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gojodarling · 7 months

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sweet like sin ⤑ toji fushiguro | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: ❝ there’s nothing, toji thinks, that is as sweet as fucking his children’s babysitter in the bed he shares with his wife ❞ non-curse au. infidelity au. pwp.

❥ pairing: dilf!toji x babysitter!reader ❥ genre: fluff ∴ smut ❥ word count: 11k

⤑ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: daddy dom!toji, sub!reader, big cock!toji, toji is a fucking tease, teasing, corruption kink, dirty talk, rough nipple play, marking, degradation, finger sucking, toji is a fucking pussy tease and i’ve had enough!!!, pussy eating, hair pulling, pussy spanking, clit sucking/biting, orgasm control, gagging with underwear, toji fucks ur pussy with his tongue <3, face riding, crying, delayed orgasm, overstimulation, squirting, wet & messy sex, begging, reader is such a lil crybaby, choking, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, minor pain kink, size kink, rough sex, deep dicking, breeding kink, creampie

⤑ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: cheating, age gap (reader is 22, toji is 36)

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: does this have any business being this late? no. do i have any excuse? also no !

⏤ read it on ao3 here

“Almost done, Gumi?” you ask, smiling softly at the eight-year-old boy sitting in front of you.

With a stoic face, Megumi spoons the last chunk of ice cream into his mouth before nodding his head. You grin at the boy, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand up and approach him. Grabbing his bowl, you walk over to the kitchen and quickly rinse it clean, before stashing it away in a cupboard, hiding any evidence of the late night—well late for an eight-year-old—snack.

“Come on, Gumi, let’s get you to bed before your parents get home, yeah?” you say, walking back towards the dining table where Megumi is still sitting, staring stone-faced at you.

Just as he nods and moves to slide off of the chair, you both hear the familiar sound of keys clinking, followed by the door rattling. You and Megumi still, your eyes widening as you realise that one of Megumi’s parents has returned home. For a brief moment, you see a look of nervousness cross his face, the expression breaking through his usual detached façade. If it were any other circumstance, you’d internally cheer at the emotion that paints his countenance; since you met him, you’d always thought Megumi was far too unemotional for an eight-year-old.

Nonetheless, you can’t celebrate the rare occasion of feeling from the child, not when you realise you’re both about to be caught. It’s almost half past nine, and as far as Hisano, Megumi’s stepmother, is concerned, Megumi’s bedtime is eight, Tsumiki’s at half past eight. Luckily, you had tucked the ten-year-old into bed already, Tsumiki having finished her ice cream first. Truth be told, the only reason Megumi was still awake was because he had asked for another helping of ice cream, but being full from his first bowl, he had taken much longer than you’d anticipated to finish off his second one.

The front door slams open all of a sudden, causing you to jump while Megumi’s visage slips into its usual aloofness, any prior hint of trepidation completely disappearing. You watch as Toji’s hulking form walks through the doorway and into the living space, and momentarily, relief washes through you too. In your few months of babysitting the Fushiguro's—in a bid to ease your undergraduate tuition fees—you’d quickly come to learn the dynamic between the two parents—Toji is the more carefree one, typically allowing the kids to do what they wanted, leading Hisano to be the stricter, more rule-abiding parent. And from the few times you’d been at their residence while the parents were home, either as they left for or returned from work, you’d known that that very dynamic had caused a multitude of arguments between them.

From the open plan design of the living space, Toji immediately spots you and Megumi in the small corner that is the dining room. Flinging his heavy bag onto the couch, he looks at Megumi and quirks his eyebrow.

“Whatcha still doing up, kid?” Toji questions.

“Wanted ice-cream,” Megumi deadpans.

Toji turns his gaze toward you, and instantly, another type of nervousness floods you. Briefly, his eyes rake over your form, and all of a sudden, you feel far too exposed in your short skirt. Toji’s gaze always feels predatory, a starving wolf stalking its prey; you shuffle from foot to foot under his heavy observance.

“Where’s Miki?” Toji questions. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and gnaw at it, Toji’s eyes immediately drawn to the gesture.

“She’s in bed,” you answer.

“Yer not s’pposed to have ice cream before bed, Megs,” Toji attempts to scold, turning back to Megumi. Nonetheless, from his nonchalant timbre, you know he doesn’t truly care. In fact, if the knowing smirk on his scarred lips, or the twinkle in his jade eyes, is anything to go by, he’s amused.

“Tsumiki had some too, I just had more,” Megumi rolls his eyes. You swallow thickly in an attempt to loosen your constricted throat before licking your lips.

“It’s my fault, Mr Fushiguro. I’m supposed to be looking after them and I shouldn’t have allowed them to have any ice cream. I also should have put Megumi to bed already,” you apologise with a slight bow of your head. Toji’s lips twist lazily, your skin pricking with heat at the wolfish grin that colours his visage.

Guilt gnaws at your insides, your stomach roiling when you feel the tell-tale heat of desire flare between your thighs. Here you were, caught red-handed disobeying two of the clear instructions from Hisano, yet turned on by—and insanely attracted to—the woman’s husband. There’s a special place in hell for you, you’re sure.

“‘T’s alright, doll,” Toji drawls.

You stiffen at the pet name, your stomach churning. Seldom does Toji call you by any form of endearment, though, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice he only did it when his wife was nowhere to be found.

“What Hisano doesn’t know won't hurt her,” Toji continues.

You’re imagining it, you’re sure you are, but for a fraction of a second, you could swear that Toji’s voice is purposely lower, the already deep baritone gravelly with fervour.

“Can be our little secret, right Megs?” Toji grins, his gaze flicking back to his son.

In a rare display of affection, Megumi hops off the chair and runs to his father, hugging his leg tight. Toji stills, his eyes widening in the slightest. The gesture shocks you too, neither you nor Toji are used to witnessing such acts from Megumi. Usually, the boy was overtly ornery, in a way you didn’t think should be possible for a child so young.

Toji manages to pull himself together, awkwardly patting his son’s head. You can’t help but giggle at the way Megumi’s spiky hair sticks out between Toji’s fingers, his large hands almost dwarfing Megumi’s entire head.

“Take him to bed, will ya princess? Before this is no longer just our secret, yeah?” Toji says, looking over at you once again. Heat stains your cheeks when he winks at you. You avert your gaze, and instead, return your attention to Megumi.

“Come on, Gumi,” you call, holding your hand out for the little boy.

Megumi, as though realising what he’s done, hastily lets go of Toji’s leg, almost as if he’s been burned. His reaction has both you and Toji chuckling, Megumi’s countenance morphing into a scowl. You grin down at him and lead him to his bedroom. As you walk away, you feel the burning sensation of Toji’s tumultuous gaze.

Unabashed, Toji openly stares at your ass, relishing in the way the hem of your skirt brushes against the tops of your thighs. It’s just long enough to be considered decent, but Toji is also all too aware that if you leant forward in the slightest, he’d get a tantalising view of your lower ass cheeks. He can’t help the way his cock stirs, his mind envisioning the sight of you bent over in front of him, your skirt hiked up high as you look behind at him with your large, innocent eyes.

He knows it’s wrong, depraved, sinful, the way he fantasises of you on your knees, with tears in your eyes and his cock buried in your throat, the sounds you’d make when he makes you cum all over his tongue; the glassy, fucked-out look in your eyes when his cock first enters your cunt.

He knows he could make them a reality, knows from the way you sneak glances at him in the moments you think he’s not looking, knows from the nervousness that clouds your demeanour as you shy away from him; knows from the way he’s caught the almost—but not quite—imperceptible way you rub your thighs when he speaks.

Yes, Toji is convinced he could have you if he really wanted to.

And he really, really wanted to.

Once you’ve finally put Megumi to bed, you exit his bedroom and quietly shut his door. Back in the living space, you look around in confusion, a frown marring your face when Toji is nowhere to be seen.

“Mr Fushiguro?” You call out. When you receive no response, your frown deepens.

Momentarily, your eyes flicker to the master bedroom and, with trepidation churning in your stomach, you carefully approach the shut door. For a few seconds, you simply stare at the wooden surface. It’s not the first time you’ve been in the room Toji shares with Hisano—Tsumiki had once hid in her parents’ wardrobe while the three of you were playing hide and seek—and it’s not like you’ve been forbidden from entering—Hisano had been very welcoming when you’d met her the first time as her children’s babysitter.

Still, you’ve never been in the room when either Toji or Hisano were home. And knowing that Toji—a man you’ve secretly harboured illicit feelings for—could be behind the doors, doing god knows what, has your mind wandering to forbidden, lecherous territory.

“Mr Fushiguro, Megumi is asleep now so I’m leaving,” you call out as you knock on the door. You still receive no answer. Pulling your lip between the teeth, you chew on it before knocking once again.

“Mr Fushiguro?” you call once more.

When you still do not receive an answer, you gather your courage and slowly open the door, peeking your head in. From the slight sliver, Toji is nowhere to be found once again. Your eyebrows knit together and, growing bolder, you push the door open wider and enter.

Instantly, you’re assaulted by the scent of Toji—a heavy, musky fragrance intertwined with fresh notes of citrus and earthen notes of pine. It’s laced with something more feminine, the hint of sweet florals overpowered by the raw, intoxicating masculinity that is Toji. You suck in a sharp breath, stifling a moan when you inadvertently breathe him deeper.

“Mr Fushiguro?” you call out to nothing, your voice dampened by a mix of your own lust and nerves.

Your eyes scan around the room, landing on the queen-sized bed that takes up the majority of the space. It shouldn’t, logically you know it shouldn’t, but the sight of Toji and Hisano’s shared bed has your stomach stirring in envy. Toji is Hisano’s husband, the stepfather of her daughter, the father of her stepson. You have no claim to him, no right to feel the inkling of jealousy that stains your being.

You know that, logically.

But the reality is, you are envious.

Toji may be married, to your employer no less—Hisano being the one who paid you your weekly fee—but that doesn’t stop the adulterous desire that floods your bloodstream at the thought of him. Doesn’t stop you from closing your eyes and imagining him—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—when you touch yourself every night before bed. Doesn’t stop you imagining him throwing you onto his bed, fucking you in the same place he sleeps with his wife.

It’s wrong. You know it is. But you can’t help it, the indecent, debauched way in which you crave him.

“Whatcha doing here, dollface?” Toji’s husky timbre breaks through your reverie. You jump, adrenaline surging through your veins as you whip around to face him.

You regret it instantly. Face to face with Toji, your mouth goes dry at his current, unexpected, state of dress.

Or well, undress.

He stands before you, clad in nothing but a black towel. Water drips from his hair onto his neck and, entranced, you follow their motion, your eyes inadvertently tracing the contours of his body: the thick knot of his Adam’s apple, the corded musculature of his shoulders, the hardened definition of his pectorals. Stray droplets trail further down, over his rigid abdomen and into the material that wraps around his slim hips. You stop there, your gaze honing in on his covered thighs and hidden shaft. Unwittingly, you swallow thickly.

“Whatcha doing here, princess?” Toji repeats. Shaken out of your stupor, your eyes snap to his.

“Megumi is a-asleep,” you begin, only to waver when Toji takes a deliberate step forward.

“Ah, the kids are all in bed?” Toji questions, his lips curling into a devilish smirk. The impossible low baritone of his voice rumbles through the air, each reverberation a live wire straight to your core. Clearing your throat, you inhale a deep, steadying breath.

“Y-Yes, so I’m leaving n-now.” You grimace internally when your voice falters once more. Toji’s smirk widens into a predatory grin, his eyes flashing with barely concealed desire.

“You sure that’s whatcha wanna do, dollface?” Toji questions.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart thundering within the confines of your rib cage. Still, you somehow find it in yourself to nod.

“You sure?” he taunts.

“Y-Yes, Mr Fushiguro,” you reply. Against your better judgement, for the briefest moment, you glance at the towel wrapped around him, only for your sex to clench when you notice the tented material.

“Like what you see, baby?” Toji hums. The back of your neck prickles, the tips of your ears flushing with heat.

“N-No,” you stammer out, your voice hoarse.

“Hmm. I think you do,” Toji goads. He takes another step forward, your body instinctively taking one back.

“N-No,” you try to refute a second time. Your denial only has Toji laughing.

“Liar,” he sneers. The derisive way in which he spits out the word causes you to whimper, a gush of wetness leaking out of your pussy and into your quickly dampening panties. “You want me, I know you do,” comes Toji’s jeer.

Your hands turn clammy, a cold sweat sweeping through you. No. No, he couldn’t know.

He can’t know.

“I-I don’t,” you rebut. Toji takes another step forward and, on shaky knees, you take one back.

“You do**.** I’ve seen the way you look at me, seen the way those pretty thighs rub together every time I speak,” Toji admits.

Despair flushes through you at the revelation. You had tried your hardest to keep your attraction to the man hidden away. Though, it seemed like your best efforts had failed you. Toji knew**.**

“Dirty little girl, lusting after a man almost twice her age,” Toji gibes.

As he speaks, he deliberately saunters over to you, his entire disposition exuding imposing waves of smug dominance. With each step he closes the distance between you, your own feet moving on shaky limbs as you try to futilely widen it. Within short moments, however, the back of your knees hits the edge of the bed. You don’t expect to come into contact with the bed frame and, with a surprised gasp, you fall over. Your back hits the mattress with a slight bounce, your eyes widening as you stare up at Toji’s looming figure.

Diopside eyes—tumultuous with unbridled hunger—rake over your figure, from your heaving chest, to your slightly parted thighs. Seeing the way your skirt rides up, a hint of lilac peeking through your thighs, Toji groans. One of his large, vascularised hands reaches out and drops to your thigh, the flesh flashing with heat under his touch. Languidly, his fingertips flit up your limb, until you feel the pads graze over your panty-clad sex.

“You always look so pretty in these short little skirts. You wore them for me, didn’t cha, doll? Wore them so you could tease me, flash me the barest hint of that cute ass and get me all riled up.” The knuckles of his fingers brush over the gusset of your underwear in long, teasing strokes, your clit viciously throbbing under his touch.

“Mr Fushiguro, w-we should stop,” you attempt to reason, desperately clinging onto your conscience. But mind addled by desire, the tethers of your morality quickly begin to fray. Against your better judgement, your thighs part further open, offering Toji’s fingers further access to your heated, dewy folds. The action has Toji’s eyes flashing; a hum of approval tremors through his chest.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby. Soaked through these cute panties,” Toji murmurs, his eyes dropping to the apex of your thighs.

Ravenous, he devours the sight of the darkening silk. Toji’s pupils dilate, his juniper irises blackening with fervid hunger at the wet patch, the darkened spot growing as your cunt drools your arousal. Fingers moving over it, your breath catches when you feel the tips of his digits press into your entrance.

“You wore these for me too, didn’t cha, princess?” Toji questions, his eyes flicking up to yours. Mesmerised by them—the vibrant hue having darkened to a deep shade of emerald—you find yourself swept away by their imperious undertow.

“M-Mr Fushiguro—” you begin. Toji tuts, a frown marring his face.

“It’s Toji, baby,” he interjects. Then, his frown morphing, he smirks at you, “Or Daddy, if you prefer.”

“Mr Fushiguro,” your emphasis on his surname is insistent, Toji only chuckling at your futile defiance. “You’re married,” you continue. You may be speaking to Toji, but the reminder is more for you than anything else. Toji has a wife and whatever this is, is wrong.

Toji disregards your statement with a simple, dismissive chuckle, “Do you know how hard you make my cock, huh, doll? How many times I’ve fucked my hand, my pocket pussy, my wife, imagining it was your tight, pretty little cunt instead?”

A scandalised gasp escapes you, your eyes widening at the admission. It’s wrong, the way your mind immediately flashes to how you have imagined the same—that it was Toji’s thick cock inside of you rather than your thin bullet vibrator. It’s immoral, the way your cunt viciously clenches, your wetness leaking out of you as your body practically yearns, weeps for him. It’s a sin, the way your morals willingly, and readily, crumble under Toji’s tenacious seduction.

“But your wife—” you begin, only for Toji to cut you off once more.

“What my wife doesn’t know, won’t hurt her, will it baby? Can be our little secret,” he repeats his words from earlier in the night. Though this time, the secret is heavier, less harmless. This time, it doesn’t cloak a meaningless broken rule. This time, it conceals an illicit affair, one that you know could break a marriage.

“T-Toji, we shouldn’t,” you attempt one last rebuff. Your voice is as weak as your protest, and from the use of his first name, Toji knows he’s won.

“But you want to, don’t you, baby?” Toji coaxes. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you chew on it as you avert your gaze. Then, you nod your head.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper. Your concession is barely audible, your words just a decibel above a whisper. Nonetheless, in the silence of the night, Toji hears it clearly. A triumphant smirk crawls onto his lips, his eyes flashing with victory.

“Yes, what, baby?” Toji urges. Hesitancy floods your eyes and you release your lower lip, choosing to gnaw at the flesh of your inner cheek instead.

“Yes, Daddy,” you quietly answer, shyly looking at him through the thick of your lashes.

“Fuck, you’re a sin, baby,” Toji swears.

In an instant, Toji pounces on you.

You barely have time to think straight as you feel the dip on either side of your hips, Toji’s hulking body caging yours. Gripping your chin in one hand, he angles your face to look at him, and then, his lips descend onto yours. He’s rough and bruising, your eyes slipping shut as you moan into him. Without any warning, his teeth bite down on the swollen fold of your lower lip, causing you to gasp out. Toji uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The silky appendage glides inside your mouth, curling and twisting in frenzied motions as it lashes against your tongue. Spice fills your mouth, his flavour coats your taste buds and you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation that is Toji’s kiss. He’s voracious, dominating you in a way only he could, his mouth ferocious as it moves over your own. With a few moments, however, your lungs blaze with the need for oxygen and, with a gasp, you tear your lips away from him. Undeterred, Toji kisses his way along your jaw and towards the bottom of your ear, suckling the supple flesh.

“Toji—Fuck,” you mew, your hands curling into his shirt.

“Uh-uh. It’s Daddy now, dollface,” Toji tuts. Fervent fingertips skim up your body, goosebumps prickling under your flesh from the touch, before Toji grips your shirt and divests it off of you. Seeing your bare tits come into view, he quirks an eyebrow.

“No bra? You were practically begging for it, weren’t ya, princess? Wanted me to see these little nipple sticking out your clothes when you’re wet and horny for me, didn’t cha?” Toji belittles. You cower from his gaze and seeing your bashfulness, Toji snickers.

Shifting above you, Toji grips the hem of your skirt before pulling it down your body, haphazardly flinging it onto the floor. He climbs back onto the bed, your thighs reflexively spreading to accommodate him. Left in nothing but your panties, Toji’s eyes deliberately rove over your body and he growls in approval at the lilac undergarment.

“And you definitely wore this for me, didn’t ya, baby?” Toji questions once again, a playful lilt in his voice. You swallow thickly and nod your head, heat flushing across your face.

“Yes,” you whisper, confirming his suspicion.

“Dirty girl, bet you wanted me to fuck you since the day you started babysitting my kids, huh?” Toji taunts. You avert your gaze once again before nodding shyly. “God, you’re fucking filthy. Is this what you wanted?” He unravels the towel from around his waist, leaving him naked.

His cock springs up with a little bounce, your throat drying as it comes into view. You’d always known Toji would be large just from his enormous, bulky physique and you’d spent countless nights imagining just how big he’d be, how he’d stretch you out with a delicious burn. But face to face with it, you realise he’s nowhere close to your imagination. He’s just a little longer the average, the tip sitting a little under his belly button, but it’s his girth that really has your eyes widening. He’s thick, impossibly and absurdly thick, almost the same width as your wrist.

Swallowing thickly, you look up at him, a hint of fear occulting the wanton desire that hazes your eyes. “I-It’s not going to fit,” you stammer.

Toji chuckles mockingly, “It’ll fit doll, I’ll make sure it does.”

The threat is barely concealed, and though it should terrify you, it doesn’t. Rather, your stomach roils with salacious hunger, another gush of wetness leaking out of your cunt. Spreading your thighs further apart, Toji pushes his hips to yours, your eyes rolling back when you feel his pulsating member press flush against your core.

“Fuck! Daddy,” you moan, feeling him grind his hard shaft into your pussy.

The skimpy material of your panties hinders nothing and you feel him, hot and pulsing, through the material. Instinctively, you begin grinding back into him, your hips writhing together in frantic movements while you lose yourselves into pleasure.

“You’re so fucking hot and—fuck—wet,” Toji gasps out.

His hands curl into your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he pushes his cock harder into you. Precum drips out of his cockhead, the translucent substance saturating into your underwear and mixing with your own juices. When the blunt tip grazes against your throbbing clit, your spine curves off of the bed, your eyes rolling in pleasure. Reflexively, your hips buck, the movement forcing your core harder against him.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that. So fucking wet and needy. Shit—ha—so wet, can feel you soak my cock through those cute little panties,” Toji exhales heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

“T-Toji,” you whine.

In one fell swoop, Toji’s head dips down. His lips wrap around your nipple, before he bites down harshly, roughly tugging the hardening bud with his teeth. The action tears a cry from your throat, tears stinging your eyes at the pain.

“What did I say, naughty girl? It’s Daddy,” Toji reprimands.

“D-Daddy,” you gasp, your face flushing with heat. Toji bites down once again, your chest automatically pushing up into his face at the sudden pain that flares around your breast.

Toji smirks, “You like when I bite these pretty nipples, huh doll?” His voice reverberates against your skin, a mew spilling from your lips.

He presses the flat of his tongue just under your nipple before laving up in one, long lick. The wet appendage strokes the indurated bud, causing it to twist—almost painfully—harder while you groan under him. You’re so wet now that your panties uncomfortably stick to your folds, the material sodden with a mix of both yours and Toji’s arousal.

“Pretty little baby, you make the sweetest sounds,” Toji coos whilst rolling your nipple between your teeth. Then, with a final, harsh bite, he releases the bud. “Wanna hear more of ‘em.” The murmuration of Toji’s vibrato against your tit has a shiver running down your spine.

Toji begins crawling his way down your body, stopping intermittently to press his lips against you. With each kiss, he bites and sucks your skin harshly, each one blooming mauve bruises over your flesh. He traces his way over your torso, from your sternum, to your abdomen, to your hips. Arriving at them, Toji’s fingertips bury into the swells, his teeth harshly tugging the skin of your left pelvis into his mouth. Sucking and biting hard, he leaves a particularly large hickey, only to pull away and admire his handiwork.

“Mmm—Look so pretty, all marked up by me. Gonna walk around campus with them, aren’t ya, princess? Let everyone know you’re a filthy little whore who got fucked by a married, older man,” Toji disparages.

It’s wrong, god you know it’s wrong, but you can’t help the way you nod your head eagerly, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Such a good little girl. Spread your legs, baby, show Daddy how wet your pussy is for me,” Toji cajoles.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you do as he asks. Laying your feet flat on the bed, your toes curl into the sheets as you bend your knees and splay your thighs further apart. Your obedience has Toji’s chest rumbling with appreciation, his eyes dropping to your cunt. Ardent gaze sweeping over your it, he takes in every inch of the panty-clad, sodden folds. Unable to help himself, he inhales deeply, his pupils dilating when the heady scent of your arousal clouds his senses.

“Fucking hell. You’re so wet I can smell you,” he growls.

The lewdness of his words has a muted squeak escaping your mouth. The heat of embarrassment claws its way up from your throat to the tip of your ears, and suddenly conscious under his gaze, you try to close your thighs. Nonetheless, before you can do so, Toji spots the movement. His large hands drop to your thighs, and pinning them down under his strength, he lets out a low growl of warning. The sound rumbles through the air and straight to your core, a gush of wetness leaking out of you.

“Try that again, dollface, and I’ll have you over my knee,” Toji threatens. You moan in response, your hips bucking into him at the thought. Seeing your reaction, a derisive smirk curls onto Toji’s scarred lips, “Like that, do you? Dirty little girl.”

Under the harshness of his words, lies a hint of affection that causes your stomach to twist, butterflies fluttering through the pits.

“D-Daddy,” you raggedly exhale, your eyes pleading with him.

“Mmm, now let Daddy see his baby’s pretty little cunt,” Toji coaxes. With that, he hooks his pointer finger under the gusset of your sodden underwear, a wet squelch filling the air. The sound has him groaning, and in one motion, he tugs hard. Instantly, the material tears, the sound of ripping fabric echoing through the air.

“Ah—Toji,” you gasp, your eyes widening as you watch him carelessly throw the tattered scraps of material onto the bed. Toji pays no attention to the reprimanding tone in your voice. Rather, his gaze is fixated on your pussy, his pupils dilating when he sees your drenched sex, the folds saturated with your juices.

“Fuck, princess. You’re already so sloppy and Daddy’s not even done anything yet.”

As he speaks, Toji presses his fingers against your folds, and then splaying his digits in a ‘V’, he spreads your cunt open wider. Then, using his free hand, he explores your sex: tracing the outline of your engorged, throbbing clit, down the glistening folds of your pussy, and towards the leaking rings of muscle that make up your entrance. Continually repeating the motions, he strokes his digits through your cunt, wetting the lengths in your arousal.

The teasing motions of Toji’s feathery touch as he plays with your cunt slowly drives you wild, pleasure coiling within your womb. With each stroke of his fingers, thick, filmy ropes of your juices cling to his digits, the strings thinning as he pulls them away. With rapt fascination, Toji watches as they snap, splashing back onto your drenched hole. When he’s sufficiently coated his fingers in your wetness, he slowly pulls away. Raising his slick fingers to his face, Toji’s eyes glint with mischief.

“Such a wet little pussy, you’ve soaked my fingers too, baby,” Toji purrs, unable to hide the glee in his voice. Lifting his hand up, he brings it over to your mouth. The pads of his fingertips brush against them, coating your lips in a thin sheen of your own arousal.

“Taste how needy you are. Suck,” he commands.

