#for being fat or not white-passing enough

[coivi]

Cyrus didn't miss the hand on his arm—how Ray's fingers traced a slow line from his bicep down to his wrist, like a path that needed exploration. The touch was subtle, careful, but it lingered in a way that sparked an intrigue. To him, it was a simple acknowledgement that Ray wanted him, wanted this. And then there were the words: 'I would.' Short. Simple. But they hit Cyrus just the same as if the mechanic was down on his knees, begging to join him.

He followed in silence after gulping down the rest of his beverage, letting his heavy feet thud against the worn wooden floors, eyes trained on the soft sway of Ray's hips as they moved ahead, how each buttock bulged against the fabric and made an impression. The hallway was narrow, cozy, and every step Cyrus took had his spine tingling in anticipation.

At the doorway, he paused, his broad hand rising to rest just above Ray's hip, not pulling, not forcing—just there, steady and warm, settling. "Tight squeeze is fine," he said lowly, voice thick with suggestion. "I've been inside tighter spots." A faint smirk played across his lips at his play of words, though the heat in his gaze told a different story—something far less playful, far more... carnal.

He stepped in first, the bathroom steaming gently from the still-warm shower, the mirror half-fogged, catching only the blurred outline of his tall frame. Cyrus reached back and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, letting it drop to the floor carelessly, his gaze focused on the stocky man. Cyrus' torso was all solid planes, of muscle and fat and rough-hewn lines, peppered with many old, sharp-white scars that were enhanced by his natural tanned skin tone. His attention came down, hands popping the button of his pants, the zipper rolled down, allowing the prominent bulge to become more available to feasting eyes. The white boxer briefs stretched to accommodate the flaccid nature of his sex, one could easily identify the pliant form of the shaft and the pronounced pink cut crown. He pushed his pants down to pool at his ankles, and made quick work of slipping off his underwear too to join the rest of his clothing. His cock sprung free. Even now, it's regular state, it was thick, heavy and drooped down between his toned, tree-trunk thighs. Cyrus passed his hand briefly over it as he turned toward the shower. His back was a wide, tapering expanse of muscle that moved with slow, deliberate grace as he tugged off the last of his clothes from his ankles. His ass, smooth, robust and large, flexed involuntarily with every forward step to turn the shower on.

He stepped in without ceremony, but with a quiet, grounding confidence. The water hit his shoulders first, sending rivulets trailing down the curve of his spine, catching in the sharp lines of his lower back before sliding away. His breath left him in a low hum—half relief, half anticipation—as he tilted his head back and ran both hands through his buzzed short hair. It was so much easier to maintain.

The muscles in his arms flexed slightly with the motion, droplets sliding down his forearms and chest. He turned under the spray, his body illuminated briefly in a shaft of light that cut through the building hot steam, giving Ray a full view of him—strong, dripping, utterly unbothered by being watched. In fact, Cyrus leaned into it. Let him look. Soon enough, he would feel it against his back or his stomach. Whichever way Ray decided to face him.

Then, Cyrus decided to reach out past the sliding shower door, extending his large, strong hand, palm up, towards Ray's direction, awaiting for him to strip himself of his clothes and join him.

"Still room to squeeze in," he said, voice low and sultry. In actuality, Cyrus had taken up a fair amount of real estate inside the shower. What could he say? He was a very large, tall man. Tall enough for his head to be above the shower head and the top of the glass wall of the cubicle. His fingers curled, just slightly—a beckon, an invitation.

Ray noticed the brush of their fingers, and the nudge of their feet; he didn't back away from either. No reason to, far as he could tell. Cyrus hadn't crossed any of his lines, and from what Ray had seen of the taller man's personality thus far, he wasn't likely to.

Another laugh escaped at the remark about his apparent 'soft spot'. "Maybe I do." After all, Ray knew firsthand what it was like to roam alone for years, from one brief shelter to the next, hoping for some kind touch but not always finding it. Anyone he met who reminded him of those days always sparked a sort of kinship.

Washing down another bite with more lemonade, Ray tipped one shoulder in a shrug and shook his head a little. "Sweet o' ya, but I just like cookin' for folks. Town's got a food bank, 'n they host some fundraiser cookouts. I usually make somethin' for 'em; that's good enough fer me."

As their conversation continued from there, amid gradually finishing their food and drinks, Ray couldn't help feeling drawn even more to Cyrus. He didn't want to be the first to make a move, since the other man was a guest - but lord, he still liked to imagine hearing or feeling some further suggestion from Cyrus. Something to assure him he might not have to watch another missed connection - one-night stand or no - disappear down the road. Ray couldn't think of any way to bring it up without that risk of pressure. All too easily, he could see it being taken as the demand of one's host, as if hospitality would be revoked if Cyrus refused. Ray would never dream of actually doing such a thing, but the concern remained.

Draining the last of his lemonade, Ray set the glass down with a contented sigh... then paused. Was he imagining that once-over, how it lingered with a subtle gleam in Cyrus' gaze? Surely he wasn't. It lasted long enough for both of them to notice, and didn't dart away when their eyes met. Shit, the man looked even taller from this angle, what would it be like if he...?

Ray almost pinched himself at Cyrus' proposition, swallowing hard instead. Well, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

"...I would." He softly cleared his throat. "Might be a tight squeeze, though, if that's alright." Standing to put their used tableware in the dishwasher, he replaced the lid on the gumbo pot. While passing Cyrus again, Ray rested a hand on the man's broad upper arm, trailing down to his elbow and forearm before skimming away at his wrist. "Bathroom's this way."

[passionpeachy]

Do the modern scene kids of today know how incredibly bigoted and mean the original scene kids of the early 2000's were.......

[aomiiine]

somnophilia, sexting, creampie

older bf! zayne who takes care of your needs, day and night, without fail. Working overtime at the hospital doesn’t stop him either. He’s using every opportunity to check his phone, searching for your name on his notifs. And when he does, he opens it to see an attachment. It was a photo, of his pillow squished between your bare thighs, skirt hiked up just enough to see the blooming wet patch of your cum on the cover.

older bf! zayne who sends quick texts asking you were able to take good care of yourself in his absence. Except, he knew damn well you were frustrated beyond belief. Struggling to replicate the feeling of his thick calloused fingers rubbing your clit in slow, caring circles with your own or his pillow. He could imagine it, really. You laid on his bed, hair sprawled on the pillows with your legs taking up his spacious bed, toes curling on the sheets as you played with your messy pussy, unable to sleep without your loving, more experienced boyfriend taking care of you.

older bf! zayne who hums in amusement at your reply to his message, words mostly misspelled, no doubt holding your phone with one hand. He teases you further, fingers flying across the screen to spell out a brief yet blunt text saying ‘you shouldn’t bother me at work, dove. You know how noticeable my boners are.’

older bf! zayne knew the mere mention of his cock would send you into a frenzy, getting you to form a mental image of his bare, heavy dick being pumped by his fist lazily before he plunged it into your tiny cunt. And he absolutely loved it—knowing you’d only add yet another digit into your pussy that cried for his girth to stretch you open.

older bf! zayne who’d come back home past midnight to see you passed out on the bed, nightgown bunched up above your midriff, exposing your drenched panties that hung low enpugh to give him a glimpse of your pussy. Just one look at you in the dark of his bedroom was enough to rile him up more than he already was after getting off his phone. Now, he knew he had to take care of you. He wouldn’t ever dream of leaving his girl unsatisfied no matter how long he left you hanging.

older bf! zayne who’d scoop you knees under his hands, pushing your legs up to your gently heaving chest, belt and zipper left open to let his pants hang low, cock standing at attention. He didn’t have to do much with the thin fabric of your panties, merely tucking it to the side enough for his bulbous tip to delve past your folds to notch into your entrance. He tries so hard not to force it all in with one swift thrust, willing his entire body to restrain his flexing muscles as he held your legs in place.

older bf! zayne who’d bottom in and out of you so fucking good, his fat cock nestling deep into your fluttering pussy with needy throbs that would lull you back to sleep. He’d shush you back to sleep softly, voice tight yet soothing still even as he worked to satisfy both of your needs. He’d hiss curses underneath his breath, mumbling and cooing tender praises into the dead of the night, hoping your slumbered self could hear him in your dreams.

older bf! zayne who’d pick up the pace when he feels himself getting dangerously, the coil in the pit of his stomach tightening with each slap of his balls against your plump ass. You weren’t far off either and he could tell—hands prying up for the covers of the pillows beneath your head, balling up to fists with needy mewls leaving your parted lips, your brows knitting into a look or pure ecstasy—the same look you’d have whenever you’re about to cum too, he notes.

older bf! zayne who plunges his spurting cock deep inside your spasming cunt when he cums, jets of thick hot semen spraying your womb white. Your whines grew louder, strands of your hair sticking to your sweat sheened skin. He’d stay still even when his orgasm fades, thrusting shallowly to prolong your pleasure—and hear the lewd squelches of the mess your cum made on his cock, the nest of hair below his pelvis glistening with your nectar.

older bf! zayne who pulls out slow, careful to not wake you up from your resuming slumber. He’d put your legs back down, getting off the bed while tucking his dirty cock back into his pants half-heartedly, not bothering to zip himself up. He’d walk over to the wardrobe, picking one of your clean panties to slip back up your legs, making sure it’s cups your dripping cunt snugly, not wanting a single drop of his cum to ooze out of you in your sleep.

[scoobywrites690]

Simon who makes you ride his dick with no help when you misbehave

(Wrote this before passing out last night)

cw: Simon being a tease, mention of spanking, creampie, penetration

“Oh fuck yeah, fuckin’ bounce luvie” He growls. 

Your body slick with sweat as you desperately try to rock your hips on top of him. Thighs aching as you pull yourself up his thick cock just to slam yourself back down onto it.

“Si-ah, Si I can’t.” You whine, your voice hoarse as you cry out.

Simon had been making you bounce on top of him for a good hour now, all because you got a lil mouthy with him. Clearly it was enough in Simon’s eyes to have you bouncing up and down for hours without a break.

Your knees threatened to buckle with every pull of your hips, desperate to keep yourself moving. Your ass was already red and raw from all the times you did stop for more than a second, and you’d soon know it when you had. As the harsh slap of his massive hand colliding with the tender skin of your nice plump ass, would soon fill the room.

“I said fuckin’ bounce.” He gritted out, as he lay there on the bed without a care in the world, arms crossed behind his head as he watched the way you struggle.

His wandering eyes rake over your trembling body. The flushed tints in your skin from the constant battle of trying to keep your hips moving. The way the slick of your sweat has your body glistening when it catches the light.

As much as Simons punishes you, he himself just likes seeing you all on display, trembling and gasping for a break. And deep down he knows you like it too, otherwise he wouldn’t even think about doing it.

He knows you like being made to work for your own release, that you like his eyes wandering over you body as you struggle to keep it together, you like when his gaze gets caught on your perky little tits and how they bounce with each jerk of your body.

He knows you love it, and it’s why he does it.

Placing your hands firmly on Simon’s chest you use it to steady yourself before you’re pulling yourself up and down his fat fucking cock, every pull of your hips has your walls fluttering around him as you desperately work for the one thing you so desperately want.

“Atta girl, takin’ this cock nice and deep.” He mutters. “You gonna milk me dry, baby?” He coos.

“You gonna let me fuck you full of my cum?” He asks, already nodding his head as he knows your answer.

“Please, yes.” You pant, your body threatening to collapse as you finally come to a stop.

“Good girl, let me help you now, baby.” He says, placing his hands on your hips, digging his fingers into the fat of them. Giving himself a nice tight grip before dragging you up the length of his cock to then drop you back down.

Ramming his cock all the way in there, desperate to pump you full. As he rocks your body up and down his length, allowing your legs to catch a well needed break.

“Si-mhm Simon!” You can’t help but squeal. As he rams into your spongy walls, over and over and over again. From tip to base. Your poor pussy gushes around him as he drills into you, soaking him and the bed beneath you.

“Come on, luvie take it, that’s it fuckin’ take it.” He pants, his chest heaving as his thrust grows sloppy. His thighs tremble beneath you as he fucks up into you one last time.

His seed paints your walls as he pumps rope after rope of his white sticky cum deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

[garden0fyves]

thinking about… your older boyfriend, joel who you’ve yet to be intimate with. joel knows you’re a virgin and that scares him, he isn’t some virgin killer. he’s old and his back and knees ache when he stands. but, when you tell him you’re ready something inside him changes. you’re all doe eyed, a soft pout on your lips as you look up at him. “fuck me, please?” the sudden lilt to your voice, the desperation leaking from your words. joel’s never been this turned on in his life.

suddenly, he forgets the guilt of being your first. he forgets all of those things he’s been nervous about. all he can think of taking care of his princess, eating your cunt and making sure you’re properly stretched before he presses his fat cock into your tight pussy. all he can think about is the way your lips part, the way your eyes glaze over and your body warms. the way your nails dig into his back and desperate whines of his name fall from those kiss-bitten lips. “you feel so good, joel. please- dunno what i want, baby just please!” and who is he to deny you?

joel presses a rough finger to your cunt, trying his best to not cum inside of you just from how wet his finger gets from the action. he admires the way your pretty pussy flutters around him at the action because this is new to you. you’ve never felt this before, never had this perfect pussy fucked. and now you were all his. his sweet, dirty girl. “you’re doing so good. so fuckin’ good.” his rough voice whispers against your wet lips. your back arches from the praise and your lips brush just slightly. “y’feel so good, daddy. never- ohhh fuck! never knew it’d be this good. should’ve let you fuck me sooner.”

joel stiffens at your words. his free hand tightens on your hip and his eyes squeeze shut. he’s not strong enough for this. he’s old and you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever had. “sweetheart.” he grumbles, brown eyes opening to meet yours. despite the tears in your eyes you could see the pain and pleasure on joel’s face. your lips pull into a weak smile. “i mean it, joel.” you purr, fingers curling into his hair. “would’ve been ready sooner if i knew you’d take such good care of me.” your voice is breathy and despite the smell of sex filling the air, joel’s so close that he can still smell your warm vanilla perfume.

you smell so fucking good, your cunt feels so good, and the way your lips look while you’re talking—it’s driving him crazy. joel leans down to press his lips against yours in the sweetest kiss he can muster. everything about you currently is sinful. his thoughts are disgusting and it’s all because of you. “joel, baby, dunno- oh my god!” your words are gasped against his mouth. your pussy flutters and your tummy clenches, there’s this newfound pressure seated deep in your pelvis that you’ve never felt before. your body’s practically urging you to pull away from joel, but another part of you wants him to fuck you harder and deeper.

“gonna cum, joel! fuck me harder please please please!” joel thinks you’re being needy, but he remembers you’ve never done this before. he moans against your lips at the sudden reminder that this is your first time, he’s your first. the first to be in this pussy. god, he must’ve been a saint in his past life. joel fucks into you with a new sense of urgency. he wants to watch you fall apart. he wants to see what faces you make when you cum on his dick. how you look when you do something reserved for him—only him. “pretty fuckin’ girl, go ahead. cum for me, sweetheart.”

your orgasm passes through you in a flash of white light. your body’s on fire and your pussy’s clenching tighter than you’d known possible from yourself. joel watches you cum with a burning feeling in his chest. your eyes slam shut and your lips part, though the only thing that passes them is his name. your body’s so fucking warm, so fucking tight. and as he takes in the sight he finds himself cumming deep inside of you. you’d clenched so tight that he could barely move, so tight joel could have only imagined this. your hands claw at his back as your orgasm continues through his. your eyes flutter open just to catch joel’s face as he cums.

his brows are furrowed and eyes barely open so he could watch you. “you’re so good to me.” you breath softly, sniffling as your orgasms subsides. joel chuckles, something low and husky. he kisses the tears from your cheeks before pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “you make it easy to be, sweetheart.”

