#Lubricates Joints

[michelleberrybliss]

Magical Ghee

Ghee, a form of clarified butter, has been used in Ayurvedic medicine for centuries. It offers medicinal benefits like supporting digestion, reducing inflammation, boosting immunity, promoting healthy weight management, and so much more!

Ghee, a form of clarified butter, has been used for centuries in Ayurvedic medicine and traditional cooking in India. It offers several medicinal benefits: Rich in Fat-Soluble Vitamins: Ghee is a good source of fat-soluble vitamins such as vitamins A, D, E, and K. These vitamins are essential for various bodily functions, including immune function, bone health, and vision. Supports Digestion:…

[doozclops]

are joints wet

are bone joints wet

[divinekangaroo]

The bones are in a particular state of dismay this morning and I don’t know why

[techdriveplay]

How to Stay Hydrated During Workouts

Staying hydrated is crucial for anyone engaging in physical activity. Whether you’re a seasoned athlete or just starting your fitness journey, understanding how to stay hydrated during workouts can significantly impact your performance and overall health. Water makes up about 60% of our body weight, and it plays a vital role in many bodily functions, including temperature regulation, joint…

[2ky3--and--r0-gu3]

I do not know how I am still alive bc I haven’t had a significant source of protein in like, 2 weeks and I’ve been surviving off of flaming hot Cheetos Mac n cheese and mashed potato

[feralwifey]

Oh to take out my spine and use it as a jumping rope

[auspicioustidings]

If you worked for the SAS you would one day find Soap's notepad and think you'd find cute doodles in there. WRONG. He has a page assigned for each person on base with fucking stats inclusive of things like arse peachiness, bruisability, handles (hips or hair). There are, you realise with some horror, tasting notes. And they're not just in his handwriting, this is a joint venture with his team. Who they want to fuck, who they have already, lewd details about gangbangs and kinks. They've fucking labelled anyone they know has a pussy as "self-lubricating".

It's a bit of a relief you're not in there. Well that's what you tell yourself anyway because deep down you're disappointed they don't think you're worthy of being in their dumb, awful book.

If you had snooped just a little longer maybe you'd have found that the reason you aren't is because a page wasn't enough, they have a whole other notebook dedicated to you complete with illustrations of what they think you look like under that uniform and detailed fantasies about you with tactical plans on how they're going to fulfill them.

[normvlwansta]

Shakira was found shaking (it).

[drsameepsohoni]

Tips For Healthy Joints

Find here… Tips For Healthy Joints. How to Improve Joint Health Naturally? Foods to Improve Joint Health. Food for Healthy Joints and Cartilage. How to Strengthen Joints and Bones? How to Strengthen Joints and Ligaments?

[luetta]

i saw someone joke about robot girls as an example of kinks that are just impossible to ever be made reality, like they're completely in the land of fiction. but ... that is just not true!

you can set the mood in your room. turn off the lights but put on some little coloured purple and blue blinkers. sit her down on the edge of your bed and sit down behind her. let her eyes flutter closed since there's no reason to keep them upon in this dark, safe room. softly coo into her ears, she's been such a good robot day! doing so many tasks so efficiently! making everyone around her so happy. but, silly her, she overdid it. so you're just going to have to do a tiny bit of repair work. "will that be okay, dear?" of course it will be. she trusts you completely. you're her admin. you created her. of course she has a safeguard preventing just anyone from powering her down, but she lets you override that with no resistance. such a good girl.

press your finger into the back of her neck, and then drag it down her spine. as she powers down, glide her limp body softly onto the bed. put her feet up so she's lying down completely now. maybe hold her limbs up a bit and let them drop. yep, she's powered down now. she's not unconscious, just mental faculties are capped at 10% and body autonomy is disabled. all you have to do now is find where she's sustained some damage. trace your fingers all along her chassis, poking in with a "screwdriver" to take her outer layer off and examine the wires and joints. hmmm... oil is a bit thin. these wires are too close together, could cause sparking and overheating. goodness, your fan is dusty. you've been working so hard, haven't you? gently turn her over onto her stomach now. it's time to investigate her processing unit, her software.

make sure her arms aren't stuck underneath her. once she's all comfy, you can unscrew her entire back panel. make sure to trace your fingers all around her back and spine as you do, robot girls love that shit. the soft human touch is heavenly to a machine of metal and electricity. and such a well designed chassis too, so beautiful. but off it comes, what's underneath is even prettier! oh, even now, it's still hot to the touch. you've been thinking so much today ... you don't need to think anymore though. just let me explore you. read out her event log for the day. algorithmic neural plasticity score. joint lubricant levels. corrupted data percentage. things like that. they're like scores to her. praise her if she's gotten good ones, tease her if she's gotten bad ones.

i could write so much more and maybe i will...like roleplaying injecting a virus into her neck or chest, and feeling the code flow all down her body...your cock can even be the usb!

also, at some point lay your whole body weight onto them - arms over her arms and legs over her legs. to calibrate pressure sensors or something. bc lets face it if she's a robot girl then she is 100% a neurodivergent cutie who'd love that sm <3

[t4tstarrailing]

boothill body headcanons

originally the intention was to put this in my general headcanons list once i released those... however, i realized that they'd take up a good 3/4ths of the list, so i'm making a separate post for them.

no content warnings needed, but there are very minor mentions of doing repairs on him. no mentions of reader's gender, all gender neutral.

contains 18+ content. banners by @/cafekitsune.

his body really is state of the art, one of the kind, designed specifically for him. and because of that, he wants to make sure that anyone that touches or offers to do repairs for him understands how his body works. he's prone to doing his own repairs, even if it's a considerably awkward position for him. or he'll put off repairs until he manages to get back to someone who

he can go about a week tops of low energy work before he truly needs to recharge, about 3-4 days if he's doing high intensity hunting or other forms of work. thankfully for him, he has a "low energy mode" similar to how people sleep that helps him conserve energy. while he doesn't recharge in this mode, it does allow his energy reserves to not deplete as quickly.

when/if his charge starts running out, he'll seem more tired and quiet than usual. he'll complain about his joints aching, being slow. his beacon will make him slur words instead of censor them if he tries to cuss. eventually he'll realize what's going on and go plug himself in to charge.

anytime he starts cussing too fast or hard, his beacon eventually won't be able to keep up. so, instead of censoring with compliments, he'll get censored with little beeps and chirps.

he has the ability to change what sounds his body makes. he can make it a heartbeat, his fans whirring, a mechanical purr noise. he likes tinkering with modifications and seeing what he can manage to make his body do without any assistance. just tell him what you'd like to hear from him, and he'll see if he can manage it.

despite his body being state of the art, he unfortunately does still run the risk of overheating. to combat this, he has various coolant reserves around his body and fans that activate once he reaches a certain internal temperature. the coolant is similar to sweat in humans, gleaming on his body, and his ventilation causes him to expand a little bit. think of a short-horned lizard puffing its neck out in defense but, in this situation, it's so boothill can cool himself down.

... it is a bit intimidating, however, especially once the steam starts rolling down his body and he starts snorting it out. he has had bounties piss themselves seeing him in this specific state.

he also can get embarrassed. but he doesn't blush because he no longer has blood. his motors and fans, however, do start whirring faster and louder. and he has to physically keep his vents from raising to avoid further embarrassment.

he's got a couple of lubricant reserves stored around his body that he can easily access. if he finds himself getting stiff, he'll just shoot a bit of lubricant into the joint to get himself nimble again. these lubricants aren't body safe, specifically designed for mechanical engineering.

... he does, however, have body safe lube stored in his throat that he can easily access by a button on his neck. it makes sex much easier for him.

speaking of sex! he doesn't have a dick. or a hole. instead, he has a grind pad. it's a relatively smooth bulge that looks similar to a large tdick but it's defined and there's some small ridges up and down it. the specific spot is highly sensitive for him, able to orgasm from stimulation (frotting because his favorite) with it, and able to make it vibrate as he wants.

that being said, he does have options. there are a few usb ports on his side that allows him to connect custom sex toys that let him feel whatever you do to them. dildos, holes, you name it, he can probably find it. there's also bluetooth that gives him the option of connecting sex toys to him, but he's a bit hesitant with that option specifically since he's had some... interesting experiences with them.

yes, because he has multiple usb ports, he can technically fuck himself if you plug in a dildo and a hole toy at the same time. yes, he has tried this before. yes, he does do it every once in a blue moon. but because of how exhausting and draining it is for him, it's something that he rarely offers up.

there a certain parts of his body that are sensitive, and they tend to match the erogenous zones for normal human bodies. his inner thighs are especially sensitive, especially closer to his crotch area. so sensitive that it's possible he can cum just from being overstimulated by touch in this area, including from repairs. in general, when he has repairs that need to be made in this area, he does his best to avoid having anyone else help make them.

speaking of repairs, following his repair sessions, that specific spot that he needed to repair can be overly sensitive. most of the time he'll cover it with a bandage to avoid rubbing it against anything. but if he's feel a bit ornery, he may just ask you to "help me recover from my repairs". of course he isn't gonna push it if you say no, but he most definitely will ask if he's feeling a bit playful.

some cyborgs will use a USB port to upload a virus into their system that puts them into overdrive, similar to an incredibly strong aphrodisiac. they tend to last for a couple of hours. yes, he has used them. yes, he frequently uses them when he wants to have a marathon sex session. yes, they have caused him to short circuit and almost shutdown before.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“a nasty boy + a nasty girl = a mutual good time”

A/N: so I got high and horny and immediately thought about pornstar!joel and baby love. Me, personally? I love masturbating and it’s a great way to spend ur time if you’re bored, frustrated, sad, happy! It’s also a great way to get to know your own body better, (and your partners) in fact, the world would be a better and happier place if more people masturbated <3

word count: 1.3k

Summary: you and Joel have some fun getting high and playing with yourselves

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, established relationship, reader and Joel’s are pornstars, mutual masturbation, pussy play, handjob, cum shots, pussy pronouns, intimacy,language, one brief mention of Tommy slinging his meat, mentions of drugs (ouid), Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, readers nickname is baby love, NSFW, minors DNI! +18

Almost every Sunday afternoon after you and Joel finished running your errands for the day, you would spend the rest of your afternoon getting high, and playing with yourselves. Sometimes Tommy would invite himself over, and the three of you would share a joint and throw on a porno of your choosing; always your choosing. You’d almost always pick something that you were filmed in. Whether it was solo play or you and Joel, or the three of you. (Neither Joel or Tommy would ever complain, of course.) There wasn’t anything you loved more than watching yourself get off.