Instantly, you obey.

Slowly, your lips part open, only to wrap around his pointer and middle finger. Keeping your gaze locked on his, you begin to suckle. Your tongue swirls around his digits, and hollowing out your cheeks, the lengths press against your warm flesh. The vacuum-like suction has Toji moaning in appreciation.

“Such a good little bitch for me,” Toji praises. His fingers retreat from your mouth with a pop and instead, his hands drop to rest on your thighs once more.

Tongue darting out, Toji licks a broad line up through your folds, from your pulsating hole all the way to your throbbing clit. Your arousal coats the hollow of his tongue, the heady essence glazing his palate. Soft groan rumbling from within his chest, Toji presses the silken appendage flat onto your sex, relishing in the juices that spill from your cunt and onto his palate.

“Fuck, knew you’d taste sweet,” Toji mutters. As his cool breath fans across your heated folds, a shiver runs down your spine. Swiping his tongue through your cunt once more, he savours your taste with a low groan, “Knew you’d be sweeter than my wife.” His words reverberate through your clit, the vibrations sending sparks of electric pleasure up your nerves.

“D-Daddy,” you mew with a stutter.

Emboldened, he presses two of his sticky digits against your dewy lips and once more parts them. Splaying your cunt under the motion, he bares your throbbing clit and quivering hole to his view once again, watching the way they pulse.

“Awww, look how wet and swollen your needy little cunt is,” he hums. With how close he is to your pussy, each word he utters causes his scarred lips to teasingly graze against your tumescent bundle of nerves.

Breath turning ragged, your fingers card into his raven tresses, entangling them at his roots. Gripping his hair, you attempt to pull him further into your cunt, your hips simultaneously bucking into his face. Toji chuckles and wraps his lips around your clit before he lightly suckles the engorged bud. Fingers tightening in his hair, you tug his head once again, and encouraged by the action, Toji circles your clit with agile strokes. Head digging into the mattress, your back arches at the ministration, a shallow gasp escaping your mouth.

“Daddy, please,” you moan, the hollow sound resonating through the air.

Without warning, Toji points his tongue and begins tracing the outline of your sex: around your bundle of nerves, down the petals of your folds, and towards the honeyed entrance of your pussy. Skin flashing, heat prickles over your skin, your blood boiling as he begins tonguing the trembling ring of your cunt in languid strokes. Suddenly, he flattens his tongue against the hole, and with a broad swipe, he licks all the way up to your clit. Whorling his silken appendage around the bud, he wraps his plump lips around it and bites down on the swollen bundle. The sudden pleasure has you shrieking out his name, the words coming out louder, and higher pitched, than you’d intended.

Toji pulls away from you and “Be quiet, princess. Or you’ll wake my kids,” he warns.

Moving to enclose his lips around your engorged bud once again, his tongue lashes against your clit repeatedly, his teeth occasionally against it and causing you to croon his name. Under his ministrations, the walls of your core clench painfully, emphasising the emptiness between them.

“Please, Daddy m-more,” you beg, your hips rocking against him.

Toji releases your clit at your plea, and with one hand still splaying your folds open, he uses the other to trace the slick, twitching opening; your breath hitches in response. Lightly dipping the tip of his pointer finger into you, “Is this what you want, dollface?” he asks with a mocking coo.

Feeling the infuriatingly subtle stretch, you frantically nod your head. Unimpressed with your answer, however, Toji’s fingers move to roughly pinch your clit.

“Tell me what you want,” he commands. Pain coalesces with ecstasy at the harsh action, the juxtaposing sensations setting your nerves afire. Liquid lust surges through your abdomen, the sear of pleasure that swirls in your stomach making you cry out with need.

“W-Want your fingers,” comes your pitiful response, your eyes stinging with tears.

“That’s my pretty baby,” Toji praises. With that, he plunges one finger hilt deep into you. Feeling the sudden stretch, your eyes snap open. A strangled moan of pleasure rips from your throat, the sound morphing into a low mewl when he begins twisting the length inside of you. Back arching at the sensation, you cry out his name.

Suddenly spanking your pussy, “I said quiet,” he seethes with a hiss. Pulling his finger out, Toji plunges it back inside, revelling in the way your slick, pliant walls cling to his digit.

“Fuck, this is such a tight cunt,” he groans.

Curling his digit into you, he explores his finger through your slick, velvet walls, and when a jagged moan emanates from your lips, he knows he’s found what he’s looking for. Pads of his fingertip pressing flat against the spongy tissues, he wiggles his finger against your sweet spot.

“O-Oh god,” you shakily breathe out, your eyes fluttering open and shut. Molten pleasure intensifies into a blistering heat within the pit of your stomach and, thighs beginning to shake on either side of his head, your breath turns ragged.

“P-Please,” you choke out.

“Yeah, you like that, pretty baby? Like when Daddy fingers this tiny little hole?” he hums, the deceptively sweet intonation hiding the dark, imperious undertow of his voice.

You open your mouth to respond, only for the words to morph into a garbled cry when Toji pushes his finger deeper into you. Slowly, he begins pistoning the digit into you, the strokes slow and deep. With each thrust, his finger drags against your g-spot, causing ecstasy to blur your vision.

“Daddy, p-please! Wanna—ha—make me—ah!” Your pleas are choked, each broken by a breathy moan.

Despite your best efforts to articulate your wants, Toji’s incessant fingers make it impossible for you to form coherent sentences. On the cusp of your approaching orgasm, ecstasy burns through your bloodstream. As the rattling of your thighs intensifies beside him, however, Toji is abruptly pulling his drenched finger out of you.

Distraught over the sudden retreat of his digits, “N-No,” you cry, your hips wildly thrashing under him as you pitifully attempt to chase his hands. Painfully, your walls clench around nothing, and feeling your growing orgasm start to subside, tears mist your eyes.

“Quiet,” Toji hisses, his eyes gleaming dangerously. Under him, you heave for air, your eyes screwing shut as you shake your head and thrust your hips into his face.

“Wanna cum. Daddy, please, wanna cum,” you sob.

His scarred lips twist into a sardonic smirk before Toji spanks your cunt once more. The moment his hand meets the soaked flesh of your cunt, a wet slap echoes through the air. Toes curling at the harsh impact, you sob dryly.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you,” he threatens.

As he speaks, he repeatedly brings the palm of his hand down onto your tumid clit, and with each slap, your cunt clenches around nothing. Nerves electrified from his spanks, your hands fall from his hair and down to the mattress beside you. Your fingers twist into the sheets, your frustration building as you grow delirious from his action. Every impact of his hand has your pussy contracting around nothing, your walls weeping to be filled. With garbled sobs, you moan unintelligibly.

“Daddy—” you begin to wail, only to be cut off when Toji stuffs your tattered panties into your mouth.

Eyes widening as you feel the satin gag, your hand moves to pull it down. Instantly, Toji brings his hand onto your cunt, this time, harder than his previous ones. Pain blends with pleasure and, clit smarting under the impact, you screech. Nevertheless, muffled by the underwear gagging your mouth, the sound comes out inarticulate.

“Be a good little girl for Daddy and keep that in, yeah baby? If you do, Daddy’ll let ya scream as much as you want, princess,” he smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. Muffled whimper dissipating from your throat, your hand drops back to the ground, and you look at him through large, pleading eyes. Seeing the obedience in your tear-misted eyes, Toji coos, “That’s my good girl.”

With that, he dips his head back to your cunt. In a fluid motion, he pushes his slick digit back into you, though this time, it’s followed by a second. The girth of the two fingers stretches out your pliant walls, an euphoric sear thrumming through your flesh. Feeling the way he spreads your cunt open, Toji groans in pleasure.

“Fuck, you’ve got such a tiny, little cunt, princess. Daddy can’t wait to stretch it. Fuck it open. Leave it gaping with my cum,” Toji groans. Each sentiment is emphasised by a thrust of his fingers, the digits expertly stroking your sweet spot. You nod your head eagerly.

“You like that doll? Yeah, I know you do. Mmm, you’re so small… but that greedy little hole will take my cock whole, won’t it baby? You’ll take my fat dick better than my wife ever has, won’t you?” Toji mocks.

As he speaks, he spreads the fingers inside of you and opens your entrance for him. You moan at the stretch, but before you can register what’s happening, Toji plunges his stiff tongue inside of you. Eyes widening, you wail in pleasure at the sudden penetration, your spine contorting off of the ground. Frantically, you writhe your hips against his face, Toji furiously plunging his tongue into you over and over again.

“That’s it princess, ride Daddy’s face,” Toji urges, the words reverberating through your cunt. He presses further into your sex and, tongue swirling inside of you, he laps at your sodden, trembling muscles.

Ecstasy ripples across your nerves, your breath turning ragged. Lifting your shaky hands, you bury them into his thick tresses once again as your eyes roll back at his ministrations. With each contraction of your walls, you drip over his mouth, your wetness leaking thickly over his tongue and straight down his chin. Despite the messiness, however, like a beast starved, Toji drinks you up, his tongue vehemently lapping against your inner walls.

“Fuck you taste so good. This sweet cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it doll? Yeah. I know it does. Can feel you drip like a whore all over my tongue,” Toji taunts. Between the way he’s buried between your thighs, and your pleasure-blurred vision, you can’t see Toji's face. Nonetheless, you feel the way he smirks into your pussy.

Feeling the tell-tale signs of your approaching orgasm, you press your shoulders flat into the bed, and bracing your weight on them, you lift your hips and push them further into his face. At the action, Toji groans against your sex and the vibrations cause you to wildly buck into him. In response, he curls the two fingers inside of you, moving them in tandem to his tongue—all three appendages thrusting into you over and over again. Stomach quivering in pleasure, you feel your skin flash with heat.

“Toji, wanna cum,” you plead. Though, thanks to your makeshift gag, the words come out muffled and indecipherable. Still, from your ragged breath and the vice-like, erratic grip of your cunt—the silken walls practically milking his tongue—Toji knows you’re close.

“Hmmm? What’s that, baby doll? Daddy can’t understand you,” Toji taunts as he pulls away from your cunt.

A garble of displeasure emanates from your throat and your eyes screw shut as you let out a sob. Keeping his fingers inside of you, Toji languidly thrusts them in and out of you. Immediately, your quickly building orgasm slows, though, it doesn’t completely disappear. Rather, with his fingers languorously dragging over every one of your inner erogenous zones, he draws out your impending pleasure.

“My pretty little baby wants to cum?” he mocks, his eyes flashing in mirth.

A hand moves to lay the side of his thumb flat against your pulsating clit before Toji begins stroking the bud. Repetitively, it grazes your bundle of nerves and as he rolls it under the pad, your pleasure is intensified.

The additional sensation causes you to cry out—the sound swallowed by the panties gagging your mouth—as your skin prickles with spikes of white-hot pleasure. Jaw slackening, you attempt to swallow in a bid to lubricate your dry throat. However, with the cotton of your underwear soaking up all your spit, all you manage to do is choke. Instead, with a frantic nod, you wordlessly answer him, your hips desperately squirming against his hand as you try to quicken his pace.

Haze of euphoria clouding your mind, you struggle to form any cohesive thoughts as you lose yourself in your growing orgasm. Above you, Toji lets out a hum of thought, his fingers slowing down even further. Frustration wells up inside of you, and tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, you sob out his name—your mouth dry from the panties soaking up your spit—as you look up at him with an imploring gaze.

“Yeah, baby doll? Wanna cum?” he questions, a dark, predatory smirk tugging at his lips.

“P-Please,” comes your suppressed mew, the tears finally spilling from your eyes and down your cheeks. Cooing at the desperate, undone sight of you, Toji’s smirk broadens.

“Awww, look at my baby doll, crying for Daddy to make her cum,” Toji hums. Then, head dropping back to your cunt, “Cum, then. Cum for Daddy,” he commands. As he speaks, the two fingers buried inside of you curl to press against your sweet spot, and simultaneously, he wraps his mouth around your clit before sucking hard.

With his fingers plunging in and out of you vehemently, and his lips sucking harshly at your clit, Toji all of a sudden forces you off of the edge of your orgasm and straight into pleasure. Spine contorting, your head and hips dig into the mattress, while your back arches off of it. Instantly, your muscles lock, a muffled wail ripping out of your lungs as you cry out his name. Wave after wave of euphoria crashes over you, and under the sweeping tide of your orgasm, you drown in rapturous bliss. Thighs viciously trembling on either side of his face, you writhe and squirm under Toji, your hips wildly bucking into his face as ecstasy consumes you.

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it, princess. Such a good little girl, cumming all over Daddy’s fingers,” Toji praises, your walls clamping around his fingers.

Through your orgasm, Toji refuses to pull away from your pussy. Rather, he increases the intensity of his actions. His tongue lashes against your clit and his fingers piston in and out of your cunt. Pain of overstimulation gripping your over-sensitised sex, tears stream down your face as Toji nibbles on your clit, drawing out your orgasm.

Through your foggy mind—the euphoric fog of your orgasm eclipsing your mind—you vaguely register the pain that flitters through you, and thighs snapping shut, you attempt to stop him. Simultaneously, your hands move to push against his head. Nonetheless, with his head trapped by your thighs, and Toji’s own strength, he barely budges.

“Ah—Mmmm—Hnnn,” you groan inarticulately. When he strokes the pads of his fingertips over your g-spot, you sob in pleasure. The loosened knot of euphoria in your stomach tightens, and midst your orgasm, something begins building up deep within the pits of your abdomen.

Unceasingly, Toji suckles at your throbbing clit with his scarred lips and pushing his fingers further into you, he purposely drags his fingers over your sweet-spot once more, causing you to howl in pleasure. His actions cause your nerves to flare with electricity, a searing sensation surging through your bloodstream, and under the overwhelming, unadulterated pleasure, your entire body begins to tremble.

Out of the blue, Toji bites down on your clit, and jolts of pain sparking up the bundle of nerves, you immediately screech. Pain blends with pleasure, white-spots blinding your vision. Abruptly, the knot within your stomach unravels and, sudden relief flushing through your abdomen, you’re forced over the precipice of blissful ecstasy once again. Jaw slackening, your mouth falls open and your throat strains as you force out a silent cry. Your walls tighten without warning around Toji’s fingers, the forceful contractions causing pelt after pelt of your cum to squirt out of you.

“Fucking hell,” Toji mutters, his eyes widening as he feels you gush around his fingers. Thick, filmy rivers of your essence spray out of you onto his fingers and face, before splashing onto his mattress. Seeing the way your cum soaks into the sheet, Toji snickers, “Oh you’re filthy, aren’t you, baby doll? Look at you, you’ve soaked the sheets.”

“Mpf—” you try to respond, your tongue fighting against the gag to form intelligible words.

Gasping for air, your muscles erratically twitch from the sheer force of your orgasm. As your eyes flutter open, the white-spots fade, though, unshed tears still blur your vision. Taking pity on you, Toji pulls the panties from your mouth and instead throws it onto the floor. With your mouth finally free from the gag, you purposely gather spit in your mouth and swallow thickly—in a bid to soothe your dry throat.

Gaze dropping to Toji, the heat of embarrassment tinges your cheeks at the way his broad chest glistens—his skin glazed in your cum. Letting a high-pitched whine out, you bashfully look away. Sensing your humiliation, Toji chuckles.

“Look at the mess you made, princess. What am I going to tell my wife, huh? That our naughty little babysitter drenched the sheets with her cum? That it was my fingers and tongue that made her do it, hmm?” he taunts.

Each word drips out his mouth like viscous honey, each sentiment rife with lust and carnality. The mention of his wife causes your morals to voice themselves once more. Nonetheless, you’re far too inebriated by his seduction, the weak voice of your conscience stifled by your blistering desire. You gulp audibly. In the way you’re enticed—easily tempted—by him, he’s the devil himself, you’re sure of it. Yet, even with the dark edge of his intonation, you can’t help but want to give in to the hedonistic, sinful euphoria he promises.

“Please, Daddy,” comes your plea, your wide, doe-like eyes staring up at him. Heeding your words, Toji crawls up your body, your thighs spreading further apart as he settles between them.

Gripping the base of his shaft with one hand, Toji angles it towards your entrance and smacks the bulbous head against it. A loud, wet smack resonates through the air, and feeling the heavy weight of his cockhead against your wet cunt, you whine in need. Flexing his hips, slides the entire length of his cock through your slit. Your slick lips spread onto the underside of his thick girth, and with each stroke, the prominent seam of his cockhead drags against your hardened clit, causing you to moan.

“Is this what you want, princess?” Toji questions, his voice deceptively sweet.

You nod your head eagerly, “Yes, please. Please.”

“Look at you. Daddy’s pretty little baby doll. So fucked out and needy for my cock,” Toji smirks predatorily, his teeth peeking through the seam of his lips.

Jade eyes—tempestuous with hunger—lock onto your own and, while holding your stare, Toji drags his cock down your folds in one long stroke, before pressing the head at your fluttering entrance. As the crown of his bulbous cockhead pushes against your ringed entrance, you both moan. Turning his attention down to your drenched folds, Toji hisses when he spots the way your honeyed hole twitches.

“Such a small, wet, little cunt,” Toji groans. Gripping his cock tighter, he circles the head around your hole, “Fuck dollface, look at how tiny your cunt is compared to my cock. I don’t think it’s going to fit,” he chuckles.

Derision is heavy in his tone, and despite the clear taunt, you frantically shake your head. “It’ll fit, please Daddy, want you,” you whine, your hips thrusting to take him into you.

“Yeah, dollface? Think ya can take Daddy’s cock?” Toji taunts.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble.

“Yeah, baby? Think that tight cunt can fit my fat cock? Think ya can take it better than my wife?” he jeers. Your pussy clenches, the empty ache between your thighs close to torturous. Eyes welling with tears, you sob.

“I can! I can. Please, Daddy. Please,” comes your soughed pleas. Toji snickers at the desperation in your voice, one of his thumbs moving to brush a tear from your cheek.

“Ha—yer such a whore, princess, crying for my cock like this,” Toji mocks. He raises his thumb to his lips, his tongue poking out to lick the tear away. “Daddy’s pretty, needy little cockslut,” he derides.

“Daaaady,” you whine, your hips writing into his. With a wry grin, Toji begins pressing the crown of his cock against your sopping hole. A dull pressure builds up against your cunt, your eyes widening as a whimper slips through your lips at the sensation.

“Fuck. Yer gonna be so tight, princess. Have you ever had a cock this big, doll?” Toji questions. Though, from the cocky inflexion of his voice, you know he knows you haven’t.

“N-No, Daddy,” you stammer, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Your cunt is dripping, sloppy with your cum, and as such, Toji should slide easily into your entrance. Nonetheless, he struggles to thrust his head into you, his thick girth causing the taut muscles of your pussy to protest the stretch.

“Of course you haven’t, baby doll. Bet no one’s fucked this cunt open the way I’m going to,” he chuckles arrogantly. For a moment, your eyes flutter shut. Instantly, the hand wrapped around his cock moves to grip the delicate column of your neck and, fingertips squeezing against the side, he chokes you.

“Look at me. Want ya to watch as Daddy ruins this tiny hole,” he sibilates.

With a whimper, your eyes snap open and catch his stare. And in that exact moment, Toji thrusts harshly.

The force of his movement causes the mushroom-tip of his cockhead to squeeze into you with a sudden pop. Spine twisting, a dry sob tears from your throat as your back arches. Thick tears track down your cheeks, pleasure and pain surging through your body.

“D-Daddy,” you cry, the sound broken by a hiccup.

A searing ache burns ripples through your tight cunt, the ringed muscles smarting as they strain around Toji’s indurated, unforgiving shaft. Nevertheless, even through the agonising burn, an intoxicating undercurrent of pleasure thrums through you—pure ecstasy cutting the pain of your pussy being split apart by his girth.

“Fuck—Ya so pretty like this baby; crying as my cock ruins yer tiny, wet hole,” he groans.

The fingers around your throat flex, squeezing your neck firmer as he begins pushing his cock further into you. Inch by heavy, agonising inch, his unyielding hardness spears into your cunt, the thick girth of his cock pulling apart your walls. When he’s around half way into you, you let out a strangled cry, the torturous ecstasy overwhelming you. Your hands shoot out to clutch his muscular shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh.

“F-Fuck, Daddy—h-huge,” you hiccup.

Toji coos sardonically, “Still think ya can take it, princess? Hmmm? Can this sweet little cunt handle my cock?”

Your nails rake down to his pecks, leaving angry, red welts in their wake and, “Daddy,” you slur, your brain too electrified with euphoria to articulate a single sentence.

“Ha. Already fucked ya dumb, have I?” Toji ridicules.

Without a warning, his hips plunge forward. The action causes the final few inches of his cock into you, the length bottoming out to the hilt. The sudden movement has you howling, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Against your will, your cunt ripples around his cock, your inner muscles contracting and clenching around his unrelenting shaft in a bid to force out the thick intrusion. Nonetheless, with Toji’s hips pressing firmly against yours, the clamping only massages his cock. With his cock completely buried inside you now—his balls pressing flush against your wet sex—Toji halts, the hold on your throat slackening.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck, yer so fucking tight. Fuck—sweetest pussy I’ve ever fucked,” he moans, luxuriating in the silken grip of your cunt, his head falling back as it pulses around his cock.

Toji takes in the expression of agonised euphoria that paints your visage. Your eyes are glassy behind half-lids, your jaw slackened—a little bit of drool spilling out—as you pant under him. With each laboured breath, you whimper, your smarting walls stretched to their limit as you try to get used to his size. With wide blinks, you look up at him through tear-stained lashes.

“B-Better than your wife?” you ask, your voice breathless and higher pitched than you’d anticipated.

Toji groans at your words, his hips retreating before snapping back into yours as he starts thrusting into you.

“Dirty whore. Yer so naughty. But fuck—yeah, yeah,” comes his breathy response. “Even better than my wife. You’ve got the tightest, wettest cunt, princess. Such a good slut for me, taking my dick so good. Fuucckkk—” Toji groans out, each sentiment emphasised by a hard thrust.

“H-Hurts,” you whine, your palms pressing against his defined pectorals.

“Yeah? Fuck, bet it does. You’re so tight. But ya love it, don’t you dollface? Love how my cock’s fucking your tiny pussy open,” he jeers. In response, Toji’s grip on your throat tightens once more, his strength pinning you down and using his grip as an anchor as he fucks into you.

Your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts, the soft mounds bounding in little circles as he uses your pussy like a fleshlight. All of a sudden, his hand moves from your throat to paw at your tits. Moaning out, you mewl as he roughly palms at the flesh, rolling and massaging it in his large hand, his thumb mindlessly tweaking the hardened nipple.

“Hnn, yeah, Daddy,” you pant.

He swivels his hips, your spine twisting off of the bed as you feel his cockhead drag against your sweet-spot before battering into your cervix. With each and every one of his thrusts, his thick shaft opens up your walls, the velvet hardness stimulating every erogenous zone and setting your nerves afire with pleasure. Hoarse cries of ecstasy tear from your throat, his cock vehemently surging into you over and over again.

“Yeah? Yeah. Fuck, know you do princess. Can feel ya greedy little hole swallowing me,” he groans.

“Ha—Daddy,” you breathily mew.

Toji can’t help but chuckle, “That all you know now, baby doll? Huh? Only Daddy’s name?”

Somehow, you feel his pace increase, and suddenly, he’s jackhammering into you. You bounce under his cock, your body jerked up and down the mattress from the powerful force of his thrusts. Your hands move from his chest, your arms circling around his shoulders as your legs wrap around his waist, clinging onto him. The position pushes Toji deeper into you, your eyes rolling back once more as you feel his cockhead bruisingly smack against the back walls of your cunt. A throbbing pain begins intensifying deep within your womb.

“T-Too much. Too much. Daddy—deep. Too deep,” you cry. Despite your words, however, Toji continues rutting into you as he chases his own pleasure.

“Be Daddy’s good slut and take it,” Toji urges in retaliation. Feeling your walls erratically clamp around him, his chest rumbles with a groan. As his own balls start to clench, his shaft beginning to viciously throb inside of you, “Fuck. Fuck, yer so fucking tight, Princess. Gonna cum soon. You on birth control?” he questions.

“N-No,” you stutter out with a shake of your head.

“Fuck, yer gonna get impregnated tonight then, baby doll. No way Daddy’s gonna pull out a pussy this good,” Toji hisses in pleasure. Wired beyond belief, the implications and consequences of his words are lost on you. Rather, the thought of him cumming deep inside you only sets your nerves on fire, unbridled ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“P-Please,” you gasp.

“Fuck, you want that? Want my cum to fill up your fertile little womb?” Toji asks, his words punctuated by deep, hard plunges. The blunt head of his cock batters against the supple walls of your cervix, a dull ache forming within your womb and hips from the unforgiving power of his thrusts.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, please Daddy. Cum in me,” you urge, your tongue loosened by euphoria as your brain hazes with pleasure. Hearing your response, Toji chuckles, the dark sound reverberating through the air. Lowering his chest, his lips brush over your ear.

“Yeah? Wasn’t enough to babysit my kids was it, doll? You wanna have ‘em now too?” Toji growls out; punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. Feeling him surge in deeper, you sob in ecstasy; euphoric tears stinging at your eyes as you feel intense, unadulterated bliss course through your veins. Your nails rake over his flesh, each leaving deep welts all over his shoulders and chest.

“Please—Fuck, Daddy, please,” you plead. Toji chuckles once again.

“What are we gonna tell my wife, huh baby? That I fucked your tight little cunt in our bed? That yer pussy was so good, so fucking tight, that I had no choice but to cum inside? That yer cunt is better than hers and so I had to put a baby inside?” Toji mocks, a blatant taunt tainting his gravelly voice.

“Hnnn—Daddy,” you gasp.