[fayesia]

Footsies

dbsf!Joel x reader

Warnings: perv!Joel | voyeurism | masturbating with panties | Joel watched you mastrubate and gets off on it | footplay under the table | making out | dirty talk | pussy eating | handjob | daddy kink | pet names | mentions of Joel being old | refers to his schlong as 'him' | creampie

a/n: buckle up yall, this was a long one. I honestly posted the poll for fun because I wanted to write all 3 stories anyways to show my thanks for all the support I've been getting on my blog. So fret not if the one you chose didn't win because it will be posted anyways. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing it, much love Faye xoxo♡

wc: 4.3k

UNEDITED

It only happened once.

You'd forgotten to do it for the first time.

Usually aware about the fifty-something year old man's bedroom window across from yours. Yet in your restless need tonight the thought slipped away like the blankets on your silk sheets.

Your beige curtains, pushed aside to cover one-third of the window, enough to allow the evenings golden glow to pass through and illuminate the room.

Now in the late hours of the night it was your bedside lamp leaving a yellow hazy glow across the expanse of your skin.

Your clothes quick to follow your blanket, just a scrap of white lace material left on you.

*

Joel's limbs stumbled upstairs, his eyes heavy from the exhaustion of today's work, motivated by the thought of falling into bed and sleeping through the weekends morning. He entered his room going directly towards his drawers to place his cash and watch.

Too late to realise he didn't even switch the lights on, your rooms lamp was enough to pass through his window.

Upon this realisation he looked up.

A sharp inhale and then stillness, like one more breath or movement would give his position away. Almost like he'd get caught enjoying what he was seeing. An old man in his fifties watching a young twenty year olds hands roaming all over herself.

God he was disgusting and he loved it.

"Fuck", his hand palmed the front of his jeans, a bulge already forming.

The first contact of your fingers with your centre had your back arching, mouth ajar to let out a whimper.

Joel turned away, "fuck am I doing...", his hand gripping his own blinds to shut them but it was almost like some external force was stopping him. The internal battle being his dick and brain arguing between lust and reason.

His eyes danced across your body, the way your hands caressed your tits, rubbing them together and pinched your nipples. Joel imagined how soft they'd feel in his hand, the way you'd whimper when his grey stubble scratched against your sensitive nipples as his face was buried between the supple fat of your breasts.

At this point there was no going back, Joel's hand was already wrapped around himself, the precum that stained his jeans dripped down the length aiding as a lubricant.

Your hands rubbed yourself through the thin lace cloth, the material scratched against your clit perfectly, and you could already feel how damp it had gotten. The slick liquid seeping out of your hole and into the fabric. Lifting your hips, you hooked your fingers into the panties and slid them down your legs.

Joel nearly let out a growl as strands of your wetness created a bridge between your panties and wet folds. His tip spurted out more precum and if he didn't know better he'd have thought he already came. The white liquid made a bigger mess as his hand worked along his length, his closed fist pushing it closer to his crotch where it dripped to his balls and soaked into the denim.

It was almost painful, the way you teased him so coyly.

Gripping onto the side of the dresser, his nails dug crescents into the old wood. Joel couldn't look away, like a moth to a flame, his eyes followed the course of your hand. Watching you throw your panties to the pile of clothes and then return to your centre where your fingers swirled through the wet mess.

He could just imagine how warm you'd feel, the slick would stick to his fingers and he'd drag them to his mouth to taste your sweet nectar before feeding it to you for a taste of yourself.

You dragged your first two fingers downwards, not entering but just teasing yourself to want more. God, Joel knew five minutes with him and you'd break.

Your mouth opened wider as your fingers entered your pussy, Joel's expression matching as he sped up the movements of his hand.

He watched as one hand worked to drag you to climax while the other squeezed your tits. He could just picture himself stuffing you full of his fingers, you struggling to take the large size of them, while he bit at your nipples drawing out the sweetest noises.

He knew it was wrong yet the taboo nature of it seemed to spur him on more.

Reaching your peak, your fingers slid faster in and out of yourself, the sheer need for release had your palm slapping perfectly against your clit and your head turning from side to side.

Stuffing your face into the pillows to muffle your screams you arched your back off the bed, with stuttering movements of your fingers trying to lengthen the sensation of your climax.

Joel watched as your chest heaved up and down, his eyes briefly shutting to picture how sweet your face would look while on your knees stroking his cock. Your mouth struggling to fit all of him as he shoved himself down ur throat, tears rolling down your face as his release shot out.

Looking down he saw his cum rolling down his hand "shit...fuck ya doing to me", shaking his head he looked out the widnow to see you already under the sheets, lamp off with only the moonlight outlining your silhouette.

You woke up the next morning after the mind blowing orgasm you waited all week for. Sliding out of bed to go get breakfast after slipping into your robe, you expected your dad to be working in the backyard like most Saturday mornings.

*

Heading downstairs you turned a corner to the kitchen where you bumped into a hard wall. Except there was no hard wall, just the chest of your old neighbour with that deep Texan voice that had your knees weak. Staring up at him you were lost for words, too confused at what he was doing in your house after you just woke up wearing nothing but a robe that's knot was getting looser by the second.

Joel's strong hands grabbed your shoulders to keep you steady, his eyes widening at the cleavage peaking through before his eyes met yours and that soft smile returned.

"Careful sweetheart, wouldn't want ya getting hurt now."

Nodding your head slowly you mumbled a small sorry, trying to avoid eye contact so he wouldn't see the deep flush across your cheeks.

He let out a cough moving out of the way to let you through.

"Sorry bout that, I'll let you on your way now-wait wouldn't happen to mind pointing me to the bathroom"

"What..oh yeah of course just up the stairs, second door to the right."

"Thanks"

Brushing past you up the stairs, Joel's hand pressed against the small of your back, a little lower then one would deem appropriate but you barely noticed.

Heading to the fridge your dad walked past with a bottle of water.

"Hey hun, got Joel over to work on the pool, want to get that working for the summer neighbourhood barbecues."

"Sounds great dad, be careful with your back"

"Oh come on now, should be saying that to Joel, he's got a few years on me"

"Whatchu saying about me, old man?" Joel's voice rang out as he jokingly punched your dad on the shoulder. Laughing together, the two of them walked out to the backyard.

Maybe if your back wasn't turned to the two you would've seen the familiar white cloth peeking from Joel's back pocket.

Joel reached the top of the stairs, now was it a right or left, maybe he knew deep down which way was right but he was just oh so curious. Opening the door he caught sight of a new perspective of what your room looked like, this time not through your window which he could see beside the bed. Walking forward his shoe stood over something, looking down he saw your shirt and on top of them was your panties.

The way your voice would whine out when he keeps using his tongue to fuck you. This was his breaking point. He used your underwear to wrap around his cock, his liquids mixing with yours as he spurted into the lace. Hoping for no mess, but he was sure he'd have missed a few drops, a surprise for you to find.

The very same white lace underwear you wore yesterday. Crouching down Joel picked them up, his fingers still feeling the dampness from your need. Groaning he bought them to his face, nose stuffed deep in the cloth that covers your pussy, as he inhaled as much as he could. The scent of you like a drug he couldn't get enough of. Immediately he felt the blood rush to his cock, the bulge through his jeans prominent.Unbuckling his belt he unzipped them to pull his dick out, pressing the panties harder until he said fuck it and stuck his tongue out. The first taste of you was a high he would never reach again. At this point he had the panties crotch stuffed in his mouth, jerking himself up and down nearly cumming. He imagined tasting your pussy, wrapping his mouth around your clit and running his tongue through your wet folds. Your thighs squeezing around his head as you let this old man eat your young sweet cunt.

Joel knew it was wrong but he fucking loves it, your oblivious self wouldn't ever know.

*

His gaze locked onto yours and for a second you thought you had spoken your thoughts aloud, the way his mouth turned up into a smirk, almost like he read your mind and was teasing you.

Your dad and Joel spent majority of the day working on the pool. By lunchtime you had already made sandwiches and cold drinks, unbeknownst to Joel's eyes roaming your body. Scanning the way your thighs looked in those tiny cotton shorts and how your nipples poked out of the thin singlet you had on to fight the hot summer air. He was glued to how your ass poked out when you bent over to put the plates down.

By 5pm they came back inside, from the couch in the living room you watched Joel's broad frame covered in sweat soaking his grey shirt, he drank water like he was dying of thirst. He took large gulps as droplets escaped from the corners of his mouth, dripping over the veins on his neck, god you wished you could lick them.

Your dads voice broke you away from your thoughts.

"Ah come on Joel, sure you can stay for dinner, not like you got anyone waiting for you at home and you know Annie cooks up a storm in the kitchen."

Chuckling Joel shook his head, knowing there was no point starting this conversation with your dad, he was persistent when it came to taking care of Joel, he was lonely at home as much as he'd never admit it.

Turning around to place his glass in the sink, you noticed something white hanging out of Joel's pocket, the fabric was familiar but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Placing the final dish down you took a seat across from Joel. It had taken a while but by the time you finished setting the table you realised exactly why that fabric was recognisable. The lace pattern was the exact same as the panties you wore last night.

Seems like someone had done a little bit of snooping and you knew just how to get back at him.

The conversation flowed swiftly, your mother raving to your dad and Joel about her day at work, while he updated her on the progress of the backyard. Poking at the vegetables on your plate you decided now would be a good time to act.

Raising your leg your foot creeped it's way up Joel's denim clad leg. Releasing a grunt in surprise he tried to cover it up with a few coughs, your mother tapping your arm to go get him and your dad a beer from the fridge. Holding the back of Joel's chair you leaned forward to place the glass bottle next to his plate, rubbing yourself just a bit to close into his side, prompting a heavy release of air from him.

Settling back in your seat you plastered a small smile onto your face, your plan was just beginning.

"You alright there Joel?"

Your foot returned back to its previous position, currently rested on Joel's thigh while the conversation continued. Your mum changed her direction of questions to Joel, asking about his work and what he did on his offdays. As soon as his mouth opened to answer you straightened out for leg resting your foot on his crotch, he stuttered an answer out, your dad giving him a questioning look.

"Mhm sorry think the beer went down the wrong pipe haha"

It's not like he could tell his best friend their daughters foot was rubbing on the growing bulge in his jeans.

After 30 more second of your relentless moving his hand reached under the table to grip your ankle, his face taking shape of a disapproving look, brows furrowed and mouth downturned into a frown.

Then your fork fell, your mother shaking her head making a joking comment about your clumsiness.

Crawling down under the table you acted to search around for your fork, making your way to Joel's legs where your hands rubbed up his thighs, he could feel the tine weight of your fingertips getting dangerously close to his cock hardening in his pants. Getting back to your chair you smiled turning to your mother.

"Found it"

Shaking her head at you, Joel and your dad walked over to the living room, a little stagger in Joel's steps, while you began cleaning the table.

Your dad returned soon,

"Don't worry hun, I'll help your mum out, you go keep Joel company before he leaves."

With a nod you made your way over to the next room.

"So what was that all about sweetheart?"

"I don't know what you mean."

You tilted your head to the side, acting confused.

"Oh come on you were practically giving me a foot job in front of your parents."

He scoffs out.

"Oh come on don't act like my panties aren't shoved into your back pocket right now." You mocked him, crossing your arms across your chest only accentuating the cleavage of your breast in your shirt.

His mouth opened to respond but he had to stop himself, shocked that you had found out or rather how you found out. Patting his back pocket he realised the small flap of cloth hanging out.

Well fuck...too late now.

*

You had already walked closer to him in his daze, your feet only inches apart as you stared up, scanning for any sign of doubt.

Yet when he saw the proximity between you both, it was a ravaging look in his eyes.

With one hand tangled in your hair his other pressed your back pushing you forward into him as his mouth met yours.

You said your goodbye too, a small wave, unexpectedly Joel pulled you in for a hug, the kind your parents thought was just friendly. But they didn't hear the words he whispered into your ear.

You could taste the beer he just had and a mild after-taste of a cigarette he must've smoked before dinner. It felt like you were drowning in the warmth of both, melting into his strong arms that held you up. Moaning into his mouth he took his chance to slip his tongue past your lips, the two of you wrestling for dominance but a sharp tug in your hair had you submitting.

A passing pair of footsteps had you pushing Joel away leaving a metre distance between the two of you. Your dad passed by and you hoped to god he wouldn't see the pieces of your hair out of place or your swollen lips that still lingered with the taste of Joel. Leading him to the door your parents said their goodbyes, requesting that Joel come by more often for dinner once you left for college.

Leave your window unlocked, wanna swing by tonight yea?

Locking the door, your parents bid you goodnight heading upstairs, catching sight of the two wine glasses and bottle of red that your mum held you knew they would be unconscious within a hour.

A tingly feeling filled your body and you felt a warm pool of heat in your stomach as you skipped down the hall from the kitchen to your room. The downstairs bedroom window would be more than easy for Joel's aged body to get into and you unlocked it before heading to your closet to change, giggling to yourself at the insanity of the situation.

Taking out a matching set of cream pyjamas you decided to leave on the pink lace panties that matched the white ones Joel stole.

By the time you had finished getting ready for bed, switched the lights off, lit a nice vanilla candle and gotten under the sheets, Joel slid the window open. He slid it closed behind him taking his jacket off before walking towards your bed.

"Watchu laughing at girl"

"Nothing"

Hiding behind your hand you stifled a laugh at how this 57 year old man looked like a teenager sneaking into his girlfriends room on a Friday night.

"Hm that's what I thought, now come here"

Joel's arms wrapped around you, resuming where your last make out session left off. This time you unabashedly returned the kiss, moaning into his mouth while trying to be quiet at the same time. Pulling away you leaned forward to try reconnect but Joel stopped you.

"You sure you won't regret this honey, you're still young you know. Don't owe anything to an old man like me"

"Want you Joel please..please want you so bad"

"Okay okay baby don't worry I'm right here"

Moving quickly Joel unbuttoned you top and removed your shorts.

"Fuckkk wore these for me did you babygirl"

Nodding you shifted your hips showing off the bows that adorned the sides. He smiled tracing them with his fingers before feeling the soft skin of your thighs. Your whined pawing at his shirt, lifting the material to see underneath.

"Alright I got it..don't want to rush this baby"

Chucking his shirt onto your bedroom floor he unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans too, leaving both of you in your underwear. Crawling into his lap you kisses him again, this time he dragged his lips down your neck, drawing out more noises from you. His lips kissed down to your breasts where he lavishly licked at each nipple, soaking both in his spit and watching them harden from the cold air of your room.

"You want it nice and slow hun"

Shaking your head Joel's head tipped back releasing a groan.

"Your killing me over here baby"

Pushing you back against your pillows Joel crawled til his face met your covered centre. He could feel the heat omitting off that area and couldn't wait to dive in.

"What do you need sweetie, tell your daddy nice and clearly"

Whining from both the embarrassment and and your neediness you replied,

"Please Joel, just want you-please daddy want you to touch my pussy"

Growling into your cunt Joel ripped you pink lace thong off you throwing it somewhere as he dove mouth first onto you.

You could only describe it at electrifying, his tongue worked like magic on you, exploring the folds and dragging your wetness up to you clit where his mouth collected all the liquid and drank it like his life depended on you. He couldn't get enough of the taste, it was so sweet, so you.

You yanked at your Joel's greying hair, eyes shut tight in euphoria as he held onto your thighs to stop your legs from shaking.