Then you would find yourself sandwiched between them, letting your thighs fall open on either side of their knees, while they would be stroking their cocks and struggling to mentally decide if they should focus on the screen, or the way that your fingers were prettily playing with your pussy.

More times than not, it would just be you and Joel upstairs in your bedroom. You’d be in a fit of harmonious giggles when you waste no time to strip yourselves of your comfortable clothing and clamber onto the bed.

You were sitting across from each other, your legs were fully spread while his were just slightly spread open with a pillow underneath both of your backs for extra comfort and support. (No reason to get yourself off and then deal with the back pain afterwards. Where’s the fun in that?)

His right hand was lazily wrapped around the base of his cock in a semi-tight fist, languidly pumping himself. You loved how pretty his fist looked wrapped around his cock and the way his lips were parted open to release the softest grunt.

He watched your own ministrations with hooded eyes when you dragged your hand between your thighs, gathering up the sticky arousal that pooled in the seam of your pussy. You teasingly played with your folds, spreading them open so he could see your inner muscles clench and pulse. You slid your fingers further southwards, dipping them into your tight hole before slowly slipping them back out to spread your lips open again. A string of arousal hung between your middle and ring finger like the delicate strings on a harp. He could see how puffy and slick your lips were before he finally dragged his gaze upwards to your face.

“She’s the prettiest, neediest, and messiest lil’ cunt I’ve ever seen, baby love. Wish you could see just how puffy she looks from this angle, goddamn.” His words drooled and leaked like your sopping pussy. He was so, so filthy and always knew exactly what to say to really get you going.

“Mmm.” You hummed and took your lower lip between your teeth when you gently circled your clit, spreading your thighs open further. “I’m so wet right now, daddy. Love how pretty you look with your fist wrapped around your cock. Love watching you.”

He twisted his wrist, gently squeezing himself for a second of relief. He was so fucking hard, his cockhead was red and drooled a bead of precum that he used as extra lubricant. The sound of his hand fisting himself was nothing short of obscene.

“Love watching you play with your pretty pussy, baby love. Gettin’ her all nice and wet, yeah? She’s so messy.” He let out a throaty chuckle. “How many fingers do ya think you can fit inside of you for daddy?” He asked with a suggestive raise of his brow.

“She’s so messy.” You agreed as you let out a soft whimper. “I bet I could fit three…but I wanna see if I can make myself squirt this time.”

“Oh fuck, thas’ what you wanna do? Make your pretty pussy squirt all over the sheets…again?” He teased, pumping his fist in sync with your fingers playing with your clit. “You can easily fit three, baby love. You take my beer can of a cock with no problem. Would love to see you stretch yourself open.”

“Beer can of a cock?” You giggled and slipped your fingers back southwards to gather more of your arousal between them and brought them up to your mouth. You swirled your tongue around both digits, moaning softly at the tangy taste of yourself on your tongue. “Where’d you hear that one from, baby?”

“The internet, of course.” He said pridefully and with glee. “Twitter specifically said that I have a beer can of a cock. Maybe I should post a comparison?” He asked with a playful grin, reaching his freehand down to play with his balls, massaging them gently between his fingers.

“Oh, what if you did post a comparison, but with your cock resting on my face, and then the beer can next to it?” You suggested while bringing your hand back down to the seam of your pussy, slipping two fingers into your tight hole with ease.

“You just want an excuse for me to rest my cock on your face, baby love. Ain’t need an excuse for that, but that sounds hot. I’m all in.” He pumped his cock faster, falling in sync with how you were beginning to scissor your pussy open with your fingers.

“Always want to have an excuse for that, daddy.” You winked at him with that sultry smile of yours, face twisted in pleasure when you curled your fingers against your g-spot.

“Fuck, yeah, there you go, baby love. God, your pussy sounds so messy and wet. She sounds so-so pretty.”

You shallowy thrust your fingers faster, bringing your freehand down between your thighs so that you could play with your clit at the same time. You listened to the wet squelch of your pussy clenching down on your fingers, mixed in with yours and Joel’s moans.

He delayed his own orgasm for as long as he possibly could, desperately panting out your name and asking if he could cum on your face and tits.

You could feel your body begin to spasm, but not quite like the first time you had squirted. It was enough for you to see stars behind your closed eyes before you slipped your fingers out, with a loud, high pitched moan.

Yes, daddy! Come all over my face and tits.

And he did just that. It was your idea for him to use this as the comparison photo with the beer can. While he rushed downstairs, you dragged your fingers through the mess of cum on your tits and face, bringing your fingers up to your mouth so you could have a proper taste of him.

When he returned, he was met with the sight of you tasting his cum, and his cock jolted between his thighs, bobbing heavy and needy again. “Jesus fuck. You’re such a nasty little cockslut tasting daddy’s cum like that, baby love.

He rejoined you on the bed, gently placing the underside of his girth against your face, making sure to not cover up the thick globs of his cum on your pretty face. He held the beer can next to his cock for comparison, while his freehand took the proactive photo on his phone.

“Think I just found myself a new screensaver, baby love.” He said teasingly before he showed you the photo. He reached for the washcloth that he had brought up with him, and while you giggled and gushed over the photo, he cleaned the cum from your face and between your tits.

“What are you gonna caption it, daddy?” You asked sweetly, reaching your freehand up to curl it around his jaw and pull him down for a kiss.

“Mmm.” He hummed, letting you pull his face down to yours as your noses gently rubbed against one another before he slotted his lips against yours. “Thicker than a beer can.”

He ended up captioning the photo on his Twitter account and hour joined account: hunky, texan, and thicker than a beer can ;)

Tommy made fun of him over it for a week straight, but he never changed the caption.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💗

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[1800titz]

HI BESTIES. This is the first part of Shibari man/Shibari Asshole/Rigger!Harry x Rope bunny!Reader ((the one I teased here))

The one where Harry runs shibari classes and you think he should smile more

WC: 2.4K

This is part one of a patreon exclusive series; the rest will only be accessible through my patreon. You can already find part 2 up on my patreon (✿◠‿◠) 

When you were a little kid, your brother had an ant farm. 

An acrylic formicarium that’d started out as two boxes with a set of tubes. Over time, it morphed into a staggering, caged cityscape of twisting, pellucid hoses and burrows that spanned the entire length of the desk in his bedroom. 

You'd watch them scatter the tunnels as a little girl, lugging cracker crumbs and bits of fruit off your sticky fingers, weaving along the chutes connecting the boroughs of their curated city.

Your brother did what any nasty, older brother would do— those harvester ants were the torment of your childhood. You'd bicker, and he’d threaten to spill them into your bed when you were sleeping. Told you that the colony would eat her toes, that you'd wake up to wiggle nothing but grisly, little, ichor-soaked stumps.  

The gory intimidation tactic never really did much.

You'd still press your nose to the screen barring the insects and smudge your fingerprints over, fascinated as they congregated to the wet cotton ball in the depths of their home. 

You think it's a little like that now, wandering the swarming alcoves in the underbelly of New York. You're a little harvester ant (all exoskeleton to sheathe the pulpy anguish of a long day— ball it inside, keeping your face even and your mouth in a line), plodding through a network of crystalline, vinyl tubing. Swimming against the swathing current of the colony seeping past you in their beanies and their coats, deadpanned on their dog-eat-dog pursuit of errands. 

During the evening rush hour, it’s teeming under the city that never sleeps. It’s a stunning exhibit, maybe, for a tourist whose hometown flickers every porch light off by nine and has one tributary of a road that seeps away from the community, but it doesn’t help the headache thrumming behind your temples. Instead, it kindles the narked throb in your limbs until it feels like an itch in your bloodstream.

The day’s chewed you up with its sharp, ivory incisors and spit you out. Left something tired and empty. The dregs are grounds of a mucky ire, ready to be shed under the scalding spew of a showerhead. 

You mingle through the horde, slinking the gaps you can manage to squeeze past. Your nose burns. Anti-seize lubricant. Cherry cleaners and old concrete. Musk and brake dust. Ground up, heated steel from the wheels burning — metal on metal. Grease. It smells like asphalt and strife. 

The car is packed. A lumbering throng that weaves and scatters, either casting indignant looks over their shoulders when they’re nudged as you politely shoulder your way through, or soul-sucked into their phones altogether, scrolling in detachment. 

There’s one tawny seat, empty and tucked against the back wall. You inch for it on aching ankles, burning knees; the bits of a long day left sewn into your joints. It gnaws into your marrow, and nothing sounds better than hot water on naked skin. You twist—

Marimba blares from you bag. Someone casts an irrationally exasperated side-eye over their shoulder. You straighten out, and rummage through the contents. Find a battered lanyard. A spare stick of deodorant. A hair tie coated in lint and a sparse handful of change—

Drink water. You thumb the alarm off. 

When you sit back, it’s rigid. Firm and uneven. Warm, like a breathing furnace. It takes you all of a split second to recognize that you've managed to perch on a splayed thigh, clad in denim that’s shredded at the knees, rather than the grooved, ochre plastic of a hovering seat.  

You had thought there was little emotion you could have summoned beyond something drained and miffed. The day surprises you, yet, in its dying breaths. Like a mortified buoy, embarrassment bobs from the cesspool when you startle up and twist.

There’s a man in your seat. 