Feeling the way your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, one of Toji’s hands slips between your thighs and, cupping your sex, he presses his thumb to your clit. Electric ecstasy jolts through you, and with the additional stimulation, you climb higher and higher towards the crux of your climax. Your thighs quake vehemently, white-hot heat jolting up your spine as you feel your orgasm tear through you.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Daddy,” Toji urges, punctuating his command with a well placed thrust. Unable to hold back, a strangled cry escapes from your throat as you cum around Toji’s cock.

Erratically, the walls of your cunt contract around Toji, and feeling your silken pussy constrict over his shaft, he snarls, his pace picking up. His cock surges ferociously into you, every thrust drawing out your orgasm and forcing endless wave after endless wave of ecstasy to flood your being. As your walls ripples over his cock, Toji feels his own end draw near.

“Oh fuck, yer pretty cunt’s milking my cock, doll. Fuck—gonna cum,” Toji groans, his furious rhythm becoming stuttered. Instinctively, your legs move to wrap around your Toji’s narrow waist, and hooking your ankles together, you lock his body between yours.

“C-Cum inside, Daddy,” you force out, the words strained as they escape your raw throat.

“Oh fuck,” Toji groans, his own orgasm surging through him.

Abruptly, his hips drive forward, Toji burying himself as deep into your cunt as physically possible, before he grinds into you. Rope after rope of his thick cum shoots out of his cock and against your supple cervix, flooding your gummy walls and painting them white in his essence. Through the overstimulated fog of ecstasy, you feel the torrent of his seed pour into you, your womb overwhelmed with his warmth.

While your body uncontrollably spasms—your muscles still reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm—you slowly come to. The blunt ache of his cockhead ramming against the back walls of your pussy blends with the sharp, stinging pain of overstimulation—the overwhelming sensations setting your nerves afire.

“T-Too deep,” you rasp out. Your eyes screw shut, tears rolling down your cheek. Above you, Toji chuckles. He bends down—a strangled sob spilling from your mouth when you feel his cock push deeper into you—and licks the wet trails up.

“Gotta be this deep to get ya nice and pregnant,” comes Toji’s instant response. You moan at his words, your pussy involuntarily clenching around him. “Mmmm, such a greedy cunt, milking my cock so nicely,” Toji hums.

Gradually, you drift back to reality, the high of your climax ebbing into a post-orgasmic fog. Breath laboured, the two of you heave for air. Feeling the dryness of your throat, you swallow thickly in a bid to lubricate the strained muscles of your oesophagus. As your mind slowly clears, you feel Toji slip his cock out of you and the inescapable sensation of his cum spilling out of you hits you like a freight train.

The weight of your morals returning to you shatters your bliss and, with a gasp, you try to push him off of you. From above you, Toji quirks an eyebrow. Nonetheless, you purposely avoid his eyes. You can’t believe you’ve just slept with a married man. And not just any married man, but the man married to your employer.

Oh, if Hisano finds out, you’re so screwed.

“Woah, what’s up, Princess?” Toji asks, his forefinger and thumb angling your chin to look at him.

“I-I should go before—” you begin. The shakiness of your voice betrays your panic, though, your nerves only turn to anger when you hear Toji chuckle. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him. Toji only smirks back.

“We’ve separated, doll. She’s not coming back. Too busy fucking her boss,” Toji says. The admission stuns you, your anger fading into incredulity. Despite the gravity of his words, his tone is light, said in a devil-may-care manner that seems out of place considering he’d just admitted to his wife’s own infidelity.

“W-What?” you whisper.

In spite of the situation, you can’t help the flicker of glee that flitters through you and, seeing the odd inkling of joy twinkle in your eyes, Toji laughs, “Like it that much, huh, doll?”

“N-No.” Heat stains your cheeks, the tips of your ears burning as you stammer out in denial.

Toji snorts in response, “Don’t lie, I know ya like me Princess,” Toji reveals. Embarrassment flushes through you and in a bid to hide from his mischievous gaze, you cover your face with your hands. Your actions only has Toji snorting once more, “Can’t play the innocent little babysitter when yer so full of my cum dollface.”

As he speaks one of his hand slips between your thighs, his thick fingers pressing against your sloppy pussy. A wet, lewd squelch fills the air as he pushes two of the digits inside you, displacing his cum from your cunt and causing it to seep out of your battered, slightly gaping hole. A jolt of pleasure surges up your spine.

“T-Toji,” you whine. Before you can say anything else, however, Toji’s fingers retreat from within your slick depths, and instead, he presses his indurated shaft against your leaking hole once more. Eyes widening, you retreat from behind the cover of your hands to stare at him in incredulity. “Again? Already?” you ask in bewilderment.

“You didn’t think once would be enough, did you baby?” he gibes. With that, he pushes the bulbous head into you, the sudden stretch causing you to wince in pain. Leaning forward, Toji runs his nose over the corner of your jaw before taking the soft flesh of your earlobe between his teeth. Nibbling lightly, he almost purrs, “Didn’t Daddy say he was gonna get his pretty little baby pregnant?”

“S-Surely you weren’t being serious?” you gasp out, the sound morphing into a deep moan when Toji thrusts his cock into your silken cavern.

“Oh, I was being very serious, doll,” Toji chuckles lowly, the sound dark and devilish. Purposely, he lowers his voice, until the sound rumbles through the silent room, the rich timbre broken only by the wet sounds of his cock slowly fucking into you, “Daddy’s gonna fuck you until that pretty little cunt is filled with cum and your cute little womb is all swollen with my seed.”

The lasciviousness of his words isn’t lost on you. It’s wrong, you know it is. You can’t get pregnant, you’re almost half Toji’s age, not to mention, you’re still at university and he already has two children. Yet, you can’t deny the sheer thrill you feel as his words sink into you. Perhaps you’d lost your mind, erotic pleasure devouring any and every remnant of logical reasoning. Perhaps Toji really had fucked you stupid. Perhaps you never had any morality, or rationale, in the first place lusting after a married, older man. Whatever it is, though, you can’t seem to care. Especially not when Toji utters his next words.

“Hell, if you’re good for me, I may even make you my pretty little wife,” Toji coos with a promise. His voice is as sweet as sin, as tempting as the devil, and unable to resist, you wholeheartedly, and wilfully, throw yourself into his seduction.

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, your nails dig into their corded muscles and, “Please,” you all but beg.

A wolfish grin curls onto Toji’s scarred lips and eyes glinting with wickedness, “That’s my girl,” Toji praises.

a/n: listen. i have no excuse for the depths of this depravity.

m.list

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seamsterslocal · 1 year

Photo

summer binder picture tutorial

this is the third binder ive made for myself recently and the first one i’m writing up. it’s designed to do a few things: 1) allow me to put it on by myself without dislocating my shoulders 2) allow me to breathe well enough to partake in normal activity 3) be cool enough to wear throughout a muggy 90-100F summer 4) not constrict my ribs in a way that aggravates my lack of connective tissue and causes intense pain.

this has become necessary even though i had top surgery many years ago, because when i had it i was extremely skinny and since then i’ve increased in size by about 50%. this has been really fucking good for my health in every single way* except that when my chest is squishy or moves at all it’s So Goddamn Triggering for me. but also since ive had top surgery ive developed and/or been made away of a plethora of chronic conditions that make every single commercially available binding option medically impossible. unbound, my chest is pretty much what you’d expect for a chubby cis guy but venturing out into the world in just a tshirt no longer works for me

*anyone who badmouths weight gain or fat bodies in the notes WILL be blocked

under the cut are a bunch of process pictures and explanations of what they all mean:

first i’ll give you a look at the pieces and measurements:

most of the seams are sewn in this picture and one half is turned inside out, allowing you to see both the finished dimensions (right) and the placement of the fusible horsehair canvas that gives this lil scrap of linen any structure at all (left)

to get your chest measurement, you’re gonna have to do some math:

first measure above and below what you want to bind. average these numbers. mine are something like 32 and 34, which average to 33. subtract a few inches--this is to allow the air movement between the laces at center front and back, critical in the summertime. i deleted 3 inches bc i like that number but you can go bigger if you want. the more inches you subtract here, the more youll be able to ratchet all your chest material down later, but at the same time you need to leave enough fabric for a sturdy garment. let’s say a range of 2-6 inches/5-15cm. by taking your measurements this way, you’re essentially measuring the chest you would like to have. that + the horsehair canvas work together to compress any squishy tissue/force anything that doesnt compress up and to the outside (basically into the armpit/lower shoulder--the chest might stick out but it will give a very puffed chest captain america pectoral silhouette)

you can also see how ive clipped my curves and pre-drilled my lacing holes. i used the marlin spike on my knife to open up the holes on the interfacing side, mainly as a way of marking them. this worked well bc the interfacing’s glue kept the linen from raveling

this is the same stage but looking at the non-interfaced grey linen/cotton blend (the black is some 100% linen from my cabbage stash). you can see ive broken the solar-plexus-to-back measurement up into a bunch of pieces to save on fabric but that’s not necessary. my original pattern was just two pieces (front and back) and chopping the straps into thirds on both sides was aesthetic

in the following picture you can really see how this is really just overgrown regency stays:

i thought about doing side lacing but didn’t think that would be comfortable for me. on the front, the side seam allowance was pressed inwards before turning to create a finished looking slot. on the back the side seam is left unfinished with an extra wide seam allowance, and is inserted into that slot.

here’s a closeup on it pinned in place (you can adjust the angle of the side seam and the fit during this pinning stage):

that side seam was just topstitched in place once i had the fit how i liked it, and the armhole was reinforced with more topstitching

alright, time for eyelets: first, you can see how well the marking worked:

next, two rows of basted eyelets (left), one row of eyelets sewn with a doubled and waxed cotton thread (center right), and one row of eyelets opened and stainless steel rings placed (right).

next time i’m going to mark the eyelets same as i did above, but do this step differently--i’ll mark and baste the steel rings in place BEFORE widening the eyelets. this is bc i had a lot of problems keeping the eyelets on center

eyelets half done on this one! on the left are eyelets sewn with doubled and waxed cotton thread and on the right eyelets sewn with quadrupled and waxed thread. the center is basting again. i was able to force the holes back in line while sewing the eyelets but it was kinda annoying. adding a second picture that doesnt have great focus but hopefully shows how that process worked and shows the spike clearly

i ended up using this white cotton thread because it’s stronger than my black cotton thread (which the rest of it is sewn with). [eta: after this was first posted, i pressed the whole thing heavily, which effectively de-waxed the thread, and i dyed the whole thing a medium charcoal grey, the thread blends in perfectly on the lighter side and isn’t such a sore thumb on the darker side]

bonus: the piecing layout for that little piece of strap. the whole light gray half of the binder was made from 1/2 of one of the legs i cut off some linen suit pants to make slutty camping shorts last year and i really really didn’t want to break into any of the other three halves for this garment--i have Plans for it

overall the fit of this is incredible. it DOESNT hurt my ribs which every zip-up garment ive been able to find (and it is difficult) does due to really thick elastic at the base. it doesnt aggravate my sensory issues with the synthetic fibers that every commercial option is made of. i can walk up a hill or stairs, or go to pt, without getting too out of breath. i can eat with it tight, or loosen the front easily and without taking it off to make eating easier and less nausea-inducing. it is reversible!

best of all the lacing at the back gives the garment enough movement for me to get it on without dislocating, and the interfacing and steel rings give it structure once it’s on. the shaping comes only from fusible horsehair linen canvas and stainless steel rings like youd use for chainmail, there’s no boning at all, which makes it very quick to sew (except the eyelets, but metal grommets would be sturdy and quick provided theyre of good quality)

there’s a small amount of gaping on the outside of the shoulder strap, which i plan on fixing with a tiny tiny dart in the armpit, i want to add pockets to tuck the laces into, and i need a better lace for the back, but it’s completely wearable in time for the 90 weather next week which is all i wanted. i’ll do a reblog when it’s perfectly finished with an update on the fit but for now it is done enough

the little ridge where it doesnt lay flat against the shoulder is most visible with just a single t shirt over it. with a flannel or a sweater, it disappears, and by itself, it’s hidden in movement

eta: after dyeing this, i relaced it a bit looser in the back and that gape mainly disappeared. ive decided to leave it in instead of smoothing it with a dart because the loose fabric gives space for my chest to expand when breathing and shapes my silhouette in a way that emphasizes my shoulders

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splataii · 1 year

Text

so uh @b1ueprinc3 made a post and i was inspired to make this drabble.

pervert manager dabi x male reader

cw: sub/bottom male reader, top/dom character, dacryphilia, degradation, minor exhibitionism, groping

anyway dabi first meets you an just thinks ur so fucking cute. he just loves your enegry and attitude, and becomes a lil too eager to train you, always being a lil touchy. hes down horrendous, always grabbing ur ass to congratulate you for a job well done at the end of the day or whatever.

insists he a “hands on learning” typa guy. always grabbing you by the waist so he can grind his obvious boner against your ass as he scoots behind you. always grabs u by the back of the neck, rubbing a thumb up its side as he leans over your shoulder to look at whatever work has you occupied. grabs you by the beltloop when youre passing him so he can spin you around and tell you about this “important work related thing” while he keeps his fingers pressed into your hips.

he already thinks you look pretty good in the assigned uniform, but one day, he has the genius idea to spill some water or something over you so you're forced to change into a top that's a couple sizes too small (which he insists is the only available uniform, yes it's mandatory, no you can't go home and change).

he promises it was an accident, and that he’ll wash it for you (despite the fact you insist you can clean it yourself) but instead spends his time dropping random shit on the ground so he can see your pants strain against ur ass and the way your shirt rides up your back.

the liar also takes your old shirt to the backroom to fist his cock with, pretending it's ur fucked out face he's cumming on. you ain't never getting that shit back

speaking of jerking off, this bitch does it all the time. specifically does it when youre getting off break and heading to the break rooms, so you can hear the sound of him shamelessly moaning your name as he finishes to another one of his gross fantasies of you laying spread out for him in his bed. he exits the stall and smiles when he sees your face like its no big. always makes sure to give ur ass a nice slap and some half assed “work hard” crap before he leaves you totally embarrassed.

nyway he also a bit overprotective, never stepping more than a couple feet away from you while you're working with a customer, and even other coworkers. he knows people know how cute you are. why would he leave his sweet boy to deal with those random mofos? he just stands behind you glaring when he feels someone is getting too close. you get a little confused, when they eventually leave, terrified, but he's always there to comfort you. your ass is his, you don't need no one else baby<3

he can have a bit of a mean streak sometimes tho, stretching you thin. whenever you (expectedly) fail to meet his impossible deadlines, he’s teasing you. talking about what a dumb little boy you are. he could probably fire you, if he wanted to. but he wont. if you could do this one little thing for him.. he pulls you into an old storage closet, freeing his cock from the confines of his pants so he can slap it on your face and spread his pre all over your cheek and nose. he can't help it, you just look a lot cuter this way. besides, he knows you can take it. dumb little boys like you are only made for one thing. since you're such a bad employee, show him what a damn good whore you are.

dabi claims he's only mean cause he cares. boys like you need to be taught a lesson so no one can take advantage of you. but sometimes, he plays like he's gonna make you answer calls while hes spearing you on his dick, just so he can see your pretty tears as you shake ur head no.

once again, he can have complete one eighty's, giving you all these bonuses and gifts at work saying “you deserve it” and all that shit, but everybody at work knows the reason you get all this special treatment is cause he slutting you out behind closed doors.

at the end of the day, you’re really just dabi’s personal whore. and everyone knows it.

#imma keep it a buck in the tabs #i never have n prolly never will finish mha #so ion know know dabi #but like the way ppl write him is soo good #an he a lil cutie patootie fr #nyway yeah #mha x bottom male reader #dabi x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #male reader insert #x black male reader #male reader smut #splataii writes

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eff4freddie · 4 months

Text

Touch | Epilogue

Joel makes good on his promise to date you, at least once.

Words: 4k

Warnings: Just a slutty lil farewell to our resident Jackson masseuse and her grumpy-arse maybe sorta boyfriend, smut, vaginal fingering, sexy times, stockings that are far too thin for early Spring. Minors DNI

A/N: Another thank you for your support of this little story that ended up being a bit bigger and more complex than I expected. I went there because of your encouragement. Thank you, always.

Part Eight | Series Masterlist

The season was turning, but there was still a chill of a nighttime. It had been six weeks since Joel returned to Jackson, the medical supplies he and the second expedition managing to find and defend ensuring a healthy and safe Jackson for at least another two winters. The whole energy of the place, the optimism, was back in the community, and you had thrived in it, started to bloom alongside the wildflowers dotting the pathways into town.

You’d spent the time working, teaching Ellie, occasionally hanging around Joel’s place while he convalesced, first in his bed, then on the new-ish couch Tommy had found and dragged in through the back door. It wasn’t leather like his old one, and the springs stuck out in the centre so that you had to be very careful where you sat, but it was better than the rocking chair, and it was enough for him to sit still in for at least a few weeks.

He kept promising that he was going to date you, at least once if you’d let him, and each time you’d fobbed him off, telling him he had to get better first, that he was no good to you limping, that you wanted him marginally less grumpy if he could manage it. You weren’t sure why you were stalling, other than that you felt you were toes to the edge of a precipice.

When you were little your little family of four had driven out to the Grand Canyon, and you’d stood on the edge of the red dirt and been totally overwhelmed by the size of it, of all the negative space, the absence. You’d found yourself, aged eight and a half, ready to cry and even now, thirty years later, you remembered the howling wind, the echo of it.

You thought about the beauty of it, now. Now that you had seen so much worse, so much more, you reminded yourself that people used to travel entire countries to see the Grand Canyon. In your mind’s eye you entered your memories and stood beside yourself, your child self, and took her hand. You pointed to the sky, drew her eyes up and away from the ground beneath. Felt her pulse race under your touch as you showed her that the magnitude of it was the beauty in it, was the point of it all.

You accepted Joel’s invitation for the next Friday night. Then you ran to Maria’s to find something to wear.

You were supposed to meet at 8, a respectable time after dinner so as not to feel like you needed to have a meal; a more casual time, a more intimate time, when you could drink and chat and only stay an hour if you found it wasn’t working. It was both an in and an out.

Except that you were late, your last client having not only stored muscle tension in his fascia but emotional tension as well, and as soon as you had pushed into the glute he had unleashed years of mourning, of loss, of fears. You had stopped, wrapped him in a towel and pulled him upright, stood back and let him shake with the force of it. It wasn’t new, that people would come with muscle aches and discover trauma aches instead, but you lost track of time trying to put him back together again, trying to assure him of his safety. Tommy was right; sometimes it doesn’t come out until you feel safe enough to let it.

But it meant by the time you were pulling your door open you were about forty minutes late. Your cheeks burned with the shame of it, your timekeeping one of your strengths in the before-times, in the times when you had no other responsibilities other than the hell of being 15.

Joel was coming up your path and you stopped, nearly dropping the jacket you were still trying to pull over your shoulders. You couldn’t read his expression in the dark but his eyes were on you, and he was coming up, fast.

‘Joel, I’m so sorry,’ you started, as he strode towards you and up your porch. ‘I got caught up with a client, I couldn’t leave until they were…’ his hands were on you then, gripping you to him, your jaw resting in his warm palm.

‘You OK?’ he asked you, his eyes searching yours.

‘I’m fine, of course I am,’ you said, flustered, under the intensity of his inspection. ‘I just couldn’t…he was so sad, Joel. I had to stay.’

He nods at this, his jaw ticking. You resisted the urge to reach up and sink your fingertips into the masseter. ‘Were you worried about me, Joel?’ you asked, and he narrowed his eyes at you, then, suddenly freezing up.

‘Thought you weren’t coming, or that you were…thought maybe something had happened,’ he said, and you felt yourself soften.

‘I’m fine. And I would never stand you up,’ you said, moving to hold him around his waist, to circle him in your arms, only able to reach halfway around him, broad as he was. He avoided your eyes, the worry etched deep into his brow.

You still hadn’t kissed him. All of the things he had done to you, the way he had pulled you apart under his hands, his mouth, spread around his cock, nothing so intimate as a kiss.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, low and velvet in your throat. ‘I really like you, Joel,’ you went on, and he finally met your gaze, again. The naked vulnerability in it making you pause. You wondered how many people had ever seen this side of him. You suspected he could count them on one paw.

‘It’s late,’ he said, and started to pull away from you. ‘Maybe we should try again some other time.’ To your dismay he had nearly turned his back to you, and without thinking you grabbed him around the middle and tried to turn him back.

‘Wait,’ you said, and he hissed then, his muscles seizing. You let go of him, horrified.

‘M’ok,’ he muttered, raising his hand to stop you from rushing toward him. ‘Just…still gettin’ there, is all.’

‘Come in, please,’ you said, not touching him, not moving towards him, hoping your voice would be enough to get him to stay. ‘It’s cold, I have a bottle of whiskey Tommy slipped me when you were in the hospital, I can…’

‘You needed whiskey, baby?’ he said, and he had that lopsided grin on his face again, and you wanted to lick it off him. ‘Were you worried about little ole me?’

Never mind, you wanted to slap it off.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ you said, rolling your eyes and turning back to your door. ‘Don’t get all cute just because I got scared when you nearly died,’ you said, and you heard him chuckle. You entered your house and turned to him, one hand on the door. ‘In or out?’ you asked, and you knew that you were talking to the both of you, knew that he wasn’t the only one facing the indecision, knew that you palming the responsibility off onto him, that you would accept his decision even if it meant never talking to him again. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

He was back in your kitchen, on the same chair from a more recent before-time, from before he’d found a place for himself somewhere under your skin. You were both sipping your whiskey, listening to the crackling fire in the other room, letting the silence seep out and blanket you. He was still enormous, still took up nearly half the space, and you ceded all of it to him.

‘Ellie speaks the world of you,’ he said, after a while, and you knew that this was important to him, that first and foremost he was her dad, her keeper and her protector.

‘She’s a lovely kid,’ you said, and then corrected yourself. ‘Not a kid. She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said that.’

He chucked into his glass. ‘Won’t tell her,’ he promised.

‘How’s that healing?’ you asked, gesturing to his wrist. It wasn’t in a splint anymore but it was still tightly bandaged.

‘S’just weak, aches in the cold,’ he said, and you nodded. You reached out and pulled it towards you, lay it on the kitchen table between you. You slipped the bandage away, watched the blood rush back in and pink up the flesh underneath it.

‘You need to stretch it, keep it strong,’ you said. ‘Bones probably healed but now the muscles’ll be lazy.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ he said, and you glanced up at him, at the crinkles in his skin and the warmth in his eyes as he teased you.

‘I mean it,’ you said, pretending to be offended, using it as an excuse to slip your hands around his wrist, his forearm. You felt the chords of the muscles there, the sinew and the veins. You rubbed your thumbs in firm circles, like you had shown him to do on your knee, all those weeks ago. You blushed at the thought of it, at the echo of the pleasure he had wrung from you not ten paces away.

He grunted a little, shifted in his seat, and you pulled his arm up at a right angle, so that his elbow was resting on the table. ‘Here, do this,’ you said, and you slipped your fingers between his, rested your forearm against his, leant in a little to ease your combined weight onto the joint.

‘I’m going to try and push your hand backwards, you push back,’ you said.

‘We arm wrestlin’?’ he asked, smiling again.

‘We will if you don’t behave yourself,’ you shot back, and he grinned.

‘Tell me when,’ he said, and you nodded your head. He grimaced at the strain through the joint, but you felt it stretch, felt it working under the force you were applying to it.

‘That’s good,’ you said, without thinking, ‘doing real well.’ He sucked a shy little breath in through his teeth. You stopped pushing, looking up into his pink cheeks. You continued to hold his hand, your eyes fixed to his.

‘Say it again,’ he said, and your mouth went dry.

‘Doing real well, Joel,’ you said, and watched as he blinked slowly, drinking it in. ‘Doing so good.’

He pulled you then, by the arm, out of your chair and into his lap, his mouth finding your neck and suckling, hard, as you struggled for purchase on his thighs. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, the pulse of it pushing into your cunt as you settled yourself down on him, your thin little stockings under Maria’s borrowed dress doing absolutely nothing to provide a barrier against his throbbing for you.

He gasped, looked up at you as you perched above him. His pupils, blown wide with want, mirroring the ache you felt between your legs and in your heart for him. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste and you wondered idly if he’d brushed his teeth before heading to the Bison, if he’d hoped this would be the end result of the night or if it was just habit. You smelt the leather of his worn jacket. You reached up and let his salt and pepper beard scratch at the skin on your fingertips.

‘So good to us, Joel,’ you said, and you heard the gentlest whimper catch in his throat. ‘Looking after the town. Keeping us safe.’

‘Want to keep you, baby,’ he whispered, his eyes dropping to examine your lips. ‘Keep you tucked up all warm and safe, keep you under my roof where I know you’re protected.’ You shivered, at the heat of it, at the sincerity in it. ‘Be the one to shield you. All sweet and soft in your little kitchen. Wanting me, waiting f’me.’ He finished, biting his bottom lip.

‘I want you,’ you said, simply, feeling his cock jump underneath you.

‘Yeah?’ he asked, and you nodded.

‘Been waiting,’ you bit out, realising for the first time that it was true.

‘M’sorry baby,’ he said, playfully goading you. ‘Where did ya want me?’ he whispered, tucking his head under your chin and licking a stripe up your neck, chewing idly on your earlobe. You shivered again, a shuddering little thing that also came with a whimper. You took his hand from your waist and dropped it to your pussy, pushed his fingers to cup you there, gasping when he ran a fingertip along your seam.

‘Everywhere,’ you whispered, and he grunted, shifting his weight. With one warm hand splayed across your shoulder blades he leant you back, his eyes running up and down your body, devouring you. He kept his hand on your cunt, idly running a finger up and down where you ached the most for him, and you worried for a moment that he would feel how wet he’d made you just with his gaze.

His breath was warm across your cheeks when he exhaled. He took the hand from between your legs and cupped your breast, rolled the nipple through your dress, made you whimper.

