#stock market closed today

[stylishanachronism]

I have made a Mistake

[rightnewshindi]

Stock Market Closing; आज सेंसेक्स में तेजी के बाद दिखी गिरावट, निफ्टी ने भी खोई बढ़त; बाजार की हुई सपाट क्लोजिंग

Stock Market Closing: भारतीय शेयर बाजार की आज सपाट क्लोजिंग हुई है और मिडकैप इंडेक्स के साथ स्मॉलकैप शेयरों में काफी हलचल देखी गई. ऑटो शेयरों पर दबाव देखा गया और बैंक शेयरों की सुस्ती ने बाजार को नीचे खींचा. सुबह ओपनिंग के समय निफ्टी में 80 अंकों की बढ़त के साथ कारोबार खुला लेकिन क्लोजिंग आते-आते शेयर बाजार ने सारी तेजी गंवा दी और गिरावट के लाल निशान के साथ बंद हुआ. बैंक निफ्टी जो सुबह कमजोर दिख…

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

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

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

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

Word count: 8.3k

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

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

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

Okay, it was definitely porn.

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not here…not here…not—

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

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

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

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

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

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

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

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

“Fucking…CUNT.”

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

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

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

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

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

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

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

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

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

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

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

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

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

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

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

“Help me,” you hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could smell him.

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

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

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

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

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

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

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

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

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

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

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

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

Your finger was kind of fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

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

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

“Cool your pits, kid.”

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

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

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

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

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

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

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gross.

Gross.

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

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

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

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

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

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

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

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

“Good?” Joel said.

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

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

“Please.”

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

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

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

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

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

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

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

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

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

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

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

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

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

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

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

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

“So that means I’m—”

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

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

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

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

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

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

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

Joel whistled.

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

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

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

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

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

“No one.”

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

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

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

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

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

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

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

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

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

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

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

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

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

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

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

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

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

And then he stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, not knowing why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or, rather, it—your finger.

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

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

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

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

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

Safe.

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

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

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

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

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

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

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

“I—”

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

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

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

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

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

“Who’s your daddy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

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

“Please. Please.”

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

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

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

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

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

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

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

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

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

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if remembering something.

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

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

“What? What is it?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

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

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

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

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

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

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

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

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

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

—

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

[dayofmarket]

Changes will be seen in America stock market, in investment worry?

According to the information received, changes will be seen in the US stock market. The S&P 500 Index, a popular and widely tracked benchmark for US stocks, is down 19.44% in 2022. Investments on this are showing great concern. Insights on Passive Investment Report —-Recently reported Q4 2022 earnings for technology and consumer discretionary stocks will be a barometer as “Q4” is historically…

[inkdrinkerworld]

Inn Love

cw: friends to lovers, cowboy!james, innkeeper!reader, pet names, fluff, scene setting really

wc: 2.6k

“Please Jamie? I just need a couple pounds of butter.” You bat your eyes at him, all sweet and innocent but James knows you.

“If I give you what I have left I won’t have any to sell in the market this weekend.” He’s trying to stand firm. He really really is.

For all your sweetness and innocence, you’re like a viper to James’ strength of will.

“I’ll pay you more than the market.” You’ll definitely try, but James can never charge you full price.

“I’m sorry, darling. Go to Malloy, he sells butter too.”

You wrinkle your nose. “No one sells butter that’s as good as yours, Jamie.” You’re trying as hard as you can, James seems unmoved. So you up the ante. “I’ll bring you one of the pound cakes on top of payment.”

James falters a bit then. You bake the best in the entire town. At your inn, The Secret Garden, that’s one of the best reviews after the impeccable mattresses. You also know James has the softest, sweetest spot for pound cake- especially the blood orange pound cake you make.

He groans and you squeal, your boots clicking on the cobble. James gestures for you to come into his house.

“You’re so fucking evil.” he mumbles, reaching into his second fridge and handing you three pounds of butter. You take a quick peek and find his fridge stocked with pre packaged butter wrapped pretty in parchment, cheese in there too. There’s even milk. James is the best damn dairy farmer this town has ever seen and it’s a wonder how he ever has enough butter.

“You are an angel, James Potter.” you wrap your arms around his neck, and James’ hands automatically wrap around your back.