"Fuck..gonna come fuck daddy"

"Yeah show me how you come baby, come all over my tongue."

Your words spurred him on, his tongue pushing through your entrance, it was a point of depravity he couldn't turn back from. Wanting his best friends daughter to come on his tongue as he fucked you with it. A finally suck of your clit had you shaking, reaching that climax you desperately held onto, Joel continuing to lick you in the hopes of making it last longer.

"Oh god daddy..pleasplease fuck no more"

Lifting his head Joel licked his lips but he knew when he kissed you that you would taste yourself, more accurately you'd feel the mess you left on his grey speckled stubble. You tugged down Joel's boxers, slipping them off you watched his thick, heavy length spring up against his soft abs. Your eyes widened not expecting that. It was long, and thick, the tip was angry and red with veins adorning most of the length. His balls looked full and heavy and he had a thatch of pubic hair trailing up to his happy trail.

"Well don't just sit there staring at him baby, daddy doesn't have all night."

Absentmindedly nodding your hand reached out to barely fully wrap around it. He hissed at the tight grip you had on him.

"Up and down sweetie"

The longer you did just that, the more white precum dribbled from his tip and coated your fingers. Joel thought the sight was sinful, fuck the whole situation was taboo. An old man with a sweet girl like you. It was a a porn cliché as old as time. He couldn't take it anymore.

Manhandling you, he spread your legs and pushed your knees to meet your shoulders, the position exposed everything but you'd never felt more comfortable with someone like you did with Joel. He slapped your wet puffy cunt with his thick cock, the sounds of skin against skin echoed in your room and had you getting wetter.

"Bit of a tight fit, but you're gonna take all of daddy aren't you"

Nodding you agreed.

"Please, please want all of it wanna be full of you."

"Fuck here we go baby"

The tip went in first, it stretched you out already, Joel watched your tiny tight pussy struggle to take him, around the half way point you were already fucked out.

"No more daddy, too full please"

"Just a bit more baby come on make daddy happy"

"Mmmh fuck"

Joel pushed the final half in groaning at the sensation of your wet pussy lips meeting the base of his cock. You were definitely tight, so warm like a pillow moulded around his dick.

"All in. Can daddy move sweetheart"

"Pleaseplease don't stop"

Chuckling at your change in mood, Joel held onto your thighs and started moving in and out. His pace picked up speed quickly and before you knew it the sound of his cock entering you was like a ringing alarm. Relentless and loud. His thighs slapped against the back of yours and he was shoving you deeper in the mass of pillows with half of them already having fallen off. Your eyes squeezed shit and your pussy tightened around him.

"Oh yea baby do that again, fucking taking your daddy so good aren't you. Meant to take this big daddy dick."

"Fucking filthy. My fucking filthy slut, whoring yourself out to me. I could be your fucking father. Heck I could be your grandpa. You don't care though, baby just needs something to fill up her wet cunt."

Joel accentuated each sentence with a thrust reaching that special soft spot in you. It didn't take very long for you to reach your peak.

"Please daddy wanna come, please let me come"

"Yeah baby come on my dick, wanna feel that fucking pussy tighter around me"

Nodding your head Joel's hand grabbed your jaw, squishing your face and forcing your eyes to open.

"Nuh uh, baby you aren't coming if your eyes are closed, wanna see your eyes on me the whole time."

"Ngh okay daddy-fuck I'm coming daddydaddydaddyy"

You said it like in a trance, tongue hanging out of your mouth with a string of drool hanging off it, a single tear rolling down your cheek from the stimulation that Joel kissed away. One of his hands held onto your boob, twisting and rubbing your nipple while squishing the soft flesh. His other hand pushed your right leg further back, almost folding you in half as his held tilted back to growl nearly animalisitically at the ceiling. With a final groan, almost moan, Joel thrust deep in you one last time.

"Gonna cum baby, daddy's gonna fill you up, stuff you full of his cum til it's overflowing and dripping out."

Bracing your hands on Joel's solid chest you mewled out feeling his cum shoot inside your pussy, a load being pumped into you an when you thought it was over there was more.

Finally Joel finished, wrapping his arms around you to lay your head on his chest. Kissing the top of your head he cradled your limp exhausted body.

With a teasing smile you looked up at him.

"Not too bad for an old man"

"Baby we both know I'd still fuck you just as good in my sixties"

"We'll just have to wait and see then huh daddy?"

"You fucking kill me sweetie"

Chuckling against your forehead he placed one last kiss against it, basking in the last moments he had with you before he'd have to crawl out your window in the early hours of the morning.

[ddlydevotion]

PEARL NECKLACE

nsfw remmick headcanons

a/n: this wasn’t written with solely white audiences in mind, I know a lot of people have been worried about that when it comes to Sinners fanfiction. I’m Afro-Latina so you don’t have to worry about that here lol. Mentions of stretch marks.

Okay, don't hit me when I say this but I know for a fact that this man doesn't shave. I can't imagine him being all bare down there, are you kidding me? He definitely trims himself when the time calls for it but doesn't do anything more aside from that.

He couldn't care less if you're rocking a full bush. He'd probably smile out of how silly the situation is. Here's a man who feeds on the blood of the living in order to survive and you think he cares about some hair.

I forgot who said it first so if you know their @ please drop it in the comments, but I fully agree on the sentiment that Remmick would be completely desperate when it comes to you. He'd balance a bottle of Jack on his head if it meant you'd let him taste you. He'll paw at your thighs and look up at you with pleading, furrowed brows when you stop his attempt at lifting your skirt up.

He drools on your pussy.

His cock almost slips out of your pussy because of how wet you are, his thick drool mixing with your leaking wetness. He grabs the base of his cock, running it up your slit before slapping it on your swollen, fat clit, the impact leaving a wet plap! ring in the air.

" Shhh it's okay theree ya go, sweetheart, let me put it back in for you. Ya gonna take it for me?" he presses his forehead onto yours before whispering "ya promise?" against your flushed lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

He prefers to cum inside of you rather than anywhere else on your body. It's not about him wanting to avoid making a mess because this man gets fucking nasty. He just loves knowing that you're filled with him, that he's leaking from your swollen pussy. When he's about to cum he settles his hips flush against yours, his head finding a home in the crook of your neck. You swear you hear him whine as he moves his hips in tight circles, savoring the feeling of your gummy walls around his pulsing cock, his cum leaking from where the two of you are joined & down onto the bed.

he spreads you open with his thumbs, your throbbing clit and glistening pussy greeting him, and he has his very own way of greeting 'her' back.

Remmick definitely has a habit of talking to your pussy and referring to it as she and her. "Look at all that, baby. She missed me, huh? Look'a me, ya know you can't lie to me."

"Oh sweetheart, look at you. Gonna milk my cock? Thereee she is, there you go."

He'd definitely want you to sit on his face. His strong hands grip the globes of your ass in an attempt to bury his face even further in your pussy. If he notices you're holding back on him, he'll look you right in the eyes before saying, "sit. I told'ya to sit.", his words being slightly muffled by your plush thighs.

The two of you hardly leave the bedroom when you're on your period. He nearly drools at the sight of your tender tits, the stretch marks lining them appearing to be even more prominent. The sight of his lips covered in blood as he peaks at you from in between your thighs is enough to make you mewl, your eyes glazing over.

I'd say his aftercare mainly consists of pillow talk. He'll tuck you into his side and sling his defined arm over your shoulder. He'll look down at you with a small smile painting his face while checking in on you but not without letting out a teasing remark or two. "That wasn't too much, was it? I dunno, thought you were gonna pass out on me" (this part was inspired by @spikedfearn)

[lay-z]

Simon Riley signs his death sentence.

cw: cheating/infidelity; angst/hurt; cussing; open ending

♰ [back to black | masterlist]

Simon glances up when he hears the shrill doorbell, frowning a bit. He knows he’s not expecting anyone, never is. It’s a Monday evening, and he’s spent the day working on the broken bike in his garage, trying to drown his thoughts and feelings with working on machines.

His eyes travel to the clock on the wall, noting the late hour, and he sighs. It better not be some bloody salesman trying to sell some shite to him. He makes his way to the front door, pulling it open unceremoniously. What he sees makes his blood run cold.

“What are you doing here?” he asks brusquely, his gaze hard, expression closed off.

“I need to talk to you,” you answer curtly, yet there’s a hint of mystery to your words. “It’s important.”

You’re dead to me. To Tommy. Your words from months ago ring in his ears again.

He eyes you suspiciously for a moment, and then steps aside to make space, gesturing you inside with a wordless invitation. “Olright. Come in,” he mutters, closing the door behind you.

Clutching the black folder to your chest, you give a small nod of thanks as you walk past him, further inside his small flat—surroundings that used to be so warm and familiar to you.

Simon glances at you in passing, noting the tight grip you have on the folder in your arms. He motions to the sofa in the middle of the living room, gesturing for you to take a seat while he drops into the armchair across from you with a rough exhale.

He drums his calloused fingers restlessly on the armrest, tawny eyes drinking you in vigilantly as he waits for you to speak.

Taking a seat on the couch reluctantly, you force yourself not to let your eyes roam around his flat nor let it linger on him for too long. It took everything in you to find the courage to come here in the first place; to bottle up your emotions enough to keep a level head. Clearing your throat, you take out a pen from the inside pocket of your coat and open the folder before sliding the documents over to him on the coffee table.

“I’m getting married,” you announce eventually, right when the light catches on the delicate diamond ring on your finger.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

There’s a ringing sound in his ears, and the room seems to spin for a second, like he’s been thrown off an edge and is falling fast. He almost can’t breathe, and his knuckles go white as he clenches his grip on the armchair, trying to keep control of his body as he glares at the expensive looking engagement ring on your finger, the reality slowly sinking in. It’s mocking him.

“You’re gettin’ married,” he repeats hoarsely, his voice betraying the pain that’s churning inside him. He snorts humourlessly. “Congratulations.”

“Yes,” you answer slowly, ignoring the biting sarcasm in his words as you avoid his gaze; keeping your focus on the documents, on my future—rather than your painful past with him.

The room feels tense all of a sudden, and you force yourself to stay calm, to stay seated.

“So... these are–” You clear your throat again. “These are adoption papers for Tommy, but I need approval from his biological father before my–my future husband can adopt him officially.”

Simon looks at you for a long time, his expression hidden behind a stone-cold façade. He’s trying to hold it together, but every word you speak feels like a jab, hitting his gut and stabbing deep into his heart.

“You’re–” he repeats again, his voice almost a whisper, “you’re getting married.” His mind is racing, trying to wrap his head around the idea of you marrying another man, of another man being a father to his son.

You inhale a slow breath when he repeats it for a second time, and you can read the shock and desperation in his eyes despite him trying to hide it behind his cold façade. “Yes, Simon,” you repeat once more, feeling like you’re explaining something to your toddler son, who happens to be the spitting image of his father at nearly two years old.

“I’m getting married.”

His jaw clenches like he’s preventing himself from saying something—anything—and his body goes tense. He looks at the documents spread across the old coffee table, his eyes scanning the information on the pages. He understands what and why you’re asking, and he knows he has no right to refuse. He’s lost that right months ago, and now he's facing the cost of his own actions. Choices have consequences—his own bloody words that he foolishly refused to live by.

“And... and the bloke, the bloke you’re marrying. He’s... He wants to adopt Tommy?” he asks through gritted teeth.

You nod slowly but firmly, blinking slowly as you hold his gaze bravely.

“He’s been a great step dad to him for –” You stop yourself, kissing your teeth as if you almost spilled a secret before speaking up again: “He wants to marry me and he wants to adopt Tommy officially.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. The thought of another man, a bloody stranger, being a father to his son, taking his place in his family, is like a sledgehammer to his already shattered heart.

It feels like he can’t breathe as the reality of the situation fully sinks in, and the weight of it threatens to swallow him whole. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his hands, the effort of holding back the words—these feelings—almost physically hurts. He can feel the familiar anger rising up in his chest, blending effortlessly with all the pain and desperation and regret.

His eyes are glued to the diamond ring on your finger, the symbol glaring back at him, adding insult to injury. His emotions are like a storm raging inside him, tearing him apart, but he grits his crooked teeth and forces himself to look away, tearing his gaze from your hand.

“And... he’s a good lad, aye? Treats you right?” The words taste like acid on his tongue.

“He is a good man, Simon,” you answer truthfully, heaving a sigh as you bite back the harsher words on the tip of your tongue; telling him that it’s none of his business anymore.

“He’s good, and kind, and generous, and above all... he’s loyal.”

Simon goes quiet at that, the stinging comment hitting him hard. He knows he has no right to feel hurt, to feel betrayed. He has no right to feel anything at all. He was the one who screwed up, the one who caused this entire mess. He cheated on you, destroyed your trust, ripped your relationship apart, broke your heart, and left you alone when you’d sent him away instead of fighting to pick up the pieces. He messed up.

But knowing that you found someone better now, someone who’s going to take his place—it feels like someone is tearing his wretched heart out.

When he goes silent again, you push the documents towards him with more urgency.

“Please... don’t make this harder than it already is,” you whisper eventually, feeling your chest tighten as the bottled up emotions threaten to break free. “I just want Tommy to have a chance at a normal life... to have a father and for me to finally have some safety.”

He can sense the suppressed emotions radiating from you, and it breaks his heart even more. Simon picks up the documents slowly, his hands betraying the turmoil inside, the tremors he can’t control no matter how much he tries. His voice is barely a rough whisper when he speaks again, thick with emotion: “I... I know I don’t have a right to even say this, but–

Can I ask a favour?” he presses out, trying to keep up the mask of numbness but failing miserably. He’s crumbling.

“No, you can’t,” you reply gently yet firmly. It hurts. God, it hurts so much, but he did this. It’s his fault. He’s a bloody cheater.

The sharp, flat answer hits him like a bucket of ice water. It doesn’t surprise him though, but it still stings. He clenches his jaw, forces himself to keep his expression under control, knows he has no right to expect anything from you after what he did.

He stares at the documents in his hands for a moment longer, before nodding slowly. “Olright,” he says eventually, his voice rough and strained. “I’ll... I’ll sign the bloody papers.”

You expected him to rip the papers to shreds, but now you’re watching with bated breath as he puts his signature right above the necessary line with an uncharacteristic unsteady hand and your heart clenches suddenly, your vision going blurry.

He’s signing away his son’s life, and it’s tearing him apart on the spot while his face betrays nothing. He’s signing away the right to be Tommy’s father, the right to be in his life, to hold him, to watch him grow up, to be there for him. He’s signing away the future he’d secretly dreamed of, of a family with you, the only thing that ever really mattered to him.

It feels like he’s signing his own bloody death sentence.

He feels like he’s drowning in guilt and shame. All the while, his eyes stay trained on you, taking in every small movement, every blink, and every shaky breath.

“So... uhm... How’s–” You swallow thickly, bile rising in your throat as you wipe at your glossy eyes frantically to try and keep your composure. “How’s Emma?” you manage to ask, trying to change the subject, to remind yourself why this happened in the first place.

Just when he thought the knife couldn’t dig any deeper, you ask about her, and he’s hit with an even more intense wave of shame.

The memory of her—the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she tasted—flashes through his mind, and he has to swallow to keep himself from gagging.

He looks away, avoiding eye contact as he shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Fine.” He croaks, his voice betraying his discomfort.

“Oh.”  You nod slowly, processing his curt answer as you kiss your teeth again. “Good... that’s... good.” He's lying. You can tell that he’s lying, and yet you can’t stop. You’re too bitter.