He looks oddly comfortable, almost as if he’d been there all along. As if you had just conjured a mirage of an empty seat. The only acknowledgement he gives you, blinking up from the phone cradled in his enormous, right hand, is a stoically disgruntled glance from behind the squared, pitch-framed lenses resting on the bridge of his nose. 

“Um. Excuse me—” you blink. Your brows crease, “I was sitting there.” 

He spares you a glance. There’s gems in his sockets. Emeralds. Dewy and dulled from the same, shitty day of skyscraper-morphed incisors gnawing. He looks away, and they coruscate in the near blinding glare of his LED, cast in a faint echo over his glasses.

“No, you weren’t.”

You blink again. He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he denies it. You're forced to stare at the part in his hair; the way a burnt umber curl sweeps over his temple. He scrolls over his screen, instead, with a neatly saffron-lacquered thumb. 

You swallow a flattering epithet that (his obvious disinterest) nearly wrests from your mouth. A flimsy facsimile of a smile sculpts over. Appalled. Nearly seeping into the beginnings of borderline deranged as your threadbare composure gets toyed at by a prick with a clandestine pair of scissors. Almost, almost, almost. 

“Well. I was going to.” 

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs, brows kinked, “because this seat is taken.”

A little noise clambers from the back of your throat. You swallow it down and scoff. “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly.” 

It’s dry, derisive, disinterested. The three D’s that are going to get his glasses plucked off and tossed to the floor to be crushed under someone’s heel. 

“Unbelievable.”

His eyes— mossy, reminiscent of the woods— sweep up. He’s quiet. Stony. For the first time, you really get a good look, and decide, instantly, that if he weren’t such an apparent dickhead, maybe his specs and his voguish jumper would make him look sophisticated. Handsome, with his even slope of a nose, full, pink lips, and the dusting of stubble along his cheeks and jawline. 

There’s a sharp contrast to him, like inverted colors. Patchwork of sutures that don’t fit. It’s off, his cozy sweater and his soft hair. He looks like a warm, barbed hug. 

Prickly— saguaro, in a Marc Jacobs pullover, with stinging spines sticking through the stitching. 

“What’s the matter with you?” It’s softer that you'd intended. 

You quiver— everything, all over. Your bottom lip wobbles, your mandible sets, your fingers wring at the strap of your tote. They twitch and stretch at your side with this provoked, goopy slurry of cortisol and adrenaline. It permeates your pericardium. Snakes the tubing with an incensed warmth— embers kindled.

“Do you realize how rude that is?” 

Asphalt and strife. Someone to your side glances over their shoulder and then turns back. The stranger blinks up at you from his phone with soft features chiseled apathetic. Vetiver and musk. 

“M’not sure what you mean.” 

“Are you joking? You stole my seat, dude,” you wave out with your hand. 

He blinks again. 

“I don’t think it ever belonged to you, to be fair—“ then, “Is your name on it?” 

It’s a childish retort to spall your argument into flinders. Your eyes narrow into anticipatory slits. 

“No—“

“Then I suppose it’s not your seat, is it?” he responds sharply— chiaroscuro to the lax, impassive shape that molds his face, “S’first come, first serve …dude.”

A stranger grazes your shoulder blade in passing— something you've become accustomed to. People finding walkways in strait gaps on a train that’s packed like a can of sardines. 

“Oh my God. You are such an asshole— I could be pregnant.” 

He raises his eyebrows. His eyes trail. A slow once-over, wry and disbelieving. Sage and owlish. A stray curl stemming from the forefront of his crown meddles to coil over his forehead. The corner of his otherwise indurated mouth twitches.

“Are you pregnant?” 

No.

“Yes,” you glower. 

It slinks from the back of your throat, unbidden— this lie. Rides up the back up of your tongue and slips through the cracks of your teeth. It’s curdled and twisted, miasmic pulp in tar— who the fuck lies about being pregnant for a subway seat?

You're never going to see him again. 

You're never, ever going to see him again. 

You cup your hand over the underside of your tummy. Sell it, now that you have to. All soft flesh under the button of your jeggings, shrouded under the boxy shaping of your fleece turtleneck— where a baby (that definitely doesn’t exist, last you checked), the size of a citrus limon, would curl up. You tuck your palm over the phantom at your underbelly. 

You've had a shitty day, and now you've been backed into a corner, offering the universe shitty manifestations with your hands cupped out. 

The seat stealer ogles. Meanders from your strategic hand placement to your ireful scowl. Back. His mouth purses. 

“So, it’s not that you could be,” he clarifies, slowly, “It’s that you are.”

Languid. Unrushed, like an overflowing, murky lake lapping at a berm. Someone brushes the back of your arm. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you lying?” 

You scoff. He’s fully transfixed on you now, the glow from his smartphone dimmed on its pending shut-off timer. 

“Are you kidding? Who—“ you hike your tote up, “lies about being pregnant for a subway seat?” 

He purses his lips again, ruddy pillows bordering the sharp chasm of his mouth where the tools to dissect her claims are stowed. Bobs his head. 

“How far along are you, then?” 

You grit out, teeth bared, “Thirteen weeks—“

And a stranger prods past with enough force to nudge you forward. Enough for your shin to brush against the bespectacled stranger's own. Enough to step into his space, nearly between his parted thighs. He frowns. 

He does another slow sweep with his gaze. Furrowed brows, glimmering viridian dancing from behind limped lenses. Gleaning pieces like cattail and twine for a nest. Deciding; are they worthy? A grip over your underbelly, the little frown on your lips that mirrors his own, the way you suddenly crowd his atoms. He’s unconvinced, almost. Apathetic. 

You fully expect him to tell you to fuck off, but then he nudges with his stubbly chin. You shuffle back as much as you can with about three, broad strangers at all sides. 

He bleeds out into you, for a moment, all heat, when he clambers up and steps in to make your cycle — this game of musical chairs to the tune of white noise, flitting on a screeching rail through a tunnel— smoother. He’s broad. Tapered. Thick in the shoulders, a carnegiea of a man towering when he nearly presses his firm chest to you, wrapped in french terry. He’s much softer to the touch than the spikes bristling from his mien implicate. Woodsy and clean, like smoke, and cedarwood, and soap. It flushes the miasmic undertone of grease the subway always has. 

He cocks his head. Sit down. 

“Congratulations,” he tells you when you slot into the nook, splaying your tote over your lap. 

He’s kept your seat warm. 

Whether the statement is in reference to your unborn pseudo-baby or your victory, you're unsure. 

-

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KNOTS resembles a yoga studio, with its clean, tall walls, its french oak flooring, and its bone-white bulbs, linearly tiled into the ceiling. It smells like an amalgam of grapefruit cleaning products and spritzes of an air freshener that vaguely echoes the lapping sea. 

Salt, an airy ozone, muguet. Something pretentious that doesn’t fit into the city. 

If it weren’t for the myriad of ropes, lubricants, and toy cleaners stacking the shelving units by the front, you would have felt as if you were here to attend a pilates class. Cycling, maybe. Something sweaty and less …abrasive.

You're late for your seven-to-nine open level, beginner’s course— two soporific hours of staring at rope and tying knots that you'll never get back.

(Slaphappy and fecklessly inept at knot-tying are two traits that don’t work well to take up shibari as a hobby.

“Please— she’s been begging for months and none of those online tutorials make any fucking sense.” 

“So— why don’t you take her with you?” 

“Because I want it to be a surprise,” Niall had opposed. Puffed his chest, “I wanna surprise her. Like a proper ropes guy, you know. And she’s so flexible, too, I could tie her in loads of positions—“

You'd raised your hand. “Spare me.” 

Niall’s always been a glass half-full. Crystalline, effervescent. A bright color.

You couldn’t bear to ruffle his plume when, two autumns ago, he spent a Wednesday afternoon standing outside a women’s handicapped stall in an auto shop for pure, courageous moral support as you took an actual pregnancy test— not even by his doing, and he still was a very good sport. Even if he’s absolute shit at knots beyond tying his own shoes.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that if he struggled with twine and a palomar, it wasn’t going to matter how bendy his girlfriend was.)

You're fourteen minutes late. Eight-hundred-forty seconds and change for every two steps, by the time you find the right door in the balmy corridor of boundless doorways. The portly, alder ingress squeals on its hinges when you shuffle, as quietly as you can manage, into what vaguely resembles a dance studio. 

The attendees look the part, too, perched over their yoga mats in contemporary dancer garb, turning their chins over their shoulders at the disturbance. Dress casual and comfortable. There’s only about eight of them, and they coil in a piqued coterie ahead of the instructor, who has about six varying ropes, diverse in their tint and structure, and then he peers up—

It’s him. Saguaro, with the frames and the eyes like beds of flinty malachite. 

He’s holding a furled, plaited cord, the head of the class, and he pauses, blinking up. Briefly. He clears his throat—

”—Jute, on the other hand, has great knot stability. You can see here, the braided texture— that makes it less slippery.”

Compunction crinkles the valley of skin between your eyebrows as you trudge in alongside Niall— he’s much more amicable about it, mouthing apologies and raising his hand in friendly hello’s that don’t receive much beyond awkwardly indifferent glances. You sink to your knees toward the back, which isn’t all that far from the front, all things considered. It’s a small class. The wood burrows into your tailbone— were the yoga mats a complementary piece? Were you supposed to bring a yoga mat?

“It’s great for floor bondage, but it’s water sensitive. So if you want to work it into suspension, don’t wash it too often. Otherwise, you’re losing carrying capacity.”

The city of New York is a metaphorical hayrick. It’s a paradox, since the big apple is the furthest thing from watery mud, fir-constructed barns, and scythes sweeping through crops. 

Theoretically, though, you should have never seen this man again. 

He should have become swept into the mound of straw— got lost in it. Mortification strums at your muscles, tensing every sinew. It scars deep— scrapes at your cartilage. If you'd known this needle would prick your thumb again, maybe you wouldn’t have waged war for the seat on the subway. 

And yet, here he is.

