking and dancing but not much else. The watch on your wrist vibrates and it surprises you, you’re not sure why, you’ve only taken it off a handful of times to charge it but there’s something about it, a piece of knowledge floating on a cloud above you, refusing to grace you with its enlightenment.

You have a look through it, see the text notifications from Nancy.

“Where are you!” 12:29 am

“Are you alright?” 12:35 am

“Ok well, Thanks for coming out tonight, it was fun!” 12:44 am

“See you tomorrow ☺️” 12:47am

“Sure, you have like a dozen of them, I’ll let Mrs. Magna know. don’t worry about it.” 6:45am

All of her replies were there as notifications, but with only her half of the conversation at your fingertips you could only imagine what was said. You assume you told her something about leaving and then the last text was about not coming into work today but you certainly weren’t up at six in the morning, you didn’t feel like you were working off of only three hours of sleep.

You had to find your phone and see the rest of the texts. You got out of bed and remembered you were naked from the waist down. In all your confusion you’d forgotten to make him explain that detail, you’d have to ask him again later.

You stood and made your way over to the dresser, pulling the top drawer open and found a neatly folded stack of boxers and socks, not what you were looking for. The next was full of shirts, also of no use to you. The third drawer down you found what you were searching for. Pulling out a pair of sweatpants you pulled them up and around your waist.

Ok, that’s one thing taken care of, now you need to locate your clutch. You look around the room, on the other side of the bed, open the two other doors in the room Johnny didn’t leave through to find a bathroom and a closet. It’s in the closet you find it but still not your pants, they must be somewhere else. You pull the phone from it and immediately begin to go through your messages.

Nancy is the only person you’ve messaged in the last twenty four hours and the conversation is foreign. The first text is from Nancy asking where you are and you had replied

“Goin’ home.” 12:32 am

That’s it? That’s all you said? That doesn’t sound like a text you would write, you’d add more detail and reassure her that you’re ok. You decide to read out the whole thing.

“Where are you!” 12:29 am

“Goin’ home.” 12:32am

“Are you alright?” 12:35 am

“Fine, just had too much to drink.” 12:42am

“Ok well, Thanks for coming out tonight, it was fun!” 12:44 am

“Oh yeah, so much fun!” 12:45am

“See you tomorrow ☺️” 12:47am

“Nancy, I won’t be coming in to work today. Can’t stop getting sick. Feel so bad. Just can’t get out of bed. Can I use one of my designated sick days?” 6:30am

“Sure, you have like a dozen of them, I’ll let Mrs. Magna know. don’t worry about it.” 6:45am

???? You don’t text like that? It’s all so short hand and formal. Did Nancy really not notice how unlike you these texts were? Of course she didn’t, she was as drunk as you were.

You lock your phone as you hear him approaching the door and slip it into the pocket of your sweats. He walks in and stops in the doorway, a plate in one hand and a mug in the other. You think for a moment he may drop them but he seems to recover and sets them down on the nightstand and rushes over to you.

You are immobilized with shock as he grabs you, hands sliding down your legs, planting his firm palms on the globes of your ass and lifting. You can feel the pure strength he possesses as he pulls you up his body and into his arms with no assistance from you whatsoever. Your mouth parts in surprise and he takes the opportunity to seize your lips with his, tongue slipping inside and melting to yours.

It felt good, his lips against yours after so long, you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it until they were upon you again and for just a moment you let yourself be lost to it. Your watch beeped and you felt him smile against your lips before you pulled away, embarrassed at being ousted once again by it.

You wanted to slip out of his arms but he held you steady, his mouth moved to your ear with a slow trail of kisses. When he reached it he whispered into it. “Did he miss me, hen? Cause I missed you.” He gently lowered your body down his until your ass nudged something hard, his erection prodding you eagerly.

“Jus’ cannae help it, hen. Saw ye wearing’ mah sweats an’ just about took ye right there against the dresser. Gonna give a man a heart attack surprisin’ me like that.” You let out a surprised little gasp as he nipped at the shell of your ear. “But there’ll be plenty of time for that later. My lass is hungry isn’t she?”

You nodded, the angry pit that had become your stomach crying out at the mention of food. He let you down and followed you back to the bed, the surface dipped as you both sat onto its plush surface. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the plate he’d carried in.

Sitting atop it were two round things, they looked sort of like huge meatballs. You looked up at him curiously. He simply picked one up off the plate and handed it to you. “Try it.” Hesitantly you picked yours up. It was crisp to the touch and smelled faintly like oil. Definitely deep fried whatever it was. You looked up at him once more and he nodded encouragingly. You brought it up to your mouth and took a small bite.

The rich, savory flavor of sausage floated over your tongue and you welcomed it. You chewed and swallowed and went back for a second bigger bite, this time biting into the core and getting hard boiled egg along with the sausage and you looked up to see Johnny smiling and digging into his own breakfast.

“Johnny, what is this? It’s delicious.” You took another bite as he explained. “Scotch egg. Mah mum used tae make em’ when I was wee. They’re a personal favorite. Do ye like it?” You nodded, and munched on the egg appreciatively.

“You're a good cook, Johnny.” He beams under your compliment, cheeks reddening, eyes bright and gleaming you barely catch a glimpse of as he quickly looks away to try and offset the effects. “S’nothing, hen. Cookings jus’ chemistry an’ I’ve always been good at that.”

This sparks a memory, the jumpstart of a thought just like the first that just refuses to reveal itself fully, there and gone, like someone hit you with the forget it stick.

Before you can think about it too hard he picks up the mug next to him and hands it to you. It’s warm and fragrant, a nice hot cup of coffee and as you took a sip your face puckered up a bit as the bitter twinge hit your tongue, it had a distinct pungent aftertaste, there was definitely alcohol mixed in.