‘Joel,’ you whispered, and you watched as his eyes lit up, as the sparks caught on kindling and turned into a forest fire, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the strain. You wanted to run your tongue over his bottom lip, nip at it.

‘Sssh, baby, I know,’ he said, pulling you up off his lap to stand in front of him, your knees shaking. His arms bracketed your hips, gripping the table behind you, so you were surrounded by him. He remained seated, watching you from under heavy eyelids.

‘Take it off,’ he said, and you felt your pulse in your neck, thunderous.

‘Which?’ you asked.

‘Maria’s dress you don’t think I recognise, those silly little stockings that ain’t doing nothin’ to keep out the cold.’

He leant back on the chair again, kicked his legs out so that you were standing between his ankles now, leant his arm on the back of the chair and scratched at his beard. ‘Well, go on,’ he said, and you felt so exposed to him then, vulnerable in the heat of his stare.

‘Help me,’ you said, feigning not being able to get to the zipper, just for the excuse of turning away from him, from his eyes that were taking you apart atom by atom, from his hands resting on his thigh, from his thick fingers you wanted to slip into your mouth, let him push down on your tongue and suckle at him.

You felt his hands on your back, the zip coming down, the way he slipped the dress from you like he was unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. You leant over a little, trying to slip your stockings off and you heard him moan, felt his hands on you again, his warm paw on your lower back pushing you into a deeper bend, the other pulling on your hips to bring you closer to him, his hands gripping you, positioning you. You heard his sharp inhale when you slipped the stockings over your bottom, felt your cheeks blaze when he reached up and slipped your panties off along with them, bent over and completely exposed to him, wet and glistening in the light of the kitchen, the sound of your gasped little whimpers mixing with the ever-present whir of your forty-year-old fridge.

‘Oh, my girl,’ he said, and you wanted to launch yourself at him, seat yourself back on his lap and bury your head in his neck but he was running his hands up and down the back of your thighs, edging himself closer on the chair, pushing you forward so that your breasts rested on the kitchen table, your cheek flush to the cold wood.

He bent his head and placed a single kiss at the base of your spine and you worried your knees would buckle, worried you would collapse onto the kitchen tile. As you gasped he brought his hands up to cup your bottom, spreading your cheeks enough to slip a thumb into your cunt, probe the warmth and feel the wet collecting on his fingertip. You startled, trying to buck away, trying to buck towards him, circling your hips to capture him inside you, and you heard him chuckle, felt his lips dip lower to your tailbone as he twisted his hands, his thumb still inside as his fingers came around to cup and rub at your slit, your poor little aching clit caught between his fingertips.

‘Jesus,’ you cried, finding religion despite never having set foot in a church.

‘Want to keep you full of me,’ he muttered, sitting back down on the chair again and pulling you with him, spreading your legs over his so you were open wide, obscene and dripping in his lap, pulling your legs apart with his and whispering filth in your ear, cupping your breast with one hand and the other sliding into your heat.

‘Want to keep you here, my pretty girl all safe and warm in my arms, full of my cock and my fingers, crying out for me when I’m not there.’ You were gasping, your vision narrowing, barely able to concentrate on anything except for his words, for his fingers stretching you, his legs pulling you impossibly wide. ‘Won’t let nothin’ hurt ya, baby girl,’ he grit out, and you felt a sob rip through your throat, the pleasure he was drawing out of you mixing with the comfort, with the intoxicating allure of him protecting you, of him standing between you and so many terrors.

In your right mind you wouldn’t have believed him. Would have known there were things out there even the great Joel Miller couldn’t topple, that there were threats known and unknown, seen and unseen, things out there wanting to spill your blood, the blood of the people you cared the most for. But Joel was inside you, in your cunt and in your ear, and his words were chipping away at your resistance, sliding under the door long ago locked tight. You were far from your right mind. You surrendered to the seduction of it, of the intoxication of it, of the myth this man was peddling that you would buy again and again and again.

‘There she is,’ he said, as you came on his fingers, your cunt gripping him and your hips rolling, his face pressed hard into your neck as you twisted into the agony of it, your mouth open and gasping, your face turned to the Gods.

You felt his fingers underneath you, one hand wrapped tight around your torso to hold you steady as he released himself from his jeans, and you felt him then, pressed against the back of your thigh, the velvet heat of his length, the thundering throb of it. You had barely caught your breath, had yet to fully come back to yourself, before he was pushing himself into you, pulling you onto him, your neck caught in his teeth as he bit down on the nape, tried to stifle the groan blooming in his chest.

He felt bigger this way, the stretch even sharper despite his best attempts to prepare you, and your walls fluttered, fought to accept him. You shuddered, the sudden sting slamming you back into your body, and you gripped his hands to stop him, to pause. He stilled immediately, his breath hot and gasping.

‘Give me a minute,’ you gritted out, leaning back onto his shoulder and burying your nose in his jaw, panting, placing a placid little kiss to the salt and pepper patches there.

You felt him reach around you, his finger finding your clit and gently circling it, collecting your slick and pushing it over the nub to rid you of any friction. You groaned, arching your back against him, your hands digging into the meat of his thighs underneath you.

‘So beautiful like this,’ he whispered into your ear as you felt the pleasure overtake you, the throb in your cunt synchronised to your thundering pulse. ‘Can feel you gripping me,’ he went on. ‘Stuffed fulla me, baby.’

‘Stop,’ you gasped, the moment suddenly too intense, a fear gripping you then that if he kept talking you would give him anything; the shirt off your back, the blood in your veins. He chuckled, watching you struggle to take the pleasure he was pushing into you, through you.

It was wrong but you couldn’t figure out why, because it still felt so fucking good, and you wanted more but couldn’t figure out how it was possible, not sated by him seated fully inside you, not close enough to him as you pressed your body entirely against yours. You huffed, frustrated, standing before he could stop you and pivoting to face him, straddling him again in the chair and sinking yourself down on him in one swift motion, so that he gasped and then groaned when the heat of you enveloped him, joined you in a harsh cry when your clit met his hipbone and you settled there, shifted your hips to press into the nub.

‘S’better,’ you said, and you watched his lopsided grin emerge.

‘My girl miss seeing me?’ he asked, and you rolled your hips to shut him up, watched any semblance of cogent thought leave him when you gripped him there.

‘Say it again, Joel,’ you said, sliding your hips forward and back in a way that you knew wasn’t enough for him, but was making your clit throb when it grazed over his skin. He grunted, suddenly finding it hard to think clearly, and his brows saddled.

‘Keep you safe?’ he said, uncertain but meaning it anyway, and you shook your head.

‘Keep who safe?’ he asked.

‘You,’ he answered, still not following, and you planted your feet on the floor, raised yourself up just to bounce back down again.

‘Who am I, Joel?’ you asked, nearly breathless, and finally, finally he understood, his little huffed out laugh sending a thrill through you as he reached down between your bodies, felt where you were joined.

‘My girl,’ he said, finding your clit and edging his fingertips across it, sending fireworks up your spine. ‘My beautiful girl, so tight and wet, so needy for me, cryin’ out for me in her kitchen.’

You groaned, feeling him grip you around the middle with one arm, lifting you up and down on his cock, rocking into you and always, always, always watching your face, nibbling at your chin when you leant back to gasp for air.

You were going to come. It was too fast. You still had so many other things you wanted to say to him, wanted him with every atom of you, with every fibre, the neurons in your brain lighting up just for him. Wanting to live in the torrent of pleasure he brought out in you, wanted to twist and writhe in it. You felt, again, on the edge of tears, but not for wanting, this time. Not for the losses.

For the having. Of Jackson, of the wildflowers on the paths pushing past the cold. Of the little family you had eked out at the end of the world, of Ellie, of Tommy and Maria and Robin. Of this man under your body and on your kitchen chair, calling you his and promising to keep you safe. Of this man, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion and clinging to him, willingly readying yourself to cascade over it.

‘Want you right here, always,’ he grunted, and you keened, felt it then, that you were wanted, that you belonged.

You didn’t have the words for it, vowed in that moment that you would spend the rest of your life trying to find them. For right now you did the only thing you could think of, leaning over and gripping his jaw, angling his face to you as you landed your lips on him, kissed him as you felt a tear streak across your cheek and onto his skin, as you shuddered and felt your cunt milking him, as he spilled into you and you joined him, the ecstasy and the pleasure and the warmth of it. In your little house in Jackson, behind enormous walls, to hold you.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #pedro pascal fic

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aealzx · 1 year

Text

Don was quick to return with a modest sized tablet, tapping in several different passwords as he opened folders and applications to pull up each video feed that was relevant on screen. Only then did he pass the device over to Leon, who took it with a half voiced thanks before leaning back against Leatherhead and Donnie. Lil Mikey was then pulled fully into his lap with a follow up pat before Leon silently skimmed through the videos. There was hours worth of data, but at least it was easy for Leon to speed up the feed to get through it quicker. A convenient toggle on screen pulled back and forth to fast forward or rewind.

Leon honestly didn’t care how the others had broken into the base, and it seemed it wasn’t on record anyway since the beginning of the heist was masked by looped video. It was strangely easier to see the torment Donnie went through without having the emotions to go with it, but Leon still clenched his jaw in residual anger. A slight smirk briefly interrupted the mood when he watched the Donnie in the video chomp down on someone’s arm. Served them right. Everything that he saw in the video ended up lining up with what Don had explained to him, and where Donnie was currently bandaged. Though Leon’s eyes did furrow watching them place two bags of his brother’s blood on their cart. If he hadn’t already been told Donnie had destroyed the entire base, Leon would have added draining the same amount of blood from them to the list.

At the point of Donnie breaking free Leon switched over to the video with Lil Mikey. There was no sound with the visuals, he didn’t want Lil Mikey to get overly curious about what he was seeing. But while he couldn’t hear what they were saying Leon still noted the way the others, the adults, treated his little brother. Their hands were careful, their patience long, and actions willing to help. It was… strange. Their group was the first on the move, so Leon had to switch through several video feeds to follow them, smiling in pride for a moment as Lil Mikey definitely stole the highest knockout count by a long shot. But it was obvious after a while that the mask Don had given him wasn’t as efficient. The pessimist in Leon’s mind accused them of faulty gear. But it was easy to quickly confirm that Lil Mikey’s head was just too small.

Then, once again, these new mutants took care of Lil Mikey almost as if he were one of their own brothers. Leon easily followed the bullet hitting his brother, and watched curiously as Raphael pulled Lil Mikey close and most likely called for help once they were behind a barricade. And Leon had to raise a brow and give a soft huff of amusement at Mikey taking down the one responsible. The first three hits were more than enough. The next five hits to the unconscious soldier calmed the rage that had been budding in Leon’s heart.

Moments later Leon watched Donnie break through the wall, causing him to pause on that video and go back to the others to track Donnie’s course. There wasn’t much to follow, once Donnie reached the rooms the feed tended to go black moments after. But seeing the rooms beforehand, one had been where their stolen equipment had been stored, and another had been where the employees had taken the samples from Donnie. A separate video feed from outside that room showed a vibrating camera, and smoke trailing out of the room soon after. Apparently Donnie had annihilated everything in that room long before blowing the base up as well. Of course he would make sure nothing of them remained in Augustine’s hands. That was one of the main responsibilities he’d adopted from an early age. To make sure no one found them, physically or digitally.

Going back to the video where everyone else was, Leon only watched for a moment more before he relatively sped through the end. Donnie had protected them. He had trusted the others to take care of Lil Mikey, and protected them as well. Both Lil Mikey, and Donnie, had faith in their counterparts.

It was enough.

Skimming through Leo kicking Augustine, then addressing Donnie with the same tenderness as the rest of his brothers. Leon eventually let out a sigh and tilted his head back. He felt exhausted after having a large source of stress massaged out of his mind. He was still wary, but only because that was how he always was. Looking up to Leatherhead, who had just patiently been staying still for the near half an hour Leon had been researching, Leon gave him a regular smile.

Seeing the change in demeanor, Leatherhead rumbled a soft chuckle. “I take it you’ve found the answers you sought?” he asked, returning Leon’s smile with one of his own.

“...Most of them,” Leon responded, pushing away the necessary emotions starting to bud. There was no need for sheepishness, or indignancy, or any of those other hindrances right then. Sitting up again, Leon fondly rubbed Lil Mikey’s back, noting that Lil Mikey had fallen fully asleep now. Good. He needed it. Pulling his gaze up to the others, who were also patiently sitting where they had been, Leon eventually held the tablet back out to Don, his gaze sliding to the air off to the side as he pouted slightly. “...Thanks.” He spoke more clearly this time, expressing actual gratitude for what he’d seen, as well as what they had done with him. Then, remembering recent events, he shrank in on himself slightly. “...And sorry… For kicking your ass…”

“Hey!” Raphael blurted, though his retort broke off in a laugh as he shook his head. That wasn’t a fully proper apology according to someone else’s book, but Raphael didn’t care. It was an apology in words Leon chose, and that was better.

Don and Master Splinter also chuckled quietly, which made Leo unable to hold back a smile as well. When Leon wasn’t being aggressively defensive, he actually wasn’t that threatening at all.

“Are you feeling a little better?” Don asked, eyes flicking to the bandage on Leon’s head, as well as giving him a visual once over once again. Raphael ended up rubbing his nose to hide a smile, knowing Don was holding back from jumping forward and giving Leon a full exam.

“...Yeah,” Leon admitted, feeling a little subdued. “I still have some questions, but… Let’s get these two back to proper beds first…”

Let’s. Raphael noted the all inclusive term and had to grin. It seemed the kid was willing to start trusting them now. “Sure thing. Want some help with the lil guy?” he agreed, gesturing to Lil Mikey.

“No, I got him. Just…. Show me where you want him to stay for now,” Leon requested, still finding it hard to fully relent to being taken care of and directed around by them.

“Back in the infirmary would probably be best. Just in case,” Don directed, getting to his feet and gesturing to the room next to them that was obscured by patterned drapes.

Scooping Lil Mikey up in a well practiced motion, Leon looked back to make sure Leatherhead was going to follow them as Don led them beyond the drapes. It was only once he crossed the barrier that Leon got to absorb just how much they had. Equipment Leon had only seen in media. Dozens of cabinets of supplies. Eight beds easily filling only part of the room. A surgical area in the back. Leon helplessly let out a coo of awe as his mouth dropped open, scanning the room with wide eyes and completely missing Raphael snickering at the reaction. Turning to Don, all the other questions Leon had had fled his mind to be replaced by the single one he blurted. “Can I borrow your infirmary?”

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I totally crashed and slept like 45 hours straight other than pee breaks and water X'DD Then aside from that I've been working on a behemoth Fate collab, so I didn't get to this one until today.

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cross dimension kidnapping #rise + 2003 crossover #writing #fanfic #long post

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celestialprincesse · 6 months

Note

hey!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work, and this is my first time asking for a request so sorry if it’s not very specific or doesn’t make sense 😭💕

I was wondering if you could do a john price x fem!reader where Laswell and price are at base and Laswell’s wife and prices wife (reader) are hanging out because it’s what they usually do when their partners are deployed. Laswell’s wife and reader are just sending them some cutesy vlogs or photos of what they’re doing, maybe of them like curled up watching like movies or maybe like little videos to them and Price and Laswell are watching the videos together and js like FLUFFY AND CUTEE

Anyways no worries if that’s not something you’re comfortable doing, again just wanted to say I really love your work, and feel free to change anything 💕

Anon??!! I'm so honoured that you'd send your first ever request to lil old me! Laswell is my favourite tired lesbian and I want to have her babies

"I wonder how they're getting on." Snaps you from your Legally Blonde induced reverie, the soft drawl of Madeline Laswell, your long time best friend, breaking the torpor under which you'd both been settled all morning.

The two of you have been curled on your fluffy couch since this morning, only having moved to retrieve your takeaway orders from the doorstep or acquire more snacks to fuel your ongoing movie marathon. You'd successfully managed to scare Maddie out of her mind this morning, calling in the early hours of the morning, voice thick with tears as you babbled incoherently about John. Of course, her first thought, still delirious and half-asleep, was that her best friend had just been left a widow. This, however, she'd proven wrong, ringing Kate's emergency line in the hopes of confirming the status of your husband for your peace of mind.

Maddie, having calmed your panic (one that she knows all too well), turned up on your doorstep not even an hour later, a bar of chocolate the size of her head in one hand, and a supermarket bag stuffed with all of your favourite crisps and dips in the other. A bottle of wine and three romcoms in, your earlier crisis is all but gone.

"I miss them." You hum absently back, voice a little muffled around the handful of your favourite fizzy sweets you'd just shoved into your mouth. "Does John have a work number?" Maddie probes, not looking up from where she currently paints her fingernails a pretty, pearlescent shade of blue. "Yeah. I try not to text him on it unless there's an emergency though. Or if he says he has time to talk." "Kate has one too. You think they're busy?" "I mean - she called you back this morning, no? They only ever call or text when they're inactive."

The look on Maddie's face is one you know all too well. You've seen it countless times over the years you've been friends, and it always spells disaster. Before you know it, she's got her phone in hand, camera open and pointed at where the two of you are piled together amongst chocolate wrappers and blankets.

"Hey, Katie! and John - you guys should watch this together." She chats brightly to the camera in that wonderfully animated chirp of hers. "We're just here watching romcoms because someone" You laugh softly, blushing as she pans the camera to where you sit drowning in one of John's old hoodies. "- was getting all up in her own head panicking. Don't worry John, I'm looking after her."

Kate's phone pings as she and John sit around a table in a dingy bar in some cold, far off city. Of course, she can't tell either you, or her own wife, that they're coming home tomorrow - just incase the signal gets intercepted. It won't, but she can't try her luck and risk leaving two of her favourite women without their partners.

"It's Maddie." She muses, one dirty blonde eyebrow raised in confusion as she swipes open the video attachment her wife had sent. John looks up at her over the condensed rim of his beer bottle, his own eyebrows furrowing.

"The girls are together." Kate continues, relief painting her tone as she places her phone on the table between them, allowing John to see the grainy video too. "- because someone was getting all up in her own head panicking. Don't worry John, I'm looking after her." Price chuffs at Maddie's words, but the way his eyes soften when he sees your blushing pink face, the way his hoodie drapes over you, is almost impossible to miss. "Anyways! We'll see you soon! Be safe - we love you!"

Writing this made me lowk a lil bit 🥲🥹 Laswell and Price are just like the softest when it comes to their spouses💕

N e ways! Thank you for ur cute request!!! It was lovely!!! A nice lil break from getting all emo or posting my shitty memes!!! Love u love u love u!!

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holyratrimony · 1 year

Text

Summer Love at Bighorn Ranch

Pairing: John Marston x Fem!Reader

Summary: After his divorce from Abigail, John Marston is a mess. A series of rash decisions lead to John purchasing a rundown piece of land called Bighorn Ranch. As the ranch grows, so does the need for extra hands. When you show up, ready for your new job, John is immediately taken with you. When you get caught in a thunderstorm and show up on his doorstep, soaking wet, will he be able to keep his feelings to himself, or will he confess everything?

Word count: 9.7k (how does this keep happening?)

Warnings: minors dni, 18+ only, I’ll kick you in the knees I s2g, do not read this, dry humping, premature ejaculation, coming in pants, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie, older man/younger woman

A/N: This takes place during the 90s, John’s in his forties, R is like mid-20s, Jack is like 10 in this, hedgehogs are not rodents but John doesn’t need to know that, also R wears John’s clothes at one point (as someone who's plus size I think John would own pretty baggy clothes), John is mega horny in this (in like a very pathetic way), how’d angst get in here? (it's just a lil bit), John thinks he is in charge but R has him wrapped around her finger, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, not beta read

To say John wasn’t doing well would be an understatement. After the divorce with Abigail, he’d hit a bit of a midlife crisis. The first step was moving out and subsequently crashing in Dutch and Hosea’s guest room. The two older men were patient with him, lending him some much-needed emotional support as he processed his feelings. After about a month, one drastic haircut, and a new earring, John finally was ready to move out to a place of his own.