He’s big and warm, smells like leather and blood oranges and for all his muscles James is surprisingly soft.

James can’t fight the smile on his lips when you let go of him. You really are sweet. “You’re lucky I made more butter today.”

You gasp, not at all surprised. “You playing hard ball with me, Jamie?”

He nods, setting his hat on the counter. “Maybe I wanted a pound cake for free.” he teases but James would never take anything from you without paying you no matter how much you try to get him to. He doesn’t really care that you’re friends, he’s paying you for everything.

“You’re losing angel status, Potter. I gotta go, gotta bake for breakfast tomorrow and for the market this weekend.”

“See ya’, darling.”

James spots you while you’re closing up your booth at the market and hands off the empty crates he was hauling to his friends, Sirius and Remus.

He jogs over to you, and places his hands on your shoulders. You startle and almost swing a punch at him but he catches your fist.

“Okay Rocky,” he chuckles when you put your hand to your chest, breathing heavily like you’d just run a mile.

“You scared me, James! How don’t you make noise when you walk?”

James rolls his eyes, taking your crates from you. You move to packing bags.

“I make lots of noise, you’re just in your head.” He says, you shrug with a smile.

“Did they buy all of your butter?” you ask as you start walking towards your truck, James close behind.

“And the milk and the cheese.” You roll your eyes at his cocky tone.

You know James better than most here. You went to school together, you used to ranch with him when you were younger and when his mom and dad still owned the ranch.

Then you’d both had to grow up, you going to business school and James having to take over the ranch after his mom and dad had gotten sick.

You’d come back for the funeral and been there when James couldn’t get out of bed to deal with the ranch and all the shit that came with that and stayed till he got better and could do it himself.

Then James helped you with the construction of The Secret Garden, your inn that became your baby.

All this to say is, you know James Potter and he’s not as cocky as he pretends to be.

Sure he’s any woman’s dream. With his inky curls always peeking out under his hat, his muscle tees that show off tan, muscled arms, his pretty brown eyes that remind you so much of browned butter and his fucking dimples.

But James is a sweetheart.

“I told you about that tone, Jamie. Makes you sound too sure of yourself.”

James only chuckles, placing the crates in your tray and the rest of your stuff.

“I’m sorry weren’t you telling me the other day that my butter’s the best?”

You wave him off, laughing as you open the back door.

“Do I give you your loaf now or at family dinner tonight?”

James smiles, this is the one routine you and James still have from when you were kids. You go over on Sunday night for family dinner and then you go to the inn and try to get to sleep before your three am alarm.

“I just spent all day in the hot sun and you’re gonna deprive me? You’re cruel, darling.”

You laugh, handing him the loaf and then reaching in your cooler for a bottle of water. “Here Jamie.”

James’ mouth is already stained pink with the icing from your cake. Crumbs clinging to his shirt and chin.

“James! Have some dignity.” your words are broken up with your laugh, James smiles when you hand him the open water bottle.

“Thanks, darling.” Half the loaf cake is gone, and James guzzles the water like he’s been dying of thirst the whole day.

You watch James drink, aware that you’ve been staring a little longer than necessary and James knows it too because he winks at you.

“What are we having for dinner, James?”

James smiles, “Beef, you wanted that last time when we had chicken.”

You smile, giddy as ever. If it’s one thing James can do is roast beef; it’s always tender and perfect.

“Do you need me to come over early and do the potatoes? With the rosemary and thyme?” James nods, breaking off another little bite of the cake.

“Meet me there in an hour? I know you gotta do dinner at the inn.”

You shake your head, “I got Mary doing dinner tonight, and I wanna check on Snowglobe.”

James’ hand falls over his heart, a look of mock offense on his face. “Do you not believe me when I tell you he’s okay?”

You roll your eyes, “Can’t I want to take my best boy for a little leg stretch?”

James grumbles, “Best boy? Snowglobe took two years to train when we were kids.”

You smile as you remember all the days you’d sleep in James’ room complaining about how Snowglobe hated you and would never warm up to you.

“And now he’s the best horse a girl could have.You’re just jealous Jamie.”

He says nothing, just takes his loaf cake and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll follow behind you. Try not to drive like you’re on a race track, yeah?” You nod, getting into your truck and letting James close the door for you.