He laughed and you scowled at him a little. “S’just a nip, Bonnie. It’ll help with yer hangover.” You grumbled a little and took another swallow, it went down easier the second time.

Eating made you feel a little better you had to admit, but then those questions you had made themselves evident again, circling your mind and trying to push past your lips. Before you could voice them he began asking questions of his own.

“How have ye been, lass?”

“Fine.” You lie immediately, it’s first nature. What were you supposed to tell him? You’ve been moping for a week? Just trudging through life like a lost puppy since you'd seen him last? Your watch starts to beep, indicating a tick up in your heart rate. “Lass.”

You can’t look at him, you avoid it even though you can feel the icy stare of his baby blues chilling you and you have to suppress a shiver. “I’ve been fine, works just been… hard on me.”

The watch stops as your heart rate slows. “Have ye been doin’ yer homework still?” Easy question, you answer honestly and the watch stays quiet. “Yes.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment and you think the interrogation is over but then he drops the hard one.

“Why haven’t ye come back to the gym, bonnie?” You tense a bit in your spot. What would you say? That you can’t? Does he not know your trial is up? That you can’t possibly afford a membership? What would he say if he knew you’d been by, everyday for a week but have just been too chicken to go in?

You force yourself to relax and answer nonchalantly over another bite of your egg. “My trial ended.” You prayed that he’d leave it at that, but he didn’t. “So ye havnae come back because yer trial ended.” You nod to avoid speaking but the watch on your wrist says it all for you, it beeps against your words, turning your truth into lies. “Bonnie.”

The stupid thing won’t stop. Why? Why do you keep this thing on? Yet another errant memory tries to come to the surface. Something about that watch but it’s not clear, you just can’t remember. It hurts almost, the strain of trying to remember things that just won’t disclose themselves so you let it go and give him a piece of the truth. “Ok, so I’ve been by once or twice, but I didn’t go in, I just was passing by.”

You stuff the last of the egg into your mouth to quiet yourself. He scoots closer and pulls the plate from your hands, setting it down on the nightstand as you swallow and take a sip of your coffee. He takes that from you too and there’s nothing left to hide behind.

“Why did ye nae say anything tae me, ye didnae text me or anything, jus’ disappeared.” You felt hot all over, guilty and shamed, you can feel it pulling at you, tugging you with ropes, go to him they say. Push yourself into his arms and promise him you’ll never leave. Atone.

You can’t. You have questions of your own. You take your watch off, eyes locked with his as you undo the clasp and you can see the panic in his eyes but it turns to confusion as you wrap the gadget, in all its golden beauty around his wrist. He furrows his brows but doesn’t pull away, just sits and lets you.

“What happened to me last night?” He shifts a bit but you hold his arm steady, the sensors pick up his vitals and perhaps it’s dawned on him what you were doing, but if he did he didn’t fight it. “I was comin’ home late and I ran into ye outside of the club. Ye were hanging ontae the wall, couldnae even walk, hen. I tried talkin’ tae ye, tried tae find out who you’d been with but ye were out of it so I brought ye home tae sleep it off.”

The watch stayed silent the whole time, not a beep out of it. “Practically had tae carry ye if ah’m honest. Pretty lucky I came by I’d say. Ye were right sloshed.”

You didn’t know what to say, you should be thanking him but there’s still a rift between what he’s saying and what feels like truth. He just happened to be walking by just as you just happened to be outside of the club. Did you go outside by yourself? Really?

Why would you not be with Nancy? Why would you not have talked to her first? Clearly you hadn’t because she’d texted you and asked where you were. And if you’d been too drunk to walk, how could you have texted Nancy to tell her that you were going home? You were supposed to believe you could text intelligibly but not stand upright without gripping the wall? Why can’t you remember anything?

You wished you could remember more but you can’t and your little mock lie detector test hadn’t indicated he was lying to you, it sure as hell had ratted out your lies. You decided he had to be telling you the truth, as odd and coincidental as his story was, it wasn't impossible.

You sigh, accepting his account of the night before as valid, despite your inconsistencies and you felt him slip the watch off his wrist and drape it carefully over yours, he secures the clasp and lifts your hand up to his mouth and kisses the pulse point just below where the clasp sits. A soft press of his lips in a kiss so tender you feel your face heating up at the gentleness of the gesture.

He climbs up your arm in kisses, outside looking in it would have been comical to watch him treat you like Pepe Le Pew. The sheer affection in it almost cheesy but all you could do in the moment was relax into his touch. He’s reached your neck and your head dips to the side automatically, giving him more access and he takes it. Lips parting as they skim your jaw until they’re over your lips and you lean into his kiss, anticipating it, you want it, crave so very badly to be swept up by it, but he stops and leans back.

“How do ye feel?” It’s a simple question really and you find that somewhere between breakfast and your recount of last night your headache had subsided and you had a whole day ahead of you with nothing to worry about, no work to do, just you and Johnny. You felt exalted, after a week of trudging through your love sick blues you now somehow had everything you really wanted right at your fingertips.

But you couldn’t tell him that. So you just told him that you felt better and smiled, the first genuine smile you’ve had all week and it must be enough because he leans back in like he’s read your mind and gives you what you were wishing for.

His lips are soft but demanding, urgent in their press against yours and you have no choice but to succumb to their will. You lean back and he follows, chasing your lips until you’re pressed back against the pillow and he’s straddling you, strong arms stationed on either side of your head as his tongue pushes into your mouth and dominates yours.

You want more, want to roll him over and mount him, spend the rest of today alternating between riding him until your legs quivered and being flipped over and ravaged but he has different plans as he pulls away from you and backs off the bed. You stare at him in disbelief as he gathers up the dishes, smiling that gorgeous toothy grin as he does it.