[starry-eyes-love]

Too Young to Die- Part 1

Masterlist

Part 1 of 3 part Mini Series

Pairing |  Massage Therapist Joel Miller x F!Reader with Autoimmune disease, no outbreak, AU (I changed up his timeline a bit).

Summary | You were referred to Dr. Joel Miller, a massage specialist, to help manage your joint and muscle pain with autoimmune disease.  What you didn’t know was that Joel was an insanely attractive man, and that you’d be coming undone underneath him before your first appointment was even over with. 

Series Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Smut!

Age gap (he’s 47, she’s 29), language, Smut (with a capital S, watch out!!), daddy reference, f!(fingering), squirting, female reader has autoimmune disease, Joel is a massage therapist, slight reference of medical stuff, reader verbalizes anxiety with treatment, fluffy Joel, soft Joel, sexy Joel, terms of endearment, Joel asks her out on a date at the end.

A/N:  This one is completely self-indulgent and has been sitting in my draft folder since before Christmas. I have autoimmune disease, and treatment hasn’t worked much for me in many areas, so I know some of the troubles and struggles that the reader here has. Not everyone who has autoimmune disease may experience these symptoms, concerns, or struggles. This will be only a three part mini series. Very smutty with story building throughout. Enjoy! 

Word Count:   9.1K (we’re establishing a story here)

Fuck you were wrecked, seconds away from crashing through, or into, a brick wall with an orgasm, you thought.  This felt different though, so much different than what you’ve ever experienced before. “Joel, fuck, pressure, it’s a lot of pressure and I’m, fuck, I’m, I’m-” “Come f’me sweetheart. Come on baby, fucking soak my fingers.”

Joel Miller sat in his office of his massage studio, looking over the referral paperwork that Dr. Samson, an autoimmune specialist, had sent him. A female patient was being referred to him for treatment of musculoskeletal pain and tenderness.

“Patient has reoccurring musculoskeletal tremors of unknown origin that come and go. Bilateral joint swelling seen in all extremities with positive inflammation noted in laboratory test results and X-rays. Arthritis and arthralgia positive in all joints. According to the patient, anti-inflammatory and arthritis medication only works slightly for pain. Recommended gentle massage therapy to see if joint lubrication and increased joint mobility is plausible, and if pain and muscle tremors will cease. Immediate referral requested.”

When Joel glanced at the bottom of the form a week ago, he had seen that the referral had come in three weeks prior. Now today, four weeks after the initial referral, he was finally able to see you for the first time.  When he had inquired with his secretary as to why it took so long before he saw you, she had said that there was a problem with your private healthcare insurance. Delaying treatment was never something that Joel Miller prided himself on. In fact, he was usually the opposite with trying to get his patients in for their first appointment within a week following their referral. Joel, having been a contractor in his previous life before becoming a massage therapist, knew the difficulties with treating joint and muscle pain. The goal was to never delay treatment as it would lead to widespread body inflammation. And once inflammation fully set into muscles and joints, it was harder for someone to find relief of their discomfort. 

You were Joel’s next scheduled patient to arrive in 20 minutes. As he waited for your arrival, he went back over your X-rays, lab test results, and dictation notes from your autoimmune specialist.  He had already reviewed it previously, but now he was refreshing himself on your in-depth history as he took some last minute notes of things that he wanted to ask you for this particular session. He had booked your first appointment with him to be about 2 hours, instead of the usual hour.  Joel always conducted very detailed exams with his patients. He was also very knowledgeable in understanding autoimmune patients, especially knowing that each person was unique. He wanted to tailor a program that was going to help you specifically.

Joel Miller wasn’t just your average run of the mill massage therapist, he had a specialty license in massage. He specialized in patients with pain, joint stiffness and swelling, inflammation, autoimmune disease, injuries, etc. People usually only came to him by doctor referral, which usually meant two things. First, he prided himself on taking his time to get to know his patients and how he could help ease their suffering and pain. And second, he typically charged more money for his services.  Most massage therapists would charge people a fee based on how long they performed their massage, Joel charged by the session.  The maximum time he would give a client with his hands was 1 hour, but he’d pencil in 1.5 hours of time with them just in case they felt pain.  Sometimes he’d have to stop and let patients breathe and relax for a minute before he started massaging their muscles again. Joel had a lot of training and education in the technique that was required, and many patients walked away from him stating that they felt a lot better.  By glancing at your history he didn’t think that you’d be a one time only patient.  He thinks that you would benefit from regular massages with him to help treat your inflammation and pain.

“Mr. Miller, your 10 AM appointment is here,” his secretary, Ashley, said.

“Thanks Ashley, I’ll be out in a minute. Please take her back to Room 5, and I’ll be along in a minute.” He replied, still studying the notes from your doctor and making notes for himself of the things that he wanted to focus on with you for your first appointment. 

When you had arrived at the address for your first massage, you felt a sickly feeling in your stomach.  Your doctor had reassured you that Mr. Miller would be the person to help you feel better. But just like all the other promises that your primary care provider gave you, and how none of them worked the way that you hoped, you were very skeptical at this new treatment option. Nothing helped you feel better, and you were beyond frustrated. It took you a bit to convince yourself this morning to come here, telling yourself that Dr. Miller was an expert at this, and that you should give him a try. What could hurt, you thought. Worst case scenario, it didn't do anything, which sadly was the norm for you these days. 

For the last several years, your body had been poked and prodded more times than you would care to admit. Each time there was a promise of a better understanding or discovery of why this was all happening. But with each test, came more conflicting and confusing results, and you were exhausted from it all. You have been giving more blood for the sake of medical testing than what you’d think was truly normal. As ridiculous as it sounded, you felt that if Dracula was actually a real being, that he would be impressed with the amount of blood that you've donated for the sake of medical science.

With shaky hands, you got out of your car, locked it, and then entered the facility. When you entered you noticed that the space was calm. There was pale muted colors that covered the walls, colors that often helped people relax. But it did nothing for your nerves. You were shaking and not wanting to do any of this anymore. You felt like you had a huge lump in your throat, and that you couldn't fully swallow. Of all the things that you had to be afraid of in this world, you were the most afraid of medical treatment. Yet, that was the one thing that you were blessed with in having to always do. ‘Thanks body for betraying me with autoimmune,’ you thought.

As you walked up to the registration window, you found the secretary typing away on her keyboard while looking at her computer screen. You tried to settle your nerves before opening your mouth, but you felt like you were drowning in a pool of despair. Anxiety was getting the better of you again, and you felt like you wanted to run away and hide from everything. But where could you go when autoimmune always seemed to follow you, especially with the pain that came along with it.

“Um, excuse me,” you said meekly, after standing at the window for a brief moment. 

The secretary continued to type away, not looking at you nor acknowledging your presence. You went to clear your voice again when she abruptly stopped and said, “what can I do for you hun?”

“I- uh, I have an appointment, with um, with Dr. Miller I think,” you said softly.

“Oh, hun it's just Mr. Miller, or Joel for short. He doesn't like being called Doctor. He always says he has a doctorate degree in massage, not in medicine. Yet they're kinda the same thing if you ask me.” The secretary said, shaking her head with a slight laugh. You stood there in silence, looking at her as she continued to ramble on. You were trying to listen to what she was saying, but all you could feel was your heart racing in your chest at the prospect of once again meeting a new person with the promise of helping you.

After listening to the woman who you thought was named Ashley ramble on for 15 minutes, as that was the name that you noticed on her name tag, you were finally sitting down in the general waiting area. You were slowly trying to calm down and relax while staring outside and watching the birds hunt for bugs in the grass. You didn't know how long you were waiting there, just staring outside, before you heard Ashley call your name again to take you back to Room 5.  You didn’t know what to expect when you entered the room, but what you saw shocked you.

The room was softly lit, with soft music playing in the background, music that you liked. You also heard running waterfalls, sounds that came from the little fountains scattered all around the room. There was also a hint of cinnamon and slight vanilla aroma in the air, your favorite scents that would usually calm you. You tried racking your brain as to how, by chance, these scents and sounds were present when Ashley said, “it was on your intake survey. Your favorite classical music, scents, and sounds. Joel's very thorough, focusing on relaxation as much as muscle and joint relief.”

You stood there shocked. You thought those questions were just asked of people to try to ease the tension of how you were going to let a stranger put their hands on you. You had no idea that your answers would actually be taken seriously. Usually doctors, when they’ve asked those questions, never really did anything with the answers. Well, Dr. Miller was definitely different. It was at this moment that you were grateful that someone actually listened to you. You just hoped that he would continue with the same dedication while speaking with you, and not ignore what you said like everyone else seemed to do. You were frustrated with the medical field.  You’d tell them something hurt, or something was happening and they only looked at your lab tests and X-rays and made decisions based on that, never actually listening to what you were truly telling them.  You had only been in the room for maybe 5 minutes when you heard a gentle knock on the door, and the entrance of who you only could have suggested was Dr. Miller.

“Good day, I'm Dr. Miller but you can call me Joel.” He said while holding out his hand for you to shake. You shook his hand, and as you did, you felt how rough his hands were. They were calloused and strong, very sturdy hands. Not something that you'd expect to see from a massage therapist. This intrigued you, as you've always loved a man with rough hands. 

After you introduced yourself, Joel walked over to the small desk in the room and sat down on the rolling stool. A typical doctor stool that you’ve seen countless times in exam rooms. He grabbed a piece of paper and then sat there for a moment writing a few notes, things that you thought were probably dealing with your medical file. After a moment he finally looked up at you and then asked with a slight Southern drawl, “How are y’feeling today?”