You don’t listen to James’ words and speed towards his ranch, foot to the pedal even as you swing into the grocery for chocolate for dessert- lest you and James pass away without a sweet treat after dinner.

At his place, in the Big House, you and James work side by side prepping dinner. He seasons the beef, you season the potatoes and put them to roast and then start on a chocolate cake.

It’s not a fancy one, but it’s occasion enough for a chocolate cake.

“How long till everything is finished?” Sirius asks, hat on his chest as he walks in holding a six pack.

“About an hour.” You and James say at the same time. Remus rolls his eyes as he steps in behind his boyfriend.

“I got your fruit, you didn’t stop by.” He holds out three bowls of cut fruit and you smile.

“Thanks Rem, I swear everyone came for bread today! I sold out of it so fast I really contemplated going back to the inn and baking more.”

The boys hum, smiling when James opens a beer and slides it to you. You take it with a nod and a smile. Quickly, you uncover the bowl of watermelon, taking a few pieces and smiling at the sweetness.

“It’s cos it’s fucking amazing bread. Lasts the whole fucking week too.” A compliment from Sirius is always genuine- as long as you’d known him, about two years, you can count on one hand how many sweet words the man says.

Conversation lulls, James talks about his plans for the week, Sirius talks about how there’s too many people trying to build big condos in your town- he’s in real estate and Remus talks of how much simpler life had gotten since he’d started raising chickens again.

You shoot out of your seat, James watches you curiously. You pull the cake from the oven and turn to all three of them stern as can be, “Those potatoes have ten minutes. I’m going to see my horse, do not let them burn.”

You rush out of the Big House without another word, boots clicking against the wooden floors and then crunching on the gravel path as you make your way to the stables.

“Snowglobe, baby.” You call, passing each stall till you find your baby’s.

Snowglobe is an old boy, almost twenty four, but he’s always been perfect. He’s all white, a pretty shiny sort of white on his coat that makes him look like fresh fallen snow. Hence his name.

He raises his head as he sees you, tail flicking as you reach a hand into his stall.

“I missed you, old boy.” You kiss his nose, stepping into the stall and getting a brush. You’re sure the farm hands James hired keep him well groomed, but he likes a bit of pampering and he deserves it too.

You brush through his mane, talking to him and sneaking a couple apples to him.

There’s a knock on the stable doors and you startle, you hear James’ deep chuckle before you see him. “Dinner’s ready,”

You kiss Snowglobe on his nose again. “I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll go riding, baby.”

James rolls his eyes when Snowglobe puts his face on your shoulder, stopping you from moving.

You grin wide, “I promise, old boy. We’ll go riding all evening.”

Snowglobe seems pleased because he lifts his head and lets you go.

“He’s as clingy as you are,” James says as you walk out beside him.

“He’s not clingy! He’s the best and I don’t come see him nearly enough.”

James scoffs, “The four times a week you ride him up and down the ranch isn’t enough?” He bumps your hips with his.

You shrug your shoulders with a smile, “He likes the exercise and your boys still saddle him. He doesn’t like it.”

James is well aware, Snowglobe tosses saddles off him if he’s feeling particularly annoyed with the weight of them some days.

James pushes open the door to the Big House. You walk past him, taking your seat on the table and groaning.

“This is gonna be fucking great.” Sirius laughs at your swear, and loads up your plate- roast potatoes, roast beef and salad.

By the time you’re all finished dinner, you and James have had two slices of cake each and you’re both sprawled on his sofa.

Remus is laying on Sirius with his hat on his stomach and Sirius’ is pulled low on his face.

“I gotta get going,” you say, breaking the silence. Your words are groggy, sleep close in your reaches the longer you lay beside James.

James sits up, “What time is your alarm?”

“Three thirty.”

James tries pulling you down beside him, but you don’t budge. “I’ll drop you back in the morning.”

You huff, a little amused. “What time do you usually wake up, James?”

“Four. I gotta check the fences though, so three thirty ain’t bad.”

There’s no use arguing with him, and you don’t really want to. He stretches out on the sofa,

Sirius and Remus are out cold, James doesn’t even move them. He just throws a blanket over them.