“I’m glad to know that you–you found happiness with her. That you’re–” You exhale through your nose. “That you can–” You feel another wave of nauseous overcome you, and you’re forced to take another deep breath. “That you’re faithful to her.”

Your words hit him like a kick to the gut, and he’s left gasping as his heart constricts painfully. He can hear the pain in your voice, the bitterness in your tone, the pain that still runs deep.

The truth.

The truth is, he’s not happy. He’s not faithful.

If there’s one person he belongs with, it’s you—you, with your quiet bravery, your stubborn determination, your endless loyalty.

You, with the eyes he could lose himself in.

“I’m not,” he finally rasps, voice hoarse with emotion as he finally finds the courage to look you in the eye again. “I’m not happy.”

He takes a shaky breath, his voice cracking with raw honesty. “I’m not happy, and I’m not faithful. Not to her, because I–I think about you and I think about Tommy... every fuckin' day for the past seven months.”

His words are like a confession, a desperate plea for your understanding.

“I made a mistake,” he continues, “I made the wrong choice, and every day... every god damn day I’ve regretted it, baby.” He’s tearing up again, the guilt and shame and pain overcoming him, and his vision swims before he pushes his palms against his eyes harshly, exhaling a ragged breath.

“Simon,” you say firmly, hoping he truly listens this time. Your spine goes rigid with tension and restraint. You want to yell, to lash out, to curse him, but you won’t. Not again.

“You cheated on me twice... and I was stupid enough to give you another chance after the first time. We have a son together, but that didn’t stop you from fucking Emma. This is your own goddamn fault, so–”

“I know it’s my own goddamn fault!” he snaps, his emotions getting the better of him. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see that every day?” His eyes are burning with unshed tears, his chest heaving with barely controlled fury.

“I know I screwed up, I know I... I destroyed us! I destroyed our family! I destroyed you! But–But you have no fuckin’ idea what I’d give to take it back, you have no bloody idea!”

“That may be, but there is no taking back,” you reply coolly, not even flinching at his outburst as you keep a level head.

Finally, you take the signed adoption papers from him and put them back into the black folder; snapping it shut with finality. “Just know that–” You let out another deep, shaky sigh, fighting tears. “Know that Tommy will be fine. He’ll be happy and very loved, and he’ll be a decent man someday–” Your voice cracks at the end, and you stand up from the couch at once, still trying your best not to fall apart in front of him.

His heart breaks all over again, and it’s like a combat knife twisting in his chest as he watches you put the documents back into the folder.

Simon stands up too; his body tense as he fights the urge to reach for you, to pull you close and hold you tightly. He doesn’t deserve to hold you. He doesn’t deserve to touch you. He should’ve never touched you in the first place.

He takes a step towards you, a last attempt, his gravelly voice barely a whisper: “I don’t know how to live without you.” The words spill out of him, raw and unfiltered, his voice shaking with emotion.

And he takes another slow, heavy step closer. “I tried, fuckin’ hell, I tried to forget you, but I can’t. I can’t move on. I can’t let go. You’re under my skin, you’re in my bloody head, you’re in my heart, you’re in every goddamn dream I have. And the idea of losing you, of not having you and Tommy in my life... it’s killing me–”

“Then why did you cheat on me?”

The question comes out involuntarily, spilling over your lips for the first time in nearly three years since it happened the first time.

“If you love me and Tommy so bloody much, then why the fuck did you cheat on me, Simon?” you ask, voice rising in volume and pitch, taking on an edge of desperation as you glare at him with the protective strength and fury only a mother can muster.

“Why?!”

He’s reeling, the memories of his betrayal slapping him with brutal force. His broad shoulders sag, defeated, as the weight of his actions crashes down on him. He can’t look at you, tawny eyes filled with shame like a little boy who’s been scolded, his gaze fixated on the floor as he tries to put his thoughts into words.

When he finally speaks, his voice sounds hollow, devoid of any emotion: “I can’t explain it,” he whispers, the words barely leaving his lips. “I wish I could, but I don’t even know my damn self.”

You allow yourself to look at him for another moment; deep down expecting more, expecting a better explanation, but nothing comes and your face twists into a pained grimace as you glance down at the folder in your hands. At a brighter future for you and your son.

“That’s not good enough, Simon,” you rasp out before forcing yourself to gather the last shred of strength you have left, straightening your shoulders.

“Take care.”

“You too.” He feels hollow, empty.

All the fight and anger drain out of him in a split second, leaving him feeling cold and lifeless.

He should grab you, hold you, and plead for forgiveness, but he stands rooted to the spot in his living room, unable to move, too damn scared to reach out for you.

As the door of his flat falls shut behind you, you clutch the folder to your chest with one hand as you rush down the staircase, slowly falling apart at the seams as you stumble forward.

Outside the apartment building, you swiftly seek out your fiancées sleek black Mercedes car in the parking lot, swallowing down a sob as you pull open the passenger seat before slipping inside and closing the door—mindful of your toddler son still napping in his car seat in the back.

“Everything okay, darling?” John glances over at you from the driver's seat as you clench your teeth, trying to keep it together. He can tell that it’s not okay, that something went wrong. The look on your face telling him all he needs to know.

“Are you... alright?” He asks as gently as his gruff voice allows, looking at you once again, concern filling his steel blue eyes.

“I–I think so,” you answer shakily, clutching the folder to your chest like a lifeline as you tremble in the leather seat. Then, you feel the heavy, warm weight of his hand come to rest on your thigh.

John Price.

Simon's captain and superior, who has been there for you even through your pregnancy after your first breakup with Simon.

John Price, who's swept you off your feet with ease, when you’d sent Simon away for cheating again barely seven months ago.

Glancing over at him, you cup your own icy hand over his on your thigh while your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage.

“Can you–Can you please take me home?”

Hiii and sorry about this :) Anyway—

[kingkaisen]

THE FANBOY GUIDE!

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ ˊ˗ fanboy!gojo x celebrity!reader

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ୨୧ ˊ˗ gojo, one of your biggest fans, has the chance to finally meet you. however, he hopes to also accomplish his number one dream: to fuck his idol.

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ ˊ˗ 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI - (switch!gojo, creampie, oral f!receiving, riding) fem!reader, no curses au.

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐀/𝐍: ୨୧ ˊ˗ gojo has been on my mind, & this is the result! header concept inspired by @kazushawty’s cyber theme.

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ ˊ˗ 4K

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE, SATORU. ENJOY THE EVENT!

The blue-eyed man blinked at his bright computer screen, which displayed his emailed receipt from Ticketmaster. In the left pocket of his black sweatpants — which he wore despite the summer heat at this time of year — his phone buzzed to alert him of a fat sum of money being taken out of his bank account.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled to himself.

He refreshed the page. And he refreshed it once more.

But after two lengthy scrolls through the confirmation email, there was no denying it.

He was going to meet you.

Gojo’s long fingers clicked away at his mouse and keyboard until he landed on his rather popular fan blog. To say that he was a member of your fandom would be an understatement, as he practically ruled over all of your supporters and gave true meaning to his username, kinggojo.

Even as a busy high school teacher and martial arts instructor — perhaps, entrepreneur as well, being as he owned his own martial arts school — he still carved out some time every single day to post about you. Watch your videos. Study your latest professional photoshoots and off-guard paparazzi shots.

And soon, a little plastic backstage pass will dangle around his neck, giving him undenied access to you.

The real you.

—

kinggojo: guess who’s finally gonna meet y/n? (:

—

At the airport, Gojo spent his time FaceTiming Nanami, who had to endure his rambunctious ramblings while on his lunch break.

“Give me one year,” Gojo paused, glancing down at his phone, “one year, and I swear, she’s gonna become my wife.”

“I don’t care,” Nanami chewed on his sandwich. “Please leave me alone.”

“Yeahhh, you’re just jealous.” As Gojo grinned goofily, the salaryman promptly ended the video chat.

While Gojo would have dialed him back repeatedly until he gave in and answered, Nanami had lucked out, as it was time for him to board his plane.

The plane ride was nothing short of exhilarating. Gliding through the air as a first-class passenger, he counted down the minutes until he’d finally see your charming smile in person.

Naturally, he had to splurge for an occasion as special as this one.

The best seats on the plane, the nicest hotel room in the city — he wished he could personally thank the spoiled geniuses who invented valet parking and free drinks for first-class passengers.

Although his bank account had seen better spending days, he was perfectly fine with eating cheap styrofoam cups of chicken flavored ramen once he got back home from his trip.

In his hotel room the night before his Big Day, Gojo gathered everything he might have needed along with his ironed outfit, and hung it up in the closet. He took his time with making sure he’d look especially sharp come morning, as he wanted to look good for you.

Good enough for you to fuck him.

Call him crazy. Overly optimistic. But he had a goal; an accomplishable dream that made his dick harden against the fabric of his pants whenever he thought about having hot, creamy sex with you — his number one idol.

As he crawled into bed and lazily stroked his cock, painting his fist white as the pearly ropes of cum spurted out of him, he thought about what it would be like if his wildest dream came true.

—

At the meet and greet, Gojo stood around backstage with all of the other fans, and one of them even knew about his blog. They all chatted about you, occasionally interrupting themselves to mumble a quick “I’m so nervous,” before talking about another topic, and Gojo couldn’t help but have pity for them.

He was nervous as well, of course, but even more so, he was determined.

And when you stepped through the door, smiling once your prosperous groupies shrieked and squealed, Gojo had finally understood what authors meant when they wrote about love at first sight.

You were more beautiful than he could have imagined. Even more gorgeous than in your pictures somehow. He was certain that you even glanced his way, but he couldn’t prove it.

“There she is,” Gojo said to no one in particular, not even completely aware that the words had fallen from between his lips, but a woman standing next to him spoke up.

“I can’t believe this is really happening!” She shook her hands out of pure excitement. “I hope she’ll sign my merch!”

Precious.

Some people had hopes and dreams as simple as that one. The taller man was certain that if he confessed his own hopes, they’d laugh at him.

Or worse, get him kicked out of the meet-and-greet completely.

But he didn’t have time to worry about what anyone else hoped to gain out of your event, not when the queue was moving rather quickly, and he found himself biting his lower lip and shifting his weight.

He was growing more and more nervous with every second that passed by. It was the ultimate countdown until he’d finally meet you.

Soon enough, it was his turn.

“Hi,” you beamed kindly at the handsome stranger, “how are you?”

How cute.

Your sweet, customer service tone made his heart skip a beat, and while he wanted to revel in the fact that he was meeting you and you were speaking to him, he couldn’t think too much about it. He couldn’t risk losing his cool.

“I’m better now that I’ve met you,” Gojo smiled, pulling out his phone to take the one photo he was promised in his package deal. “How are you doing? Having fun?”

You tilted your head a bit, and it occurred to Gojo that most fans probably didn’t bother to ask about your day, or your feelings.

“I’m great, thanks. You’re really kind for asking that!” You smiled. “What pose would you like to do, honey?”

Gojo melted inside. He knew the term was simply meant to make your fans feel more special than they actually were, but even so, he’d never forget the sound of you saying that to him.

Suddenly, Gojo wrapped one arm around your waist, pulled you against his side, and he raised his phone before snapping a photo with you.

Before he pulled away, he whispered into your ear, “there’s something really sweet about the way you called me honey just now.”

“O-Oh,” you stammered, looking down at your feet, the stranger’s warm breath against your ear made your cheeks warm up. “I just call everyone honey.”

“Of course, I’m just saying that I liked it. You’re just…” Gojo paused, looking you up and down, “pretty cute, aren’t you?”

Looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, you said, “are you flirting with me?”

Gojo glanced at your security guard. The buff guy was more interested in the complimentary buffet than your protection, and Gojo took a step closer, hearing a jealous groan from the line of fans behind him.

“Maybe,” A small smirk appeared across Gojo’s face. “How would you feel if I was?”

“I’d probably have to just . . . ask you to leave.”

“There’s no need, sweetheart,” Gojo said softly, “I’m running out of time anyway. But that’s no way to treat a fan, is it?”

You gulped. You stared deeply into his eyes.

“You’re, um,” you said shakily, “you’re allowed to hug me before you go . . . if you want.”

“Come here, then.”

The tall man wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. The hug lasted longer than it should have.

“I’d love to spend more time with you,” Gojo whispered. “Maybe some other time.”

As he pulled away, you felt him slip something into your pocket.

“It was nice meeting you,” you said.

He left without another word.

Your meet-and-greet lasted for two entire hours after that, and throughout every single interaction with a fan of yours, you couldn't help but wonder what the handsome man slipped into your pocket.

Finally, as your event came to an end, you reached into your pocket and found a yellow sticky note.

Written on it was an address, a hotel room number, and his name.

—

Any sane person who valued their safety and their life would have ignored it. Toss the note in the trash. But you found yourself standing outside of his hotel room door, and for the first time in your entire life, you were nervous about meeting a fan.

You knocked on the door, your breath shaky as you did so.

“This is insane,” you thought.

Half of you wanted to run away before he answered. The other half of you wanted to stay.

But, before you could truly decide, he opened the door, standing there with a genuine look of surprise.

“Huh,” Gojo smirked, stepping to the side to let you into his room. “You actually came.”

It was all an act; the cool, calm, and collected aura was a cover-up, for underneath it all, he was a mess of a man.

The sweaty palms that he secretly tried to wipe off on his pants. His throat dried to a crisp no matter how many bottles of water he downed before you knocked on his hotel room door, which was idiotic, because he ended up spending the last thirty minutes before your scheduled arrival running back and forth to the bathroom to pee.

However, after years of flashing a false smile in front of a classroom packed with moody teenagers during his darkest days, and dishonestly congratulating his martial arts students even when their kicks were less than splendid to encourage them and see them beam with confidence, Gojo had considerable expertise when it came to acting.

Of course, he was nervous.

It was you.

Even so, as his heart pounded rapidly inside of his chest, he was beyond thrilled about what was to come.

And who was to come.

“I knew you’d be surprised. I'm surprised as well.” Shutting the door after you entered his unexpectedly luxurious hotel room, you gulped, your eyes failing to meet his bright blue ones. “I don’t normally do stuff like this.”

“Sleep with fans?” Raising an eyebrow, Gojo’s cocky smirk turned into a rather kind smile.

“Yeah.”

“Well then, I’m honored. I mean, just getting to meet you was something I wanted for a long time. And to know you’re actually gonna let me ruin you?” Slowly, he leaned in, placing a soft kiss against your cheek. “It’s a dream come true.”

“Are you really a fan of me?” You gave him a look of disbelief.

“Of course I am,” he mumbled. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

“You could have pretended to be a fan to get my attention or something, I don’t know.” You shrugged shyly, which was the cutest thing Gojo had probably ever seen. His cheeks started to burn from grinning so much.

“Trust me,” Gojo suddenly pressed his palm against your jaw, running his thumb across your cheek, stroking you delicately as if he were touching fragile flower petals. “I’ve watched every single video that you’ve ever posted, seen almost every photo, liked every tweet, and ignored all of your typos. I’ve read every single piece of fanfiction about you that I’ve come across online. Tried to write my own one time. It was shit, but still. I’m not really the kinda guy who likes to label myself, but if I’m not your biggest fan, then I don’t know who is.”

When he ran his thumb over your mouth, pulling down on your soft bottom lip ever so gently, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to actually kiss you.

He wanted to do it.

Desperately.

Moonlit nights spent warm in his bed were when he alternated between his top five favorite scenarios, daydreaming about your first kiss as he drifted off to sleep. And, now, he would have the chance to feel your pillowy lips against his — and, god — they felt so perfect against his digit, he ended up chewing on his own bottom lip as he touched yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly, his eyes flickering between your gaze and your lips. “Please?”