“I- I’m ok” you said meekly as you slowly looked over Joel. Joel was a gorgeous man, clearly in his later 40s with chocolate brown curly hair. He had a mustache and a slight beard by his jaw, one that had a slight sprinkling of gray in it. He also had glasses on his face with gentle eyes behind the glasses, ones that you could easily get lost in.  He was wearing a simple white t-shirt, framing his broad shoulders perfectly. He had a slight tan on his arms, and hands that once again you couldn't wait to touch you. By looking at him, you didn’t think that massage was the only thing that Joel has done in his life. Something told you that he had spent many years doing hard work with his hands. As you continued your exploration, you then noticed that he was wearing a nice pair of black pants that hugged his hips perfectly. As you continued, you saw that Dr. Miller was definitely someone who was a decent sized man in the bedroom, seeing the soft bulge in his pants as he sat down with his legs slightly spread on the stool by the desk.  You couldn’t help yourself but you stared at his package, wondering what it’d look like outside of the confines of his pants, and what it would feel like fully aroused inside of you. The longer you stared, the more you felt heat rise up the back of your neck. When you noticed the awkward moment of him looking at you, clearly having asked you a question that you didn't hear, you shook your head slightly, looking down fully at the floor while saying “sorry” out loud.

“It's ok darlin',” he said, giving you a small little smirk at the fact that he caught you checking him out.  You were hoping that he didn’t see what you were checking out the longest though.  You didn’t want to explain to your massage therapist that you were fantasizing about his package, and what types of moans or grunts he’d make while fucking your brains out. 

Joel continued to talk to you, explaining why you were here, and how his services could help you.  You were only half listening to him, embarrassed about how you had behaved previously. Joel was devilishly handsome, the type of guy that you were into. You were, however, internally scolding yourself at the importance of having proper social etiquette, and not eye fucking your massage therapist, which is what you were doing every time you looked at him.

As Joel continued to talk with you, he slowly moved around the room, grabbing different things off from the shelves. He instantly noticed your meek and shy attitude, even though he had caught you checking him out earlier. He had to admit, you were very cute, but Joel was a professional. He couldn’t allow himself the joys of thinking about you in a different sort of way.  Nevermind, that if he wasn’t your massage therapist, he would definitely want to explore those other possibilities with you. What he did notice though was how you turned inward at the mentions of pain, autoimmune disease, and how your doctor said you didn’t have much abilities to do activities that your peers could do.  You were 29, and he knew what the world did to 29 year olds who didn’t, or couldn’t, do the same things that their peers could. The world would ignore you. Joel, himself, remembered those days when he was 29 and worked construction when Sarah and Ellie, his daughters, were younger. All his friends went out partying after work, when he went home and raised a 10 year old and a 2 year old all on his own, Sarah and Ellie’s mom were already out of the picture. Joel was lost in his own head, remembering those earlier days, when all of a sudden he heard you speak up in an irritated tone.

“Mr. Miller, no disrespect, but I don’t think you understand what it’s like to not be able to do things that most 29 year olds can do.” You didn’t think he understood. So once again you found yourself trying to explain to a medical professional how much autoimmune has negatively impacted your life at such a young age, and how agitated you were at the fact that no one seemed to help you or listen to you. Joel, being the attentive man that he was, sat across from you on the stool and listened to every word that you had said.

Once you were finished, Joel took a deep inhale, then followed by a long exhale and then said “I am so sorry that people haven’t listened to you, or have taken you seriously about your concerns with your body. You’re right, I don’t know what it's like f’ya as I’m not you. But, I do know what it’s like to not be able to do everything a 29 year old can do. I may not have autoimmune, but I had different responsibilities that didn’t allow me the joys of doing everything that I wanted, including the joys of being with a beautiful woman like yourself at that age. That’s why I want to help you.” 

As soon as Joel called you beautiful, he saw your reaction. You started to blush on your cheeks from the compliment. You felt flattered by the older man that was in front of you. Meanwhile, Joel internally scolded himself at how his statement wasn't proper patient-doctor etiquette. Joel had vowed to himself that he wouldn't cross that line again, especially with you, no matter how drop dead gorgeous he thought you were.

Joel began to run a few tests with you, checking your reflexes and testing your mobility. You didn’t say anything else to him after his statement. You felt embarrassed by your actions and assumptions that he didn't care or understand, when you could clearly see that he did. The longer you looked at him, the more you could see that he was someone who truly did care about helping others. You silently wondered if his treatment would actually help.

“Dr. Miller?” you asked, wanting to scratch the itch of your curiosity in understanding the treatment that he was suggesting.

“Joel” he said as he pushed on your shoulder blades. When you winced he said “are you tender here?” as he pushed on the same spot again, but this time with a little less force.

“Yeah. I’m tender there, and everywhere,” you said with a hiss as he moved his hand down to your biceps.  “It’s tender inside every joint, and sometimes muscles. Winter’s in Minnesota aren’t too nice for people like me,” you said, head hanging low as a tear slipped down your cheeks.  

You felt Joel stop testing your joints and muscles, hands still on your arms when he placed his finger gently under your chin, slightly tilting your head up so you could look him in the eyes. After a moment he said, “Well, we’ll try to rectify that now won’t we. Massage is more than just relaxin’, it helps a lot of people in ways that can-”

“Can it cure me?” you said, interrupting him, with wide eyes. “Cause if it can cure me, I’ll do anything. But don’t tell me that it’ll work miracles. Don't get my hopes up and then have it fail. I-I can’t take it anymore with all of the disappointment” you said, closing your eyes to take a steadying breath as tears gathered at your waterline.  It has been a very long and exhausting road these past three years with your autoimmune journey. You found out early on that your body couldn’t tolerate medication, and nothing else seemed to work. 

“I can’t promise that it’ll do miracles by curin’ ya, but I can promise that I’ll try my best to make you feel better. How’s that?” Joel said with a tender voice, trying to soothe your emotional discomfort of years of failed treatments. Joel remembered reading the last line of your referral by Dr. Samson which had stated;

“No treatments have been successful. Patient has voiced wanting to stop trying autoimmune treatments, stating that she didn’t feel like it was working. Patient was informed that if she decided to fully stop taking immunosuppressant medications, that the end result would be major organ damage that could lead to death. Patient agreed to try one more treatment for pain, stating that if the treatment didn’t work, then she’d stop autoimmune treatments altogether and ‘let whatever happens, happen’.” 

‘Fuck,’ Joel had thought when he first read that last line in your medical file. Someone giving up, especially at such a young age, didn't sit well with him. Being 29, your entire world was still in front of you.  You had a lot more years and possibilities of life in front of you. Giving up wasn't something that Joel did, and the fact that you had voiced wanting to stop treatments to your doctor bothered him immensely. Truly, it wasn't necessarily the fact that you had wanted to stop treatments that upset him. It was your willingness to allow death to potentially consume you that truly got to him. You were too young to die.

20 minutes later, you were lying on your stomach with a sheet covering your lower half. You were completely naked, scolding yourself internally that you didn’t wear underware today with your pants. Joel was slowly massaging your back, trying to work out the knots that he felt in your muscles.  As his hands continued to work out the knots and tension, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. His touch was not only skilled, but carried a reassurance that echoed through your body. You felt safe with him, safe in a way that you haven’t for a long time.  You felt like if you were near him, that he’d take all the bad in the world away for you. And if you were being honest, this comfort was something that you haven't felt in a very long time from anyone.

"You're doing great, darlin’," Joel whispered, sensing your vulnerability and turmoil you had been feeling. Joel could tell that you were working through something major in your head, just like most of his patients did. Most of the time he focused on trying to distract people from their internal thoughts, giving them a break when they were here.  But there was something about the silence between the two of you right now that he felt like you desperately needed.  Every time he’d open his mouth to ask you a question, he’d feel you tense up, and that was the last thing he wanted you to do.  So he slowly worked your sore muscles and joints, giving them the tenderness and affection that they needed, while allowing you to stay seated in silence. 

Throughout the session, Joel maintained an empathetic connection with you. He explained each technique when he’d switch it up, providing you with the most gentle sense of comfort. He’d tell you what he was going to do, if he moved down your body or up, giving you moments to breathe when he felt like it was too much. But most of all, he gave you that warmth and unawkward silence that you craved. He wanted you to just live and feel, to just be in the moment with him.

As Joel's tender touch continued, you felt a warmth spread throughout your body, slightly dissipating the pain that had lingered there for so long. His words became a comforting melody, echoing a promise to you of relief. “You’re doing so good f’me, gentle breaths in and out, there y’go.” He said, encouraging you to stay centered and remain in the moment. That was the key in pain relief, staying grounded and living within the moment. When we just allow our body to feel, and not force anything, we can find peace and calmness. These feelings of peace and calmness are what leads us to having pain relief.

As Joel moved down to your lower back, you let out a hiss in pain, followed by an “ouch that hurts.” 

“What hurts darlin’?” Joel said, slowing his deep strokes on your lower back, right above your tailbone area.  He doesn’t remember reading in your file that you had lower back pain, so this was something new that caught him a little off guard.

“Right there, low” you said, hissing again as he pressed his finger into the lower part of your back, on your left side, by your hip.

After you hissed a second time, Joel immediately stopped and walked around to the other side of the massage table. He gently pressed on your lower back and hip joint on the other side, saying, “how ‘bout over here, does this hurt?”

“No, not as bad,” you said. “It's my left side, god that hurts.” You said, as he reached over and lightly pressed on your left side once again.

“Ok, let’s try somethin’,'' Joel said, moving completely over to your left side now.  “I’m gonna hold up the blanket, where you still are covered, and I want you to flip completely on your back, okay?  I wanna see if your pain continues in a different position.”

You nodded your head and then gently felt the blankets pull off from you. Joel was completely looking away from you, giving you privacy as you turned to lay on your back instead of your stomach.  When you finally settled, you told him that you were ready. He then informed you that he was only going to uncover your left leg, to the mid thigh region.  As he did, he explained how he was going to test your leg's range of motion to see if it was your hip joint that had caused you pain. 

With only doing simple joint motions with your leg, Joel noticed that nothing was painful.  When he bent your knee, pointing your knee outwards towards the left, followed by gently lifting your leg higher, to open up your pelvis more, he didn’t see any outward signs of pain from you. 

“If I do this, does it hurt?” He said, placing a little weight on your leg.