“Dinnae look at me like that. We’ve got work tae do, hen.” You can’t believe he’s actually walking away from you until he does it, leaving you to stew in your arousal and stare after him. He’s gone for a bit and when he comes back you've already gotten up, made the bed and now sit on the edge watching him expectantly. He rifles through his drawers for clothes, setting out an outfit for him and then disappears into his closet, he comes out with a very familiar bag.

“What work?” He smiles and flexes, biceps bulging as he shows off his guns, you’re lost a bit at the sight of them. If he wasn’t anything else he sure was handsome, strong and lean just like you’d always fancied men to be. It’s like he’d appeared from your teenage dreams and you took him as sort of obsessed with you on top of it, an intoxicating combination indeed. “Why, our next session a’course. What else, hen?”

He hands it over to you nonchalantly and begins to strip. You recognize it immediately, It’s your overnight bag. You pull the bag close and try not to stare as he pulls his shirt off. Rummaging through it you find your workout clothes, garments you’ve worn around him multiple times, nothing shocking but you find more than just that, the bag is practically overflowing, stuffed full.

In the bag are also sets of clothes that you usually lounge around the house in, comfy things that no one ever sees you in. There’s also a few outfits that you’d normally wear to work, business casual folded neatly in the bottom. There's underwear and bras and even a couple pairs of shoes. There’s a smaller bag of toiletries tucked in the side pocket. It looks like a bag you’d pack yourself when planning to be away from home for a weekend or maybe a whole week by the sheer volume of your wardrobe stuffed into it.

“Johnny.” You look up from the bag and catch his gaze as he pulls his shorts up around his waist. “Aye, lass.”

You don’t even bother asking him the first few questions that come to mind like when did you pack this? And how? How did you know where everything was? How did you so perfectly root through my clothes and pack me a bag so thoroughly accurate of what I’ll need while I’m away? You could even see your soap, shampoo, conditioner and toothbrush. Everything you could possibly need he had grabbed.

But you don’t know how to ask him those things, don’t even know if you’d want the answer to them if you could so instead you ask the one question you don’t think you already know the answer to.

“Why is there so much?” He looks up at you like the answer is obvious and you’re stupid or perhaps just playing coy. “So ye could stay.” And he says it like it’s a concrete thing, as sound as the sea, the decisions already been made. Signed. Sealed. Delivered.

“What are you talking about?” He looks at you and his eyes are piercing and serious. “Ye cannae go home. S’nae safe.”

[shawtuzi]

i’m very extremely excited to post this so pls enjoy!! i read ‘jealous girl’ by @elsweetheart and immediately fell in love w basketball player!abby so this is pretty much inspired by that just not as much talk about basketball!! if u haven’t read any of her works i highly recommend literally every single on of them<33

wc: 4.1k

cw include: black coded fem!reader, basketball player!abby, abby wears rings—yes i think that deserves a warning, strap on usage, some teasing on abby’s part, talks of abby being a brat tamer, oral both kinda receiving??? (reader sucks abby’s strap idk whether that counts or not), a little choking n spitting, lots n lots of praise coming from both sides, talks of breeding, tiny bit of strength kink, a wee bit of aftercare—i think that’s about it so sorry if i missed anything!! (this is not proofread btw pls excuse any mistakes)

abby was a busy busy girl. between classes, basketball, training at the gym, and tending to her needy gf poor baby had her plate full all day everyday. but on rare occasions she pushed all that aside to make more time for you—the needy gf in question. she missed you terribly whenever she wasn’t around you so she could only imagine how you felt :((.

today she had decided to skip her two hour long training session at the gym and instead suggested the both of you go out for a picnic. you were ecstatic to say the least which brought a wide smile to her freckled face.

currently she was sitting on the plush pink couch in your living room while you were in your room getting dressed for the picnic. your parents had splurged and bought you an off campus apartment bc by god there was no way you’d be able to fit everything you wanted in those tiny dorm rooms. abby visited your apartment as much as she could or you’d make your way to campus to spend the night in her dorm that she thankfully had to share with no one. being the mvp of the basketball team came with a few good perks—sharing a room with no one being the best one.

“you ready to see my outfit?” your honey smooth voice called from your room. before abby could answer she heard the clicking of heels and the little taps of your kittens paws against the hardwood floor. you were wearing a short, white sundress with strawberries printed all around it. she eyed the white kitten heels you were wearing and made a mental note to grab a pair of more comfortable shoes for you to wear just in case the heels began to blister your feet.

“you look beautiful babydoll,” she smiled bringing her large hands to your hips, giving them a soft squeeze. god you were so pretty n soft. she honestly had half a mind to bend you over and eat your pussy from the back but she had a better idea. “i gotta grab something from your room real fast, how bout you give cinnamoroll some food before we go yeah?” she spoke referring to your fluffy, white rag doll kitten that was currently messing with the scratching post abby had bought for her as a gift. “you got it babe!” you obeyed her command and began opening a can of cat food for the kitty meanwhile abby was in your room rummaging around in the bedside dresser that was on her side until she found exactly what she was looking for.

once she was done she walked out to find you standing by the front door with a dopey smile on your face. she grabbed the wicker basket full of delicious treats you had prepared off the marble counter and you two were off! but not before abby made you triple check that you had your house key. there were three incidents where she had to help you break into your apartment bc you forgot your key and she was not about to make it a fourth. “you got everything you need doll? once i leave this complex i’m not turning around,” she said with the slightest bit of sternness in her voice. your eyes widened knowing by her tone she was serious so you quickly opened your purse to make sure you had all your belongings.