“You’re my biggest fan, apparently, so you can do whatever you’d like.”

He pressed his lips against yours. Every single First Kiss! cliche he had seen in movies and read about in books — going on about fireworks and such — had a bit of truth to it, because when your buttery lips touched his, he instantly melted into the kiss.

It was as if he was born for the sole purpose of kissing you — like a god created his mind, body, and soul for that specific reason.

He moaned; it was strange, yet familiar, as he never made such a delicious, sinful noise whenever he kissed someone.

But then again, during late-night hookups with unsatisfying women, he wasn’t one to typically make any sort of noise.

Apparently, he only ever moaned if it had something to do with you.

Whether he was jerking off to your bikini photos on Instagram, or kissing you, as it would seem, only you could elicit such a beautiful sound from him.

And he wasn’t complaining. Not one bit.

“Gojo,” you mumbled softly against his lips. “Don’t be such a gentleman.”

“Trust me, I’m not.” Gojo's mouth hovered over yours as he spoke. “You have no idea how badly I wanna toss you on that bed right now. I just need to take my time with you and enjoy every minute. I’ve waited too long for this to happen, and I’m not gonna rush it.”

Despite his words, when he reconnected your lips, he kissed you hungrily.

Hurriedly.

His tongue entered your mouth as his hand held onto the back of your neck. It was such a messy kiss, but a passionate one as well, and only a man like Gojo could pull off both with a simple swirl of his tongue, which battled against yours.

And your mouth tasted absolutely delicious. He could hardly wait to taste your pussy as well, wondering how it could compare.

When Gojo’s other hand suddenly gripped your ass, a little gasp escaped from you, and he took that god-given opportunity to deepen the kiss.

If he could have his mouth attached to yours like this forever, wet tongues darting around as you swallowed each other’s moans, he would.

He didn’t want to pull apart to breathe, didn’t want to pause for even a moment and detach his lips from yours, but he did.

He pulled away, but only so he could leave kisses along your jawline.

“Gojo,” you whined, lifting your neck to give the tall man full access to your sensitive skin.

And when those skillful lips of his found that sweet spot right underneath your jaw, he licked and sucked at it as if he’d absolutely die if he didn’t.

“You’re whining like that just from me giving you a little hickey?” Gojo mumbled against your wet skin. “Now I’m curious about the kinda noises you’ll make once I eat your pussy. I won’t lie; I’m pretty excited.”

“Then just do it already,” whining once more, you gripped his shoulders as he started to make his way down your neck, leaving kisses across your collarbone.

“Patience,” Gojo said.

And when he spoke, he spoke as if he wasn’t truly freaking out on the inside.

His idol was desperate for him.

If he didn’t believe in luck before, he surely did now.

Gojo’s large hands, which were formerly roaming your body, pulled your top off swiftly, including your bra. If only he could take your bra with him as a souvenir.

It took all of his strength to not drool at the sight of your hard nipples.

God, were they perfect.

They were certainly magnificent enough to make any previous plans for having patience and taking his time with you flutter out of his lustful mind, as only a few seconds after removing your shirt, you were laying on the bed with Gojo hovering over your tits. He bit his lip in anticipation.

“Can I suck on them?” He asked, his eyes never once glancing away from your chest. “Please?”

“Yes-”

You were interrupted by a sudden gasp falling from your lips, as Gojo attached his mouth to your hard nipple as soon as you mumble that simple little word.

“Hmm,” he moaned.

First, he licked at your nipple while flicking your other one with his finger. Then, he took it into his mouth, sucking on it as he listened to your soft moans, which was a sound he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

Repeating his actions with your other nipple, he smiled against your tit when you suddenly ran your hand through his hair.

As badly as he wanted to fuck you, the thought of simply laying on your chest on a lazy Sunday afternoon as you ran your fingers across his scalp sounded like a dream.

It sounded like love.

He wanted that with you too.

Gojo took off your pants. He took off his shirt.

Then, he left a trail of kisses down your stomach until he made his way in between your legs. Having the honor of looking at your pussy was comparable only to walking through the golden gates of Heaven.

“What a pretty pussy,” he whispered to himself, running his thumb along your wet folds.

Like a starved man diving into a Thanksgiving dinner, Gojo spread your lips apart, and started to lick your clit.

Even with your back arched, fingers running through his hair as you moaned and moaned, Gojo was certain that he was enjoying it even more.

The hand that was formerly holding the wet lips of your pussy open made its way down to his dick, and he rubbed his clothed dick while moaning against your sensitive button, which he licked at rapidly with his wet tongue.

“Hmm, oh — baby,” he moaned and moaned.

“Gojo,” you whimpered.

He looked up at you through those long eyelashes of his. He was actually going to make you cum all over his tongue.

Excitement ran through his veins like a drug. He attached his lips to your clit, sucking on it until your delicious juice flooded his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you squealed, thrashing around as he refused to snatch himself away from your pussy. Not until all of your creamy mess was all licked up.

Wasting even a drop of your cum was an outright sin. One he would never forgive himself over.

He detached himself from your pussy with a little smack, licking his lips as he sat up.

Gojo started to unbuckle his belt. “You ready?”

You nodded, but once he pulled his pants down, the sight of his large cock made you gulp.

But you should have known.

He was tall. Large hands. Large feet. Large cock, of course.

Gojo pressed his tip against your folds, rubbing the head of cock up and down your wet hole, collecting your juices as he worked his way from your hole to your clit repeatedly.

The very split second in which his cock was pressed against your entrance was a telltale sign that you had never taken a dick that was as big as his.

It managed to put your past partners to shame.

And your purple dildo too.

“It’s too big,” you whined, blinking up at him.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Gojo rested his hard member against your hole. “I’m gonna make it fit, baby. You’re gonna be a good girl for me and take it, right?”

You were getting impatient. The urge to feel him fill you up was undeniably strong, but also, his urge to take his time with you was equally as powerful.

“Only if you be a good fanboy for me,” you frowned, “and put it in.”

“I had no idea you’d be so impatient,” Gojo smiled, but even so, he still didn’t move. Not yet.

“Don’t tease me,” you said.

“Tease you?” Gojo ran his hand along your thigh, and your frown deepened. “I’m just taking my time. Not my fault you’re so-”

“Maybe I should’ve picked another fan.”

Gojo suddenly shoved himself inside of you.

Screw how much he wanted to savor the moment. If you wanted to be fucked right now, fast and hard, then he’d do it. He’d do anything for you.

After kindly letting your pussy adjust to his size, he increased his speed.

The bed squeaked from his thrusts. He pressed his forehead against yours, his warm breath patting against your face as he moaned softly.

“Faster,” you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Oh, did he obey.

He not only fucked you at a harsher speed, but he repositioned himself so that he could thrust in and out of you roughly.

He anticipated the noise complaint he’d receive from the hotel staff already. Not that he cared. He didn’t care about anything except for how good your pussy felt around his cock, and as his moans increased in volume, all of his thoughts slowly fluttered out of his pretty little head.

He couldn’t focus on anything aside from the pleasure.

He just loved you so much. Your content had changed him as a person, shaped his life into something worth living, and now, here he was, thriving in the utter pleasure you gave him. It melted away his cocky attitude, and he gripped the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Gojo said. “I . . . god, I need . . .”

He was begging for something and nothing at the same time, just so desperate and pathetic for you, you, you.

Suddenly, you pushed on Gojo’s shoulders.

“Let’s switch,” you bit your lip. “I wanna ride you.”

He could have cried. You wanted to ride him? Only a fool would turn down that opportunity, and he was quickly on his back as you climbed over him.

“That’s it, pretty baby. Get on top of me.” His large hands gripped your perfect ass, and instantly, he dreaded the very moment when he’d have to eventually let go. His eyes — which glistened with lust without any decency and excitement without any substances — darted down to your wet hole sinking his aching cock. “Oh — put it in. Put it in.”

“Now who’s impatient?” You smirked, but you couldn’t tease him for long, as when his big cock entered you, your mouth flung open with utter shock over how full you felt.

Perhaps, it was foolish to believe that his size was something you’d get used to after he pounded your pussy into oblivion moments before.

Slowly, but surely, you started to bounce up and down along his length. Those bright eyes of his, which were now fixated on your beautiful boobs, fluttered closed as he tossed his head back.

“Oh my fucking god,” he moaned. “Feels so damn good. You’re so perfect, you know that? Keep bouncing on my cock, baby. Just like that.”

He went on and on, more heartfelt words pouring out of his mouth with every jolt of your body.

“I’m so obsessed with you,” he continued, “I can’t lose you after this, I can’t. I can’t, baby. You’re fucking me so good, please…”

He whimpered, which was utterly shocking to him, but it made your walls clench around his dick. His desperation turned you on in unimaginable ways, as now, he was revealing his true colors underneath the false chill and cool persona, and he was nothing more than a pathetic, cute, little fanboy.

“I love you,” a tear slipped down his cheek from utter delight. “I love you so much. Stay with me, I’ll do anything. I want you all to myself.”

“So, so, devoted to me, huh?” You said breathlessly, yet sweetly.

Truth be told, his cock felt so wonderful thrusting in and out of you, it would have been entirely unshocking if you ended up being addicted to him as well.

“I’m gonna cum-” Gojo wrapped his arms around your waist, bucking his hip up to fuck you as deeply as possible. “I’m so close — I’m right there. I can’t hold it, sweetheart, I-I can’t keep it in much longer.”

“Cum for me, Gojo.” You whispered. “Be good for your little idol, yeah? Tell me how much you wanna cum.”

“So badly,” he swallowed thickly, beads of sweat forming across his forehead, his white hair sticking to his salty skin. He was starting to become dizzy from the way your pussy worked on his cock. He couldn’t hold himself back. “I . . . Oh fuck.”

White ropes of his creamy cum exploded out of his dick, shooting inside of you with such urgency and desperation, that a light shade of pink dusted across his cheeks from utter embarrassment.

The white-haired man’s cock twitched. It throbbed until every last drop of semen filled your insides, and broken moans poured out of his throat.

“So much of it,” he softly whined, burying his reddened face in your neck. “I’m sorry.”

His cum spilled out of your pussy. It trickled down until it drenched the white sheets underneath you both, but Gojo’s hips continued to lazily buck up, sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin as he fucked his cum right back inside of you.

—

After taking a few moments to catch your breaths, you and Gojo were right back at it, going round after round until the sun rose, marking the very next day.

The teacher, who had fallen asleep somewhere around 5 A.M., awakened with a shiver shooting up his spine from the chilly hotel room air. And it made sense why, as he was completely naked.

But when he realized that you weren’t in bed with him, nor were your clothes tangled up on the ground along with his, he frowned.

Was it a dream? No. He knew it really happened. Perhaps, he was a fool to think that you’d stay with him, that you both would wake up together and shower before ordering some breakfast via room service.

You were a celebrity, he was simply a fan, and there was no hope for-

Suddenly, a yellow sticky note fell off of Gojo’s chest.

Written on it was your phone number, and a little heart.

—

When Gojo returned home two days later, he collapsed in his rolling chair, exhaling a deep breath followed by an airy laugh.

Even as he opened his laptop and logged onto his blog, he couldn’t believe his luck. The ultimate fanboy, he was.

Half of him contemplated the idea of creating a guide for every other hopeful man with an appetite geared exclusively towards their idol, but in his gut — which twisted with excitement whenever he thought about you creaming all over his cock so deliciously — he knew that he was simply a lucky man.

A lottery winner. The chosen one.

Even if he got an imaginary Master’s Degree in the study of Banging-Your-Idol, and went on to write nonfiction self-help books to aid all of his followers, they would all still fail to accomplish what he did.

However, even if he couldn’t create a guide to help out every other horny and helpless individual, he could still do one thing.

Brag.

And with that, after taking a screenshot of the recent notification that appeared across his screen — showing that your popular, verified account had followed him back — he started typing.

—

kinggojo: hey guys (: none of you are gonna believe what just happened…

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

🏷: @downforsanji @robynnnhooddd @ritsatoru @natalie-san @mikkies @sunjayist @blkwriters @shigemis0ra @whippedbyikemen @arizzu @staubmotte @mokonasenpaiposts @whats-humanity-lol @mbappesgirlfriend @satoruscurse @bear-likes-mushrooms @rinxgojo @arcswonderland @torusmochi @huang-the-geek @ivytears @salmasalamoon @ackachii @ploylulla @1989-taylors @heiixou @roronoaswifey @yourmumsthings @brownskin-bunny @arisucat @dreamtravelersade @hottiewifeyyyy @levin4nami @dazailover1900 @gojomaki @chosogatitos @hoshigaby @trawberry-fire @potofstewie @mx-mekla

[kmuradesu]

.‘ENTITLED’.

husband!gojo x pregnantwife!reader (afab)

» summary: leaving the busy streets of Sendai city back to its outskirts, the two of you got a bus. there aren’t any seats available, and being pregnant meant being able to sit in the priority seats. looks like they’re taken.

» CW: pregnancy, exhaustion, mentions of jizz, bus ride, stubborn civilian, teeny-weeny angst if you squint, protective satoru, threats, all happy, no swears, not proofread!

» a/n: this has been sat incomplete in my drafts for a month, only until now I’ve motivated myself to finish it (lmao). I don’t know what it is, but I love pregnancy fics with jjk.

———————————————————————

After a slow-paced stroll through the bustling streets of Sendai City and a bunch of offers from Gojo telling you he’ll buy whatever you want, the lingering sense of exhaustion finally caught up with you.

You had managed to make it an hour and a half.

The beads of salty sweat were becoming more prominent over your glossed skin, your breath being lost easily but being hard to get back. The overly frequent back aches weren’t helping either, it was like this baby was already overweight inside of you.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as your soft, now clammy, hand weaved with Gojo’s, the wedding bands glinting a perfect chrome against the sun’s humid rays. You didn’t want to become a burden, neither a random woman in the city known for sweating abnormal amounts of sweat. “I think the baby’s had enough, huh sweets?”

Your loose gaze lifted upwards to meet his, immediately feeling the cool radiating from his cerulean eyes. Strangely, through the navy lenses in his shades.

“..yeah, me too.” You breathed.

“Okayyy, let’s get the bus back - save you walking around with that watermelon inside you.” Purposefully, Satoru presented you and your bump a judgy look.

“..thanks.”

Rolling your peepers with sarcasm, you gently swung your hand with his back and forth.

“Hey, that’s what it looks like to me!”

“Well it’s your sperm, blame your own genes on the fact it’s fat!”

“WHAT?! FAT?! I’M NOT FAT. I’M A TALL SKINNY KING! AND SO WILL BE MY BABIES!” The man was very much offended, that open-mouth and crossed brow face he pulled was all you needed to know.

“..oh REALLY? WELLI KNOW FOR A FACT ITS NOT MY GENES CAUSING IT!”

And all the way to the bus station you continued on with your quarrel on who’s genes caused your bump to be so big already.

Both you were just kids in adult bodies.

——

After earning an unusual load of overcritical glances from passers-by, you finally reached the bus station where many people stood.

Looking around with concern, your brows gently furrowed, a little confusion clouding your mind. It was good that Satoru could read you like a book.. sometimes.

“It’s okay, they’ll let us go past.”

The white-haired man muttered into your ear, placing his hands on your clothed shoulders.

“What if they don’t?”

“Oh they will.”

The way he said those words made you feel something, like it was your hormones playing tricks on you.

And so soon enough after waiting for a couple minutes, you had a glimpse of the scheduled bus turning around the corner.