As soon as your knee got about level with your pelvis you hissed again. Joel tried pushing down on your pelvic joint to determine where it hurt, but all you did was whimper.  The pain wasn’t coming from your joint, it was coming from someplace else deep inside of you.  When he returned your leg back down he said “I’m sorry darlin’, I can’t determine where your pain is coming from. Have you had it-”

“Just forget about it” you said, turning your head to the opposite side, closing your eyes as you felt the tears start to stream down your face.

“Hey, none of that, '' Joel said, gently turning your chin towards him so he could see your face in its entirety. “If somethin’ is hurting ya, I wanna hear about it. Help me out, where does it hurt?” When you didn’t respond right away he said, “does it hurt here” as he gently pressed on your hip bone. He watched you shake your head no.  “How about here?” He asked, moving slightly inward, towards the inside of your pelvic bone.

With a shaky breath you said, “no, but it hurts straight down, but lower and inward more.”

“Here” he said, moving down about halfway where your hip joint was, towards the inside of your pelvis.  You let out another shaky breath, closing your eyes as tears fell more from your cheeks, shaking your head no to him.  

It took Joel a second to figure it out. But when he did, he finally understood why you were crying. You were embarrassed about what was happening inside of your body. When he moved his hand down towards the lower left side quadrant of your abdomen, and gently pushed where your ovaries were, he asked, “does it hurt here darlin’?”  As soon as he applied a little bit of pressure to your left ovary area, you let out a stuttered breath, nodding your head up and down.

Joel flattened his hand on your tummy, where the sensation was, knowing what the culprit was. You were probably mid cycle and ovulating with an ovarian cyst. He didn’t remember you being pregnant, but he wanted to make sure that it wasn't an ectopic pregnancy before he ruled it as an ovarian problem.

“If I press over here, does it hurt?” Joel said, pressing on the other side in the lower abdomen. You had your eyes closed, tears lightly falling, shaking your head no.

“Ok, ok, darlin’. I know, I know. Deep breaths for me though, ok?” he said, as he watched tears stream down your face. He gave you a moment to collect yourself, before he asked his next question. 

“Is there any chance you could be pregnant?” He said, slowly stroking your tummy where a baby would be laying. He knew he shouldn’t, but somehow imagining you having a swollen tummy where a baby would lay was giving him fantasies that he didn’t even know existed. 

You let out a sarcastic laugh, saying, “no, it’s not that.”

Puzzled, Joel looked at you and said, “y’know, if an ectopic pregnancy happened, y’still could have a normal period. If there’s any chance that you could be pregnant, like having unprotected sex, or even if the condom broke, you probably should-”

“Joel, I haven’t had sex in 3 years,” you said, barely above a whisper. When you noticed the shocked look on his face you turned your head away from him adding, “guys really don’t want to have sex with a woman like me.”

“What’d y’mean, a woman like you?” He said, furrowing his brows at your odd phrasing. 

“A woman who’s sick with autoimmune, Joel.” You said, closing your eyes and trying to pull back the tears that were threatening to fall again. You didn't want to have this conversation, and you sure as hell didn't want to admit how the act of even having orgasms were difficult for you. There were just some autoimmune embarrassments that you wanted to keep to yourself, no matter how much it shattered your soul inside. You didn't feel like a beautiful, young, sexy, attractive woman that you knew all the other single 29 year old ladies felt. You felt like you couldn’t offer anything to the male race that wasn't medical tests, sickness, and heartache combined.

Immediately Joel felt irritation and anger at your careless comment of how men wouldn't find you attractive or want to be with you. Without dwelling on it, Joel did the one thing that he knew he shouldn't, he opened his mouth to speak more on the issue. He hoped he could get you to understand that not all men were like this, that he sure as hell wasn't like this.

“Darlin’, boys, not real men, are like that. A real man wouldn’t allow sickness to stop him from wantin’ a beautiful woman like yourself. A real man would enjoy making you feel good.  Real men, honey, not boys.” 

Once he said it, Joel knew that he shouldn’t have opened his mouth, especially with the look that you were giving him. You looked back at him, shocked, and taken aback by his forward statement. But he couldn’t just stand there and listen to you accuse men, like him, of not caring. He would do anything to be with a beautiful woman like yourself, whether or not you were sick with a permanent illness.

After your head caught up with Joel's statement on men, you just shook your head. You then gave him a genuine, honest to god, belly laugh. “Yeah, well, Mr. Miller, show me where a real man is who wouldn’t care about all of that.  Tell me who he is, because honestly, I haven’t found one single guy out there who’d be willing to have a real relationship with me because of this illness. And for the record, I can’t even get a guy to fuck me with no strings attached either. Not that I’d want that, cause I don’t do the casual sex thing, but still, you get it.” You said, snapping right back at him. 

It was Joel's turn this time to look shocked. He thought to himself, why the hell has no one treated you right? He could see that you were exhausted with your own body and with your own life. He could tell that you were exhausted at the reminder of what you didn't have, of what your autoimmune disease had taken from you. He wondered if you ever truly tried, or if you just gave up right away. The longer he looked at you, the more he realized that you had tried, but obviously you weren't successful.

As you sat there partially propped up onto your forearms, you felt the tears well up into your eyes once again as you watched Joel look at you. You were embarrassed at what you had said. At admitting how easy it was for everyone else in the world to have relationships, everyone except you. Hell your own family even disowned you after your diagnosis stating that it was “too hard for them to handle.” So you've been doing this on your own, all alone, for the past 3 years. Exhausted didn't even come close to describing the way that you felt. 

As you gently laid back down at this realization of loneliness once again, silently scolding yourself for opening your mouth, you accidentally hit the back of your head on the table, muttering “shit” under your breath. After a moment, you heard Joel let out another long sigh and then he gently grabbed your chin and said, “hey, look at me.”

When you looked into Joel’s eyes, he was staring back at you with concern and tenderness lacing his features. Joel saw your frustration and array of emotions, and he felt like it was important for him to take away all those insecurities by telling you that he wasn't like all those other boys you were with. With a slight smile, he gently cupped your cheek and said, “darlin’, a real man, like me, doesn’t fucking care if you’re sick or not. Men, like me honey, would take care of you regardless of the problems that you have. And honestly, it’s a damn shame that no one has ever taken their time with you, making sure your needs were met. If I was with you, I'd make damn sure you were enjoying it the entire time.” 

Joel then removed his hand and placed both hands on the side of the massage table, stepping back and exhaling through his mouth as he looked down at the ground.  He knew he needed to end this session right now. He's already stepped over far too many lines, and if he didn't watch it, he'd cross an even bigger one of showing you how a real man gave a beautiful woman pleasure.

You laid there watching the turmoil unfold on Joel's face. He wouldn't look up at you, kept staring down at the floor, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet periodically.  He had checked his watch several times, attempted to clear his throat once, and had quickly glanced out the window. You knew those signs, he was trying to find a nice way to end the session or end the conversation. The more you watched him, the more upset you got. 

After Joel stood there staring outside for a while, he finally cleared his throat again. “I- uh, I think Dr. Anderson can probably help you better, she’s very good with this type of stuff,” he said, waving his arm at you, but not looking at you. 

When he straightened up to walk away you closed your eyes and said in a soft voice, “Please, please, help me.” You wanted to keep your voice steady, but you found that it slightly cracked at the end, which made you internally scold yourself. You weren't a weak person by nature, you couldn't afford to be with a disease that was slowly destroying your organs and killing you from the inside out. But somehow you felt like you were weak, like you were just a shell of the person that you once were. At first, when you asked for his help, you didn't know what exactly you were asking for. But as the seconds ticked by, with him not answering, you realized that you were pleading for him to see you.

Without looking at you, Joel asked in a gentle tone, “what do y’need help with?” When he turned back around towards you, his eyes were closed, and he was taking several steadying breaths. He was trying to calm his nerves and to silence the war that was going on in his mind. His mind was screaming at him, reminding him that this was inappropriate patient-doctor conversation or relations. He knew he needed to stop. So it shocked him to hear himself say a little louder, “Darlin’, what do you need help with?”

You just stared up at him, searching his face to see if what you wanted to voice was okay for you to do. You wanted him, as a man, to find you attractive and to touch you. But how could you ask him to go against all of his code of ethics as a medical provider just to touch you like a husband would touch a wife, desperately and passionately.  You didn’t even know if he was married, or even in a relationship with someone else. 

As Joel opened his eyes, he looked down at you, and it was then that he knew what you wanted. You were looking at him the same way his ex-wife used to look at him from time to time. When she’d plead with him to fuck her, to silence all her insecurities in her head. He hasn't seen a woman look at him like that for almost 20 years, and it did something to him. It made his resolve crumble instantly where he said ‘fuck it' in his own head, and he gave in to his primal instinct of helping you as a man, not as your doctor.

“Baby, come on. I ain’t gonna ask y’again.  What is it that you need, honey? Tell me, and I'll do it.”

“Joel, please,” was all you could say, begging him with your eyes, trying to tell him what you wanted.

“No, now, come on. Y'gotta use your words for me. Be a good girl and tell Daddy what he can do to help you and make you feel better.”

As soon as Joel had said the word daddy, he instantly scolded himself. But when he saw your eyes glaze over with arousal at the name, he knew what you wanted. You lightly whimpered and started squeezing your thighs tight together. 

Joel felt dizzy for a moment as blood rushed fast to his cock at your whimper, his cock hardening to the point of being painful. But this wasn't about him. This was about you, about showing you that a real man, like him, could give you affection and attention like you so desperately needed. 

He walked towards you, gently placing his hand onto your thigh, lightly stroking it. He was trying to center you and help you communicate with him in what you wanted and needed. He knew all of this was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, especially when you begged him to touch you.

“Joel, please, touch me,” you said, while grabbing his hand and guiding it to below the blanket to where you were practically throbbing. 