“let’s see…emergency lipgloss, eyelash glue, mini fan, second emergency lipgloss, my key, and…where is my—ohhere it is! yep i’m ready to go abs!” you said gleefully, grabbing abby’s hand to place it on it’s rightful place on your thigh. abby gave your thigh a loving squeeze before pulling out of your apartment complex. the drive was mostly quiet besides the radio playing in the background and you humming along to it. “you look very handsome today abs,” you spoke softly playing with the silver bands on her fingers. abby felt her cheeks flush when you called her handsome—if she had a dick it would for sure jump at your sweet compliment. “thank you angel ‘n you look gorgeous as always…my beautiful gorgeous girl,” she smiled bringing your hand to her lips to give your knuckles a sweet kiss.

you both finally made it to the park, the sun just minutes away from setting making the sky a pretty mixture of pink and orange. “oh it’s so beautiful out,” you swooned, pulling out your phone to take a picture of the sky. once you had taken a plethora of pictures—some of the sky and some of yourself, you walked over to abby and laced your fingers with hers. she picked the first open spot she saw and laid the pink plaid blanket out before setting the wicker basket down. she pulled out all the food while you watched the geese swim in the small lake in front of you, your chin tucked in your knees looking adorable as ever.

you settled on making the two of you chicken caesar wraps with sweet potato fries and two slices of homemade strawberry shortcake for dessert. “these are delicious y/n you’re quite the chef,” abby said wiping her mouth with the pink cloth napkins you’d packed as well. “oh abby i make these for you at least twice a week they can’t be that good anymore…although i did add a little bit of buffalo sauce this time,” you giggled, taking another bite of the wrap.

after finishing up all the food, not even leaving a crumb behind, you and abby just sat in silence basking in each others company. little did you know abby was becoming more sexually frustrated by the minute. that dress….that damn strawberry dress practically had her in shambles as she watched it slowly ride up your thighs with every little movement you made. “c’mere angel,” she grunted maneuvering your body to sit you on her lap. she thought you would’ve felt the little surprise she was hiding in her jeans but you still didn’t have a clue in the world :((.

while you were babbling about a new collar you had ordered for cinnamoroll abby was slowly but surely dying of horniness with each passing second. “it’s so cute it’s pink ‘n it had these silver rhinestones on it! i just know she’ll love….it,” you trailed off when you felt abby buck her hips up and that’s when you felt it. you craned your neck to look at her, your glossed up lips parted in disbelief. “you. did. not.” you gasped digging your freshly manicured nails into the denim of her jeans. “did what?” she asked with the sickest smirk on her on her lips.

it was no secret abby liked to wear her strap underneath her clothes but it was always in the privacy of her dorm or your apartment never in public. “abby…we can’t what if someone sees,” your voice was so scared and shaky it was too adorable. abby nuzzled her face into your neck inhaling the sweet smell of shea butter and coconut, “see you’re sounding like you don’t want this but i can feel your hips moving baby, you’re not as subtle as you think you are,” she chuckled against your neck pressing one, two, three kisses to the most tender spot. you were honestly in shock that she was indeed correct, your hips had suddenly grown a mind of their own and began grinding gently against the bulge in her jeans.

“o-okay okay! i want it….but not here. wan’ you to take me home and take your time with me,” you mewled arching your back just the slightest into abby’s chest. abby hummed in agreement, tapping your thigh softly as a sign for you to get up—which you did without a second thought. the two of you packed up the containers and blanket in silence before making your way to abby’s car. abby opened your door for you before going to her side, yet another idea hatching into her brain as she watched you pick at your dress. “babydoll,” she said her voice dropping an octave, “want you to do something for me while we drive back.” you turned your head to her, hearts practically appearing in your eyes as you listening to her every word very carefully.

abby undid her belt and you were about to object saying you wanted to savor the feeling of her at home, but before you could say anything she spoke up once more. “i know you wanna wait till we get home to fuck and we will, but until then you think you could suck me off while i drive?” oh shit. your lips parted as if you were going to say something but you just nodded making abby tisk and shake her head. “gotta here you say it out loud baby,” she said and you quickly replied with a shaky ‘yes i will.’ she hummed in content before unzipping her jeans, pulling out the violet eight inch silicone dildo that has ruined you more time than you could remember.

abby wrapped her hand around the back of your neck and pushed your head down till you were face to face with her strap. “go ahead don’t be shy s’not like you haven’t sucked my dick before,” she chuckled giving your cheek a rough pat. without a second thought you wrapped your lips around the tip giving it an experimental suck. “that’s my good girl,” abby sighed happily, patting your head gently before starting up her car.

your panties were soaked beyond belief it was sooo embarrassing. abby was the type that kept things strictly in the bedroom which you completely respected, so to see her so eager for you to suck her off while she drove had your pussy throbbing with need. of course abby knew she couldn’t physically feel your plump lips around the silicone but by god she swore she could feel your throat tighten with every bob of your head. “don’t be afraid to be sloppy baby,” she hummed running her calloused hands slowly up and down your back. you obeyed her command with a quickness and began using more spit, the lewd gluck gluck gluck sounds coming from your throat had her clit pulsing. she bucked her hips up just the slightest bit to give her clit some attention causing you to gag around the dildo. “shit— sorry baby i’ll be gentle,” she cooed apologetically, giving your head a loving pat.

before you knew it you were in front of your apartment much to your dismay. “alright babydoll let’s head in,” abby chuckled breathlessly. her cheeks were completely flushed and she was the tiniest bit sweaty despite the ac being on full blast the entire drive. when you lifted your head up you had a pout on your swollen lips making her laugh once again. “don’t worry angel once i fuck your soul out you can suck my dick n’ keep me warm in your mouth for as long as your pretty little self desires,” she gave your lips three kisses before tucking her strap back in her jeans. before she could open her door your hand gripped onto her hoodie, “promise?” you whispered, your voice the tiniest bit hoarse. abby smiled nodding her head.