He’d decided to return to his roots, taking out a rather large loan and purchasing a run-down ranch on a large piece of land in the middle of nowhere called Bighorn Ranch. The land was green and vast with a mix of plains and forests. It only took three days of him trying to lay the foundations for the house alone before giving in and calling Charles and Javier for help. The two men had come to his aid quickly, and with three hands they were able to get the ranch house built within just a few months. Then the barn, stables, and coup went up, followed by a half dozen small cabins about a mile from the main house. Both Javier and Charles opted to live in the cabins despite John’s protests, stating that they wanted to give him his space in the house. Ranching made sense to John. It was something he was good at. Whether it was keeping up with all the chores or breaking in the wild mare Charles found wandering the plains. As the ranch grew, so did the need for more hands. Javier had been tasked with taking the truck into the nearby towns, the closest being 30 minutes away, and hanging up help-wanted posters. The new ranchers would live on the property in the remaining cabins and would be responsible for a mix of construction, maintenance, and handling of the animals. Within a few weeks, four new hands had joined the ranch. The hands were set to arrive on a sunny spring afternoon. John was waiting on the porch with Charles and Javier, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His hair was still growing back since the regrettable impulse cut, the ends reaching his ears. His beard was short, little more than stubble. The scars he’d gotten from a neighborhood dog when he was growing up cut through the dark hairs. He’d kept the small gold hoop in his ear despite the light teasing from Charles and Javier. The three men were discussing the horse show that was coming up next month when the sound of a car cut them off. The red and white Dodge Ram 2500 rumbled up the dirt drive, kicking up a small cloud behind it. The truck pulled up in front of the house, stopping next to John’s teal and silver Ford F-150. Three men in their twenties piled out of the truck, each sending a friendly smile and wave toward the older ranchers. John, Charles, and Javier made their way down the porch steps, John stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. The new hands introduced themselves, apparently all childhood friends which explained why they arrived together, shaking hands and giving names. After introductions, John showed the men around the main part of the ranch. Showing them the stables, the coup, and the different paddocks for the sheep, goats, and cows took up the better part of an hour. As they headed back towards the house John let them know that that was probably enough for right now. Once they were on the porch he explained the basic amenities in each cabin. They’d have electricity, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a bed, and a landline. John handed them each a slip of paper with the number for his line, letting them know that if they needed Charles or Javier they’d be living right next door. Charles offered to take the boys down to the cabins and Javier offered to join, citing that he needed to change out of his dusty work clothes. The boys hopped in their truck and followed after Javier and Charles, the cloud of dust slowly getting further and further away. John took a seat on one of the chairs on the porch, looking down over the property. There was still one new hand that was supposed to be arriving, likely within the next hour. John pulled another cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hand around his lighter as he flicked it, protecting the flame from the wind. Heady smoke filled his lungs as he leaned back. The three boys seemed nice. All were well-mannered and friendly. One of them, Riley, John thought his name was, said he’d worked at the MacFarlane’s ranch for a few years, dealing mainly with the horses. The other two mentioned they’d worked doing construction for the last few years. Apparently, they wanted more exciting work and while the MacFarlane’s didn’t have any more jobs available, they knew Bighorn was hiring and sent the boys in John’s direction. Javier had handled the applications, of which there were few. He was typically in charge of the business end of things despite the ranch belonging to John. Javier had a charm and refinement that was perfect for dealing with people and local businesses that John seemed to lack. John’s mind began to drift, as it often did when he was alone, to Abigail and Jack. He had Jack for a few days each month. The last time Jack came to visit, John had shown him how to ride. The two of them didn’t talk a whole lot but the time they spent together always felt special. Jack had a room in the ranch house, filled with his medieval fantasy books, a couple of his toys, and a small gaming setup with a sega genesis and little box tv. Jack had tried to teach John how to play Sonic but John was hopeless. His fingers were too big for the little buttons and he just couldn’t get the hang of moving that damn rodent around. He missed Jack, every damn day. Abigail too, but that was getting easier. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tires on the dirt road. A grey and blue Chevy Silverado pulled up the drive. John stood up, a slight groan leaving his lips. He was only in his forties but his years of hard living seemed to be catching up to him. He moved down the steps, his eyes trained on his boots until the sound of a car door slamming shut had him looking up. John’s heart stopped. Or he couldn’t breathe. Or he died. He wasn’t sure. All he could tell was that the woman in front of him was like a dream. The late afternoon sun shone on your form, bathing you in a golden glow. Your eyes were covered by sunglasses, a black shirt adored your torso while your legs were covered by a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of brown work boots on your feet. Your smile was easygoing as you raised a hand in greeting. Your voice was kind and warm as you greeted him. “Hi! I’m one of the new ranch hands. Are you Javier?” John let out a laugh at that, trying to compose himself. “No, no, I’m John. John Marston. I uhh… I own Bighorn.” He was trying not to let his eyes drag over your body but he couldn’t help himself. “Jav-Javier’s in charge of the business side of things, you’ll meet him later.” “Nice to meet you, Sir,” A spike of heat seemed to pierce through John at the title. The smile etched on your face was radiant as you gave him your name. God, you were pretty. John cleared his throat as he attempted to avoid looking directly at you. “The other hands got here bout an hour ago. They’re down at the cabins right now. Ya wanna join them or do ya wanna tour of the ranch?” His hand rubbed the back of his neck almost sheepishly. He couldn’t help but wishing you’d take the tour. Selfishly hoping to get some one on one time with you before introducing you to the other men. He finally mustered the courage to look up at your face. Your smile seemed almost shy as you replied, stepping towards him slightly, “I think I’d like to see the ranch, Sir.” He was fucked. ~~~~~~ Having extra hands on the farm proved to be endlessly helpful as spring turned to summer. The animals that had been born only a few weeks after you and the boys arrived were growing bigger and bigger. The four of you also helped John and Charles bring some of the horses to a show in one of the neighboring towns, bringing in a pretty sum of cash. John was beginning to feel a little more at peace. The loans for the ranch were beginning to get smaller and smaller as he paid them off. The stress on his shoulders seemed to be lessening as the weeks went by. His self-deprecating thoughts being replaced with thoughts of you. To say John was enamored would be putting it lightly. To start with you were a good worker. Often working longer hours than necessary, going until you felt the job was complete. At the end of the day, you’d slump onto the steps of the porch, your shirt sticking to your chest, your skin glowing, a blissed-out smile on your face. John would come out and offer you a beer. There would normally be only five minutes where you were alone before the rest of the men joined the two of you. John tried not to resent it, knowing he had no claim over you, but god he wished he did. John found himself staring at you as you moved around the ranch. Whether you were carrying bales of hay to the stables, pounding in nails on the fence you were fixing, or helping break one of the new horses. John would let his gaze drag up and down your body before catching himself. He would reprimand himself. Reminding himself that you were a. Almost twenty years his junior, b. Likey dating one of the younger hands (a thought that had made him prone to snapping at the young men without much prompting), and c. wouldn’t want a broken man like him. He’d scold himself, telling himself he was a pervert for looking at you like that, for wanting to take you, claim you. But he couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts from creeping in late at night. When his rough hands fisted his cock and he’d think about you on your knees for him, your lips and tongue running up and down his length as you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. Or how you’d feel wrapped around him. What you’d sound like as he took you from every position imaginable. How you’d react if he pinched your nipples, if he spanked you. Despite being alone in that big house he’d bite his fist as he came, moaning out your name as the drag of his hand became too much. When the lust had passed and his cock softened, cum drying on his stomach, and reality set in, he’d mutter to himself, “You’re a fool, Marston.” The sentiment never seemed to stick because he’d see you bend over in that pair of jeans the next morning and would be stuck fighting the arousal that seemed to surge through him for the rest of the day. He was jacking off like a teenager, seemingly unable to control himself. When he spoke to you he’d stumble over his words, never being able to fully articulate his thoughts before getting lost in your eyes or your smile. Charles and Javier had picked up on his infatuation. Relentlessly teasing him when it was just the three of them. There was one day you were going to run errands in town. You’d stopped by the house to ask if the men needed anything else picked up while you were there. The day was already blazing hot despite it only being midmorning and you’d opted for a sundress. The fabric was light and airy around your thighs, the neckline cutting down to show more of your chest than was strictly necessary. John, Charles, and Javier had been in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, when you knocked, letting yourself in through the front door. “Hello?” Your sweet voice echoed through the house. “In the kitchen,” Charles called back. When you entered the kitchen it took everything in John not to drop the mug he’d just grabbed from the cabinet. The flush on his cheeks was immediate. He could feel his jeans getting tighter as he took in your form. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly. He was only drawn out of his trance by Charles’ gentle elbow in his side. Luckily it seemed like you missed the small interaction. “Mornin’ y’all.” you nodded to Charles and Javier before turning to John. “I’m heading into town and was wondering if there’s anything you need me to pick up, Sir.” John could barely manage to shake his head. “T-that’s very nice of you but I think we’re all set sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. You nodded as you slipped your sunglasses onto your face. “Alright, I’ll see y’all, later.” You shot a dazzling smile towards the men as you turned, exiting the kitchen. John was able to stew in his slight mortification until the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the house. As the latch clicked John felt his friend's knowing gazes on him. Charles was the first to speak. “I’m not gonna lie to you, that was hard to watch. ‘Sweetheart’? Really?” The teasing lilt to his voice almost had John hiding his face in embarrassment. Javier clasped a hand on John’s shoulder, giving him what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, brother.” John let out a long groan, debating adding a bit of whiskey to his morning coffee. He was gonna need it if he had to put up with these two for the rest of the day. That night he came in the shower, fantasizing about fucking you dumb as you bent over in that pretty little dress for him. Then again later in his bed at the idea of your legs wrapped around his head, calling him sir as he ate you out until you cried. ~~~~~~ The storm that overtook the skies a few weeks later came out of nowhere. The dark and heavy purple clouds seemingly materialized out of the clear blue sky. Lightning and thunder breaking up the peaceful feeling of the ranch. John was in the house when the rain began to fall. The drops pounding against the roof creating an unrelenting din. He walked away from the window he was looking out to the phone in the hallway. He should probably call Charles and Javier. They’d taken the truck into town and were probably still at the mechanic seeing as the owner was an old friend. He dialed the number for the garage but was only met with static. One of the phone lines must have been knocked down in the storm. He’d have to check around the property whenever Charles and Javier returned with the truck, likely tomorrow at the earliest. John’s mind flashed to you, as it often did. He hoped you were back at your cabin, safe from the torrential rains. You’d been up at the ranch this morning but probably headed back with the boys earlier in the afternoon. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a frantic pounding, different from that of the raindrops. Someone was knocking on the door. He crossed the room, hand twisting the door open to reveal your drenched form. You were dripping wet. Your jeans were several shades darker than they had been earlier, your white t-shirt was essentially translucent. John tried to not stare at the black outline of your bra showing through the shirt or at the way the fabric clung to your skin, showing off your form perfectly. His gaze was brought back to your lips as you spoke. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, Sir. I-I was with the horses when the storm started and the thunder spooked some of them. I had to round them up.” He shook his head at your words. “Come on inside darlin’, you must be freezing.” You nodded, stepping in off the porch and onto the mat inside the doorway as he stepped back, making room for you, letting the door shut behind you. “Let me go grab you a towel.” He grabbed his favorite towel from the bathroom, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that was unhelpfully pointing out that the soft fabric would soon be running over your body. As John came back out into the hallway he took in your form once again. You looked miserable and cold, trembling slightly. He handed you the towel, ignoring the spike of heat he felt as your hands brushed his. “Do you have your truck?” His raspy voice was gentler than usual. You shook your head. “Wanted to enjoy the walk this morning,” you chuckled slightly. “Well, I think that means you’re gonna be stuck here for a bit. The phones are down, the boys are at the cabins, and Charles and Javier are in town with the truck. ‘N I’m not risking you walkin’ back in this weather.” You nodded again, a small smile gracing your features at his concern. John was still trying his best not to stare at your chest, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hide the growing outline of his cock for much longer. “You’re welcome to the shower if ya’d like. And I’ll bring you a change of clothes too.” As you toed off your boots you let out a sweet “thank you”. John showed you to the bathroom, before running to his room to grab a shirt and sweatpants. He placed them on the shelf in the bathroom before turning back to you. “The extra room is yours for tonight. If you need anythin’ just holler.” Your voice stopped him on the way out of the room. “Thank you, Sir. You’re very kind.” He chuckled lightly, “I’m just tryna help. ‘N you can jus call me John, sweetheart.” Your smile broadened a bit, “Well, thank you, John.” He nodded, barely finding the strength to close the door behind him. God, that was worse. His name falling from your lush lips. His mind grabbed onto the sound, playing with it, twisting it until he was imagining you calling it out from underneath him. As the latch clicked shut he leaned back onto the hallway walls, pressing the heel of his palm into his growing erection. “Get it together, Marston,” he muttered. He moved to the kitchen, trying to forget the shape of your body, the way the tops of your tits were visible through the wet fabric. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboards, pouring himself a generous amount. He quickly drank the amber liquid, hardly registering the burn in the back of his throat. He poured another glass, just taking a sip from it this time. He could hear the water from the showerhead, even in the kitchen, and was trying to not get distracted by the thought of your body in the shower. He wished he could walk in there, wrapping his arms around you as you rinsed the day off. He’d trail soft kisses over your neck as he lathered soap over your form. He could imagine the noises you’d make as he kneaded your shoulders, the little groans that would leave your perfect lips. He shook his head, he needed to distract himself. His eyes caught on the clock across the room, it was getting late, and the both of you would probably be hungry soon. He opened the fridge and glanced over the contents. The mostly empty shelves seemed to glare back at him. He dropped his head into his hands, frustrated at himself. You were in his home and he couldn’t even make you a proper meal. He was so distracted by his perceived downfall that he didn’t hear the shower turning off, nor the click of the bathroom door and the footsteps that followed. “Sir?” Your gentle voice pulled his eyes up. You were standing in the entrance to the kitchen, his shirt hanging off your shoulders, his sweatpants hugging your hips. His gaze dragged up and down your body. You weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples were hardened from the cold, the outline of them visible through the worn material. His voice was gruffer than usual as he forced it out around the lump in his throat, making his eyes meet yours. “I thought I told you to call me John, darlin’.” You nodded sweetly. “Alright, John.” His name sounded so sweet on your lips. He needed some sort of distraction. He grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter, raising it for you to look at. “D’ya want a glass?” “I’d very much like that, thank you.” “How was your shower,” His full focus was on pouring a glass for you and topping off his own. Looking at you was almost too much. “It was really nice. Your water pressure is amazing!” your exclamation had John stiffening in his jeans once again. The idea of you in the shower, groaning as the water hit your shoulders, running in rivulets down your chest. He put the bottle back on the counter a little harder than he meant to, turning around to hand you your glass. The amber liquid on his tongue was a necessity for this situation. “I’d uh, I’d offer ya dinner but ‘m not much of a cook.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck at the admission, his cheeks tinted red. He was a grown man and the majority of his meals came frozen or from a can. “I could make something for us,” your voice was kind, soothing almost. John shook his head almost immediately. “I’m not gonna make you do that darlin’. Don’t want you to have to take care of my ass.” “I really don’t mind it, John. Plus I’d like to eat at some point.” Your tone was lighthearted as you grinned at him. After a little more back and forth he conceded, allowing you to take over the kitchen. You shooed him out of the room, telling him it’d be ready soon. John settled in the living room, flipping on the tv to try and drown out the thoughts of you. He couldn’t seem to stop. The whiskey wasn’t doing much to help. He’d occasionally flip between channels, but nothing was quite able to grab his attention. The idea of you in his house, in his kitchen, in his clothes was so domestic. The idea of walking up behind you while you cooked, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your neck, it was intoxicating to him. But he couldn’t lie and say his thoughts were completely innocent. Images of you in various compromising positions kept flashing through his mind, now accompanied by the sound of you whining his name. About half an hour later you emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates of spaghetti, setting them down on the dining room table. When John walked over to join you the smell hit him. It was heavenly. How you’d pulled together something like this out of the pathetic ingredients he had available was incredible. As the two of you ate dinner you made idle conversation. John had talked to you a few times since you came to the ranch but he could never seem to hold a conversation. Too overwhelmed by your presence when you were close to him. Now he didn’t have much of a choice. He learned a little bit more about your life before you came to work at Bighorn. When you’d both finished eating, John offered to clean the dishes. You didn’t argue, letting him gather the dirty plates. “It's still pretty early so if you want to put on a movie while I clean up, you're more than welcome to.” You agreed and he told you where to find the tape collection. As he washed the plates in the kitchen he scolded himself. You’re too old for her, Marston. Pretty young things like her aren't interested in broken men. You’re an old fool. Once the dishes were cleaned he took a moment to lean against the counter, holding his head in his hands. He had to get it together. As far as he should be concerned you're just his employee and he should treat you as such. Seeing as he’d finished his whiskey before you had brought out dinner, he grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He called your name towards the living room, asking if you wanted one too. You shouted back a yes. He uncapped the two beers and walked back to the living room. You were curled up on the right side of the couch, your legs tucked up off the floor, a blanket from the chest near the window wrapped around you. You looked warm and comfortable. John pointedly ignored the pang of affection that shot through his chest as he handed you your beer. The couch was small but he still tried to give you space. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But even with his hip pressed against the arm of the couch, your legs still brushed against his thigh. He had to keep his breath steady as he could feel the warmth from your body. He recognized the movie you picked as Jurassic Park, one of Jack’s favorites. You were only at the part where the scientists were on their way to the island. “‘S a good choice,” he gestured at the tv. “The movie I mean.” “It’s one of my favorites!” God your smile was cute. He wanted to make you smile all the time. As the movie continued, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. However, John was very aware of your presence next to him. Of the press of your legs against his. In trying to ignore the heat in his stomach and the feeling of you right next to him, he was staring very hard at the tv. When Ellie jumped off the ride to go look at the stegosaurus, you shifted towards him, moving your legs to the other side of you, your torso almost pressing into his side. “I still can’t believe how real it looks! It's crazy!” The excitement in your voice made a smile form on John’s face. Subconsciously, he moved his arm to the back of the couch, giving you room to move in, to lean against him if you so desired. He didn’t even register he had done it until he felt your body press against his, tucking yourself under his arm. He couldn’t stop the small hitch in his breath at the realization that you were willingly cuddling up to him. He was sure you could probably hear his heartbeat from your new position. He tried to keep his eyes on the movie but it was hopeless, his gaze focused intently on you. When you raised your head to look at him he wasn’t quick enough. You’d caught him. He was caught off guard by your hand pressing into his chest as you pushed yourself up. You were still close to him, but you were now upright, your chest turned towards him. Your gaze was calculating as your tongue traced along your bottom lip. He couldn’t help but stare at the movement. The indecision seemed to leave your eyes as you noticed what he was staring at. You leaned towards him slightly. “John,” your voice was soft as he finally was able to drag his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes were dark, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Kiss me.” His brain stopped. Or his heart stopped. He wasn’t sure. Maybe both. All he could manage was a small nod. His hand moved to grasp the nape of your neck, bringing your lips to his. The kiss was passionate, a mess of tongues and lips, of gasping breaths. John ignored every part of his brain that was telling him to stop. That you were too young for him, that you were his employee, all of the reasons that he shouldn’t let this happen. The feeling of you drowned out everything else. When he nibbled on your bottom lip, you let out a small moan. The sound sent blood rushing to his cock. All he wanted to do was draw those noises out of you. To hear every little sound you’d make in the throes of pleasure. Your kisses were as greedy as his, seemingly trying to savor every second of your embrace. He was able to pull himself away for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands came to cradle your head in his large hands. “Darlin’,” his voice was rougher than usual. “Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want an ol’ man like me?” The glare you gave him was more chiding than actually frustrated. “First of all, you're not old. Second, I’ve wanted this since I started working here. Wanted you since that first day.” Your confession sent a shiver through John. “Really,” he couldn’t stop the slightly desperate tone that laced his voice. You nodded, smiling at him. “How could I not?” Your answer was simple but it sent a swirl of affection and mild pride through him. He moved a hand to your waist, you seemed to take it as an invitation to move onto his lap. Swinging your body so your legs rested on either side of his thighs. In this position, John allowed his hands to roam over your body. Tracing up your back, trailing down your sides, he let them come to rest on your ass, grabbing the flesh and pulling you against him slightly. The movement caused your hips to press against his hardness. You gasped loudly. His first reaction was worry that he’d done something wrong, but that thought left his mind when you rolled your hips against his again. He was painfully hard, his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He could feel the small wet spot forming in his underwear, his tip leaking precum. Each move of your hips felt like heaven. The feeling of you, in his lap, wearing his clothes, making those desperate little sounds as you ground yourself against him, was better than any of the fantasies he’d had. He was meeting your movements, thrusting up. The feeling was overwhelming, and when you attached your lips to his neck he keened. He let his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, just trailing them along the soft skin of your hips at first. When you didn’t make any move to stop him, he began to trace higher and higher. Fingertips brushing over your sides, your ribs, and then your tits. God, they were so soft. He let his hands pinch your nipples experimentally. You had to move your mouth from his neck when you let out a high-pitched moan. “Do that again,” your voice was tantalizingly desperate. “Please, John.” He complied, unable to deny you anything you asked for. His fingers twisted and pulled at your sensitive buds, rewarding him with your gasps and breathy moans. He pushed you back slightly in his lap, moving you so you were sat upright. He looked up at you as he brought his face to your chest, wrapping his lips around one nipple while continuing his ministrations on the other. The look on your face was the prettiest thing John had ever seen. Your lips were parted, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you held on. You’d paused your hips when he moved you, allowing his pleasure to subside. When your eyes opened, your pupils were blown wide and lust practically dripping from your gaze, he couldn’t help himself from thrusting his hips to yours. His hands moved back to your waist, his eyes never leaving yours as he rolled his hips again, the pressure from your body providing him the slightest bit of relief. He’d been able to calm himself for a little bit, but with his hips humping against you and the look in your eyes, he was driving himself toward the edge again. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about the needy moans leaving his mouth. It was almost without warning that he felt the pleasure in him swell as his balls drew up. The stimulation of your warm body rubbing against him sending him over the edge. His cock pulsed in his jeans, releasing spurt after spurt of hot cum. He came with a harsh gasp followed by an embarrassing whine of your name, his hands clutching you tightly as he kept humping you, drawing out the sensations. When his high began to subside he was overtaken with embarrassment. He’d finally gotten a chance with you and he’d cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager. Your voice was small. “Um…John. Did you…did you just cum.” All he could do was nod as he buried his head in your shoulder, unable to fully look at you. Your hands buried into his hair, holding him sweetly. “It’s okay, John. It happens.” He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. He’d ruined his chance. “I-I’m so sorry.” he managed to get out. You let out a soft coo as your hands moved to cradle his face. “You’ve got nothing’ to be sorry for. I promise.” He tilted his head up, his gaze meeting yours. There was nothing in your eyes to indicate disgust or displeasure, just kindness. He nodded dumbly as he took you in. “Wanted this to be good for you, sweetheart. Been thinking of this for ages and I fucked it up.” You shook your head. “What makes you think you won’t be able to make it up to me?” your smile was teasing as you tilted his chin upwards. Hope sparked in his chest at your words. “Like right now?” desperation leaked into his voice. You nodded sweetly. “If that’s okay with you.” John couldn’t stop his overenthusiastic nod. “Well in that case I think I owe you somethin’” He shifted you off his lap, allowing you to stand. “My bedrooms, the door on your right, down that hallway there. I'll be there in just a moment.” As he stood you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing your lips to his once again. You then leaned in, allowing your lips to brush the shell of his ear. “You better, or I’ll be left with no choice but to take care of myself,” you pushed away from him, a sly grin on your face as you shot him a wink and started in the direction of his room. John watched you leave, letting his eyes drag over your form, his thoughts notably absent of the guilt that would plague him whenever he’d looked at you before. When you were out of sight, he went into the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up. As he walked towards his room he felt what could only be described as butterflies in his stomach. You were far too good for him, in every single way, but you were here, you wanted to be with him, to have him touch you. He couldn’t help the dopey smile that broke out across his face. He pushed open the bedroom door to find you standing in the middle of the room, seemingly taking in your surroundings. At the sound of his footsteps, you turned to face him. “You ready to make it up to me, Mr. Marston?” Your teasing voice was cut off as he closed the space between the two of you and pulled your body into his. His lips crashed into yours, his hand coming to rest on your jaw. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, almost asking permission, which you granted. You tasted like the whiskey from earlier. He began to walk you backward, your steps hesitant until the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed and you fell onto your back. You looked so beautiful below him. You scooted yourself toward the headboard as he dropped his knees onto the mattress. He moved up until he was settled between your legs, his body pressed to the bed as his hands came to rest on your thighs. “I wanna taste you darlin’,” his fingers brushed against the exposed bit of skin that was visible between your shirt and the band of your sweatpants. “Would that be alright with you?” When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, your pupils had swallowed your irises. Your gaze was heavy with lust, your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. “Please, John. Need you.” His hands hooked over the band of your sweatpants, pulling them down over the tops of your thighs. He couldn’t look away as more and more of you was revealed. As soon as the sweatpants had slipped off your feet, his mouth met your inner thigh. His hands moved to the insides of your knees, gently pushing you apart for him. He traded between kisses and gentle nips as his mouth trailed over the sensitive skin. “Take off your shirt for me sweetheart.” his voice was low, filled with desire. You quickly obeyed, tossing the fabric to the floor and settling back against the bed. John couldn’t believe that he was here, between your thighs. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought about this, in this same bed as he fucked his hand. And now it was happening, it was real. He felt his cock jump slightly, blood beginning to return to it. You were whimpering under him, clearly frustrated at the lack of attention being paid to your dripping cunt. He could see the small wet patch forming on the cotton that covered you and his mouth watered. He couldn’t resist dragging a finger over your clothed slit as his mouth continued along your thigh. You let out a high-pitched moan when his finger ghosted over your clit. God, he wanted to draw more of those noises from your sweet lips. “Don’t be impatient now, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” His voice was even raspier than usual, dripping with lust. You thrust your hips slightly at his words, trying to get more from him. He pressed your hips back to the bed with one hand, holding you still, tutting his tongue at you. He dragged his mouth higher, his lips pressing against the cotton of your panties. He smirked slightly before grabbing the hem of them between his teeth and dragging them down your hips. When you were rid of them, he couldn’t help but take you in. “John,” your voice was sweet with want. With need. His hands moved back to your inner knees, pushing your legs apart for him. Your cunt glistened with slick, the insides of your thighs shining with it as well. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He was laying between your legs again, his face only inches from your heat. This was better than anything he’d imagined. You were a dream and he wanted to show you how much he wanted this, wanted you. You let out the most intoxicating noise when he licked a broad stripe over your entrance, his nose bumping your clit. Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets at your sides, moved to his hair, tangling your fingers in the dark locks. You were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He wanted to drink you in, the taste of you like heaven on his tongue. He wanted to drag it out. To tease you with soft licks, turn you into a begging mess. But that would take patience and John Marston was not a patient man. He buried his face in your pussy. His tongue laving over you as his nose rubbed against your clit. If he were to die right now, he’d die a happy man. His hands dug into your hips as he dragged you closer to his mouth. He was trying to memorize everything that made you moan, made you tug on his hair, or try to grind your hips against his mouth. The moan you let out when he wrapped his lips around your clit was absolutely sinful. “Johnnn,” your breath was labored, making it hard to form full sentences. “P-please,” you begged. “Please what, darlin’? What d’ya need?” His voice was teasing as his gaze met your lust-darkened eyes. “Please finger me, please. I need it, please, please, John.” He would’ve liked to tease you more but he was quickly realizing that he couldn’t resist doing anything you asked of him. “How could I say no when you sound so sweet beggin’ for me.” He brought his mouth back to your clit as one of his fingers traced lightly over your slit. You were so goddamn wet, the mix of your slick and his spit shining in the low light of the room. You shivered when he pushed a finger in, just to the first knuckle. He felt you clench at the invasion, making him let out a soft groan. He pushed his finger fully inside you, crooking it up to press against your walls. You let out a loud whiny moan at the sensation. He continued slowly dragging his digit in and out, brushing against your g-spot each time. He wanted to draw this out, show you how good he could make you feel. His mouth continued the assault on your clit, as he finally gave in and added another finger, much to your delight. Your hips rocked against his hand with each thrust, your back arching when he would slowly brush over that sensitive spot. He could feel you getting wetter, your breaths becoming shorter, the words leaving your lips barely discernible. “J-John, I-I’m gonna cum,” he could barely hear you as you wrapped your thighs around his head, your hand yanking on his hair, pulling him closer to you, trying to reach your peak. He sped up slightly, not enough to disrupt your pleasure, but just enough to have you gasping loudly. John felt you clench around his fingers, once, twice, and then you came. Looking back on it, he wished he could’ve seen your face, but he was so lost in lapping up the rush of slick from you. He could do this for hours, knelt between your legs, eating you out until you were exhausted or until he had his fill, whichever came first. He only pulled off of you when you tugged his hair trying to push him off as your thighs fell back to the mattress. He looked up at you, taking in your disheveled face. Your lips were slightly swollen from your teeth biting into them, your eyes were dark, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your breath. “Sorry darlin’, ya just taste so good. Couldn’t help myself.” He was grinning like an idiot. You returned his smile as you muttered, “you’re damn good at that.” “That mean I make it up to ya?” You nodded, “Doesn’t mean we’re done here though.” John’s cock jumped at that. Eating you out had turned him on more than he’d care to admit, his cock had become hard and heavy, pressed against the mattress. “Thank god for that,” his raspy voice was only slightly teasing. A small smile broke out across your face as you shook your head at him, your hands pulling him up to you. He knew you could taste yourself on his tongue, the thought driving him slightly crazy. He’d propped himself up, his arms on either side of you, keeping mind to not let his whole weight rest on you. You pulled back, the look in your eye intrigued him. You looked like you had a plan. Before he could register what was happening, you’d flipped him over, sitting on top of him, your body on display. You leaned forward slightly, your finger trailing along the buttons of his shirt. “I think you’re wearing far too much clothing.” John could only bring himself to nod, as he took in your form. He was in awe. Your fingers began to work on his buttons, undoing them one by one. As more of his chest was revealed you brought your mouth to gently kiss across his skin. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly, his heart pounding as you showed him a gentleness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Your touches were light and adoring. As more of him was revealed to you, compliments and sweet words spilled from your lips. Your lips trailed across the scars that littered his chest, murmuring, “you’re so beautiful, John.” He felt like he was being worshiped. Like you were treating him like something to be treasured. When your fingers undid the last button of his shirt, you helped him slip it off of his shoulders, tossing the fabric to the floor to join the other discarded garments. Your hands traced along his chest, running through the smattering of hair across his pecs. Your hands drifted down further, your fingers dragging lightly through the dark hair of his happy trail. They came to rest on the waistband of his jeans, tucking underneath the fabric slightly, your nails teasing the sensitive skin. Your eyes were dark as you looked up at him, asking for permission. He nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. You made quick work of the button and zipper, your fingers once again hooking over the sides as you pulled his jeans and boxers down in one go. His cock sprang up from the fabric, leaking and red, the head practically dripping precum. John knew his dick wasn’t something to scoff at but he still felt self-conscious. That was until he raised his eyes to your face. “Oh, John,” your words were soft, you seemed transfixed, your hand coming up to wrap around him, your fingers only barely able to touch around his girth. He couldn’t help the hiss that escaped him at the pressure. Your hands were light, tracing along the vein that ran up his length, ghosting over the head, your thumb swept at the slit, catching a drop of precum. He was captivated as you brought your thumb to your lips, your tongue darting out to taste it. He couldn’t take this slow teasing, he couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to be inside of you. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you before flipping the two of you once again. God, you were so beautiful. His naked body pressing against yours. His hand reached up to trace your jaw, fingers coming to a rest on your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Are you sure you want this?” As much as he dreamt of you, as much as he wanted this, he needed to know you felt the same. That this wasn’t something one-sided. Your hands reached around him, settling on the back of his neck, the smile you gave him was sweet, the lust in your eyes seeming to give way to something softer, something he’d dare call adoring. “John, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been the one pursuing you all night. I know what I want. I know I want you.” He couldn’t formulate a response aside from bringing his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet at first but quickly sank back into something laced with sinful intents. He only pulled back to reach into the drawer of his nightstand, his hands tracing over the contents, searching for a condom. “John,” your voice was smaller than it had been a minute ago. “I-I’m clean. Got tested a bit ago. I, uh, I’m also on the pill.” His gaze was unable to leave your face as he tried to make sense of the words. His brain short-circuiting. When he didn’t respond, you continued, “S-so, I mean if you’re clean, we- I’m okay if we don’t use one.” He nodded, slowly at first, then with barely contained enthusiasm. “God, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered as his lips met yours once again. The kiss was chaste, cut short by both of your eagerness. John moved back, kneeling between your legs, one hand languidly stroking his cock as he looked down at you. He used his other hand to help scoot you forward, tipping your hips up slightly as your legs wrapped around his waist. He ran his tip over your entrance, tapping it against your clit. A shudder ran through your body as you let out a frustrated groan. He did it again, relishing in the way you squirmed as he refused to give you what you so desperately needed. “John,” your voice was clipped, stern. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to leave and go finished myself off…alone.” He got the message, letting his tip stop at your dripping entrance before pushing in slowly. The heat and the tightness that met him was almost overwhelming. He had to stop himself from pushing in all the way in one go. He tried to go slowly, an inch at a time, but the way you were wrapped around his length was too much. Before he could stop himself, his hips thrust forward, entering you to the hilt, his balls pressed against your ass. He managed to let out a strangled, “sorry,” as he rested inside you, unmoving. You had gasped at the sudden movement, but now with him still, pressing incessantly into your g-spot, you were beginning to gyrate your hips, encouraging him to begin to move. His hands had come to rest beside your head, holding his body over yours as he slowly brought his hips back before thrusting into you. You moaned loudly as his body met yours. The pace he started was slow, purposeful. One of his hands moved to cup your jaw, bringing your lips to meet his in an almost loving kiss. He was holding back, not wanting to speed up for fear of hurting you. You seemed to not care as you pulled your lips back from him. Your gaze met his, it was hard and determined. “I’m not a doll, John. I'm not gonna break.” You brought your lips to his ear, the brush of them sending shivers down his spine as you whispered, “been waiting for this for months. Fuck me like you mean it.” You barely had time to draw back before he began to pound into you, his pace unrelenting. The moans leaving your mouth were heavenly, intoxicating. He wanted more. He moved his lips to your throat, biting and sucking the delicate skin. The whine you let out when he nipped you particularly hard had him grinning against your neck. He brought a hand up to your tits, tweaking your nipples like he did earlier on the couch, teasing you. He felt you grip down on him whenever he pulled or pinched especially hard. He was panting, both from the physical excretion as well as the overwhelming pleasure. He could hear how wet you were with each thrust, the noises your body made driving him to thrust a little harder. “You were fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart,” he growled out between breaths. As heat coiled in his stomach, he kept remembering what you had said. How you wanted him to cum inside of you, how you’d wanted him for months. He needed to see it when it happened. Needed to see what you’d look like stuffed full of his cum. His thrusts slowed as he shifted off your neck, his hand leaving your chest as he sat up. He removed your legs from his waist and instead lifted them until they rested on his shoulders. When he leaned back down again, his hands came to rest on either side of your head, essentially folding you in half. He gave a hard thrust into you. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each stroke. Even though you felt tight before, now every move he made had you squeezing him. He knew he couldn’t possibly last much longer but he had to make you cum before he did. Had to give you a reason to do this again. You were letting out a steady stream of curses each time he pounded into you. Your hands gripping the sheets, bunching them tightly in your fists. Your eyes were black with lust and your mouth hung open, sweat shone on your forehead and chest. You looked like a fucking angel. John couldn’t help the praise that dripped from his lips. “You’re such a good girl for me, ain’tcha. Taking me so fuckin’ well.” He moved one of his hands to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. “Wanted you since I first saw ya. Wanted to take ya right on the porch.” “John,” you let out a breathy whine. He kept going, “that day you came over in that stupid sundress. Looked so sweet in it. All dolled up. Wanted to bend you over. Wanted to fuck you until you were screaming my name.” He gave a particularly hard thrust, emphasizing his words. “W-wore it for you,” you managed to get out around harsh moans. He could barely think through the fog of pleasure that permeated his brain. “That’s my girl,” he grunted. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his chest flushed red, sweat beading on his skin. He was so fucking close, for the second time that night. You’d made a mess of him. “Fuck,” your body seemed to be almost shaking with pleasure. “J-John, I’m gonna cum. P-please don’t stop, feels so good.” He kept his pace and seconds later you were clamping down on him like a vice. Your body shook with the waves of pleasure that washed over you. The sensation of you squeezing around him sent him right to the brink of his orgasm. His thrusts became sloppy as he chased his high, his balls drawing up, his pants becoming harsher. “C-cum inside me, John. please,” your worn voice all but begged as your eyes met his. Those words were the final push that threw him over the edge. He thrust once, twice, three more times before spilling inside you. His vision was overtaken by white. He rocked into you as the waves overtook him. He could feel the tingling sensation in his fingertips, in his toes. When he seemingly came back into himself, the sight that greeted him was heavenly. You were spread below him, chest still heaving, bottom lip swollen from kisses and bites. Your hands which had been gripping the sheets now ran up and down his sides, helping bring him back down from the mind-blowing orgasm. He lowered your legs from his shoulders, pulling out of you with a soft grunt. He couldn’t help but watch as his seed leaked from your hole. His fingers moved without thought to stuff his spend back inside you. He only stopped when you let out a slightly pained moan, igniting a feeling of worry in his chest. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt ya.” You smiled and chuckled weakly, “s’okay, just sensitive right now.” He wanted to press a gentle kiss to your temple but couldn’t muster up the courage. He stood up from the bed with a small groan. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, gonna clean up.” He stumbled off towards the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping himself down before tossing it into the hamper. He grabbed another cloth, making sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold before he wrung it out and returned to the bedroom. You were in the same position as you’d been when he left, but now your legs were closed. He knelt before you on the bed. “You okay with me cleanin’ you up?” you nodded sweetly, your eyes closing as he gently swiped the rag over you. When he was done, he tossed the rag to the side, letting it join the pile of clothes already on the floor. He didn’t want your time together to end, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable either and the doubts were beginning to creep in on the edge of his mind. “You, uh, you don’t have to sleep here, with me, if you don’t want,” he started, staring at his hands. “The other room’s still free if you'd like.” When he brought his gaze to yours he was met with something he could only describe as affection. “I’m not going anywhere if that’s alright with you,” your voice was kind as you smiled at him. “Now come to bed, I’m getting cold here all alone.” He couldn’t contain the grin that broke out on his face. He laid down on his back, his arm outstretched, inviting you in. You curled right into his side, your head coming to rest on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you close. Despite just being inside you, the gentle cuddling had him blushing harder than he had all night. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, under a sky of dark clouds, and the steady pounding of rain on the roof, you were his and he was yours. And that was good enough.