“F-fuck,” Joel slightly moaned, closing his eyes at the feeling of you not wearing any underwear as he touched your slick velvet folds underneath the blanket with his hand. Your lips were slightly swollen, aroused, and desperately needing attention. You were making a mess on his table, slick pouring out of you from your needy little hole. You wanted Joel to help soothe the ache deep within you, to take your pain away.

Joel slowly moved his finger down to your center. Feeling your pussy spasm and clench around nothing. He rested his finger at your opening, not pushing his finger inside of you just yet, but slowly stroking it with feather-like touches. “Baby, we shouldn’t do this” he said, still slowly circling your opening, and not stopping or pushing his finger in. He needed to hear your verbal confession that you wanted this, that you wanted him. As Joel felt your hole clench a second time at nothing, he said, “baby, please, say somethin’.”

You moaned slightly while opening your hips up to allow him better access to you. “More” was the only audible thing that you could say at the moment. And that's when Joel’s resolve fully crumbled, and he pushed two fingers knuckle deep inside of you, stretching you perfectly around him.

“Fuck baby, that's tight. Ya squeezing my fingers in a goddamn vice.” He said, growling low, followed by a soft grunt.

You willed yourself to relax, to allow Joel in more. To allow him to get deeper within you, to where you knew that you needed him. To say his fingers were a stretch was an understatement. His fingers were longer and thicker than what you were used to. It was a comfortable stretch, but almost borderline on being painful. You've never been stretched out this much with just fingers alone. If you had to guess by his slow movements he was doing right now, you thought that Joel was a very experienced man, especially when he curled his fingers and found that spot deep within you that you've never found before. As soon as he hit it, your eyes rolled back in your head and you softly moaned “fuuuck.”

“There she is, right there huh, baby?” He said, angling his hand a bit more to get a little deeper as he started to stroke your g-spot with those perfected come hither movements. 

Joel was good at three things: First, he was a very hard worker. He had the perfect street smarts to own and operate two successful businesses in his lifetime. Second, he was an amazing father. Always listening and being there for his girls. And finally, he was an attentive lover. He listened, and found what worked for every woman that he’s ever been with. He knew how to fuck a woman just right, and how to bring her the most and best pleasure.  And that was something that he made sure you understood at the moment with his fingers.

As Joel continued to work his magic with his fingers, pushing them a little deeper inside of you, and picking up the pace in stroking you, you felt your walls spasm more. You let out a low moan, breathing starting to become erratic as the sensation of pleasure took over your body. You were right, you obviously hadn't had a good fuck for a long time, especially considering that you were not far from coming undone on just his fingers alone with no clit stimulation whatsoever. And if you could describe the feeling that you were feeling right now with his fingers moving inside of you, you would describe it as being ‘fucking fantastic.’

Joel found himself matching your small moan with a groan of his own, especially when he looked down and noticed your pussy was dripping all over him. He slowly started withdrawing his fingers, giving you time to adjust, before pushing them back in. It was obscene, the wet squelching noises that your beautiful cunt was making for him. You were biting your lip, eyes casted away from him. He gently grabbed your chin with his other hand, turning you towards him while saying “no darlin’, eyes right here. Ya keep ‘em on me, ok?” He said, as he slowly kept pushing his fingers in and out of you. He kept up the slow pace for a bit, working you up, not wanting to fully tip you over the edge just yet. He knew that you needed this, that you needed to enjoy the experience.

“Joel, it feels- fuck, it feels, it feels,” you were at a loss for words at the moment. You were struggling to keep your eyes on him right now, fighting them from wanting to roll back into your head at the sensation of pleasure.

“I know baby. Fuck, just listen to her, she needs this huh? Your pussy needs this, doesn’t she? This. Nice. Slow. Finger. Fuck, huh?” He said, slowing down more and thrusting harder with his fingers at every word he said, drawing out your pleasure more. The longer he fucked you slow with his fingers, the more your pussy gripped him hard, sucking him in, not wanting him to leave.  You were panting, starting to squirm, getting lost in the pleasure.  Joel wanted to tease you a little longer, but he figured you weren’t used to this kind of play.  Something he intended to do next time he had you alone, preferably in his bed with you begging for his cock. 

When Joel saw you start to match his thrusts with your own, he knew it was time for him to tip you over the edge. So Joel really started to finger fuck you you now, the way that he knew women liked. When he did that, you cried out at the stimulation and surprise of his actions.

“Shhh baby, it's alright,” he said, cooing at you to quiet you down. “Now, darlin’, you’re gonna be a good girl and come all over these fingers, ok? Then you're getting a full refund today. I don't charge money to finger fuck my clients.”

You nodded your head, trying to keep your eyes open as Joel massaged the inside of your velvety warm walls, getting closer to the edge.  Your toes were starting to curl, breathing was very erratic. You were getting very close to cumming.

“And lastly sweetheart,” he said, putting pressure down on your lower abdomen, and curling his fingers in a way that he knew would make your vision go blurry, while building a firm pressure sensation inside of your abdomen. “You must communicate with me with your words when something doesn't feel good, or if you want me to do something differently. You know your body better than me honey. I don't, so help me make you feel good. Okay?”

Fuck you were wrecked, seconds away from crashing through, or into, a brick wall with an orgasm, you thought.  This felt different though, so much different than what you’ve ever experienced before. “Joel, fuck, pressure, it’s a lot of pressure and I’m, fuck, I’m, I’m-”

“Come f’me sweetheart. Come on baby, fucking soak my fingers” Joel growled in your ear as the rubberband inside of you snapped hard. When it did, your cunt seized around his fingers as you felt the gush of fluid come out of you, he made you squirt for the first time. Your vision went white, ears ringing, legs shaking from the intensity of it all.  You’ve never come so hard ever in your life, and you couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped your lips around Joel’s hand that was now covering your mouth. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, whispering “good fucking girl” with a strained voice as he watched you come undone. His own pupils were blown wide, eyes impossibly dark with lust, wanting nothing more than to bury his cock deep inside of you, to feel you spasm around him hard like this.  But that would have to happen at a later time.  Today was about you, about giving you something that you needed, attention from a man.  You were a beautiful woman, and you deserved to have a man take care of you in this way, and other ways too, even if you did have autoimmune disease. 

Joel continued to slowly work you through your high, pumping his fingers gently in and out of you. When you finally came back to Earth, he removed his soaked fingers from your cunt and then he slammed his lips hard against your mouth, kissing you fervently. You licked the seam of his lips, asking for access into his mouth, which he quickly granted. You two were wrestling your tongues together, each seeking dominance over the other. Joel has never been kissed like this, with so much passion that he hated pulling away from you mere moments later, gasping for breath as his heart raced out of control in his chest. 

“Fuck woman, no one’s ever kissed me like that,” he said, gasping for breath. Joel placed his forehead gently against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in as his heart rate slowed in his chest.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” you asked, laying your hand gently on his crotch, feeling him buck slightly into your touch beneath you.

“No baby, I wanna do this right, take ya out first, if y’don’t mind.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to, I mean-”

Joel snapped open his eyes and stood up looking at you, furrowing his brows. He then shook his head and said “don't”, and walked over to the sink in the corner of the room to wash his hands. You sat up, chewing on your lip, overthinking things once again. After a moment of silence you heard him speak when he shut the water off.

“I'm not some 20 year old punk ass boy who only cares about getting his own rocks off, darlin'. I don't do that sort of thing. Now, if you don't want to have dinner with me, then that's fine. But I'd really like to take y’out.”

“Like a date?” You asked, looking into his eyes hopeful.

“Yes baby, like a date.” He said, standing in front of you, holding a robe up for you to take to cover your naked body up.

“Yeah, but what happens when I- when we- when it's done? Or what happens if I can't because of this- because of autoimmune?” you say, motioning your hand up and down at your body. 

Joel took a big breath in, and then slowly let it out through his nose. He then cupped your face with both hands and said, “ok, I'm gonna stop you right there. First, I don't fuck on the first date, ok, so don't worry your pretty lil’ head about it. And second, I don't give a damn if we have to reschedule. I understand you have autoimmune disease, remember I've read your file.” Joel immediately winced at that reminder, of how he has crossed every line in the sand with his actions. He didn't know how he was going to explain to Dr. Samson that his treatment wouldn't work with you and that he was going to refer you to Dr. Anderson. It was going to cost him big time, he knew that. Dr. Linda Anderson wouldn't just drop it, she'd want an explanation. But Joel couldn't think about that right now, he'd deal with it and her later.

“But Joel it's-”

“Do you not want to go out to dinner with me?” He asked, the color draining from him face. Did he read you wrong? Were you just looking for a quick orgasm and nothing more? He rubbed his neck in embarrassment, thinking he completely fucked up at your signals once again. “You-uh, you don't have to say yes if you don't want to. I mean, if I read you wrong you can- uh, no pressure to say no.” He was internally scolding himself at this entire situation, of how much he's fucked up today. His ex-wife was right, he thought, he definitely doesn’t understand what women need nor want. Proof was here, right in front of him, with your reluctance to say yes to just dinner. 

Joel turned to walk out, mumbling “I'll give you some privacy to get dressed. I'll tell Ashley to give you a refund when I see her tomorrow, don’t worry, she’s already left for the day. And you can just forget about today if you want, if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’ll sorry, I just-”

“Stop, please,” you said, grabbing his arm. “Don't leave. Everyone does, everyone leaves me. I-I want you to stay with me right now, please.” 

Joel stopped and looked at you, seeing the gears in your head turning. After a moment he said, “please honey, ya gotta tell me what you're thinking. I can't-”

“I want to go out on a date with you Joel, it's just, don't have high expectations or hopes for me, ok? Men do, and then as they get to know me they- they get mad when I don't meet something that they wanted. I- this- it’s hard ok? It’s hard ‘cause I have a gorgeous man in front of me that I've been attracted to since the moment I saw him, and all I want is for him to see me. To really see me. And I- I don’t wanna fuck that all up where you hate me, or think I’m a failure and I- I should just really stop talking.” You said, laughing at yourself and blushing at the fact that you just spilled all of your insecurities in the air to a stranger. A very hot stranger, but a stranger nevertheless.