“C’mon, the guest room is always ready for you.” James sounds just as tired as you feel, his eyes look a little glassy too.

“Thanks Jamie,” you push open the door and smell the lavender spray you use at night strong as if you’d just sprayed it.

“Course darling, your blanket’s there too. Come get me when your alarm goes off, yeah?” James kisses your forehead, you smile.

“Yeah Jamie. Go get some sleep.”

You climb under your blankets, grinning when you smell the linen detergent James uses. Sleep comes quick, your eyes heavier than they’ve been all day now that you’re laying down.

-

Someone is shaking your shoulder and you don’t like it.

“Stop,” you groan, pushing the hand off you and pulling your blanket over your head.

“Darling it’s nearly three thirty. Come get some coffee.”

You groan, twisting in protest under the covers. “No. I’ll be down at three thirty.”

James rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me use advanced waking up tactics.”

Your head pops out of the covers, hair a little messed up. “You are not tugging this cover off me James. I swear to god.”

James smiles, “You’re so pleasant in the morning. C’mon, we’ll have coffee and one of those breakfast sandwiches and I’ll drop you off.”

The grumble you let out makes James laugh some more.

“Give me five minutes.” James nods, leaving the room and letting you go about your morning routine.

You find James pulling two sandwiches from his oven, setting yours on a plate and biting into his immediately.

“Thanks Jamie, where’s my coffee?”

James tilts his head to the pot, your favourite cup sitting right beside it.

“Your creamer’s in the fridge.”

You frown, “Where did you get sugar free creme brûlée creamer in the middle of summer?”

James shrugs, “Not telling. But it’s there.” James takes a sip of his own coffee, black with just a touch of sugar. “It’s turkey in the sandwich too.”

You smile, fixing your cup and then shuffling towards James to kiss his cheek.

“You’re cute, thank you Jamie.”

His cheeks redden without meaning too. “Eat so we can go darling. You got scones to bake and what is it today? Eggs and bacon with toasted sourdough?”

You nod, biting into your sandwich. “Yeah and I gotta do cookies today, want me to bring any over?”

James frowns, “Today?” You nod, taking the last bite of your sandwich and finishing off your coffee.

“Taking Snowglobe out after I finish up dinner at the inn.”

James rolls his eyes playfully. Since the moment Snowglobe stopped fighting you, the pair of you had been inseparable. “Yeah, you can bring a couple. Make sure and eat lunch.”

“Left overs?” Your eyes are wide and hopeful as you look at James. He feels his chest constrict a little.

He opens the fridge and pulls out a bowl, “Got everything here for you.”

“Angel status has been restored Jamie,” James grins, dimples poking out. Truly, he’d never been worried, you’re never actually upset with him ever. Angel status is always applied, but he can’t deny the way it makes him feel when you tell him that it is.

“You’re so gracious!” James bows, making you giggle and slap his shoulder. “Ready?” He asks as he rights himself. James opens the fridge again, pulling out the bowls of fruit Remus had brought over and setting them on your lunch.

“Ready, Jamie.”

[reallyromealone]

Rome you know I'm gonna need a part 2 to that zoro x reader x sanji right cause I can't let that slide😊

Title: goodbye love

Fandom: one piece

Characters: Zoro, Sanji

Fic type: angst

Pairings: Zoro x sanji

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, aggressive conversation, sad reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(name) hummed as he stocked bread in a small bakery, it had been five months since he left and he felt lighter and happier since the breakup. He was far from the island they docked from, getting a job easily at a bakery in a small coastal town.

Occasionally he wondered how his now ex boyfriends were, how they reacted to the letter... Were they sad? Angry? Did they even care? (Name) Didn't know and slowly stopped caring. He was starting fresh, leaving the pirate life to have something more domestic and stable though getting used to land was a bit tough.

"(Name), you work too much, go home early" the elderly bakery owner said softly, her cane tapping against the old wood with each step "are you sure? I don't mind being here" (name) asked her, (bakery owner) chuckled as she led him out "the rush is over, not many people will come today"

"Alright, but just get one of the kids to get me if it gets busy"

"Yes yes, now go!"

(Name) Chuckled as he was kicked out of the store, she was old but strong.