I know this was super long for a one-shot smut fic but if you made it all the way through, I hope you enjoyed it! This was my first time writing smut from a man's perspective so I'm sorry if anything was weird. I just love John Marston very much <3 Comments/criticisms are always welcome! Crossposted on AO3 @holyratrimony <3333

Taglist: @cowboydisaster

This fic was inspired by this post by @butchdutch

#john marston #john marston x reader #john marston x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #modern au #rdr2

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sharp-silver4795 · 2 months

Text

Liu Woods Headcannons

The people have spoken! On a poll that I made, I asked if yall wanted me to post my own stuff and…. Oh god- I set it for a week cuz I thought no one would see it- 40 FUCKING PEOPLE RESPONDED-

So, I hear you! I’m gonna start with just random head cannons cuz… yeah…

TW!!!

Suicide, Murder (duh), abusive families, definitely not the Liu most ppl know.

I will put a warning before each group of bullets.

Least Sensitive >> Mildly Sensitive >> Most Sensitive

The first two aren’t head cannons-

I pronounce it like “Lee-oh” (Leo). I made a post about it earlier. However, I’ve said it like “Loo” for a long time- I’m tryna break that habit

He is my favorite. I remember seeing a post that was judging ppl based on their fav creepypasta…. No I won’t shut up about him.

HEAD CANNON TIME

General

He’s Chinese. Jeff is his half brother on their mom’s end. There is no fucking way an American kid would have a Chinese name.

So, Liu moved from China when he was 5 and his mom married Peter. Jeff was born when he was 7.

When Liu was young he didn’t have many friends cuz his English sucked and his little brother wasn’t even a year old.

He likes brownies and cinnamon rolls like their made of gold

Man can cook 🧑‍🍳 🤌

Has a bunch of plants that he forgets exist and cries when they die

Boy is tough. A lot of ppl see him as a teeny bean, hell nah!

Wears combat boots, skinny jeans, and sweaters consistently.

The scarf is to cover scars.

He’s about 6’5 (nearly 200cm).

Murder, Gore, Blood

Mainly uses a crowbar to beat his victims to death.

Remember how I said he wears combat boots? Well those things have heels and he tends to “stun” kill people by jumping up and stomping down on the side of the person’s head. 240lbs in a surface area the size of a US quarter is definitely gonna break your skull.

In the mansion his job doesn’t really revolve around murder as much as it’s about torture. He’s fucking good at it too.

Sexuality, Gender, and Such

He’s gay. You can’t change my mind.

I see him as being Agender and not caring about the pronouns you use for him. (Note: I usually switch up the pronouns but since this is the first HC post I’m making for them, I wanted this to be said first)

Married to EJ. If you don’t like the ship, I’m sorry!

⚠️ SA, CSA, Abuse, Suicide, SH, Grooming ⚠️

DID usually forms before 9yo and I can’t believe him getting DID at 19.

So, he hung himself when he was 19. This is what set Jeff off, because he was the one who found Liu’s body.

So, Keith is about 11 years older than Liu, and, when he was looking for friends, Keith took advantage of them. This lead to Liu basically being groomed until he was 12. I HC that Randy had a lil “crush” on Jeff and Keith kept Liu “out of the way” by consistently r—ping him.

Things at home weren’t great for him either. Peter was under the impression that his mom was a virgin with no kids (incell vibes), and when he found out Liu existed Peter decided to take it out on him. He would be locked in a dark closet of the basement for days on end. If he “misbehaved” too much, Peter would put him in the clothes dryer (also in the basement) for however long he deemed necessary.

Eventually Liu couldn’t take it and he hung himself.

Liu’s Alters and System

⚠️ similar themes from before, drugs/alcohol abuse, religious trauma ⚠️

Hannah: gatekeeper, what Liu “would have been” like if nothing happened.

Jinx: Sexual protector, the response to Keith’s abuse

Sully: Physical protector, response to Peter’s abuse

Jessie: Mental persecutor, encouraged Liu to kill himself.

Leviathan: Trauma holder, response to constant guilt from religious trauma

Vex: persecutor, response to alcohol and drug addiction.

Nigh: Trauma holder, response to all those lonely years

So, about Jeff…

Liu has zero issues with Jeff.

Jeff didn’t kill him, he had to make his way back to life (I will post more abt this another day).

Jeff mispronounced his name, but Liu was too nervous to correct him (bc trauma)

He is about 6yrs older than Jeff.

I probably have other HCs that i forgot, but anyway- that’s all the energy I have rn….

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acourtofinkandpapyrus · 1 year

Text

My Little Shadow: Part Nine (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Teasing and mentions of reading smutty books!

Part eight Part ten

Tag list: @mis-lil-red @bubybubsters @luvmoo

After some time to adjust to Velaris, Y/N makes a revelation while training with Azriel...

Also, I'm sad to say my posting schedule will be slowing down a bit. Even if they're a bit shorter, I promise to keep getting this series out to you guys!

It had been two months since I had joined this lovely court, and everything had been going well. More than well, actually. Noone could get me to admit it, but I was happier than I had ever been before.

Stella and I had a small home, which when Azriel apologized about the size, and said that they’d have something more suitable for a family of two, I hadn’t cared.

I had just grinned at him and told him it was perfect.

And it was, since I had never had a place where I didn’t have to fear someone barging in on me, or locking me inside for weeks.

Not only that, but I had made friends.

Cassian’s training was absolutely insane, and when we started, I felt like my bones were going to snap into pieces, but Nesta had given me good advice, and eventually I was part of her small friend group.

I liked them, I also loved the tiny book club of which I was now part of.

I had also found myself a… an acquaintance of Amren, the female I had been so interested in before. I wouldn’t say friends, because we never talk, but neither of us mind hanging out, so that’s nice.

Azriel has been helping us train with my shadows, and I have to admit, it’s the favorite part of my day. Everyone says I can’t actually go out and start spying until Azriel deems me ready.

“You need to keep your balance.” Azriel hissed.

Oh, did I also mention he’s a complete hardass during training?

“That’s hard to do when the wind is hitting you like a ton of bricks!” I half shriek as I almost fall off the rock again.

We had been doing this for three days, and I still haven’t been able to stand with only one foot on the rock. I might have been able to if there wasn’t so much wind but…

“I thought you were supposed to be training me how to use my shadows!” I shout over the wind, right before falling face first into the ground.

Azriel chuckles, and I get to my knees to shoot him a withering glare, but I can see he’s by my pack, reading the most recent book from our little book club.

I’m blushing heavily as he raised an eyebrow at me. “This fell out of your pack when you threw it down. I thought I’d do some reading.”

I tried not to think of the many possible scenes he could be reading right now, the ones that still made me blush when I read them.

Talking to Morrigan, I had accidently let it slip that I was a virgin, and that I didn’t know about any of that stuff at all, really.

Somehow that had made it back to Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie, who then picked me out the most… detailed books in their collection.

And now Azriel was reading that book, looking up at me with a sly grin.

Azriel was fun. He teased and taunted me in ways that didn’t feel like he was picking me apart. And I liked to spar with him in this way, little snarky remarks back and forth. HAlf of the things I say would have gotten me strung up at home.

“I am teaching you to use your shadows. You’re just not understanding the assignment.” He said, flipping the page as his eyebrows shot up.

I can’t help that my face is bright red as I try to speak, my voice coming out stiff, “What do you mean I don’t understand the assignment? What do my shadows have to do with balancing on rocks?”

He sighed, tossing the book aside to my relief. “What do you use your shadows for Y/N?”

I study him, trying to figure out his game. “They help me spy sometimes, but for the most part they stay with me, hiding me when need be and otherwise they stay with me.”

To prove what I had just told him, I beckon them forth, and they appear by my side. I tried not to smile, thinking we were finally going to start some real training.

He snorted. “It’s good to at least know they’re here. Now go balance on that rock again.”

I try not to gape at him, and I was about to give him a piece of my mind, but my shadows have other ideas.

I gasp a little bit as they pull me over to the rock again, and I quickly relent, sighing as I perch atop it once again.

Looking down at my shadows, which seemed to be encouraging me, it suddenly hit me what Azriel wanted.

I’m tempted not to do it, just to spite him.

But my legs are tired, and if this means moving on in our training, then mother help me I would jump off a cliff at this point.

My shadows follow my lead, helping me balance against the wind, and suddenly it’s not a struggle at all to stay upright.

Azriel appears from around the corner, smirking. “There we go little shadow.”

I shoot him a glare, and he just laughs.

Watching him laugh, my heart flutters a bit, my cheeks turn pink and I struggle to breathe-

I almost fall off the rock as I realize what’s going on to my horror.

I was falling in love with him.

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edgyggstantomlol · 5 months

Note

Tomarry prompt: Accidental first kiss that neither one of them were expecting to happen.

There are things that everyone knows. The sky is blue, grass is green, Lockhart's a dick, the French are fucking annoying, etcetera and so forth.

Then there are things that everyone at Hogwarts knows, like the fact that Hagrid is more than a little insane about wild animals, and should be avoided by any persons who are less than ecstatic about creepy crawlies of larger than average size.

Or the fact that Riddle and Evans are always butting heads, but are also total freaks about each other, which is why they butt heads to begin with.

Quite frankly, it was a bit painfully obvious that their rivalry was rooted in a classic case of teenage hormones doing their, er, thing, but they themselves had yet to catch the memo. Unfortunate, truly, since it would probably only take a couple rounds of shoving their tongues down each other's throats to resolve all their conflicts.

But alas, some things were simply not to be, and so everyone resolved to having to endure the endless bitching and moaning of the school prodigies, never to be resolved by the hour of snogging Riddle and Evans so desperately needed.

;

"Oh holy shit," blurted out McTaggert. He and several other students were in the air, in between some casual matches of quidditch.

"Watch it, Taggy, not in front of the babies," said Carlisle playfully, much to the chagrin of her third year brother, and then, "What's happened?"

"Evans and Riddle just kissed."

"What?!"

Every single player halted what they were doing and snapped their attention to McTaggert, half convinced he was delusional. The school populace had long resigned itself to the understanding that Riddle and Evans would simply be dense for the rest of their school years, it was simply impossible that they would suddenly-

"Kiss? Riddle and Evans? Are you mad?"

"No way that's true, he's messing with us."

"You kid! Taggy, I fucking swear, you best be joking-"

"I'm not, honest!" he said defensively. "Look, you can see them running off right now- oh their faces are so fucking red, hah."

Everyone leaned forward on their brooms, squinting at where McTaggert was motioning.

"Oh shit, they are," said the elder Carlisle, with no small amount of glee. "Ah, to be young and innocent again, so flustered by a lil kissy kissy~"

"Oh, stop talking," whined Carlisle the younger. The pink-cheeked fourth years snickered.

"I think it's because it was an accident," mused McTaggert. "Honestly, it looked more like they tripped onto each other's faces than an intentional leaning in, if you will."

Carlisle guffawed at that, and Minyx, the sole sixth year Ravenclaw, quirked an eyebrow.

"Evans I can believe, but our ever so graceful Slytherin prodigy? Being so plebeian as to, what, stumble? I don't think Riddle's ever tripped on even his words, let alone his feet."

"Yes, well, I was the one who actually saw it happen, thanks, and I know what I was looking at," said McTaggert drily. "Perhaps if you lot were more aware of your surroundings, like a proper seeker-"

"Bring up our official matches and I'll beat you to death with my broom," interrupted Minyx.

The players then quickly and collectively devolved into a mostly unserious argument over house rivalries. Between all the noise and challenges, the matter of Riddle and Evans' little Schrodinger's kiss was soon forgotten in favor of defending quidditch honor.

From the beginning to the end, none of them had realized that Evans had ducked behind a pillar not too far away, red cheeked and wide eyed with a hand pressed against his lips.

What do you do when you know how a handsome boy's lips feel like?

#tomarry #tmrhp #harry potter #prompt #ficlet #please excuse any americanisms lol #also so sorry for the delayed response life has been rough #hope this is any good?

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

A Whole Man is Hard to Find -chapter sixteen

Notes: my many thanks to my friends and my readers, all of you so dear and good to me, for the support and ideas and interest that you’ve continued for this story. It’s so dear to my heart and it’s plot and heart has become more clear yet sprawling than I could ever have imagined when I first began. Thanks for your patience, I intend to see this through. Your feedback means the world to me

Warnings: 18+, all the canon and period typical warnings apply, although this chapter is far softer than most of the previous, still the current themes remain as does smut

Last chapter link since it was ages ago when I last updated

Just once, Rosey would like to have woken before him, the singular time she had was fueled by panic when she found him not breathing after that night spent in Helena. Just once she’d like to roll over and find him asleep beside her, a perfect face to study and to adore as he did her own most mornings.

Just once would be nice but she could hardly blame herself on this occasion, coming out of the stupor of sleep felt similar to being hauled out of a quagmire, soupy and thickheaded with leaded limbs and a pounding heart too strong to be ignored and to sluggish to be of use. It was dismal waking up this morning except for the feel of him cradling the side of her face in one of his large, work worn hands, shaking her head upon the pillow with more and more emphatic jerks. His hand was warm and large enough to span the height of her skull, his calloused thumb had anchored itself on her cheek and she got a powerful yearning to suck on it before coffee or orange juice even entered her thoughts. But he was tapping her cheek with it and shaking her head,

“C’mon now, I don’t pay ya to sleep, I’d like to stay too but lord knows it's gonna be dawn a’fore ya know it, c’mon now, I didn’t give ya that much for pity’s sake, you just open those pretty lil eyes f’me, babydoll….”

It was worth keeping them closed with her neck lax and her legs inert just to hear him babble to her, every bit as patient and teasing and inexorable as when he knew her to be conscious. A consistent man in all his dealings with her, even though he was consistent only in his mercurialness.

Rosey realized that this morning she had not startled awake, nor did she play asleep in order to gauge her surroundings, those were the behaviors of a hunted thing. This morning she lay abed with the feel of her naked beloved stretched beside her and half atop her as he thumbed at her face, jostled her bruised breasts and squeezed her neck to coax her to awaken. She lay unresponsive in order to savor it, nothing more complicated in her heart than that. Just playing at it a little longer as he jostled and sweet talked to her, nearly breaking her act with a unbidden smile at that strange behavior of his to chat to one anatomical part of her and then another, the sidetracked weighing of assets so unstudied and boyish it tickled her worse than his breath on her nipples.

It was delicious to feel him so near and so gentle and so large and warm and eager for her company. She could melt back into this bed for a few centuries at least with such attentions being lavished on her. Or maybe it was all due to that metal taste that still clung to her mouth.

What did you do to me, you scoundrel? -she thought with drowsy ire.

Suddenly his babble made more sense, but drawing from his lack alarm she assumed there was no real danger of her being drugged beyond capacity and he seemed neither to regret nor blame it for her inertia and so she chose to follow his example.

Comfortable and secure she might be in her morning rituals with him but there was still the matter of deciding which battles were worth fighting each morning. Each day could have an allotment of two to three spats, depending on size and significance, and Rosey found that his blithe use of tonics might be concerning but it was hardly so significant a battle to waste her fights this early in the day. She had a feeling that she would need each of her favors and each of her fights on this trip and she shouldn’t start spending them like a spendthrift.

The thought exhausted her once more and she burrowed further into her pillow and the dip of the ratty cot mattress that buckled under their combined weight. It was simple here, laying beside him, it was simple.

“I saw that sliver of eyeball, you can’t fool me, you’re awake, c’mon now. Never have met someone who liked sleepin’ so damn much…” his grumbles had no heat to them and Rosey thought that was a rich sentiment coming from a man who’d blown his boat’s roof off in his exhausted state and temperamental need for a nap.

“If you felt what I feel at this moment you’d never wanna leave this bed.” she mumbled, eyes still screwed shut and savoring that last unconscious moment where only her skin and her ears told her he was spread atop her, smooth and heated, weighted and anticipatory.

“Bed? More like a plank with some cotton on it.” he bitched in reply and suddenly she realized that the bright sunlight streaming through his shutters that she’d been squinting her eyes to keep out was not there to pierce the gloom. Rosey’s eyes fluttered open suddenly at that, all safety having flown from her breast at the familiar surroundings being gone but then it occurred to her, they were down in the hold, with the horses and the boilers and Cal and the gator door, and in this tiny cubby of a room there with no windows to tell her the time of day. “Shh, shh.” he soothed into her ear, somehow attuned to her calculations and concerns. “We’re down in the hold, ‘member?” he prodded, gravelly and gentle in her ear and he turned her face with his hand, the better to pepper her cheek with sloppy, lazy, scruffy kisses.

“I’d forgotten where we were.” she admitted in a scratchy voice although she had been right in her assumptions about his posture, he was indeed lying half atop her and half on that sliver of cot not occupied by her body, between her and the wall, propped up on one forearm with the other hand massaging her scalp into hypotonic complaisance. Above them still swung the dimly glowing gaslamp, creaking and unsteady as a lantern on a barn beam, and Rosey’s blood ran cold at the realization they’d never doused it while they slumbered. The hay bales stored not ten feet away came helpfully to mind and her body shivered, the cold dread of memories wrestling with the delicious scritches of his morning stubble against her throat.

He’d never watched as folks were burned alive in the distance, caught in a frenzied conflagration, the shrieks of barn animals and humans indistinguishable in their agony. She’d never wish it on her worst enemy, and yet she wished she could impress upon him how badly she wanted to make certain the lights were doused each night. It was a bad habit of his she had noticed and while the steady gas lamp fixtures of upstairs gave her some comfort, these creaky lanterns terrified her down below. The Captain might not understand but he’d be willing she was sure of it -and almost as soon as she thought it she realized she’d been a fool. He very likely had seen what she had, he’d been to war after all. He’d been to sea, and that’s how they kill you there, drowning or burning or slow decay are the trifecta of ways to die. Sometimes she forgot he’d had a life between picking cotton and showboating on the Mississippi. He’d fought a war between, and nothing was spoken of it except for the bulletproof shutters in his room. There was so much she didn’t know about him, a strange thing to admit about someone who made her feel safer than anything else in all her life. How’d he get taken prisoner anyway? Was there fire then?

“We never doused the light.” she decided to voice that observation and that alone, hoping he’d pick up on her tone.