“Honey,” he said, grabbing your hand softly. “I want all that too and, if I'm being honest, I'm a little scared of a date too as it's been a long time since I've done this. The whole dating thing, it hasn’t been a priority of mine for a while. But I wanna do it f’you, with you. We can take it slow, we can figure it out together, ok? How does that sound?” Joel then leaned in and gave you a soft, delicate kiss on your lips, one that immediately calmed your nerves. 

“Ok, yes. Dinner would be great,” you said, a tad breathless after Joel pulled away from kissing you. You took a moment to compose yourself, to will the butterflies to calm down in your tummy at the thought of getting a chance to have a date with this man.

Joel watched the blush rise up in your cheeks, and if he was being honest, it flattered the hell out of him.  That a simple gentle kiss could get you all hot and bothered, where you were blushing for him. “Ok, good,” he said, smiling. “How about I pick you up around 6pm this Saturday?”

You nodded your head, and noticed that Joel furrowed his brows at the lack of your speaking to him again.  You quickly said, “Saturday would be perfect.” 

Joel stood there for a moment, glancing over your features, looking at you intently, making sure that you in fact truly wanted this.  Once he found what he was looking for, he stepped back and gave you a small smirk. 

“Ok, darlin’. Now for life's biggest, and most important question. What toppings do y’like on your Pizza?”  Joel decided to take you to his favorite pizza place on Saturday.  When he saw you smile, he knew that he picked a good choice.

“Well Miller,” you said, while giving him your best playful smirk. “You’re just going to have to take me out to find out.”

End of Part 1

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Top banner by Artist on Instagram: caimages_love

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[billythesimp]

His Starlight

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎...

I was requested for write more Billy headcanons with a fem!s/o so here's some short snippets. So thank you for the request! I'll be opening requests after I finish another piece so letting you all know ahead.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡...⋙

tagging: None

tw: none

⋈ Billy makes some strange decisions at time, either cuz he’s trying to be cheap in order to save more, or he’s just not thinking straight and makes an impromptu purchase. As his s/o, you’re able to reel him in and help him make smarter decisions that’ll leave him so grateful that you care as much to aid him. Of course, this doesn’t count when he decides to splurge on you, because his girlfriend deserves only the best.

⋈ The girls in the Cunning Hares have at least met you a couple times before, after all they do care for Billy so only want to know who his new girlfriend is. That being said, Nicole is probably the one who can see the benefits of keeping you around, only to drop them once she sees just how much you adore their android friend that they’ve started noticing changes in him that are for the better. He still is goofy and oftentimes causing a ruckus with the others, but he’s become more thoughtful and acknowledges when things are going wrong or when they need to make a decisive decision in their work or expenses. Nicole doesn’t mind having you come around often, as long as you don’t become another mouth to feed. 

⋈ Best part of having such a cute girlfriend is being able to binge watch movies together and go out on dates. His favorites being the ones where they explore Lumina Square and stop to take photos. Of course, he loves doing the iconic poses from his favorite shows and movies, impersonating the actors to the point that it embarrasses you but he does it in a loving matter. But he also loves taking photos of you, drinking coffee at the Tin man’s shop, fawning over the shop bangboos, or even experimenting with the makeup in the salon there. He has a whole file saved of his favorite moments from your dates. 

⋈ Of course, dating Billy has its cons. For one he is usually cold to the touch because he’s made of metal and need to have his joints lubricated. But no worries, he does his best to maintain himself and makes subtle changes that you wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Like buying a heating module to help increase his body heat, though the dealer he bought it from was kinda sketchy and now he overheats too quickly just from seeing your cute face. And when it comes to lubrates, he gets only the finest of lubes to help him move to the best of his ability. A little too well as you’ll have him turning head at record speed when you call him. Maybe even trip over his own feet trying to catch up to you. 

⋈ Billy can be a fool but he’s your fool. He loves and cherishes every day he gets to spend with you; And whenever he’s in a pinch, down in the hollows completing the hardest of commissions all for the sake of getting by with the Cunning Hares, he can only think of how you’ll be waiting for him on the outside. Ready to give him the biggest hug and rewatch Oh~ Sweetie where now he no longer finds joy in admiring the main actress as you shine brighter than any other starlight knight.

[sinnerdolly]

Good loser—Nagi Seishiro

Minors do not interact. Nsfw/Smut.

word counter—1160.

Plot—Nagi's just lost a game, so now he wants to claim his consolation prize... you.

warning— stable relationship, soft!dom Nagi, kinda public sex. Y/n has a bit of a pedantic personality with everybody except Nagi.

English isn't my mother language, if you see any error you're welcome to correct me.

People are complex, attraction even more so, added to attraction we have monogamy, which we want to make independent as well. Because holding someone else is a symbol of little commitment, but the separation of assets is logical.

Toxicity is quite abundant these days, or so I see walking the university hallways. Fights between boys over some bimbo with a nice ass, a primate situation; hippie allies philosophizing to fuck her "friend", plot twist she's going to fuck the biggest idiot of all. Because, I repeat, instinct chooses.

And, unfortunately, I found myself in the same situation. My eyes went to one boy in particular, Nagi Seishiro, my recent boyfriend. Five months of relationship, thanks to my desire to sleep at a party and him playing video games in the same room when I woke up.

For a prejudiced critic like me, not deciphering him made me interested in knowing him. Nagi was such an odd chap. At first glance he was lazy and listless, but losing somehow highlighted a passionate fire in his eyes that made me wet.

Like this moment, he had just lost to Ryusei Shidou on penalties, and he was heading towards my place in the stands, his gray eyes focused on me, sweaty and frustrated, desperate to claim me as a consolation prize, knowing how much I love to be it.

He stood out in the crowd, the imposing manner of his walking causing people to step out of the way. Pretty funny since he's the gentlest person I know.

“I want you right now”

I nodded like a fool, hypnotized by that aura of a caged beast that his pores gave off. The heat in my belly spread to the inside of my legs, the desire awakening in anticipation. The words he had just said meant one thing... he was going to fuck me in the first lonely corner he saw. So I went down the steps, taking him by his narrow wrist and we disappeared through the doors of the main bedrooms.

When the door closed, I couldn't continue on my way, Nagi grabbed me by the left thigh, and carried me only with the strength of one hand. Our noses touched, and his eyelids were no longer half-closed from laziness, but from desire. My mouth was watering from kissing him.

With each step the kisses became more intense, the touch had a purely carnal objective. My hand went under his shirt, feeling the smooth sculpted skin on his abs, while he dryly rubbed his erection against me. Sighs and ragged breaths, interspersed between lips and tongues.

The laundry room didn't have a key, so Nagi soon slammed the door to lock us inside. My feet met the ground again, while his hands caressed my buttocks in search of the condom that I always bring to his games.

I threw my blouse somewhere in the room, unbuttoning the fly of my pants afterwards. With impatience consuming him, Seishiro lifted me by the waist and sat me on one of the washing machines, finishing the job on my jeans.

Now with complete freedom of my joints, he placed me like a rag doll around his hips, pressing me against his chest. The warmth that his skin gave off took away the cold of that humid room.

He opened the condom with a slight tug between his teeth. And he scattered desperate kisses along my neck and collarbones, while he spread the latex along his cock. My fingers tugged at his white hair a little, drawing a few gasps from him.

It was enough to move my panties aside a little for him to slide between my rubbery walls, so lubricated that they didn't even need prior stretching. Of course, with or without games, it's always hard to take Nagi, if it weren't for his softdom nature, I probably wouldn't be able to handle him.

His thrusts were deep, as were his lips devouring mine. My body was pressed against his immense figure, while my legs were held in place by those large hands.

It didn't take long for the moans to spill out into the darkness, our gazes connected, expressing the sated lust for the other. I could feel his racing heart pounding against my chest.

The moment was so intimate that it was difficult not to come from the pleasure, Nagi blinded my senses, the chemistry between us makes the most ridiculous situations passionate, like now, fucking on a washing machine; but at this moment, with his member stimulating every erogenous zone inside me, it seemed like a scene worthy of a Shakespearean novel.

Nagi twitched between my walls, signaling that he was close. I let out a little cry of surprise when I was in the air again, holding on tightly to Sei's shoulders, who, with just the strength of his arms, began to fuck me with fervor again.

My moans turned into a kind of hiccup between jumps that made him put his hands on my butt. Stunned by my boyfriend's actions, I looked into his eyes, to find that obsessed look that only appears on the court focused on me... tss and I thought I couldn't get any hornier.

My lungs were suffocating, and my eyes were watering from the pleasure. I think my lower lip was bleeding from how hard I bit it, trying to reduce the screams. Almost impossible when his sturdy tip hit so deep, and his thickness stretched me so well.

"Sei..." I gasped desperately, tightly wrinkling the collar of his t-shirt. “I'm going... I'm coming”

He kissed my lips one last time, before convulsions shattered my stability and pleasure exploded throughout my body. My eyelids closed, and the waves of heat seemed eternal along with his attacks against my center.

I was so sensitive that I could feel the condom being filled inside me. Now still, Nagi held me while we caught our breath, still hit by the intensity of the orgasm. A minute or two later, he placed me on the washing machine again.

And, with a somewhat cooler head, we managed to talk.

“I'm sorry you lost, are you okay?”

I caressed his cheeks gently, while he replicated the action on my thighs. He gave me one of his taciturn smiles, Nagi is one of those people who smiles with his eyes and barely moves the corner of his mouth, an adorable detail from my perspective.

“Good? I couldn’t be better”

Sei pushed his weight forward, ready to kiss me. Apparently during our intimate time we pressed several buttons by accident, because the machine below me started to move, scaring the shit out of me.

Nagi laughed when he saw me clinging to his chest like a terrified kitten. I hit his shoulder, feigning offense, but he continued laughing... so I had no choice but to kiss him while laughing.

What can I tell? The other couples are shit next to us.