'with this extra time, might as well grab some stuff from the market' he thought as he went back to his place to grab some bags and coin, the walk calm and the gulls squawked as they flew overhead, the town was on the side of a huge hill, winding and full of turns, small but popular. It was perfect.

His apartment was small, he was surprised to have a one bedroom, a fireplace for cooking and even a bit of space for seating. His bed was the most expensive thing he owned, he saw it at the market and immediately got it. It was a futon, comfiest thing he ever slept on and he even got pillows. It was pricy but thankfully he had a fair amount of coin from his previous employment.

He only slept on wood or a hammock.

It was a nice adjustment.

The market was the biggest thing beside the town square, many vendors and travellers in and out selling everything and anything one could need.

(Name) Loved getting fruits from other places, one a trip as a treat for himself, today he got something called an apple, typically he's used to mango and jackfruit on this island so it was a nice change.

(Name) Made a few purchases, important house things and a few little trinkets for himself.

A book from a far away land.

An apple.

Some sewing needles and thread as he wished to learn to sew better.

And finally, a little music box.

It was nothing fancy but the sound it played reminded him of childhood, his mother would hum a tune quite similar to it.

What he didn't expect to see was a familiar boat.

"Shit" (name) immediately rushed home, he wasn't ready to face anything at the moment and definitely not with how he left.

(Name) Was shaking as he got inside, glancing out the window of his apartment to see if they are close to his home, irrational be knew but he had to check. Thankfully the street just had a few passersby and no strawhats. He would have to avoid anywhere that sold alcohol for a while, most restaurants and thankfully he was off for the next few days so he didn't have to go to the bakery. (Name) Looked at his collection of books and the sewing supplies and sighed happily.

Guess he has to stay inside and do the things he enjoy.

What a shame.

(Name) Spent the day doing his hobbies as a tiny radio played music in the corner, thankfully this small town had a radio station so he could enjoy some sound.

Knock knock knock.

(Name) Was engrossed in his quilt as he looked up curiously, setting his project down to go down to answer the door, a staircase down to the front door "hello (name), I thought you would enjoy some bread" his boss said kindly and handed him a basket of breads and a few muffins "ah thanks boss, that's real kind of you" the two made small talk casually, the elderly woman happy he's starting a new project "I have some sewing supplies at my home, I'm to old to use them but you can have them" the woman ushered him to follow and (name) realized he would have to leave his house.

Shit.

Silently begrudgingly he followed her, the woman excited to have someone take the supplies.

Then he smelt it half way to the bakery, cigarettes and fresh made food.

"(Name)?" He didn't turn around as his boss looked back curious, Sanji staring at his ex in awe.

(Name) Looked different.

Glowing, lighter and most of all; happier.

(Name) Turned to see his ex and sighed "hello Sanji" this is why he didn't want to go outside, his ex boyfriend looking hurt at the lack of sweet names for him, stopping closer he saw the uncomfortable expression wash over him "Luffy is gone to go get some food, have you.... (Name)" Zoro halted, staring at (name) like salvation.

(Name) Was startled at how awful the two looked, like they barely slept and sanji looked almost dead inside "can we talk?" His voice gravelly with exhaustion and (name) looked to his boss who smiled "we can talk later, you do what you need to do"

And that's how (name) ended up with the two in his apartment "So what do you guys want" (name) said less of a question and more of a demand, clearly uncomfortable "seems you settled down nice" Zoro commented as he looked at the homey space "I have" (name) stared at them unimpressed "why did you leave?" Sanji finally spoke up and the room grew more tense.

"I couldn't stay any longer, not with you two"

"Why?!" Zoro snapped and (name) had enough "because you two didn't care!" (Name) Fired back angrily "you two acted like I didn't exist! Flirting with women and ignoring me to do anything else! Who in their right mind WOULD WANT THAT! DID YOU EVEN LOVE ME?!"

It was silent as (name) heaved out a dog "I gave you two everything! And I get cheating and neglect!"

The two pirates barely had time to react as (name) lost his shit on them "why didn't you love me?" (Name) Finally asked, shaking and angry "why was it never me? You two showed more love to women and fucking swords than me!"

"I-im sorry..." Sanji whispered and (name) looked him in the eye "then why did you look at Nami in a way that you could never look at me?"