“C’mon then.”

Placing a hand on the flat of your bump you both moved forwards, attempting to shift to the front.

“Satoru, I—”

“Just go baby, they’ll move for a pregnant queen like you.” He reassured, eyeing the men who weren’t moving out the way at first. Like they should, the women knew to make way, all flashing you sweetened smiles as you passed them.

Eventually you had gotten to the front with a man standing in the lead. “See?” Gojo smirked, watching you tilt your head back to see his beautiful face.

“M’kay..”

——

The doors of the vehicle swung open with a but too much vigour it almost took out the poor man standing next to them.

After Gojo, being the most pampering partner ever, paid for the tickets, he ushered you forwards only to discern no available seats. Gojo would be more than happy to stand, but it was you he worried about since you were already breathless and weak to stand.

The priority was stocked up with disabled and the impaired too apart from one space.

However that man who clearly perceived you were carrying a baby, sat in the seat in front of your face - glancing at you as he did so.

How selfish. Is he not embarrassed?

“There’s no seats left Gojo, I can’t stand anymore.”

Subtly you whined, being a little irritated that you couldn’t sit down and would have to uncomfortably stand as his baby rearranged your organs.

“..hm. Let’s see.”

“Wait—”

He shuffled to the man.

“Heello. Excuse me, but my miss is pregnant. Would you mind sparing the seat?” Gojo politely asked, hanging on to the pole situated in the middle of the aisle.

“What? Err no, sorry.”

That man was not sorry at all. It made you cringe.

Gojo’s expression paused, pressing his pastel lips together in irritation. Why wouldn’t this man listen?

“May I ask why are you being so difficult?”

After hearing those words, you knew this was going to veer off sideways. Almost everyone’s eyes were glued to the scene unfolding, all looking up from the windows and screen to see two men ‘bickering’ it out.

“Difficult? What do you mean, I was here first.” It seemed like the man had issues already, as he started to flail his hands around.

“My wife is pregnant, if you didn’t hear the first time. You’re sat in a priority seat, which where she should be sitting. Are you disabled?”

He was getting defensive. It was crystal clear that the man was not disabled, nor pregnant at that matter.

“..um no? But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not giving up my seat for some cripple.”

A cripple?!

That’s it, Satoru had had enough and was desperate to split this man in half. Not a single person could insult you because he would already be on them like a hawk.

Anyways, the fact that the nasty being had called you a cripple, couldn’t help but make you feel a little too much like a burden, and your gaze saddened.

“You’ve gone too far. No-one. Absolutely no-one, is to offend my wife like that. So, jackass, vanish any place other so she can sit.”

“Or else?—”

“There is no ‘or else’ fool. You’ve already screwed the wrong person, so I suggest you move. Don’t do something stupid.”

The man, looking quite intimated, eventually got up and sulked off past the two of you.

“Thanks.” Satoru fake smiled, stalking him ‘till he had gone else where, far away from you.

All this drama had made you forgot about the achy pain surfacing your body, which immediately flowed back as realisation hit you.

“..oof-” It had subconsciously left your lips, and it made Satoru’s brows cross.

“Here you go my love. Is it hurting?”

He concernedly asked, holding your velvet hands as you lowered your rear on the much-needed seat.

“I’ll be fine, just what I needed.” You smiled back at him, tucking a stray hair behind you ear as you breathed out.

“I’m glad. Some morons just think they are ‘entitled’.”

—————— thank you for reading! this is my original idea and have worked hard on this. so please no translating, copying, posting my work on a different platform, or modifying my work. all rights reserved - kmuradesu

[bwabys-scenarios]

Hello dear! How are you? Could you please do Perv! Chrollo if it's not too much trouble? I haven't seen much Perv Chrollo content out there, and I'd love to see that in your writing! You can ignore it if you want, have a nice day ♡ (Sorry if it seemed confusing, English is not my first language ☠️)

His pretty girl

Perv!Chrollo x Fem!Reader

warnings: perv behavior, panting stealing, reader is mentioned to be chubby, excessive gift giving, somno, dubcon, reader is innocent and naive, breeding kink, pregnancy, bit of Yandere chrollo if you squint, Chrollo calls you princess/angel/goddess, minor manga spoilers about Shalnark

A/N: not the biggest chrollo fan but him being head over heels in love and just a big softy with his lover does do something for me.

NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Unlike most pervs, Chrollo is much sneakier with his perversion. You won’t catch him sniffing your panties or jacking off to pictures of your cute face… but you will find pairs of your panties covered in his cum in your dresser, and lots of pictures of you saved on his phone if you go looking.

Chrollo absolutely adores you, he enjoys seeing you blush and stutter when you find a particularly nasty love letter stuffed into your mailbox, or those pair of missing lacy panties folded neatly on your bed, with strange stains on them.

He first fell for you when Shalnark introduced him to you. You met Shal through the Hunter exam years ago, though you didn’t pass. Regardless, the two of you stayed good friends, with Shal making sure you stayed safe while under his care.

But Shalnark was quick to back off the second Chrollo showed interest in you. You were just too cute, with your chubby frame and pretty face. Chrollo had never really put much thought into his sexual preferences, but seeing your plump ass and fat tits was enough to awaken something… sinful in him.

After that first meeting, you started receiving little gifts from him. At first, they were just pretty trinkets that Chrollo found on his missions, but as his obsession and adoration for you grew, those little trinkets because expensive dresses and luxurious jewelry.

At first you thought it was just him being generous with you, considering your living situation wasn’t the best. You were very appreciative, your cheeks heating up and your voice small when he smiled sweetly after you thanked him.

But over time, strange things started happening that you just couldn’t explain!

Your windows would be open in the morning when you were sure you closed them last night… and what was that sticky stuff on your face?

Chrollo had gotten into the habit of breaking in to watch you sleep. In the beginning, it was because he felt such intense love and care for you that he just couldn’t bear the thought of you getting harmed in your most vulnerable state!

He’d sit at the edge of your bed, reading a book while gently stroking your cheek. It was cute, you seemed so content and happy in your sleep when he was with you. It made his heart soar thinking that maybe, just maybe he had something to do with it.

But soon those soft and innocent intentions shifted when he noticed how… revealing your pajamas were sometimes. Those flimsy little shorts and the fact he could see your nipples through your thin white tanktop had his cock straining against his pants.

You always looked so soft and peaceful, something he wanted to protect and cherish. You were the only person linking him to the normal world, where your biggest problems were paying rent on time and figuring out what to eat for dinner, while his were trying to keep his friends from dying and which heist he should plan next.

You lived in a completely different world than him, and that was some of the appeal. Chrollo had never lived a normal life, but with you, he could have some shred of normalcy. He could marry you, make you his sweet little wife and live out the rest of his days keeping you happy and safe.

But… deep down Chrollo knew this was next to impossible. He was a wanted criminal, with more enemies than he could care to remember.

He still liked to imagine it, though. You, sitting in a rocking chair your swollen belly, carrying his child. He’d come home from a heist, carry you upstairs and ravish you, making sure to be extra careful with your delicate body.

Chrollo stroked his cock to this thought, his tip gently pressed against your lips as you slept. He’d done this exact things countless times… he hadn’t been expecting you to wake up right as he buckled his pants after cumming on your lips.

“… Chrollo?”

You rubbed your sleepy eyes, then wiped at your mouth, grimacing. Did you drool in your sleep? It was too dark to make out what was on your hand… but there was just enough light to see your friend Chrollo standing there, peering down at you with a slightly surprised expression.

He quickly took on his usual calm, charming facade. “Hello, (Name). Shal asked me to come watch over you. Apparently there’s been a few break ins in town that got both him and I worried for you.”

It was all lies, but something he loved about (Name) was her naïveté. You smiled sweetly, your cheeks heating up. “Really? You came to make sure I was okay?”

Chrollo nodded, setting his book on your nightstand before sitting at the edge of your bed. “Of course… I don’t think you understand just how much you mean to me, (Name).”

You didn’t have time to react, he was already leaning closer to you. His eyes were captivating in the moonlight, reflecting the light and shining like jewels.

“You’re divine, (Name), like an angel sent from Heaven just for me.”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lip. “I want you, more than anything.”

Hearing this from a handsome man like Chrollo felt unreal. He wanted you of all people? It was hard to believe.

As if sensing your hesitancy, Chrollo tilted up your chin. “Do you want me to show you?”

Before you could answer, his lips met yours. He had been holding back for so long, he needed this, he needed you. You were always so sweet to him, making sure he was eating well and even coming to visit him when you could. How could he ever ask for anything more than you?

It wasn’t long before his tongue entered your mouth and his hands slipped under your shirt to grab at your perky, plump tits. You whines softly into his mouth as his thumbs ran over your sensitive nipples.

“Like that, princess?”

He gave them a soft pinch, biting down on your lip as he moved one hand to your shorts. He didn’t both with taking them off, he ripped them and pinned you down, one hand pinning your wrists and the other unbuckling his pants.

“My darling…”

His eyes settled on your pretty cunt, wet and glistening in the moonlight. Chrollo had a few one nights stands in the past, but he never felt like this before. Your pussy, all wet and ready for him was enough to have him groaning into your neck as his cock sunk into your warm heat.

He grabbed onto your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft fat. You were so cute, tears pooling down your cheeks as you blubbered incoherently, too fucked out to speak. He leaned forward and kissed those soft lips of yours, so soft and gentle with his little angel.

“Shh, just take me okay? Fuck, you’re divine, my angel, my goddess…”

With one leg over his shoulder as he pressed your bodies together, Chrollo fucked into you. He tried his best to restrain himself, but god you looked way too pretty when you came around his cock for the third time.

You clung to him for comfort and some sort of stability as he mercilessly pounded your sensitive cunt. “Pretty, god you’re just gorgeous, my sweet girl…”

By the end of the night, you were too exhausted to even speak, your pussy full of his seed. He held you now, cooing softly as he peppered kisses along your cheeks and jaw. “Did so well, such a good girl…”

From then on Chrollo’s obsession with you would only deepen. He’d marked you up, leaving love bites all over your neck and chest. You were his, and he’d make sure everyone knew that.

It wasn’t long before he had moved you away, somewhere you could be together and also under the radar. After Shalnark’s death, he became a bit paranoid that Hisoka would come after you next.

So now there you were, belly swollen with his child as he held you in his lap, his palm resting on your baby bump.

Chrollo had you, and although it wasn’t quite the life he had expected, he was still happy with it. You were here with him, carrying his baby and unable to get a way, even if you wanted to.

And that was enough for him.

[futbolfatale]

Love at a flash

MasterList

Pairing: Alpha Paige Bueckers/Omega Reader

Based on This Request! All future WBB Omegaverse will be untagged, so send an ask or comment to be added to the taglist.

Summary: Meeting Paige when she is taking her dallas photos that leads fucking in her cowboy hat.

Tags: Scenting, Breeding, kink/mentions of breeding, Oral Sex (R! Receiving),

WordCount: 1.1K

Being on the photography team for the Dallas Wings was never your dream. But still, it’s a good job that you have insurance and flexible hours. That being said, it does have a downside, that being all of the unmated alphas. Normally, they would flirt a little and get over it. You were one of the only unmated omegas employed by the wings, which put an obvious target on your back. The difference with Paige is that she doesn’t use her words to flirt with you like the other Wings do. She flirts with her eyes and fills the room with her scent.

She is supposed to be looking at the camera, but she keeps looking over at you while you control the lighting. “Here, Paige, your very own welcome to Texas,” Alexis hands Paige the boots and hat. She props the hat on her head, looking straight up into your eyes. The ice blue of her eyes is startling, and she doesn’t look away as the camera flashes. “Thanks, Paige, I think that’s all we need from you today. Amazing job, everybody.”

You start to pack up all the lighting equipment. You help your co-workers tote the heavy bags of equipment back to the van. One could say you're extremely helpful, or they could say that you just wanted to avoid a certain flirty alpha. Once the Van is loaded, everyone leaves outside waiting for the boss so we can get back to the studio. While everyone else is shit talking or lighting up a cigerette you sit in the back of the van with the doors open. You scroll through your Instagram trying to make time pass quicker. It seems to be working, your feed is filled with news about the draft and thirst edits of Paige. So maybe you enjoy the occasional Paige Bueckers edit, but she could never know. Not that she would ever have a chance to be around you other than the photography session, once in a blue moon. “What are you watching?” Someone asks, looking over your shoulder. The slick back blonde bun and cowboy hat make you want to run away. “Nothing.” You shut your phone and slip it into your pocket quickly. “OHHH c’mon just tell me im even more interested now.” She leans in, her scent flooding in all around you. Her scent of Apple and white tea is just aggressive enough to make to listen to her. She didn't even need to use an alpha command. 

“At least come inside and get some water. I think Alexis is going to be a while longer, and it’s a little warm outside.” Paige tries to convince you. “I’m fine out here, my water bottle is in one of these bags.” You rummage around searching for your bag. ‘Please come inside with me.” Her voice has taken a soft tone, and she grabs both of your hands between hers. It is a miracle none of your co-workers have realized what's going on. Well, your arousal scent will be giving it away any minute now. “Come back inside with me,” she brings both of your guys' hands to her lips. She presses a gently kiss to your knuckles and your fucked. I mean who could look this gorgeous Alpha women straigh in her eyes and say ‘’no i don’t want to fuck you’’ nobody that the problem and she knows it. You follow her back into the building, your co-workers watching with laughter and crude jokes. 

“Sorry. This is really not where I wanted to take you, but the rest of the team is in the locker room.” Paige explains, pushing you gently against the wall of the janitor's closet. She nestles her head into the crook of your neck, licking at your scent gland. “This is a bad idea. If you get caught, you could get kicked off the team.”You try to reason. As much as you want this, she shouldn’t ruin her career over one hook-up. “That's where you are wrong, They want alpha players to find their fated mates. You know why?” She asks, but the question is not meant to be answered. “But we're not,” you start to talk, only for Paige to press her hand against your mouth. “But we are. I feel it, you know. They say alphas can tell their mate from the first look, and I knew. God sculpted you for me. He made you perfect in every way. He made it so we would meet right now so that I can be here with you.” Paige makes her point by rubbing her fingers over your scent gland, sending a shiver down your body. “Once your body recognizes me as your mate, you’ll fall into heat, and then I will fill you with my pups. Would you like that?” She asks, grinding against you. “I want it. Please want you,”  that's all Paige needs to hear. She unbuttons your pants, sliding down onto her knees in front of you. When she gets to your ankles, she pauses to untie your shoes and slip those off as well. She sets them aside with gentle care, and your pants follow. She takes the time to fold your pants before setting them on top of your shoes. This fuels your frustration, you grab the top of her hat and pull her face back to your thighs.

“Patience, baby. I'm getting there.” Paige laughs softly, running her hands up and down your thighs. You don’t feel like waiting; she wanted you, and now she needs to follow through. “Just.. please god, want you inside me.” You moan, hips rolling against her. “You're going to have me just be patient. I want to taste you first.” Paige finally pulls your underwear down before ducking between your thighs. She starts at your clit sucking at it with practicied ease.”You taste so good.”She whispers against your skin before moving lower to lick at your slit. You lean more heavily into the wall and let your legs spread wider for her. She wraps her arms around your thighs, holding you in place while she gets her taste. “Fuck we got to go we can’t do this here. It won’t be good for you.”Paige stands abruptly, leaving you panting against the wall. “Paige what the fuck is wrong with you” You whisper shout pushing off the wall and grabbing her hand.