“i promise.”

as soon as you stepped into your apartment abby pushed you against the counter, kissing you with so much love and wanted your knees nearly buckled. she moaned against your mouth, bucking her hips against yours. “this—this fucking dress goddamn. been driving me crazy since i saw you in it,” she groaned, bringing her hands to your breasts to give them a rough squeeze over the soft material. “abby,” you mewled at her aggressive touches.

“jump,” she mumbled against your lips and you wasted absolutely no time. you jumped up and her strong hands immediately caught you, pulling your body impossibly close against hers. abby kept mumbling out incoherent sentences to herself so quietly all you could here was something about you being ‘so pretty’ whispered over and over again until her knees knocked against the end of your bed. abby gently laid you down taking a moment to admire you in your current state. you had the biggest fucking pout on your lips and your hands were gripping onto the fluffy blanket beneath you. every couple of seconds your legs would spread a little wider making abby smirk.

“pull your dress up for me a bit,” she commanded, running her hands gently up and down your thighs. you quickly pulled your dress up past your thighs giving abby a mouthwatering view of your pink cotton panties. “well what do we have here?” she grinned, running her thumb over the embarrassingly large wet spot on your panties. you didn’t give her a direct answer, instead whining out a pathetic ‘abby’ that boosted her ego even more. you huffed, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “c’mon don’t be a tease i thought you were supposed to be taking care of me,” your tone was borderline bratty but abby decided to let it slide since it had been days since she last properly took care of you.

“you’re right m’sorry baby,” she gave your thigh a soft kiss and then another until she slowly but surely made her way to where you needed her most. you felt her nudging at your clit with her nose and your impatience was definitely getting the best of you. “c’monnn abby just—o-oh god!” you squealed when you felt abby begin to lick and suck at your pussy over your panties. she had felt so close yet so so far it was driving you bonkers. “what’s with the face?” she chuckled against your pussy knowing good and damn well what your problem was. “s’not enough i-i need more. give me more please?” abby could’ve gotten a toothache from how sickeningly sweet your voice was.

abby wrapped her fingers around the waistband of your panties, giving your covered clit one more kiss before pulling them down. she tossed the garment aside and threw your thick thighs over her broad shoulders, staring you down like she was about to eat you whole. “look at my girl using her manners, taught you well didn’t?” she spit on your clit, making your hips jolt. abby was good at a lot of things: basketball, academics, cooking, anything that had to do with cars but at the top of the list in your opinion was her ability to brat tame. before she met you you were as spoiled as they came and although she found it quite hilarious watching you throw temper tantrums over nothing it got old very quick. so whenever you decided to act like a brat with her she made no hesitation to bend you over her and lap and spank you until you were blubbering out apologies and promises that you’d stop being such a damn brat.

the first time it happened caught you completely off guard. she had said something along the lines of you being too spoiled for your own good to which you replied that she was stupid and didn’t know what she was talking about. suddenly you felt a quick, but very rough smack against your ass making you gasp. “watch your mouth yeah?” was all she said, now rubbing her hand against the burning skin. that was only the tip of the iceberg but we’ll go to that another time let’s get back to the smut shall we!!

by now abby’s tongue was moving sloppily against your pussy while three of her thick fingers pumped in and out of you with vigor. you were bucking your hips up every time her fingers brushed up against that spit that had your toes curling, but she just pushed your right back down eventually using a little more strength than she usually did with you to keep you planted against the bed. “feel s’good abs. can’t wait to have your dick in me n’ feel you in my stomach,” you weren’t a hundred percent sure what was coming out of your mouth, the feeling of abby’s fingers fucking into you already making you go a little dumb.

abby groaned against your pussy, pulling away just the slightest bit to spit on your clit before diving back in. she was being so fucking sloppy the noises of her lips smacking against your pussy would’ve made you embarrassed if you were actually focused. “taste so good honey i could stay down here for hours,” abby mumbled before taking her fingers out making you whimper from the loss. you had a complaint sitting right on your tongue but it quickly disappeared once you felt abby’s tongue begin to prod at your tight entrance.

abby had tongue fucked you into three orgasm before you were finally begging her to fuck you with her strap. she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before standing to her full height making you feel incredibly small. she removed the plain black hoodie she was wearing along with her jeans, leaving her in a gray wife beater and black boxers. she walked over to her side of the bed and opened up the bedside drawer till she found a small bottle of lube. “i think i stretched you out enough but can’t be too sure, don’t wanna hurt you or anything,” she spoke softly giving you a sweet smile. she rubbed the lube up and down the length of the dildo as you watched intently, the sight of her veiny hands stroking it had your thighs squeezing together.

she walked back over to you and grabbed your legs pulling you to the edge of the bed. “ready?” she whispered tapping the fat tip against your clit and you quickly nodded, using your feet to push her body closer to your. abby slowly pushed the tip in and it was a good thing she used the lube, even after getting three orgasms out of you and using three of her fingers on you you were still a tight fit. “kiss me please,” you whimpered, clutching onto abby’s wife beater. she obliged and smashed her lips against yours. she was slowly but surely pushing the rest of her strap inside you, rubbing tight little circles on your clit to ease the sting of her stretching you out.

she finally bottomed out and you had never felt more content in your entire life being caged between her muscly arms as she gave you pleasure others could only dream about (it’s me i’m others). abby glanced down and her pussy clenched around nothing at the sight of yours struggling to take every inch she had to offer you. “wow, f-fuck you really have the prettiest pussy don’t you doll? all for me yeah? no one else?” she pulled out halfway before slamming back into you making your body jolt. “y-yes abby s’all yours please keep going,” abby didn’t need to be told twice that’s for damn sure. she folded your knees to your chest and began putting in some serious work, not even bothered that the force of her thrusts had her thighs slapping against yours so hard her thighs were turning a dark shade of pink.