Zoro fidgeted, knowing he was next and in a rare moment... He was nervous.

"And why was I not worth spending time with?" There it was "you come here demanding to speak with me yet the time we dated you couldn't even be bothered to do the most basic of things with me"

"(Name)--"" I think you two should leave" (name) finally said "I have no interest in this conversation anymore... Goodbye "

"(Name) Come on-"" leave now, I'm begging you"

The two sorrowfully walk down the stairs, unable to get a word in as the door slammed behind them.

And at that moment they truly realized.

They lost (name).

[aesthet]

Love Brew 𓏊 ๋࣭°

Childe x fem!reader, aphrodisiac, top!childe, pet names; sweet cheeks, hun and girlie, light swearing

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦

When you heard the news that a researcher founded a new invention that causes excitement in the lower region of your body, of course you're intrigued. And so, you read the papers that has big bold letters that say

"𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑭𝑬 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵"

This title alone is crazy in itself, so coming from the trusted source being the Steambird you read it. The newspaper explains that an Amurta researcher accidentally came across a kind of flower that is able to make people aroused and this flower acts as the activator of the 'Love Brew' that gives excitement to the people who drinks it. Though it's still in the works, it's not the final and not the strongest product, the researcher admits that they want to test the waters and decided to sell a limited batch and distribute it.

After reading this, you can't help but get reminded of a certain orange haired man that you dearly loved. So while he was away to deal with some clients at the Northland Bank, you managed to get your hands on the bottle of the brew while the both of you are in Liyue.

Time passes by and the both of you returned to Wangshu Inn, and as soon as you stepped through the door of you and Ajax's room, you tell Ajax about your recent purchase. "Hey, Ajax" he closes the door as he begins to take off his outer layer of clothing. "Yeah? What's wrong, hun?" You pulled out the box from your bag and put it on the table, he tilted his head seeing the box. Seeing his reaction you can't help but smirk and open the box, beneath all the pink and white confetti sat a beautiful glass bottle with gold vine markings and a heart shaped lid, inside is filled with a glittery pink liquid that glistens under the light of your room in Wangshu Inn.

You put the bottle on the table beside the window and present it to him with a small 'ta-da~'. He chuckles at you and goes over to you, picking up the bottle and wrapping his arm around your waist "What's this? did you bought it in the market today?" you smiled seeing him examining the bottle in his hand "Yeah, it's a Love brew! a researcher from Sumeru found it, they said on the.." you continue to explain to him about what you read on the newspaper.

As he listens, he opens the bottle and takes a sniff. His nose is hit with a very sweet and floral smell, a mixture of berries, fruits and-

'Is that mint?' he thought to himself before snapping back to the real world after hearing you call out his name for the third time. "Did you listen to the last part?" you put your hands on your hips when he laughs awkwardly and scratching the back of his neck.

You sighed and repeat your words "Okay, so this potion isn't the final formula" he holds the bottle in front of his face, examining the glittery liquid "It isn't?" you nod "Why's that?" you take the bottle from his hand "It's still testing- a prototype, I suppose. It has a limited stock too" he nods, by then he smirked when an idea popped into his mind. "However" you cut off his thoughts by putting a finger in front of his face "the potion still works, but it isn't guaranteed. This bottle is enough for two people, so to put it simply, this potion has a 50/50 percent chance. Either you don't feel bothered at all or you feel an unbearable amount of heat and-" "excitement?" he smirks as he towers over you with hooded eyes.

"Uhm- yes, so are you up for it? We can leave a review once we're-" before you can finish his sentence, he pulls out two tea cups that was already in the room. He sits down across you and puts his arm on the table "Bring it on" your eyes widen but you can't help but chuckle, you then stand up to close the window beside the both of you for some privacy.

"Do you want to drink this whole? or add some tea or maybe water?" he looks at the bags of complimentary teas behind him and looks back at you "What's the fun in that?" he teased. You laugh at his competitiveness and poured for the both of you. After taking a breath you finally drink it, when the liquid enters your mouth and hits your tongue, you're hit with a sweet taste that also has a slight mint to it. It's almost addicting..