“We can’t do this here. Let me get your pants back on, and we can take this to my apartment. I promise you'll get your orgasm there.” Paige rubs her thumb over the back of your hand while she speaks. “Here,” She pulls away to grab your clothes and help you get dressed. Once you're dressed, Paige takes your hand and takes you out to the parking lot. You're surprised to see the work van gone, along with most of the cars that had previously been in the lot. “Cmon, my car's over here.” You follow Paige mostly because you want to, but also because you don’t have another option.

Should the Reader get a nickname for future blubs for this?

[highvern]

Nights Like These

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: fluff, neighbor!au, Nightwing! mingyu based off this, bartender reader

warnings: very dumb people (mingyu x reader), suggestive but no explicit smut

Length: ~2k

Note: merry gyumas!!!!! this is revenge for spider woo from @gyuswhore if you hate it, it's bc i wrote it in like 3 hours. thank u @the-boy-meets-evil i will be enacting my revenge on you soon. MWAH!

summary: On nights when you close the bar late, a friendly hero always happens to be around to walk you home and share his woes about the crush on his neighbor.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

With the rain pounding down in thick sheets, you rush home. On nights like these, when you're the last one out of the bar, completely alone, are always the worst. The bus doesn’t run this late but at least you’re only a few blocks from your apartment. A ten minute run if you don’t stop.

The rain abruptly halts. Not that you’re lucky enough for the storm to pass but because someone falls into step beside you. “Need an umbrella?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. He always shows up when you have the closing shift. The man who runs around the city in a spandex suit and calls himself Nightwing. 

The first time, some creep had been trailing you from a distance. Thankfully, most of the businesses on the way back to your apartment stayed open later, the nice apartments have doormen so you could run into one at a moment's notice. But as soon as you noticed the weight of a gaze on your back it vanished with a short scuffle. When you turned to find the source of noise, Nightwing stood guard as the creep spirited away.

From that night on, if you got off after midnight, he was there to escort you home. 

The first few times he followed from a distance. A couple yards, then ten feet and then one night you waited for him to walk beside you like a normal person. Most nights you were too exhausted to make conversation but he kept you both entertained, asking easy questions or staying silent if you were particularly irritated. But usually, on those nights you felt his eyes on you from one of the alleys you passed, or from the rooftops. He gave you space but kept you safe. Even when you insisted there were far better things for him to do in a city that never sleeped. People who needed him more. But Nightwing shook you off each time.

“This storm came out of nowhere,” you say, huddling closer. He’s big, taking up most of the space by default. You try not to touch him but the heat of his body is pleasant considering your soaked clothes, chilled straight to the bone.

“Yeah, downtown is already flooded.”

“Already walked all the other girls home there?”

“Ha-ha,” he huffs. “I actually work in an office there.”

Oh. In all the nights he’s chaperoned you home, he’s been careful not to reveal too much about himself but some things naturally slip out. He wants a dog but is never home enough to take care of it. One of his friends burnt a fish in his apartment and wasn’t allowed to come back. He tried reading some of the books you talked about but wasn’t a big reader. This is the first time he’s offered information so personal.

“So even superheroes have day jobs?”

“Gotta pay rent somehow.”

“Maybe take up being a security guard. Or Uber but walking women home late at night.”

“Nah,” he smiles, a flash of white teeth between pink lips. “I do that for free. Part of the job.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Sometimes you think maybe he likes walking with you. But as he said, it’s a part of his job. His civic responsibilities to protect the street from creeps and weirdos. Besides, the only other personal information you know about him is the fat crush he has on the girl in the apartment next to him.

“How's your neighbor?” you ask.

“She’s okay. Still acts like I don’t exist.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“You said she’d like it if I gave her something I cooked, I did.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Damn.”

You think of your own neighbor and how grateful you are that he does something similar. Mingyu was overall, a great neighbor. Grabbed your packages from the mailroom and left them on your doormat when he could, shared food if he made too much which was frequently, and managed to keep his rowdy friends quiet when they were over. But you typically only spoke to him in passing. Strictly neighborly. How are you? They didn’t pick up the trash today? Can I borrow some salt? By the way, I made an entire pot of spaghetti and I cannot eat it alone. Want some?

Recently he offered more and more. A blessing really because by the time you got off work you were too exhausted to cook and too broke to justify paying for the fees for delivery. Everytime he offered you food though you weren’t sure what to do with the tupperware. He was rarely home when you were; conflicting schedules. Last time he brought you the extra brownies from his office party. The tote bag full of clean containers sat next to your door for whenever you saw him but lately he’d been MIA. 

Maybe Nightwing’s neighbor felt the same way. If he had a job and ran around town at all hours it was unlikely there was a good time for them to talk.

“Have you tried asking her out?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Your shoulder brushes his arm but you ignore the contact. Not like you can feel much with the numbness from the freezing rain.

“No luck.”

“Maybe she’s shy.”

He levels you with a look meaning that clearly isn’t the problem. For a second you wonder what he looks like without the mask. The tiny scrap of blue, black, and white obscuring so much. Obviously, he’s handsome. Maybe she’s a little intimidated. You would be. Even if his neighbor didn’t know who he really was, he had an aura around him. 

And even if he wore baggy clothes, they wouldn’t hide his physique or height.

But you can’t dwell on those thoughts because then you think of your neighbor who is also tall and muscular, and somehow reminds you of a golden retriever.

“Well, you seem normal enough. Even though you wear a weird amount of spandex for a grown man.”

He laughs, the edges of the umbrella shaking with him and exposing you back to the elements but you don’t mind. The sound is rich and warm, forcing the chill away. “What is a normal amount of spandex?”

“Probably zero,” you joke. “Maybe you should just ask her out. Honesty is the best policy or whatever.”

“Or whatever. I’ll remember that.”

“Well,” you sigh. The front of your apartment is in view. Nightwing will wait until you’re inside to leave, tucked safely behind the glass door and up the stairs out of sight. He hands you the umbrella for the last fifteen feet he always refuses to accompany you, and disappears out of sight.

You don’t tell anyone who walks you home at night. It’s a nice little secret between you and the city’s hero. But sometimes you wished you could. If only to explain how confusing it is that Nightwing reminds you of Mingyu. A bizarre thought. Mingyu is an architect and hardly has the time for a pet, let alone to save the city every night. You leave the thought at the threshold of the stairwell.

The trek upstairs takes longer than you’d like. Five flights of stairs down is a lot easier than five flights up and with your limbs just now warming up, it's a process to rally enough energy to climb even the first few. Good thing is with it being so late, you aren’t at risk of holding up a line to the top. 

By the time you reach the third floor, the sensation returns to your extremities. By the fifth, the only thought in your head is a shower and the cozy warmth of your bed. 

As you reach the final steps, shuffling like a zombie, the universe decides your night isn’t over yet.

Your neighbor, hair washed from a shower, white shirt and pajama pants wrapped around his figure, emerges from the opposite staircase, where the trash chute is. Maybe you have a crush on Mingyu but half the building does too. He’s a good neighbor, he’s nice, and he’s handsome. 

Okay, maybe it’s a big crush and you can’t figure out if he’s just nice or if all the nice things he does mean a little bit more. You should probably ask Nightwing what he thinks the next time he walks you home. He’s a guy, he’d know.

But right now, Mingyu gets to see your best impression of a drowned rat.

Lovely.

“Hey,” he says. His door is at the top of the stairs you just climbed, and yours at the top of the stairs he just climbed. When you pass by, you can’t help but get a whiff of his body wash. Cedar, citrus, and soap mingling pleasantly. 

You grunt in response. “Hey, Mingyu.”

“Late night?”

“Something like that.”

You both stand in the hallway, waiting for something else to say but nothing comes up. Somewhere below a door slams and the patter of feet echoes through the stairwell.

Mingyu turns away first. “Well, good night.”

“Wait!” you call, cringing at the harsh reverb of your voice.

He whips around, eyes wide, cheeks rosy. Like a little kid with their hand stuck in the cookie jar.

“I have your containers! I’ve been meaning to give them back.”

“Oh.” He deflates slightly but you pay no mind. 

You shove the metal of your apartment door open and rummage through your kitchen for the tote full of plastic containers. When you exit, Mingyu is waiting on your doormat, hands in his pockets.

Racking your brain for something – anything – to say, you blurt. “Um, the brownies you made were great.”

That pleases him. Behind the thick rim of his glasses his eyes soften, cheeks lifting from a shy smile. “Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“That’s nice.”

Neither of you move. Content rather than awkward. At your back, the rain pounds against the windows, thunder clapping, an occasional streak of lighting. A dull lullaby.

“Hey,” he starts. “Would you ever wanna hangout? Like a date?”

You couldn’t have heard that right. 

“A date?” you parrot.

“Or not! It doesn’t have to be a date if you’re not interested or…”

“A date sounds nice,” you grin, cheeks bursting. “What are you doing in thirty minutes?”

“Watching Survivor.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn. I just need to shower really quick.”

Mingyu blinks like he can’t believe any of it. Like you agreeing to hangout with him was never an actual option or that this entire thing is a fever dream. It’s cute. 

“Ugh—” he swallows. “Yeah! Okay. Just…knock wherever!”

Tucked away in the steam of the shower, you scrub and shave and scrub again. Feeling a little more human with each minute. You don’t bother with make up or anything fancy. Mingyu asked you out with mascara running down your cheeks in the hideous shirt the bar makes you wear. The bar is incredibly low. 

Settling on some sweats and a hoodie, you make the trip down the hall to 6F and knock just like Mingyu said. You sit a safe distance away on the couch but like two magnets you and Mingyu draw closer and closer until his arm is over your shoulder with a pretend stretch and you’re nodding off against his chest.

At some point, you both move to his bed. Or Mingyu asks and carries you across his apartment when you nod. His bed sounds like a great idea. The storm clears by the time you wake up. The first thing you do when Mingyu blinks awake, arm curled around your back like you considered leaving, is leave a gentle kiss on his jaw. 

You give him a better one as a thank you for coffee, and another when he makes pancakes. He lifts you onto the counter, taking place between your knees as thanks for the perfect whip cream smiley face decorating said pancakes. 

Next time you see your spandex clad friend, you’ll have to let him know honesty really is the best policy.

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@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

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@kyeomofhearts @gyuchanator @archivistworld @spookyeomgoose @very-important-army

[this-is-exorsexism]

i'm gonna be real with you all. i've kind of been spiralling into dysphoria and internalised exorsexism. as stated in my pinned post, i'm multiply disabled. one of these disabilities is low vision, and i recently finished my O&M training. before that training, i was quite isolated and didn't go out much by myself. now i am able to use public transport and travel to unfamiliar places independently - but going out more also means being seen by more people, being subjected to the binary gaze. as a white cane user, i sometimes have to ask people for help or have people approach me asking if i need help - "don't perceive me" is not an option for me if i want to be safe and independent. there were a few times on my travels where i got misgendered, including very rudely by staff in a shop very loudly talking about my disability as if i wasn't there. and even if it wasn't super often, for some reason it must have really got to me. maybe it's because the top of my undercut now goes past my shoulder and that plus boobs reads "female" to people. i'm fat which makes my curves appear even more. and i like my hair. and i like my curves. and i don't want top surgery. but i hate how the binary gaze reads all of this as female. i hate that people misread my body. i hate that i don't have a chance of ever being gendered correctly because society does not recognise nonbinary people and if i were to cut my hair again they'd call me he which is just as wrong, but at least adds "balance". all the ideas about "privileged theyfabs who don't medically transition" have gotten to me massively. i feel like if i'm so obviously "female" to people i don't deserve to ask for different pronouns, i don't deserve to be out, i don't deserve to assert my gender. i feel like what's the point? being nonbinary in a binary world feels futile. i feel like i don't deserve to call myself trans because i don't want to medically transition (except maybe a hysterectomy if i ever get the money and a surgeon who will operate on fat people). not can't. don't WANT to. i feel like i don't deserve to call myself trans because i can't be bothered to bind. i feel like i don't deserve to call myself trans because i don't mind my body as it is for the most part but see it as nonbinary.i feel like i don't deserve to call myself trans because i look too female to people. i feel like i don't deserve to call myself trans because i'm doing things many people would consider "going back to my AGAB" like growing out my hair, wearing dresses, wearing earrings. i feel like i hardly deserve to call myself nonbinary because clearly i'm not doing enough to "neutralise" my appearance to be seen as anything other than female, i'm "not putting in the effort to pass". i feel like my oppression isn't real while at the same time rationally knowing that i only feel this way because of oppression. i also feel so alone because i never see anyone like me. fat nonbinary people are underrepresented. i never see nonbinary people with visible boobs who don't identify as fem(me). i never see what my style can look like because the only people i ever see in "men's" clothes are people invested in hiding their chest, "androgyny" is either boobless or boobs and beard. people like me don't seem to exist. all of these feelings are very new to me, especially in this intensity. i've been out for nearly a decade and never have i ever felt this much dysphoria and especially this much internalised exorsexism. i always considered myself lucky to not struggle with that too much but here we are. society has finally caught up with me. you can be all condescending and tell me all about "getting into the real world" and how it doesn't accommodate for nonbinary people all you want, how we're asking for too much and act like i'm a naive child who doesn't know the world, how the systemic erasure of nonbinary people is a privilege, idc anymore. so yeah i'm gonna take a little break. as for asks and submissions, keep 'em coming, i'll get to them eventually.

[lady-lauren]

❥ DRACULE MIHAWK X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.5k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: knife play (and sword play), sword slicing clothes, sword against pussy, sword/knife against throat, sword to your mouth, (listen his massive sword is everywhere), some fear-play, semi-public sex, former student/master relationship, degradation, praise, some aftercare, creampie

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Time slows as your eyes catch the glint of a black blade. You see yourself in the mirror-finish; frightened, pressed with no escape. 

“I’m growing…tired of this little chase.” 

Cool metal kisses your chest, the heaviness of his sword lingering just above the panicked swell of your breasts. Mihawk gazes down, head tilting as he analyzes the predicament—you, back down in the filthy alley, heartbeat a sonorous tune up the spine of his blade.

“Sounds like someone is losing his edge.”

“I don’t have time for your brattiness. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head.”

He moves the massive saber lower, the trailing point curved, sharp. 

Threads begin to pop before the blade fully begins to slice through your shirt. Carbon steel stings cold against the heat of your tits. 

“I thought your precious world government would give me a pass, given that I’m,” you can’t help but suck in a quick breath as he presses down with his sword, slow, methodical, enough to hurt and not break skin, “y-your student.”

“Former student. Who is very clearly out of practice.”

“Took you two weeks to catch me.”

“Because I’m patient, sweetheart.” 

Though his patience seems to be running thin. You’ve never been on the receiving end of Yoru, the great sword only ever used when your master deemed it necessary. The weapon can cleave apart a war galleon, swing a shockwave to crumble glaciers. 

Yet now the midnight blade is gentle, precise, peeling away cloth until your breasts spill into the night air.

“Wh–what are you—?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he presses the tip of his sword to your throat, tilting your chin with the point, “you can benefit from a quick lesson.”

Your swallow rolls against the blade.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never dreamt of this, of being at his mercy. Mihawk never crossed boundaries, not while you were his to teach. Only times change, tides shift, and now he’s taking what he wants.

He doesn’t have to tell you to be still. 

“Pretty.” He twists the wide sword flat, barely catching the hard peak of your nipple with the edge before smoothing over your skin with the blade. Your teeth grit as you shiver, trying to keep your breathing even. Mihawk repeats the motion, teasing your nipple until it hurts from the icy steel. “Sensitive, too.”

Nails scraping in the dirt, your eyes flash to the mouth of the alley, shadows passing in the street lights. 