“Yeah, damn foolish, m’sorry.” He paused in his nuzzling to wait for her to add a condemnation of the heavy slumber he’d put them both into but it never came, she could feel him relax as the moments of silence ticked by after his initial bracing for her nagging. It confirmed her decision to let the subject lie for the time being. “Won’t happen again, I swear, darlin’.” his voice was rich and deep in her ear as he relaxed again and the promise of another time, of his agreeing to be down here with her whenever he could, soothed all else and she turned her face to press a kiss of her own to his cheek.

He was still here, after her lies and her prudery and her demands, he was still here, in the dark of an early morning, trying to please her. He was a wonder, that’s what he was, a wonder of a fathomless heart, deep and uncharted in its capability for love. It made her own heart swell in gratitude and she returned his nuzzles and pecks with ferocity, kneading the shoulder nearest her and trying to pour out her gratitude through her touches.

“Honey, honey dear, y-you’re cryin’.” he pointed out with soft concern before she even registered her own emotions had carried her so far.

“Just happy.” she swore, really trying to just enjoy the feel of him thumbing at her tear tracks and looking down on her so tenderly her heart could burst from it, “Just very happy you’re still here with me.” that was the meat of the matter, she figured, it’s what she could define as best she could, “Just grateful.” she supposed, because this was more than transient joy, she wanted to jump up and thank someone for him, worship someone for being so good and faithful and forgiving to her. It was an entirely new emotion and it made her eyes weep even as the rest of her remained calm and lulled by his touch.

She saw that look of barely restrained adoration mirrored in his own beautiful face as he hovered above her. “Let’s go thank the Lord for another day together.” Elvis suggested eagerly and she should have guessed that was coming, that this new emotion was an old one for him, one he poured out to a God that Rosey had never been convinced was all that merciful. Not until she’d met him. Not until she’d tasted a bit of it through Elvis’ love.

“Yes, let’s.” she laid in bed for a moment longer, not that she didn’t wish to match his vigor but it was rather more delightful to lay at that vantage point and watch him boyish and pretty above her, digging about the small room for clothing and refreshments, bare as god had made him. He bent in half with ease to pet a sleeping Sweet Pea on her velvet cushion under the rickety chair before dressing himself with that pleased precision of a man well aware of the impact of a good appearance.

Rosey found something to be thankful for in the sight. As she did with his chosen wardrobe that was in no way the fashionable dandy of the past months but instead a working man’s attire, worn leather overcoat and buffed out denim trousers, even his shirt a homespun butternut. Only his kerchief, lazily looped around and hanging limply against his unshaven throat spoke of some wealth and elevated taste, bright orange and shiny in the gaslight.

“Now there’s the man who bought me.” she observed, the difference between “Captain” and Showboating Peacock glaringly obvious now she thought back.

He just gave her a bashful grin of acknowledgment of his fashion amendments, “I oughta get Cal sorted, too. Dress the part if he’s gonna try his hand at bein’ crew. Last thing we need is one of those horse soldiers mistakin’ someone for a goddamn fairy.”

“You’re worried for him.” she realized and the way he spooked when she said it aloud told her it resonated even as he was quick to deny it.

“Nah, nah just, just want him -want him -I don’t want nothin’ to take him unawares.” he decided upon his motivation after much stuttering and a fidgety hand jangling his watch chain in his trouser pocket.

“Does the presence of so many soldiers concern you?” she figured she’d ask and he looked at her with surprised exasperation, as if he couldn’t believe she hadn’t understood all his complaints about the cavalry coming aboard. Untill he saw her true meaning in her face.

It was odd still, and he wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a little wrong too, to confide such things in a woman. T’weren’t right to be talked about aloud no matter what, no matter what she’d heard Scotty say just the night before. “Not much.” he replied truthfully after some fight with his conscience as to wether or not he meant it, but it was the truth by the time he managed to say it, “Not much, reckon it’ll be like ole times in the navy, buncha fellas shootin’ the shit waitin’ to get from one place to the next. Harmless. I’m good at that.” he pondered aloud and then at her inquiring expression explained a little bashfully, “Fosterin’ camaraderie.” he smiled, “That’s what captain Phillips said. Said I was good at that and I must be -one time I got a sing along goin’ in the Memphis jail while waiting for the sentencin’. That’s where I met Jerrah, actually.”

“Of course it was.” she marveled and he turned pink and cleared his throat self consciously.

“Nah, m’not worried.” He reaffirmed, “Hell, they’re likely all splendid fellas, s’just that it -it only takes one bad sort.” those blue eyes took a journey before focusing back on the wood paneling, Elvis then laughed as if something funny had occurred to him, “Hellish bein’ a father, ain’t it? I mean, look at me turnin’ all fretful and shit. Daddy never acted like this.” he scoffed at himself but Rosey hardly thought Vernon Presley a stellar example to follow.

“Your mama did.” was all she added, sat on the bed in her most demure frock and watching the spectacle of his emotions like a play, and that reminder was enough for them both to share a look of understanding.

“I’m glad for the break from preformin’ and schmoozin’.” he suddenly went on in a burst of candor directed at the door frame, “S’just a little, a little -reminiscent, I’sppose.” and with that heavy admittance mumbled so inconsequentially, the subject was closed for the time being and worship was engaged in for the next hour, amidst the ruins of the rearranged hold and with the remaining dwindled crew.

“What am I to do while you’re up above all day?” Rosey asked him the question burdening her as they made their way back to the little room, to deposit her therin before he went up above and met the General who’d be taking over his boat for the foreseeable future.

“I dunno cricket, whatever ladies do when we menfolk let ‘em alone.”

“I’ve never had time for being a lady before.” she felt like whimpering it, so strongly did she dislike the idea of peace and boredom, it was foreign and suggested time to reflect and she wished for nothing less.

“Etta used to practice witchcraft in betwee- when I let her alone.” He offered helpfully.

Rosey, ever thirsty for any divulged scrap as to his past perked up, “In between what?”

“You know what.” he scowled at her, unable to understand such an open lack of jealousy.

“She ever use witchcraft on you?”

“God, I hope not.” he seemed to actually ponder it for a moment which suggested he wasn’t positive she hadn’t.

Rosey stood in the doorway of the little room and glared at the cramped space and windowless walls and piled boxes. “I just might take it up.” she pretended to seeth.

“Do that, if it pleases ya.” he snarked unapologetically, “But you ain’t comin’ above decks. That’s final.”

Rosey felt secure enough in his affections after all his doting this morning to huff a little and throw herself upon their cot like a petulant child. -Or a fine lady, face first in the unmade sheets, the picture of desolation.

“Now what’s this?” his sigh morphed into a giggle the longer she lay there.

“I’m being a fine lady.” came from the pillows.

“Ohh, s’that right? Pardon me ma’am, didn’t recognize the signs with your backside exposed like that.”

Rosey’s face jerked up from the bedding and craned behind her to realize her skirts had flown up indecorously in her playful fit. She set it to rights with a genuine blush and a frantic patting of her backside that made him envy her little hand.

“Aww hell, I was enjoyin’ that.” he fussed, lounging against the doorway and looking so very masculine in this new garb -or was it old?- that a shot of respectful appreciation for his size and strength shot through her as if they were strangers again. “Maybe you’ll be back at bein’ a lady when I come back.” his leer suggested something of a game and she swallowed in panicked excitement.

“I’ll always be a lady,” she replied in measured correction, “just as you’ll always be a mudborn hick no matter your clothes…captain.”

She saw him blink. Twice, thrice, half a dozen times, and then that long tanned throat worked up and down with a thick swallow. His hand twitched beside his thigh and that little friend of hers, tucked down the left side of his pant leg perked. Rosey held her breath in hopes she’d succeeded, hoping he’d give in for just a minute and do something to her before he went above. Insulting him in play was a gamble but it had worked physically, all that was left was for his mind to bend as well.

Elvis knew she wasn’t being mean, not really, not in earnest now that he knew she was made of the same bog-sodden earth as him. If Miss Beaumont had said it he’d have felt like striking her -but she didn’t, it was Cricket playing and if he could just drown out the echo chamber in his mind of other women, other clients, other folks who had eagerly wanted to be coupled with something they thought lower than themselves: well then he’d have been able to finish this game he himself started right here and now. But it weren’t fair to fuck sweet Rosey with a thousand other voices in his head, it wasn’t his fault he responded to jeers; that had once been a craft for him. And that’s all there was to it.

“This ‘mudborn hick’ owns your ass.” he teased instead, feeling secure enough in her security to remind her of the 2,000 greenbacks spent on her infuriating self.

“You make very little use of me for such an investment.” she whispered so softly an average man wouldn’t catch it.

“Oh Ho! Careful what you wish for, lil girl.”he warned with a wagging finger and a thunderbolt of a grin before turning on his heel and jogging up the three flights of stairs from the hold onto the top deck.

It was still cold as balls outside on deck. Figured, with winter setting in but sometimes one could harbor hope that autumn would last longer than a couple of weeks. Captain Presley tried to console himself with recent recollections of horseback rides in the golden sun and balmy nights on the wheel deck with that crisp autumn breeze slicing the muggy river air. Fall was short but it was prettiest on the river, and he’d have to recall that and count his blessings on e the river turned into a goddamn ice block before December even hit. He was torn from these reflections by a troop of cavalry men dismounting at the foot of the gangway and clomping their way up it to meet him, booted and spurred with a peculiar display of red kerchiefs poking out their dark blue uniforms. The sight of Yankees still made his fists curl after all these years, it took a studied nonchalance to neither fight or flee at the sight of government men.

“Gentleman.” he greeted with a tip of his hat, there were less than ten of them and the one wearing the most distinguished insignia looked peculiarly familiar-“General?-“

“-Sherman.” the officer provided stoically but with the aspect of a man expecting recognition.

“No shi-eeet.” Elvis balked with a chortle of disbelief, staring at the man who single handedly fucked the South up the ass back in ‘64…metaphorically of course. Arson was the real weapon.

“Let me guess, I burned your house awhile back.” General Sherman had a dry sorta charm to him, Elvis had to admit, even when making light of war crimes.

Elvis could appreciate such humor, though he feared a certain little girl of his would recall such war crimes more personally and object to harboring so ignominious a man. Couldn’t get helped. “Nah, reckon my shack was one of the few ya spared. You’da had a real lark in Tennessee pullin’ that shit, wood’s so wet half the time you can’t burn a place unless you powdered it with turpentine beforehand.”

“Yes, well, blame God for drought if you want to.”

“That what decides a just war, sir?” the Captain perused with amusement, “Draught?”

“You a religious man?”

“Of a sort.”

“Then you tell me.”

“Now you’re off for more of the same?”

“Orders are orders. Law and order is the same anywhere, south or west.”

“D’you read orders to burn a buncha Lakota, General, like the rest of us read the paper over eggs?”

“Something like that.” General Sherman was probably smiling though it looked more like a gash across his weathered face.

“Right, well, I told them I ain’t a transport but they wouldn’t hear otherwise.” Captain Presley explained, “I’ll do my best to get y’all boys up there, you have your men behave and keep from harassin’ my staff and I’ll drop y’all off quick like, and we’ll have no issues. Straight up the river and drop, simple, shouldn’t take more than two weeks.”

“We’re not goin’ upriver, young man.” General Sherman adjusted the toothpick he had cradled in the corner of his straight mouth like most would a cigar, “You’ll be taking us up the Missouri. We’re going west till we get to the Dakotas. I’ve got no time to waste waiting on railroads to be patched up from Saint Paul’s westward. We’ve got a river. We’ve got a captain. We’ll do it the old way. Those are your orders, Captain Presley. We depart at noon.”

“Now hang on!” Elvis flung out his hand, “I ain’t ever been off onto the Missouri, see, there’s Mississippi captains and then there’s tributary captains and I ain’t one. Hell sir, they got special flatboats for the Missouri it’s so damn shallow and fickle, we’ll run aground in this lug. She’s built for a mighty river, I can get you to Saint Paul’s but we won’t make it a hundred miles down the Missouri ‘fore we hit a sandbank, tear my hill to shreds. I’m tellin ya sir.”

“And I’m telling you, captain, orders are orders.”

“You want an inexperienced pilot to take a boat too big down a river too small to get to some fuckin’ territories nobody cares about ‘cause you don’t trust trains? Have I got that right?”

“Yes, and I’d like to leave by noon. No time to waste.” The general was still smiling that grimace of a smile, “I imagine you’ve made the adjustments for billeting my men?”

“Yeah, yeah I have.” Elvis nodded with his pretty mouth twisted in a impotent snarl.

“By noon then, captain.” The general tipped his own hat and moved forward through the glass doors into ballroom, decamping inside on the abandoned billiard tables, turning them into desks.

“General Fuckin’ Sherman.” Elvis grumbled and after a moment of disconsolate rage for his burnt country and his inconvenienced self, resigned himself to the unchangeable and, seeking comfort and knowledge, found himself hustling back down below to Rosey, bent on satisfying a craving he felt coming on.

He needed maps of the west. And he needed…her, he supposed. So he went right back down to her.

Rosey was still abed when he came in, lying on her back with her frock’s skirts crumpled around her and her legs crossed as she held a book up for perusal. Morton’s Guide for Nautical Engineering. He hadn’t unearthed that dull tome out of his trunks since the war.

She perked up when he opened the door, like a prisoner when their meal arrives, and he strode straight up to stand over her after closing it behind him.

“Still layin’ here?” he observed, petting the hair off her forehead.

“As I was told to.” she replied accusingly.

“Mm, obedient little investment.” He teased, stealing a kiss that she nipped into a little too much for his taste.

He was no longer in the mood for banter and wanted more. Cunt, to be honest.

The juicy, fragile, pungent perfection of hers might wipe out the memory of his orders for ten minutes or more and he wanted that. “Came down here to make use of ya, as you offered.” he tried to jest.

“Is this what I am to do?” she bemoaned playfully, “Languish in ennui until you choose to come and make use of your purchase? What a life. Beetles have more independence.”

“If that elevates the experience for ya, go right ahead, consider yourself a purchase. Or a beetle. Now let me at ya.” he knelt down at the edge of the little cot and grabbing her hips pulled her round till she was crumpled against the wall in a petulant slump with her bum hanging off the cot and legs flung over his shoulders. “I’ve just been told by general Fuckin’ Sherman himself that I gotta take him all the way to the dakotas.” he elaborated on his peckishness as he hiked up her skirts and parted her pantaloon split, “Just like Clemens suspected, n’I hate it. It’s bullshit -oooh god are you always so wet? just born soppin’? I’m not complaining I jus-“

“THE general sherman?” Rosey rose right up from her slump and dug at her skirts to uncover his face as he licked at her damp thighs, his day old stubble chafing her a little.

“Yup.”

“No!”

“Yeah.”

“No, not that bastard! Elvis you can’t!-“

“Honey, there ain’t no can or can’t, just orders. It’s just orders. Now spread your legs, I’m cramped in here.”

“But he’s-“

“Just be thankful he’s not on his way to burn your house. Somebody else’s nightmare this time. C’mon now I can’t get to ya like that.” he was near whining right now and hated himself for it. So he barked, “Spread ‘em, girl!”

“Oh, sorry. There.”

“Mmm, better.”

“That bastard.” she mused again. “I just might, dunno, but if I ran into him I just might- ow!!”

Elvis had bitten her little rosebud before returning to the lazy, aimless licking he was indulging in before. “No murder.” he mumbled into her wetness and went back to it.

Rosey leant back on her hands and anchored her heels to his shoulders, puzzling at this mood of his, serene in some aspects but utterly without context or prefix. Like he’d just come down for this. Like it was some tradition she ought to know about. Like worship service or the dinner bell. Something about his sweet entitlement to bury his face in her most vulnerable parts turned her belly to goo. She had not anticipated him being back down here in the hold for hours yet and even then there had been this imposed chastity of sorts between them.

Now there was…this.

This tasting of her like one would partake of a nap or a tonic, something more restorative rather than erotic. He was crouched to reach her on the low cot and his back bent beneath his leather jacket and the room was growing warm, her breathing and temperature not unaffected by the lavishing of his tongue. His hands lay listlessly beside her thighs as if he wanted all sensation to be directed through his face and she sat herself fully against the wall so that she might free her own hands from her weight and entwine them with his.

She could feel his cheeks bunch in a smile against her slick.

He squeezed her hands again and again and she took to watching his methodical enjoyment of it, his slurping tongue making some progress on her for all that she was taken by surprise. Some slick had gone up to his brow bone, so thoroughly had he burrowed, and his eyelashes clumped together with her dew.

“I’m sorry about your boat.” she murmured, rubbing her heel against his ribs in a gesture she intended as soothing.

“We’re gonna die goin’ out there.” he pulled away to declare in a bored tone of resignation, disentangling one hand to plunge his fingers into her tight channel without warning, jostling her cunt impatiently like trying to get the last drops from an empty keg. It made Rosey yelp in pain and shock at the demanding pleasure it sent through her, “Or else we’ll die on the way back. Nobody just fucks off to the Dakotas and comes back all dandy. Otherwise the tables would be full of insufferable idiots tellin’ bout their lil adventure.”

“You’ve come back from worse.” she pacified him even as she hissed at his rough handfucking and tried, and failed, to slow his frenzied forearm with her halting little hand. He was a man determined and after a couple dozen jabs of his coupled fingers he struck the spot he’d found before and her abdomen dommed in response, clenching violently.

“There's a reason I haven’t gone out west.” he shook his head as he continued, mercilessly bored with this part compared to the oral aspect, “Got no curiosity about gettin’ scalped and now I gotta go buy me some maps before we leave at noon. It’s bullshi-Ah, Ah Ah there we go, that’s it c’mon, coat my hand baby, wanna have to wring my sleeve out after this, c’mon, spew. Gimme something real to taste. Give it to me, that’s it, that’s it, don’t push my hand away I ain’t done, I say when we’re done -I want somethin’ to taste, you gimme somethin’.”

“Please god please enoug— ELVIS!”

“Alright, alright, calm down, I’ll clean ya up, don’t gotta be so cross about it.”

Rosey panted and pressed her palm to her poor womb to still its last, frantic clenches of pleasure, feeling like she had gotten spanked from the inside by a couple of calloused fingertips, so roughly and hard had she come undone. Contented with the gush of satisfaction she had let out for him, Captain Presley ducked his head again and resumed his leisurely supping, smacking and licking at her sensitive petals while contentedly grasping hold of her hand again with his now sticky fingers. She spread her legs wide and tried to breathe, tried to let him have this -whatever this was. His eyes were closed again and he had that peaceful look on his face that she’d happily kill to ensure, all the more willing was she to sit there with legs cramping and hold his hand while he got his fix.

Unused to him engaging in this activity without the use of his talented hands, she found herself spreading her legs as much as possible to help him burrow his face deeper and received a happy hum in acknowledgment, bucking up to meet his licks since it seemed to please him. When he had thoroughly slurped her down and coated his face with her essence he seemed to finally fatigue after awhile, or else accomplished what he wanted, and he stayed knelt there with his cheek against her tacky thigh and his breath coming out in slow drafts.

“I’ve never seen you reach for a map.” she realized, keeping her tone soft and running her thumb along his knuckles soothingly, “Not even for going far north.”

“Cause we were goin’ vertical, damn it.” he knew she would know his tone wasn’t meant to hurt her, if he could hurt general Sherman with his tone he’d do it and in the meantime he growled it into the thick plushness of a good woman’s thigh. “I know the damn Mississippi like the freckles on your face, could lick ‘em blindfolded and have navigated this wild ole stream when blind drunk and - well, I know it. Never even been on the goddamn Missouri. Nothin’ but a fuckin’ piss trickle of a river that oughta be called a creek ‘cept the rapids get so bad in a couple places they’ve killed enough folks so it gets called it a river. Politics, Nothin’ but river politics. Shit shit shit.”

Rosey regretted working him up from the soothed daze of his unorthodox snack. “Shh, shh please just, let me take care of you?” she pleaded, running her hand down his chest as far as she could reach with him laying fast first in her lap.

“I’m calm, I’m calm.”

“No I meant- let me taste you.” she puzzled that he didn't get it.

“Oh.” he raised his face up from the swampy delight of that little oasis and smiled softly at her flushed face, still a little surprised, maybe even doubtful, that she enjoyed pleasuring him that way. “I-I don’t need it, sweetheart, and we haven’t got the time. We’ve gotta go to the bookstore, get those maps.”

“But- but it’s not fair, me gettin’ treated so sweet and you left without tending to.”

“But I got what I wanted.”

“You didn’t get any relief.” She pressed and tried again to reach somewhere lower than his belly.

“I got to lick cunt,” he laughed at her shocked expression, “that’s exactly what I wanted and thanks for that, my sweet lil possession. Now does my baby-honey-pie-sweet-cakes wanna get outta her widdle prison and buy some maps w’me or is hers gonna lay here and sulk?”

“I’m coming with you!” she bounded out of the bed at lightening speed to find her boots and clutched at her belly as she did so, “Lord you rubbed right though me, Elvis! Feels like someone knifed me in there!”

“How the hell can you be sore from some lickin’?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stood up himself, wiping his shiny face off in the elbow crook of his jacket.

“It was all that jabbing you did with your fingers!” she accused in a low moan, mimicking the jackknifing motion of his wrist as she wobbled back to the cot to lace up her boots.

“Couple fingers up there and you act like you done had a child.” he shook his head at her and gripped a pale leg and hauled it up to his waist so that he might help her shove on a boot.

“You were very rough!”

“You weren’t cummin’ fast enough.”

“Wh- it was very rough.”

“You sure acted like you didn’t mind it, we’ll have to change the sheets you soiled yourself so much.”

“Cause you made me!”

“Sure did.” he sucked on his bottom lip in smug remincience.

“I’m just sayin’ you were mighty rough about it and that’s why I’m sore.” she patiently repeated while standing up and smoothing out her skirts.

“Uhuh, alright,” he opened the rickety door for her like a true gentleman before adding with calculated roguishness, “well if a couple fingers got ya bitchin’ bout soreness you can kiss goodbye to any goddamn consummation.”

“Oh Elvis, no!” she cried aghast, wheeling around to face him, pleading like her life depended on it and he nearly lost it at the woe so clearly stamped on her face at the threat of never getting bedded. “Please I-“

“I’m a damn sight thicker than that, and you’re obviously a delicate lil flower that can’t even take a puff of breath witho-“

“Oh Elvis please, it’s not so bad, I swear I was just kidding!” she begged him all the way to the sequestered stables where poor Beans and the other crew’s horses had been corralled.

“I dunno, you were awful adamant that I was rough.” he bit down his laughs and kept on as he went about saddling good, patient, silent Beans.

“You were -I’m sure it was transient. Just in the moment I-“ Rosey cast about the place for a better excuse, “It was just at the moment I was a little surprised. I’m fine now, entirely fine! See!” And she hopped about as if that was proof of anything.

“If you think that was rough, lil girl, you’ll go join your grandmother in the great beyond on a day when I’m really hungry.”

“I-I- didn’t mean it, Elvis, I’ve already said that.” Rosey went so far as to lay her hand beggingly on his arm as he tightened the saddle’s girth and he nearly wheezed from holding in his laugh. “Please, please I’ll not complain,” she dropped her voice significantly as Charlie passed close by and another worker shifting the feed sacks, still she was desperate enough to keep on even in this low tone, “I can take you, I’m sure of it. All of you, to the very root, I will. I promise I’ll not even wince!”

“Hell woman,” Elvis cut his palm on the buckle upon hearing that promise so beggingly whispered, hot and submissive in his ear, yet he straightened up and pretended to chide her as he turned to her and picked her up to sit her on top of Beans, looking up at her with consternation, “where’s all that decorum gone to? Hellfire, to think if you -YOU!- beggin’ for cock in public. What would your mama say? What would my mama say?”

Too late she realized he had been goading her into this little display of infatuated wantonness.

“Ooooh I could kick you, Elvis Presley!” she cried out in the prettiest little rage he’d ever seen. “Evil, evil man.”

Fully laughing now Elvis backed away from her one legged kicks as he bent double to indulge in one of his belly clutching fits of amusement. Still snickering he mounted up behind her and she could hear how much he’d been crying in merriment from the stuffiness of his nose when he said next,

“Oh honey you shoulda seen how earnest you looked, like the mama pleadin’ for her baby’s life from King Solomon in the good book.”

“Yes well, if given the chance I’ll not plead a damn thing for you in future-“ she couldn’t think of anything quite humiliating enough to punish him with so she left it ambiguous as Elvis, still wheezing behind her, steered Beans out the low gator door and down onto the wharf that abutted the boat’s lower levels.

St Louis in the daylight was less impressive than it had been the previous evenings she’d been out amongst its street and citizens, in the bright light it was lines of brick houses with patched streets and a desperate prevention towards something more than trading post. St Louis had its judges and its lawyers and its haberdashers and they proclaimed themselves loudly as if begging to be recognized as a real and realized city, like a flat chested girl swearing at ripe maturity. They had book shops too, and second only to the saloon and tailor -alright that made it a third,- Captain Presley was a frequenter of Kinsley’s Books at the corner of Monroe and Market streets. St Louis might also pride itself on being a big, ill organized mess of a city and it was a goodly ride from the docks to the shop.

“Whadda ya think of St Louie?” he asked her, jarring her out of her reverie of trying to soak in her last minutes of freedom and finding them ironically dull.

“It’s nothing like New Orleans.” she ventured.

“Well, no,” he laughed, “but that ain’t it’s fault. No comparison there.”

“I prefer Memphis.” she decided.

“What’s it like now?” he asked in a tone so forcefully neutral it made her cringe at his pain. “-Memphis.” he said it like the homesick.

“Memphis is -busy, in a martial law sorta way.”

“Still?”

“Three months ago, still was.”

“Ah.”

“Why’d you leave?” she asked him and after hearing Elvis grunt as if hurt she’d forgotten Scotty’s confession last night, she quickly amended: “Why’d you join the navy? During the war, I mean. Thought you always wanted to be in the cavalry. You loved horses so, I thought you’d have gone for that.”