her hand wrapped around your throat squeezing with a little pressure, the coolness of her rings felt so good against your skin that was practically on fire. “so…so good abby s-so fuckin’ good,” you slurred, bringing your hands up to cup her face. her cheeks were flushed pink and her hair was sticking to her forehead that had a light sheen of sweat over it. “look s’handsome too you look so good,” there you went again calling her handsome, it was almost like you wanted her to fuck you until your bones were jelly.

it didn’t take long for your fourth orgasm to hit you like a truck, the shriek you let out nearly scaring poor cinnamoroll to death as she was sitting oh so comfortably on the couch. “yeah that’s right gimme another one c’mon baby,” abby grunted, gripping your cheeks in her hand before giving your face a rough slap. out of the corner of her eye she saw something move and glanced over to see cinnamoroll watching the two of you go at it like rabbits. “w-what’s wrong why’d you stoppp?” you whined tapping on her bulging biceps. abby blinked a few times before turning her attention back to you, “the cats watching,” was all she said makinf your brows furrow. you craned your neck and there was your kitten witnessing everything. you gasped covering your face with your hands, “go shut the door she doesn’t need to see her mommies doing this!” you cried shaking your head in disbelief. abby felt her heart swell a little when she heard you refer to you both as cinnamorolls ‘mommies.’

abby carefully pulled out, quickly making her way to the door to shut it but not before muttering a sorry for shutting the door in the poor kittys face. she turned around and nearly fell to her knees when she saw you were in a new position. you’d stripped yourself of your dress and were face down ass up, slightly wiggling your hips in a way to signal her you were ready to take her once more. “you’re a goddamn dream,” she muttered, gripping the fat off your ass in her hands before giving it three quick smacks. with no warning she pushed herself in to the hilt, making quick work to grab your hips so you wouldn’t collapse from the force. she set her knee of the bed before making a steady rhythm, the squelching of your pussy making her clit pulse. fortunately in this position the harness brushed her clit in the most delicious way possible, unfortunately though it was causing her thrusts to be a little sloppy.

she pulled you up by your neck, pressing your back against her chest. “tell me you love me,” she grunted resting her forehead on your shoulder. you mumbled out a weak ‘i love you’ but it wasn’t enough for her. she was hitting the right spots and it was making your brain so damn foggy you could barely think! not to mention your orgasm was creeping closer and closer :(. “say it louder,” she growled tightening her grip on your neck. you said it once more but it still wasn’t enough and abby was absolutely fed up. she brought her lips close to your ear before saying, “i swear to everything that is holy if you don’t scream that shit i’m gonna pull out and make you hump my shoe to get off.” her words were enough to make you cum on the spot, loud shouts of ‘i love you abby!’ echoing throughout your apartment.

abby held your body close as she continued to grind against you chasing her own orgasm. “motherfuck—shit y-you feel so good baby, so good for daddy like always,” she whined against your shoulder. she relished in the aftershocks of her orgasm before slowly pulling out of you once more. you flopped against the bed, groaning from soreness already. you turned on your back and quickly shuffled underneath the covers waiting patiently for abby to return from cleaning up the strap on. she returned shortly with a dopey smile on her face. you weakly lifted up the blanket signaling for her to join you which she happily obliged, gently maneuvering her body on top of yours so she was able to lay on your chest without crushing the rest of your body.

“i think…that was the best sex we’ve ever had,” you sighed dreamily, running your fingers through her hair that was no longer in its signature braid. she was about to speak when you both heard a little feet tap against the floor and automatically knew who it was. “my poor baby c’mere,” you pouted tapping the spot next to you on the bed. cinnamoroll was quick to jump on the bed and nuzzle into your neck purring contently. “so sorry you had to see that your poor eyes,” you cooed to the cat like this wouldn’t happen again in the future. abby chuckled shaking her head at how silly you were being, “you’re too cute babydoll…and to follow up with what you said before: that was the best sex we’ve had yet.”

trust and believe abby was already planning out the many positions she was going to put you in once you both gained some energy back hehe.

[getosbigballsack]

𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝒙 𝑵𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒚 𝑺𝒉𝒚 𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑨 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒙 (𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒄)

𝑨/𝑵: 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒓𝒍. 𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝒏𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒖𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 2𝑫 𝒎𝒆𝒏 (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) 𝑩𝑻𝑾, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓: 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓-𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐.

𝑾𝑪: 2.5𝒌

𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖'𝒔 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝑷𝒆𝒏✯

𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚❤︎

Another what-if moment, what if the table. 

Rebellious Boyfriend Gojo x Nerdy, Shy Virgin Girlfriend Y/N-chan

You got into a heated argument with your boyfriend over something that he thought was petty. He told you that you were overreacting. He told you that you didn’t need to trouble your pretty little head with the idea of another girl wanting his attention. 

After all, you were dating the hottest guy in school, so at this point, you should get used to him getting attention from women who were much more beautiful than you. They didn’t have to put much work into their appearance to get Satoru to even glance at them. 

You should get used to it, right? Wrong. 

How could you get used to something like this? Especially when those girls who knew that you were dating Satoru told you that you were a bad matchup for him, and even though you didn’t want to believe it, a part of you knew that it was true. 

There's so much to say, so much to say. But that's all there is to it. You were feeling nervous about the circumstance, and you wanted to tell him how you felt when he was surrounded by so many girls. You hoped he'd get it. But he didn't; instead, he said you were overreacting. He informed you that he's tired of reminding you that he only had eyes for you. 

You were hurt by his words, but you know what hurts you the most? 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a prude, Y/N, then maybe you wouldn’t have to feel so insecure about yourself. God fucking dammit, you’re so annoying.” 