Mihawk traces the deadly metal along the curve of your breast, so torturously pressing into the fat like he’s testing the elasticity. The blade pinches against your skin, not enough to draw blood, just enough to remind you of his meticulous control. 

Adrenaline lights up every nerve in your body as the weapon drags down, a stinging line drawn to your stomach. One wrong move and he could slice you open. Just a single squirm and the heavy sword would pierce skin, impale your insides on the most powerful sword on the four seas.

“Mi-Mihawk, please.” The tremble in your voice is a white flag waving.

“What are you begging for?” There’s a twitch at the corner of his sharp mustache, a smile, self-satisfied and impish. He presses the blade into the softness of your belly, prodding you, teasing. 

“Don’t hurt me, please, I-I’ll—”

“Do anything?” he cuts in, the smile shimmering up to his eyes, concentric rings focusing on how your thighs press together. Hot, needy, all the fight in you draining to one vulnerable point. 

“I won’t hurt you,” the promise comes with a shift of his sword, roaming lower, “just want to play with my catch.”

You try to concentrate on anything other than the weight of danger. A low breeze kicks against the crimson of his cape, mud and dust caking the hem. Yellow haze of distant street lamps reflects off his chest, sweat beading in the grooves of muscle—from the chase or his focus, you can’t tell. He looks a bit older than you remember, all the more wiser on how to play.

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he knocks his boot against your ankle, kicking your legs apart, “because I want to.”

Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. The world has shrunk to just you, the sword toying at the juncture of your thighs, and its wielder—nothing else matters. Not the voices in the distance, the hard dirt against your back, the thoughts you had prior to falling prey. 

It’s a surreal feeling of being caught between moments, between life and the fucked up desire to feel more of the crucifix sword against you. 

“Always guessed you were hiding a pretty cunt. Let’s see if I’m right.” 

The blade sinks between your open legs, knife’s-edge dragging along the seam of your pants. Unhurried, simmering like heat slicing through butter. 

Fear kicks in your chest, rings in your ears. He’s so close to the most sensitive part of you, the sword you always admired cutting through your panties. Cold steel like ice against your weeping flesh—you feel strings of your slick glide against the blade as he exposes you. 

You whimper as your bare cunt is spread delicately, the tip of the steel peeling apart your labia.

“Messy already.”

The precision he wields paralyzes you, the razor edge of the blade brushing against your swollen clit. Pleasure sings down your veins like the pinging of metal, chills erupting over your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your body to stay still, for your hips not to buck. 

Mihawk teases your clit again, and again, swirling the sharp sword over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke back a sob, muscles in your thighs twitching as you try to stay calm as he riles you.

“Now what if I…?” he asks himself, the deep baritone of his voice laced with curiosity. 

You gasp as the black blade dips lower, curved point teasing your clenching hole. On instinct your legs try to close, stopped only by his quick reaction. His boot kicks at your knee, hissing like you’re ruining his concentration. 

“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t want to make this pretty pussy bleed.”

Patient as ever, he gives you a few moments to collect yourself, lungs taking in too much air. 

Then the sharpness of his sword pressed back into the squish of your cunt, tip barely easing open your hole like he’s testing, analyzing. A too curious predator prodding his meal. 

“Fuck, please…” you bite from between your teeth, clumping dirt in your palms as you fight not to move, fight the fear bubbling inside your belly. 

“Do you know what you’re begging for yet?” 

“Touch me. Please. I-I need something inside me.”

Mihawk circles your opening, spreading wet muscle, “Tempting words.” 

“You know what I mean.”

The blade skims up from your hole, passing through your folds, flicking over your clit with a metallic ping. 

“Clean your mess first,” the giant blade gleams as he so easily moves it over your panting body, bringing the tip to hover just above your lips, “then I’ll consider fucking you.”

Your eyes meet his, the shape of the sword going fuzzy in your vision as you evaluate him. Golden eyes are glazed over with lustful focus, watching, waiting. 

You don’t break your gaze as your tongue falls from your mouth, licking the underside of the blade. Tangy slick, viscous and gooey, meets your tastebuds. You’d be ashamed of your mess if it weren’t for the way his cock bulges in his pants, thick length throbbing down his thigh. 

In all your years of training, he never once let you touch Yoru. And now he’s flipping the edge over your tongue, washing the jet-black color in your spit.

“Does this please you, Master?” you drop the name like acid against the blade. 

“I could cut out your tongue.” He proves his point by digging the great sword into your wet flesh, just enough to hurt. He wouldn’t. But oh how he could. “If I didn’t have better uses for it in mind.”

Careful patience snaps. In a blur, the blade is gone, replaced by strong hands maneuvering how he pleases. A jerk and you’re off the ground, a push and your exposed tits are scraping a brick wall. 

Mihawk fingers the hole he sliced between your thighs, pant seams ripping farther apart as he spreads your thighs wide. 

His cockhead pops into your cunt, length sliding in deep as he groans against your back. 

“So wet from my sword.”

Spearing into the most intimate parts of you, Mihawk sets a grueling pace, heady slaps of skin on skin and his thick cock dragging along your walls. He’s working towards a goal, purposeful, kissing the back of your neck as he seeks release.

Your hands slide down the granulated wall, gritty brick digging into soft skin. Your nipples are puffy against the same treatment, tender breasts singing with pain. 

“Should’ve,” he inhales with a deep groan, distracted by the suck of your cunt, “known you were such a slut, should’ve made you beg for me sooner.”

You moan his name repeatedly, begging him not to stop, all hot whispers into night air. One hand dips around your body, deft fingers smearing over your clit. Orgasm quickly begins to bloom over your senses, making your toes curl and your back arch against him.

You stare at the ground as Mihawk continues to pump inside you, helplessly whining as he chases his high. You’re fine tuned to every thrust, the way he angles, enough to notice the little inconsistencies. A more shallow plunge, a longer pull of your walls along his shaft before his balls meet your ass. 

A hand latches to your throat, lifts your head and forces you back against him. He sucks at your neck, teeth nipping harder than his blade ever touched your skin. His cock swells at the new angle, pressing apart your gummy walls. Over and over he thrusts up into you, slick squelching from the intrusion, dripping down his balls. 

Mihawk fucks you through the gap he cut into your pants, seams now tearing down your thighs. 

“This how you want me to turn you in? Fucked open and dripping like a whore?”

Before you can register the movements, Mihawk unsheathes the knife that hangs from his neck, pressing it to the column of your throat. 

The soft scratch of his beard meets your cheek as the cold metal of the knife skates up your sweating skin. 

“Perhaps I can make you even more messy, hm? Since you get off on this shit.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your neck as you try to tilt away from the blade. Yet some part of you wants to press closer, feel the sharp edge dig into your vulnerable throat. Mihawk’s thumb pets the steel, purposefully keeping it steady as he grinds into your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck!” you choke down a whine.

“Worried? I could slice you open now— your bounty is dead or alive.” 

The realization of the true danger makes you weak, hands slipping down the wall. He could. He might. It would make it so much easier. Fuck you, gut you, take the prize. 

“P-please, don’t. Please. I’ll go with you, you can do whatever you want.”

Mihawk hums in a twisted pleasure, the sound snaking down your spine. The knife blade twists against your skin, tugging you closer to him. 

“Let me feel this slutty cunt cum, then I’ll decide.” 

A war breaks open in your mind, a battle between fear and ecstasy, swirling together into a messy battlefield that leaves you in a state of limbo. Neither side can win, not when you want both so badly. The fear makes you sweat, the bliss makes your pussy cream around the fat cock that keeps invading your insides. 

You’re overwhelmed, panting and whimpering as your former master uses his power and strength to control you in ways you never thought possible. 

The curved, sharp edge of the knife slides down your throat, resting at the base as Mihawk drives his hips harder, jostling you closer and closer to danger. 

And the danger is the spark in your belly, igniting the churning coil of shameful bliss that makes you want to sob. The fingers on your clit pick up pace, rubbing fast and mean until you feel too hot. 

“Oh god, please, please, I wanna cum, wanna cum so bad for you,” you grit your teeth as you focus on the blinding pleasure, chasing it up the cliff’s edge. 

“Do it,” Mihawk groans as he licks up your cheek, arching the blade at the base of your throat, “cum for me, sweetheart.” 

He holds the knife tightly to your neck as you come undone, the metal warm from your body. Your moan vibrates against the steel, sharp edge scraping until it hurts. The pain bleeds into pleasure, a wicked mixture that makes your adrenaline filled nerves explode with your orgasm. You feel like you’ve been smashed into by a tidal wave, a rush of emotions and bliss toiling over another in the current. 

You babble against the blade, nonsense and pleas. Mihawk follows your flow, pausing his thrusts as your cunt sucks around him. His fingers against your clit go soft, gentle swirls as you wind down from your high. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, yeah,” he hums with delight as his cock begins to pulse and spurt, pearly strings dripping from where he’s plugged inside your pussy. The mess sprays into your ruined clothes, drools down your thighs.

Mihawk drags the knife over your throat, languid, smearing against the wetness of sweat. He traces the column of your neck, letting you feel the flat of the blade stinging over your skin. 

“You did good, sweetheart, so good.” 

After the knife is sheathed around his neck, he leans forward to trail kisses over your throat, tongue laving over the sore skin rubbed raw from the edge of his blade. 

Your heart is racing, pussy still tight with fear as he pulls his shaft from your swollen walls. 

Mihawk pulls you from the bricks and into his arms, petting your hair as your face tucks into his chest. 

“You feeling alright?” A kiss to your forehead makes you coo, nails digging into him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I’m okay. Guess I’m going with you now.” 

A rare laugh rumbles in his chest. Smooth and soft, like a cat purring to soothe. 

“Yes, you are. But we’re going home. You clearly need more training, after all.” 

You still feel a little numb, arousal and adrenaline still buzzing down your veins. Mihawk brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, down your back, then steps away to pull his coat from his shoulders to wrap around yours. 

“And now I have much more…creative ideas for teaching you how to wield a sword.”

[bangaveragewhitewine]

laundry day

Dad!Eddie Munson X Mom!Reader 

Laundry day in the Munson residence. 

Word Count: 1.1k

Author’s Note: After weeks and weeks of struggling to write, I finished something and I’m genuinely happy with how it turned out. It’s short, it’s sweet. I hope you like it!  

proofread by @specialagentmonkey (best!!), dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nimble fingers pluck freshly washed socks from the basket, pinching wooden pegs to hang them carefully from the washing line in the garden. 

You watch him with a smile on your face, thinking of his reaction if you had told him all those years ago that this was how it would be. Ink-stained and guitar-string scarred fingers that rolled joints with muscle memory alone, hanging out baby clothes on the washing line in the garden. Your garden. A green patch of land sewn up tight against the house; your home together, a few miles from the city.

You think he would laugh, deep dimples and that smoky cackle and perhaps a hopeful sparkle in his eyes, if you told him all those years ago that this is how it ends up. The two of you standing side by side, barefoot in the grass, hanging out baby clothes,  watching them flutter in the breeze against the big blue sky.

Do we make it out of here? I didn’t fuck things up, did I? Am I good… A good Dad? 

He places the pegs delicately to drape one of his t-shirts (black) next to one of her sleepsuits (pastel yellow), hanging by the toes. A pair of your undies, two pairs of his boxers, another pair of tiny socks.

Eddie cried the first time he held one of her socks. The gravity and weight of this tiny thing, its overwhelming magnitude. His world was forever changed after he held that scrap of white cotton. An intimidatingly small sock that fit in the palm of his hand, its pair laid out on the bed with the spoils of your shopping trip - vests and baby grows and mittens. 

“Why am I crying? What the hell, it’s so small?!” He had laughed through tears and you laughed with him until you held each other crying a salty blend of happy and terrified tears. And then Melody came and she cried and smiled and laughed, and she wore those tiny socks.

She looks just like him, follows him like his shadow. Dark curls, big brown eyes, impish mischief. He taught her how to headbang as soon as her neck was strong enough. Toddling now, she squats on her baby-fat legs and dips clumsily into the laundry basket to hand him one of her socks, then one of yours, one of his own, and on and on until the basket is empty.

“Thank you. Thank you, Mel. Thank you very much.” Letting her know her help is invaluable after every item is passed and pegged. 

She beams at Eddie with that sunshine-bright smile, appreciating his appreciation of her helpfulness. Sometimes she will look over at you, sitting on the picnic blanket full of forgotten toys and books, and wave or babble-tell you how helpful she’s being with one hand on her Dad’s leg to keep her steady.

“You’re such a good helper, Melody. Good job!” wiggling your fingers her way before she goes back to helping, handing Eddie one of her t-shirts.

“Dada.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss.” 

When he reaches down for the next item, mentally calculating how many pegs are left and how much washing there is still to hang, Melody reaches up without anything to hand him. 

“Up!” 

“Up? Am I hanging you with the laundry?” Eddie asks, hands on his hips. You bite your lip, smiling at their standoff.

“Up, Dada!”

He is easily weakened by her doe eyes and that pouty lower lip. A critical hit through the Melody-shaped chinks in his armour. 

He sounds more like Wayne when he lifts her, knees creaking and his back twinging, and settles her on his hip. A kiss and then another shared as she holds on tight, their heads together and you can’t tell where her curls stop and where Eddie’s begin.

“Is that better? See, these are the socks you handed me.” He pokes one with his finger, smiles when she shadows him. “Mama’s socks and Melody’s pyjamas. Daddy’s vest.”

He pinches a peg, hands it to her to inspect as you cross the garden to join them.  

“Hi, Mama.” Eddie smiles, warm like the sun, and draws you close with his arm around your waist.

“Hi, Daddy.” His unshaven cheek bristles against your lip, prickly but no less lovely than Melody’s baby-soft face as you dole out kisses. “Hi, darling girl.”

“Mama!”

Okay, maybe her cheek is a little more addictively kissable and you find your nose nuzzling the warm pocket of her neck until she’s shriek-giggling right in her Dad’s ear. His battle-worn eardrums from decades of heavy metal are no match for her, making his eye twitch. 

“Jesus. The pipes on this kid,” he tuts, blowing a raspberry on her other cheek for good measure until her laughter rings through the garden, mingling with your own in-love-with-life laugh.

Eddie’s laughter is low in his throat lest he unleash that near-dastardly cackle into the sky. The low rumble settles into your bones and you feel fit to burst with how happy you are. How lucky you are. 

Eddie’s fingers slip beneath the hem of your t-shirt, squeezing your waist as you curl against him. Three bodies swaying gently in the breeze like the clean clothes that flutter on the washing line. 

Barefoot in the green grass, you balance the laundry basket on your hip, passing the last few socks and vests to Eddie. Passing them slowly, you watch as he guides Melody’s little fingers to drape and peg them carefully. He murmurs praise against the crown of her head, presses proud kisses against the curls they share.

The basket is empty and you step back, admiring their hard work. A washing line full of clean clothes - band shirts and sleepsuits and socks in three sizes. There are bedsheets and towels and Eddie’s work overalls still to be washed, clothes to be ironed and folded and put away inside your little house. They can wait. 

For now, you stand and watch the laundry in the gentle breeze against the big blue sky. You think about the boy you fell in love with; the blush on his cheeks when you first held his hand and the way he smiled at you after the first kiss. You think of the late nights lying on his bed, dreaming out loud about the future and wishing on shooting stars and fallen eyelashes that one day those dreams would come true. 

Eddie is already looking at you when you turn your head. Thinking about the girl he fell in love with, thinking about how he would have smiled if you told him all those years ago that this would be how his life turned out; still side by side, hanging baby clothes on the washing line in your garden. 

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