“Too poor to own a horse.” he reminded.

“Then why not join the local boys, for soldiering? You’d have kept been nearby.”

Near her, she meant, near his mama, near that child he’d thought he’d begotten -and he knew it.

“I built a damn submarine in old Beaumont’s cornfield, Cricket.” he huffed, “They thought me a whiz. Sank of course, but it worked for a couple missions. Ever after that they wouldn’t keep me on land. Shame, really.”

“Hold up,” she tried to crane her neck to look him in the face as Bean’s gait jostled them, “you built a submarine in a cornfield?”

“Yeah.”

“And it worked?”

“Yeah for a few runs.”

“Wh- why? Oh good Lord, you’re full of surprises, sir!”

“Yankee gunboats were shellin’ the hell outta us, the confederacy had all the ships sent to protect Vicksburg, just let Memphis get wrecked, I’d had enough.”

“Simple as that.” she marveled, “Elvis Presley got tired of his ears hurting so he built a submarine. In a cornfield.”

“I guess you were too young to recall, Mama hadn't slept in a month, kids were dyin’ , just starvin’ from their nerves bein’ shredded” he muttered, “you yourself were a lil scarecrow. I’d always been quick with those engineering books. T’weren’t hard.”

“Ha.” she scoffed in admiration, “And what do you mean by a few runs? Runs down the Mississippi? Did you actually launch the thing?”

“Yeah, me and Scotty and Bill and a couple others.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“You’ve no idea, felt like getting nailed into a metal coffin when they screwed us in.”

“Well did it do any good?”

“We took down an ironclad. It blew us to hell, too. But we sank some Yankees.”

“Oh hurrah, that’s marvelous.” Rosey cheered, entirely forgetting the war was quite over, “Please be sure to tell General Sherman this story over cards. No wonder they wanted you for the navy!”

“I was sixteen, Rosey. The hell was I gonna do for the navy?”

“Elvis!”

“Well, really! I was an engineer if anything, all I did was putter around in a lil tube in a river and they thought I was a sailor. Broke mama's heart takin’ me away.”

“Oh, yes, it did, didn’t it.”

“Yeah it did.”

“Mine, too.” she whispered.

“Mine three.” he shrugged and poked her side.

Maddy’s heart, perhaps the most obvious and endangered of any, was conspicuously unuttered. Rosey wasn’t sure she found that soothing or ominous, had he forgotten or did he simply neglect his attachment so as not to imperil their own, current, precarious arrangement?

“Is this what you were tryin’ to learn? Reading my old books?” he asked with amusement.

“I was just trying to get a taste for what you like.”

“Oh well, that one ain’t for pleasure, doll.” he sounded quite droll, “Put the dullest man to sleep. You know what I like, we’ve been readin’ enough together.”

“We’ve completed one book.”

“So? I liked it. Dicken’s is-a-helluva writer.”

“So you like novels?”

“So what if do!”

“I’m just asking!”

“Yeah, I like novels. How bout you then, hmm?”

“I haven’t had the time.” she confessed, “Being a fine lady, as you called it, kept me shockingly busy morning till night at a plow or else the accounts.”

“Then why’re your bitchin’ bout having a month long lie-in? I’d do anything for that.” he teased.

“It’s far less enjoyable alone in the bed.” she realized it as she said it, cupping her hand to her mouth in sudden bashfulness.

As usual such modesty had a fond effect on him and he rested his chin on her shoulder cozily as Bean’s gait rocked them in the saddle, “It’s new f’me too, baby.” he whispered like he was scared to realize it himself and only confessed it to put her at ease.

Kinsley’s Books sold far more than just books and in the dim ,dusty and charming maze of the place Rosey could have found maps and stationary and inks and chalks and stamps and pressed flowers to her heart's content. It was perhaps more thrilling than having herself outfitted at the finest of lady’s emporiums.

She was running her hand admiringly over a rhinoceros skull when she heard Elvis strike up a conversation and a voice she knew take up the banter.

“You were right Clemens,” Elvis was saying and, peering through a gap in the books, Rosey spied the wizened old journalist of yesterday’s courthouse wedding -Samuel Clemens, “my orders were for the Dakota’s. All the way, it’s the Missouri for us. You sure you still want that damned adventure? Hell of a risk for a lark and some newsprint.”

“Somehow I feel the story will be worth it with you cast in a leading role.” Clemens replied with dry affection.

“No sirree I’ll be strictly captaining.” Elvis protested any ambitions toward excitement, “And poorly at that.”

“Ah, the river’s not so bad. Not with what you're used to.”

“But that’s the difference,” the captain became grave, “it’s entirely a matter of used to a’not. I ain’t used to it and I- lord I pause before sharin’ this but- well, you’re still a pilot ain’t ya? Got your license still?”

“I do.” Mr. Clemens drug out his syllables in the way those fearing entrapment do.

“Then -look I’m beggin’ ya, I ain’t joshin’ -I’m beggin’ ya to take it off me, hmm?”

“Flattered but -no.”

“You won’t do it or you’re scared too?” Elvis sneered but there was no venom in it.

“Frankly terrified of how dull it would be to let you off the hook.” Clemens chuckled, “Why’re you so scared yourself?”

“I-I dunno.”

“That hogwash, ‘course you know. Tell me, son.”

“Well,” it was the Captain’s turn to draw it out, “you’re a river man…”

“Mhmm.”

“So I can -I can sound off my rocker and you’ll, you’ll under- you’ll not fault me?”

“Course not.” Clemens grunted, “Tell me you’re scared of the mermaids in the muddy Missouri and I’ll find you credible but just don’t tell me you don’t have designs on ‘em, cause know you would.”

Elvis whooped a laugh before settling into his confession with more ease than before, “You know how it is sir, rivers, they give ya what you put into ‘em. I been good and I was respectful -even in my wildest days I was respectful- of the old mississippi and she’s been good to me when she’s dashed other, she’s been good to me and I been good to her and I- makes me damn uneasy goin’ onto another river I ain’t ever paid respects to and doin’ it to carry men up her so they can commit slaughter. If that river don’t claim my boat it’ll be -it’ll be a mercy of God, that’s what. Divine intervention and nothin’ short.”

Mr. Clemens hummed contemplatively and then gave a shrug as he himself saw the merits of this argument. “Have you got a choice?” he asked the million dollar question.

“None at all.” The captain bemoaned.

“Well then,” Clemens smiled, “I suggest you bring along a good map, the best brandy you can get your hands on, a generous woman to soothe you and a writer to tell the tale. Haven’t you heard? The author never dies in the tragedy”

“I’ve got all but the map.” Rosey could see that Elvis was grinning then, before she had to duck as he caught sight of her spying.

It was Mr. Clemens who sought her out as she weaves her way deeper into the shop.

“You searching for something in particular?” he asked her, and it was the genuine interest in his tone that placated her once more into trusting him. He seemed to have the same effect on Elvis and for once she was not wary or spiteful of what must’ve been a decent judgment of human character. She had never before seen it used so benevolently.

“I was looking for a gift.”

“Oh? Found it?” he smiled at her little lost expression. There was a gentle timidity about her when she felt herself out of her element that suited her so well it Clemens sympathetic to Captain Presley’s ravenous admiration for his fleshy little creature.

“No, I am torn.” she admitted and after seeing the inviting sparkle in his eye went on in a low voice, “I wished to find something to alleviate the captain's preoccupations between shifts. He likes to read, he likes me to read to hi- well, he likes it and so much so he hasn’t any books left that he hasn’t read. He likes novels.” she tried to relay this as if she hadn’t learned it herself within that hour.

“Novels, hmm?” Clemens pondered, “And you? Do you like them? Or are you more of a woman of prose?”

“I- we read Charles Dickens together, it was my first.”

“First?-“

“First novel, sir.” the young lady was more scarlet than cream at this admission and he found such furious frustration with her perceived inadequacy most endearing.

“Yes, well, those worn hands haven’t been holding books, now have they, my dear?” and he said it so admiringly, he who was an author and man of letters, that Rosey’s heart melted with his acceptance of her circumstances.

“I’d take your recommendation most gratefully, sir.” she hinted.

“Tragedy or adventure?”

“Oh nothing too maudlin, I don’t think we could take it just now.“ She laughed merrily as if over a good joke but Clemens was sure that it was truer than either would like to believe. “Adventure, preferably with some ingenious margin for error. If I’ve learned one thing it’s that he’s made for the impossible.”

“In that case,” Mr. Clemens gently steered her by the shoulders till she was staring at a glossy row of gold embossed titles on shiny green leather, “it’s something of Mr. Verne’s you’re after. Hell, he’s insisting we can go to the moon or ‘least camp out in the bowels of earth in his novels. Makes a trip to the Dakotas look tame.”

“That should do it.” Rosey mumbled, still a little enamored with the sleek bindings and ominous titles: Journey to the Center of the Earth, 2,000 Leagues Under the Sea, From Earth to the Moon, Around the World in 80 Days.

The titles alone suggested a reality so outlandish and daring that she felt dizzy by it, the horizons of Memphis expanding somewhere far far far more brave that she would have imagined. Was this the thrill Elvis felt tinkering around with such inventions as he had made?

Rosey made her purchase and parted from Mr. Clemens with a meek smile of thanks. Elvis found her pondering the selection of Penny Dreadful’s whose titles were equally promising as Verne’s but in an entirely sordid sort of way.

“Bandit and the Countess” may have been conservative in name but in illustration it was not, boasting a cover piece depicting a young woman in the throes of ravishment by a swarthy rogue of dark features and rich lips. For one glaring moment Rosey saw how she herself, her situation and her captivity, might be perceived by others. A pang of sympathy for Elvis’ precautions regarding their being seen together struck her. It was a wicked book and she snapped the book closed guiltily at his tap on her shoulder.

He had his left eyebrow up in judgment of her taste before recalling why he had sought her out in the first place:

“Rosey darlin’, there’s reporters out front, got wind of me bein’ here and they won’t leave without givin’ ‘em a word. We can’t have the colonel seein’ you’re still with me, least not ‘till we are well on our way. You understand.”

Smiling bitterly in recent enlightenment, she agreed nonetheless. “I understand.”

“I propose you go out the back, take Beans yourself and get straight on back to the boat now, they won’t know ya, you just get on back. I’ll get a coach or else walk. I could use to walk.”

“Right right right,” Rosey soothed and stood a’tiptoes to kiss his cheek, he leant sideways to aid her in this attempt, “straight back to the boat I shall go, and down I will go and down I will stay and -you’ll come see me, when you need to rest, you’ll come down too?”

“I will.” he promised, “I’m gonna try’n get us through the Missouri’s mouth a’least hy nightfall. I’ll be late.” but he didn’t mean it as an excuse. He’d promised.

Beans was no testy young stallion, seasoned and more than a little used to being holed up, he enjoyed the change of rider and pace and gave Rosey little grief over being in charge instead of his beloved master. The fact she let him go at full canter through the streets of St Louis and back onto the dock may have helped his mood. He was huffing and puffing as much as his red cheeked and glimmering eyed rider by the time Charlie grabbed the bridle and made them slow, six feet deep inside the hold.

“Foolish child.” he cried without any real heat, shaking his head as if she reminded him of someone.

There were soldiers down there, billeting their own horses and working with the crew on accommodating them all. She hadn't expected that, doubted Elvis had either or else he might’ve cautioned her.

As it was there was nothing to do but dismount and toss Cal the reins with a word of thanks before slinking away down the narrow hall to squirrel herself away in their inner room with his trunks and his books. She thought she might try to find something to wrap her little present in, an old shirt or some lace. She was pondering this and angry at herself for not thinking to buy parchment when she laid hold of the door knob and turned it.

No one was supposed to be within but when she went to open the door, it felt obstructed and while at first she thought maybe a trunk had fallen before it, or in their hasty departure some coat was caught in the jam, the startled, rustling noise behind suggested an occupant. One who was as surprised and panicked to be found inside as Rosey was to discover them. Crouching down to grab her pistol from her boot, Rosey slowly turned the knob again, imperceptibly until it was fully unlatched and then threw her weight against the old oak as forcefully as possible, conquering the latch. The door flew open.

Down the barrel of her pistol Rosey saw the manically glaring, disfigured beauty of Ada Overton’s onyx eyes, and her arms buried a full two feet in the captain's trunks.

Rummaging.

And not for jewels or watches, as the many discarded items of the same would suggest. Not for books as they were discarded with not a care for bindings. Not for letters as the few ribboned starches he kept were not addressed to her, Rosey has snooped enough to know that. No, something else that Rosey had either not found as yet, or else did not as yet know enough to consider important. That dreadful feeling of dread that had been so put to flight today returned and it wasn’t just those hideous eyes turning cold and acknowledging in the face of Rosey’s glare, it was that familiar terror that Captain Presley had a lot more to tell her than he’d ever want to. With her own lies put to rest, it seemed like his own remaining ones were all the more burdensome in the light stepped happiness of her honesty. Aida Overton, from what she could tell, was some remaining and hideous portal to a time she should not pry into, yet it seemed to her starved curiosity that she deserved to know a bit of the times and particulars that might yet sink them all on their return. These long hours to be spent in the hold might prove not be so boring after all.

With this in mind Rosey chose to ask, “What is it you're after, Miss Aida?” over the metallic click of pulling back the pistol’s hammer.

The boat’s bell rang a quarter to noon.

Historical Note: as stated before, the only fun for this AU to take place in the 1870’s is if I bend the timeline and cram in as many 1870’s happenings as pleases me. So as a result we’ve got Tina Turner as a boat Captain and General William Sherman committing crimes against indigenous people in the Dakotas instead of Kansas. Don’t learn your history from here, though I’d be happy to clarify the fudges. ;) Also, Samuel Clemens’ (pen name Mark Twain) authoring has been pushed back as well for reasons later revealed in the narrative. He’s just a journalist as of yet in this story.

One more thing. A boy from North Carolina did indeed build a prototype submarine in a cornfield to defend his hometown during the civil war. And yes, it worked. For a bit. And if that ain’t 1800’s style superhero/comic book material then I dunno what is

Hope y’all enjoyed! I seem to have lost my Whole Man taglist and so I did the unthinkable this time and used Sarge’s as there’s a lot of overlap. If you’d like to be tagged specifically in this one or omitted from it, please pop a note down below.

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@returntopresley

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis the pelvis #elvis one shot #elvisaaronpresley #elvis x oc #elvis history #elvis imagine #mine #elvis fanfic #a whole man is hard to find

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fxshigurosbae · 2 years

Text

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

now playing ► KINKTOBER 22, third week.

OVERVIEW. he keeps you from moving, even if you beg and cry.

♫ SONG DURATION.

0:00 ——◦———— -2kwords

parental advisory ! explicit content

LYRICS. step!father, pseudo!incest, male!dom, breeding, cockwarming, pet names, riding, begging, grinding, nipple play, orgasm control, dumbification, overstim, manhandling, dacryphilia, aftercare, daddy kink, creampie, age gap, size kink, unprotected sex, strong language // toji [37] user [19]

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

— the playlist

DADDY’s relationship with you, without a doubt, was immoral, lusty, dangerous and, both knew that. what shouldn’t be excluded too, was the fact mommy’s marriage was somewhat, actually totally, toxic. since, for now, only you had found out of her affair with that man-whore satoru, while on the other hand, behind that sweet not-so-innocent act, her husband, toji, corrupted his step-daughter, all behind the wife’s back. in the end, everything was a lie, except his love, affection — and obsession — for you.

it has been at least two years since you’ve met — back then, freshly eighteen and now, pretty close to being twenty, you are just nineteen and in college — toji was a lucky bastard to have you. such a pretty little obedient doll for him to use, corrupt and take care of, all at the same time. and, this time, wide, broad shoulders and arms held you in his lap, legs spread open and accommodated around his hips and thick thighs. only you and the man, nearly two decades older than you were in the house, with the tv on the background, playing a random movie — one which you were not even paying attention to, mostly because you were facing him and, for the mere fact that you had been too focused on having his girthy addictive cock inside your cunny for around half an hour now.

“daddy… please, can’t take it anymore.” embracing arms around his neck, arching back and uncomfortable trembling legs. toji’s hands kept you still the entire time, if you did dare move, you knew there’d be punishment — that could be such as having his hips follow you, leading to a situation where there wouldn’t be relief of any of that constant suffering ache or, maybe, not being rewarded for your disciplined composure — the problem is that there was simply no more energy left for you to keep going.

“poor princess, so weak can’t even wait. ya pretty lil’ cunt’s swallowin’ me whole, yet’s not enough?” like a whispery groan in your ear, he won’t admit his libido is already reaching the maximum tolerance — but the man wants to see you crumble first, which is already an ongoing case.

“nhn, please! please, fuck, need…” unable to finish the sentence nor formulate comprehensible phrases, plus your entire body stuck and firmly fixated, by his hands, right above his half-clothed pelvis. and, what was even more unfair, was to have his full cock inside, rawly resting right over your cervix, pressing against those sensitive spots. warming your interior, filling you up in a way that you’re able to wrap your gummy walls around it to feel even more of the immense pressure.

“use y’er big girl words, angel. c’mon, can’t hear ya.” a smug chuckle left his scarred soft lip, staring at you from a slightly higher angle, since manspreading made his figure lightly sink into the couch.

“uh-ngh, daddy, please, wan’ you to fuck me, fuck me so bad.” your voice was in a very high-pitch, taking the form of the most seductive thing existent, it took great strength for toji to continue this child’s play, but he was sadistic and, determined. there was just no mercy, in the slightest, even if restrained, begging, in the brink of fainting, while doing the absolute most to attempt moving your hips, nothing worked on him. your fragile chest rising in a brusque rhythm, sweat on the forehead, a single drop running on the middle of your spine, even your guts trembled from this never-ending waiting.

“good girls know how to wait,” the outer part of his right hand caressed your needy cheek, giving you — what you thought could be — an opening to strugglingly grind halfway forward. that same comforting hand, then, in a matter of seconds, was cupping your cheeks in a rough handling way, squishing them together as your eyebrows furrowed “confusedly”, as so to play dumb. lips now quivering, breathing through the small gap of your mouth and your nose, as if the air had been limited, pussy immediately clamping — and hearing what you thought was a very gutturally low moan come from him. “really wanna make me disappointed in ya, don’tcha, sweetheart? if ya do that one more time, swear won’t move a single inch tonight.” gosh, you were miserable, even moaned for what he said, pathetic. with a tighter grip on the tiny bit of chubbiness of those cheeks. the way the corner of his lip curved into that same smugly smirk, the way his eyes looked at your pouty restricted lips with such perversion, the way his hips just plunged in an almost unnoticeable, but very much so, upward movement, which led into fitting his already-all-the-way-in cock even deeper inside, the combination made you cum real good, an escalating fragmented squeak accompanied. that made you lose count, of just how many times you had probably came already that night, not even being started. toes cramping from curling, corner of the eyes burning from wiping off tear drops, nose cutely in a reddish tone. “fuck, ya know how sweet’s to see my lil’girl cumming like that on my cock? an’m’not even fucking her.” a tsk from toji, followed right after, releasing your numbing cheeks and jaw to, then, focus on groping your covered tits — wearing that slutty white round neck, short sleeves and even shorter and tighter crop top — which rested just two fingers below your nipples — with thin borders of the word angel written on it, in light pastel blue, exactly what you were, in fact, what you just pretended to be. playing with your nips over the fabric, with just a single artificial touch, it made them harder, more erect, and your pussy, again, wrapped itself around his cock — that man had patience and so much fucking control. “g’nna fuck ya when the time’s right, so I can see ya forget y’er own name, angel,” he chuckled at the playful reference, seeing you bite your bottom lip. “ya gon’ wait, isn’that right?” supporting yourself on his thighs, leaning back, feeling the tip of his thumbs circling your nipples, eyes closing just slightly, legs shivering, every circle sending heat into your body, increasingly. with an instant nod to his question, that hypnotizing goddamn curve on his mouth, showing just a tiny bit of his teeth, as toji continued to play with your breasts, squeezing a little bit, rolling the buds, watching yourself slide backwards on his thighs, arching your back. “good, good, that’s a good girl.” he whispered, it sent you over the moon, the way those words spilled out of his mouth, your pussy feeling warmer, hotter, burning, tighter, suffocating — yet he did not give it in to you.

“t-toji, please, think m’gonna pass, pass out.” what a chuckle you heard from the man, your doe eyes, staring back at his merciless ones.

“that’s what’m aiming for, bunny.” you felt as if melting under his grip, currently, hands fondling with your ass, hips as if glued onto his body. daddy, in a swift move, pulled your crop top over your boobies, exposing them for his sight, noticing reddish tones on the nipples from the intense friction. he was decided in making you explode, collapse, cum as many times as he wanted but, what he forgot was that he also had been losing his mind. then, toji’d never imagine the effect you had on him, how you’d make him feel that way, when you now looked at him this way — sobbing almost, tears running, biting your lower lip as close to bleeding, sinking your nails into his thighs, toes about to break from curling — those fucking hypnotizing, pitiful, needy, begging, miserable eyes, they were the death of him, not only that but…

“daddy, please, fuck me, please, cum’n my pussy, pl-please daddy.” your voice ever so low, so soft, so sweet, so endearing, that it immediately invoked something buried deep inside him.

“fuck, sweetheart, if ya ask like that,” a heavy exhale from him, it was loud enough to make you shiver. “fuck y’rself on my cock, come on, baby, let me see ya do it.” your eyes shined at his demand, freeing your waist from the intense grip as you immediately, without hesitation, began effortfully jumping on his long cock, burying itself deeper, skin meeting at his crotch. gosh, how you moaned, whimpered, cried, with tits bouncing, hips moving wavily — up and down, back and forth — like however you could. His eyes fixated on your face — your eyes that were too shy to look at him — and, smirking at the image of your cock-hungry expressions, plus, there was yourself watching it being fucked in and out of your pretty pussy from an angle above. leaning back, still supporting on his knees and thighs, also throwing your head back, having some kisses on your neck, some fondling and groping all over too. noticing his large hands guiding your waist, adding thrusts from below as well, bringing out even more whining, that desperate whining from your lips, escalating, descending, choking, sobbing and even those messy ones. your eyes slightly closing, already sloppy pace becoming even slower, your thighs contracting, jittering body as you came once more, specially with one of his digits circling your clit, for a few seconds. hearing mumbles under your breath, maybe dizziness taking form, yet, he held your firmly under his grip, slowly thrusting his way up into you.

“don’t think’s over, ya gon’ cum how many times I fucking want to.” he added, making sure you’d not give up on him, making sure you knew who was in charge. your body fell forward, holding onto his broad and manly shoulders, as toji lifted his hips from the couch, gripping onto your own waist and kept it still, so he could easily fill you up, balls deep, pounding up and down, this time. he was strong, so fucking strong, he could easily handle you, he could easily break you in half, if he wanted to. as you, moaned and let out incomprehensible words in a low broken voice, whispering his name occasionally onto his ear, like a hypnotizing melody. “daddy, love it s’much, daddy, ah! f-fuck, daddy.” with an on-growing smirk on those goddamn scarred lips, those which slightly touched your ears.

“know ya do, can feel my princess’ lil’pussy squeezin’ me real good.” and a chuckle from him, that lead you to whimper like a puppy. “wan’ me to cum in ya?” immediate pleas, repeated please!please!please. digging your nails on his back, jolting at each thrust, scratching the covered skin, leading into him grunting. holding your hips up, easily bouncing your body up and down, along with those rapid, deep, profound pounds, that in a matter of seconds, became slow and controlled, pretty rough ones — feeling the squeeze of his cock whenever his pretty head caressed your cervix, his cock pressed lewd kisses inside your pretty cunt. your skins collapsing together, clapping loudly enough to compete with the sounds of your own frequent moaning. his pretty girl was close to the point of drooling, drooling for cock, for cum, getting so dumb-fucked, blabbering stuff randomly, in a choking way, mixing with your prolonged cries. advising about your thousandth, upcoming orgasm, he chuckled, obviously mocking the way you were so sensitive. “i’ll let ya, since my pretty thing’s been taking me real nice, been a nice doll f’me.” whimpering, more restrainedly, back arching, more, toes curling, again, nails digging, deeper, pussy squeezing, harder. with a sloppy pace, a change in the rhythm, you desperately felt it crash over you devastatingly, attempting to close your legs together, feeling a caress on your ass with his thumbs, a grin against your neck — that was being filled with pecking kisses — and, another powerful pound, while you were about to finish squirting intensively, it was enough to find an ever better spot, and to have it filled with that warm cum, with daddy’s precious warm cum, drying him completely with a tighter squeeze. “fuck, bunny, ya milking my cock, gonna make me want to fuck ya again.” his voice could kill, it had an effect that sent shivers down your spine, you once more repeated yes!yes!yes!, clueless almost, emptying it inside your tight walls, forming a white ring on the base of his cock as you came down your high completely, alongside his, by a matter of seconds. slowly, leisurely lifting your sore hips, pulling his cock out of you in a quite effortful move, even if being assisted by toji’s large hands — it was harder after seeing him breath so heavily, his chest moving up and down so seductively, legs shaking more — still feeling the liquid in, his tip leaving your pussy with a clamp of your destroyed cunt at last, cum began dripping down your thighs so easily. breathless, disoriented, dizzy, exhausted, sweaty, you stared back at him, hearing low chuckles, noticing his signature smugly smirk, his hips adjusting on the couch, his body sinking in it, again. “go clean yo’self up, mommy’s gonna be angry if ya dirty the couch, she won’t let me play with ya no more either.” you huffed exhaustedly. “come on, baby, or do ya want me to do it for ya?”

🔖: @shi-thats-kiera @ashthemadwriter @drxkenhubbie @witheldclouds @jeanswife101 @drpepperlov3r @bontensbabygirl @simp-lauren @mattheosluttyprincess @fatenpara

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