Yup, that sentence cut you deep, and it was when he realised what he had said to you he understood how deeply he hurt you with those words. He tried to apologize but ran off and told him that he could go fuck himself. What is Gojo going to do now?

Well, he showed up at your house that night with a bouquet filled with your favourite flowers, a small little bag with a gift for you, and your favourite slice of triple chocolate mocha cake. You didn’t know that he was here until your parents sent him up to your room.

You sighed because you had told them you had argued with Satoru earlier. But your parents loved him, so no matter what happened between you and him, they'd do everything for him, even if he didn't ask. 

But, in any case, when he entered your room, he didn't say anything. He placed your gifts on the dresser and removed his uniform jacket, which he flung on your bed. He then left and returned with his dinner, which your mother had prepared for him, and placed it on your dresser as well.

He then picked up your gifts and walked over to where you sat on the bed. You both stared at each other for a while and after a long moment of silence, he said, "Hey! I bought you flowers," and then he handed them to you. 

"Thanks, I guess," you replied. 

"Yeah!" He mumbled quietly and watched as you rested the flowers on the bed before returning to look at him. You both sat there in silence once again and just like before, he broke it. "Y/N, I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I should have never said that to you." 

"But you did, though!" You pointed it out. 

"And I'm sorry," he apologised. "I know what I said was wrong. I never meant what I said.”

“Then why did you?” you asked him.

“I hate that question,” he replied honestly. He looked at you and saw that you were about to fuss, and he didn’t want you to fuss when he was trying to make up with you. “It just slipped, and I guess I was just getting frustrated over the fact that I have to be constantly reminding you that I only have eyes for you.” 

“Yeah, this is what you’re saying now. But when we go to school tomorrow, those girls…” 

“No, no, no…” he sighed and slapped his hand over your mouth. “Y/N, I don’t give a fuck about those girls and the attention that their feeding me. I care about you; you’re the one that I give a fuck about, not them. I love you, and I need you to understand that.” 

“But…”

“No buts, Y/N!” he gritted through his teeth. “I love you, not them. I need you to understand that I’m in love with you, not them. I don’t fucking care about what they say about our relationship or if they say that we’re not a good match. Fuck all of that; stop listening to them.” 

Tears began to swell up in your eyes while your boyfriend continued to speak. 

“Y/N, no baby, I chased you for a year just to get you to look at me. It took me a couple of months to work up the courage to ask you out. Did you know how fucking high felt when you said yes to me? I didn’t put all my effort into pursuing the girl that I’m madly in love with, only for her to feel insecure because of what some girls said.” 

“Satoru…”

“No, let me finish,” he paused, took a deep breath then continued. “I told you, time after time, to stop listening to what they have to say about our relationship. They are just jealous because you have what they don’t have, or they wish they could be as fucking beautiful as you are. They are the ones that are feeling insecure about themselves, and because of that, they're forcing their insecurity on you.”

He closed his eyes, took a couple of breaths then he continued. “I know all the things that they’ve been saying about our relationship at school, but I don’t care about that. They are just mad because you’re the one I post on Instagram and Twitter; you’re the one that I’m head over heels for. You are the one that I boast about and talk to my family about, and most importantly, you’re the one that I want in my life because I love you. I love that nerdy, shy, quiet girl with the big round glass that looks so cute on her face. That girl is you.”

“Ru…”

“Not done yet,” he said as he pulled his hand away from your lip and cupped your cheeks. “Baby, I love you. I want to be with you. I want to marry you, start a family, have kids, and grow old with you. I don’t care about those bitches, fuck. I need you, and I need you to understand that. Fuck them and their fucking rumors. If anyone has anything to say to you about our relationship, tell them to come have that conversation with me. I’ll beat their fucking ass.”

You giggled because you knew that he wasn’t afraid to beat up anyone who crossed him. Boy or girl, well, he doesn’t hit women; he just made their life a living hell by using Shoko; yeah, she’ll pop them.

“I’m sorry, though, for calling you a prude and saying that you’re annoying. You’re not a prude, and you’re not annoying, and I hope you can forgive me for saying that to you,” he said as he pulled your face closer to his and kissed your lips. 

Of course, you forgave him. You forgave him the moment he reassured you that you are all that he needs in his life. But still, it aches you that he called you a prude. “I’m not a prude.” 

“I know you’re not a prude, baby,” he said, smiling against your lips. 

“Hm… I accept your apology for calling me annoying, but I won’t accept your apology for calling me a prude,” you said when you pulled away from his lips. 

“Then what do you want me to do to earn your forgiveness then” he asked in a low flirty tone. “I bought you flowers, cake, and a new necklace; what else would you have me do?” 

“I don’t know?” 

He smirked before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “What if I ate your pussy out tonight? Would that count as an apology?” 

You bit your lip and batted your eyes at him innocently, “Maybe.” 

“Mhm… I guess I’ll eat you out later then, when your parents are asleep, that is. I wouldn’t want them to kick me out for sucking their daughter’s pussy.” 

“You’re so lewd….”

“Only for you… so why don’t you shower up, and I’ll go ask your dad to let me spend the night, and then we watch a movie and kick it until your parents fall asleep,” he suggested. 

“Good Idea!” you answered. 

For the rest of the night, he ate while you showered, then went to have a chat with your parents, and before he could ask your father to spend the night, your father asked him to stay the night to make sure that Gojo aired things out with you properly. And who was Gojo to decline such a kind offer? 

Anyways while the night continued, it wasn’t until 11:00 pm when your parents had finally gone to bed, and Satoru had you sprawled out on the bed and his lips roughly kissing yours. 

…

You gasped when you felt his hand wrap itself around your thighs and pull you closer to the edge of the bed. “Are you sure your parents are sleeping, baby?” he asked as he slid his hand underneath your sleep shirt to pull your panties down your legs. 

“Yes,” you whimpered, your fists clenching the sheets beneath you as you spread your legs a bit wider for him to see your dripping, throbbing pussy. “Now hurry up and apologise before they wake up.”

“As you wish, ma’am,” he said as he pocketed your panties and then tossed your legs over his shoulders. You gasped when you felt his finger slowly part your lower lips, his thumb gently massaging your clit as his face got closer to your pussy. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Are you going to forgive me?” 

“Maybe,” you moaned and closed your eyes to allow yourself to relax and allow your boyfriend to do what he does best with his mouth. 

His hot breath against your cunt, had shivers running up your spine when he whispered, “I guess I have my work cut out for me then,” before kissing your clit. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered against your pussy. “But if eating your pussy will get you to forgive me every time, then I guess I’ll have to hurt your feelings more, huh?” 

“What are you saying… oh my god,” you gasped, one hand quickly slapping itself over your mouth to keep your screaming. He’s such a punk, pressing his tongue into your pussy without warning, then he has the gall to lick inside your cunt before pulling away to suck on your clit. 

Your fingers gripped the sheet even more tightly as his hand, which had been playing with your clit, slowly proceeded up your shirt to play with your neglected tits. You glanced at him on your knees from beneath your lashes, which were soaking up your tears, to see him lapping up your precious, sinful nectar that only he gets to taste. 

"Your pussy's so sweet, baby," he said into your pussy. He adored the taste of your pussy. He loved how it felt to be the first one between your legs, having you in a way that no one else could. Feeling your legs on his shoulder, your juicy thighs against his cheeks, and the lovely smell emanating from your pussy sends his head into sensory overload. Fuck! If you weren’t both still in high school, he would have already busted your cherry and fucked your full with his kids. But he has to wait a few months until graduation, and then he can have you in any way imaginable. 

So now he just has to settle for this, you on his tongue driving him to fucking madness. 

It’s not like you had it any easier at the other end of the stick; you wanted more from Satoru. You wanted to have him in a way in which only you could talk about. To tell those girls who tried to get with him that only you could bring that much pleasure and good pussy into his life. To let them know that you had your boyfriend hooked on you, your love, and that bombass pussy, that he is not afraid to tell you that he loves you very much. 

But you have to wait it out and just enjoy the moment now. Live and get high off the pleasure he was feeding while trying to keep quiet because your parents were sleeping down the hall, and your bedroom door wasn’t all the way locked. 

You moaned softly, and he groaned a bit which sent vibrations into your shivering core. He groaned yet again as he worked his tongue on your folds. “Ru, I’m close,” you cried. You felt him smile against your lower lips, his tongue still working between your folds. Your hips bucked when he switched up; you could feel his mouth clamping around your clit, roughly sucking the swollen, sensitive bud into his mouth. “Mhm… I’m cumming.” 

“Let it go, baby; been working so hard for your forgiveness,” he groaned against your pussy as he continued to suck on your clit. You were so fucking wet, your pussy messy and dripping with your arousal and saliva; you swore you could see how messy and filthy he sounded with his tongue and his mouth greedily sucking up your sweet pussy like it was the last meal ever. 

Your pussy was dripping so much; he swore he could feel your pussy juices coating his chin. “Fuck, yes…” he groaned, feeling your legs tremble against his shoulder. His hand squeezed your breast, his face burying deeper against your cunt. The air in your lungs feels lost, your chest rapidly moving as you desperately grasp for air. His lips kept moving, and your hips kept bucking violently against his mouth. You were feeling so overwhelmed with pleasure; it had you cumming into his mouth without even realising it. 

“Ru…” you cried, and he moaned as he continued to slurp up your sweet cum into his mouth. He allowed you to continue to ride out your orgasm against his face until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore. 

After you came down from your high, he stood up and quickly captured your lips with his and then whispered, “Do you forgive me now?” 

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips and then smiled. 

“Ok, now come on, let's get you cleaned up before your parents bust our asses and throw me out,” he said before kissing your lips a final time and then pulling away. 

“Great Idea!”

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

@getosbigballsack 2023

[xsavannahx987]

TS3 CONVERSION - ANIMALS ABOUND SET

All CC on this pack are base game compatible.

22 items

anna's living chair - new mesh, 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 100$

bear stump - new mesh. 4 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 30$

best of friends - new mesh, 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 35$

branching birds wall lamp - new mesh, 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 60$

bronco 100hp wall light - new mesh. 1 swatch, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 60$

bryan and angela - new mesh. 1 swatch, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 160$

franny bunny light - new mesh. 1 swatch, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 45$

giraffe measurer - new mesh. 1 swatch, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 90$

grassy frog curtain - new mesh. 4 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 100$

grassy frog dresser - new mesh, 4 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 250$

little tyke dresser - new mesh. 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 470$

panda crib - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. FUNCTIONAL FOR INFANTS. Cost 150$

panda mirror - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 375$

peter's safari mobile - new mesh, 1 swatch, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 35$

the happy elephant - new mesh, 1 swatch, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 520$

the palmer floor lamp - new mesh, 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 70$

tiny tike dresser - new mesh, 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 535$

tower of munch knowledge - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 250$

triple animal collection - new mesh, 2 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 170$

very bear table - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 85$

wildeness bookshelf - new mesh, 4 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 200$

wildeness crib - new mesh, 4 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. FUNCTIONAL FOR INFANTS. Cost 150$

To find all objects in game, type [ANIMALS ABOUND] in the search bar

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CCs are always free but consider to buy me a coffee<3

@moonglitchccfinds @dreamstatesimsfinds @emilyccfinds @sssvitlanz