"Damn, that was good" he hums after chugging it all "Yeah, i wish it's just a regular drink and not a literal horny drug" you lick the left over potion on your lips. You then read the small instructions paper "It says wait for about two minutes" he hummed "Wanna place a bet?" he smirks, and this piqued your interest, placing down the instruction paper, you fold your arms over your chest "Go on" he then smiles widely "If the potion takes effect on you.." he trails off, pretending to think "You're not done until I'm satisfied" hearing this, you nod.

"If the potion chose you" you put fingers on your chin "I'll tie you up with my red rope" he barks out a laugh. "What? there's no way you actually bring-" you cut him off by pulling the red rope from your bag His face drops and his cheeks redden "My my, you got me. I didn't know you're so freaky" he teased. "Says you, you were the one who brought home the new Fontaine 'massager'. I admit, I really did believe for a second that it was a massager, until i saw the sucking part" now it's his turn to fold his arms. His muscles flexing, 'aren't those sleeves too small? when did he rolled them up? Did he start working on those arms more?' your train of thought was stopped after hearing his chuckle.

shit, he caught you staring..

You cleared your throat and looked away "Aw, did the potion affected you already? that quick?" he cooed, slightly leaning to the table and thus making his pecs stick out. When he leaned in, you almost gasped but managed to hold back, he smirked even more when he noticed you staring at his chest. The buttons do look like they're holding onto dear life "Eyes up here, sweet cheeks" he said.

You feel your cheeks warm up, you tried to laugh it off and joke about how big his tits are "Did you switch out your normal shirt? it looks tighter than usual" he tilts his head "Hm? but this is my regular shirt, i always buy them in the same size" oh-shit.. he's got you cornered "Oh.. really?" you laugh awkwardly as you feel your body starting to warm up.

Ajax noticed you moving in your seat and he smirks "𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮" he said in a deeper tone 'was his voice always this sexy?' you thought. "You alright there, girlie?" you look up at him that's now standing in front of you "Oh..yeah-of course!, why wouldn't I?" you laugh nervously, as you scratch the back of your neck as he looks down on you with hooded eyes an that familiar gaze.

"What?already? seems like i won this time-" his words are cut off when you begin fanning yourself and bouncing your feet in your seat. "What's happening?" you managed to squeak out "Hm? don't you remember?" his lips curled into a wide smirk. "You bought the potion..and we drank it with no added dr-" "I know! it's just so-" beads of sweat trickle down your neck as you try to play it cool "Is it hot in here? are you hot? I mean you are hot, i mean-" he broke into a fit of laughter after hearing you stuttering.

"Thank you, sweet cheeks" his gaze, playful. "Say. why don't I help you cool off, after all you lost didn't you?" and all you did was just let out a groan of his name "Alright alright, let me help you, yeah?".

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

As soon as he made that offer, you immediately kissed his delicious lips. A breathy chuckle comes out of his mouth as your tongue wrestles with his, you then push him onto the bed and climb on to him.

"So hot...too warm" you whimpered as you take off your clothes with him doing the same but doing it slowly, teasing you. "I didn't know the potion can make you incredibly sweaty too" he teases "Oh shut it" you click your tongue. Seeing this Ajax grinned widely and pull you by your waist, placing you on top of him. Your chests touch each other and your hole is dripping with pre cum as you grind on his boxers, wetting it too. You reached out to touch the big bulge hiding underneath the last piece of clothing that he's wearing as you let out small pants, begging for him to fill you up already. "I didn't know you can be so needy" he pulls down his boxers and his dick grazes your pussy slightly and you let out a small whine "I like it" he says and rubs his tip at your entrance. You grind back, trying to get his dick in, only to be slapped in the ass by his rough hands. You let out a pathetic moan from the sting, and without warning he immediately pushes himself in you, making you gasp loudly.

"So desperate" he begins moving his hips, as you grab on to his shoulders. "So whiny" he says between pants, holding your hips in place and occasionally moving them to meet his thrusts "So cute" he then goes faster and deeper than before, making your eyes widen as you let out a loud moan. You clawed his shoulder "A-ajax! s-slow down agh-" you were cut off by a harsh spank given to your right cheek "Nuh uh" he rasped out as you lean your head into the crook of his neck with drool leaking out of your mouth and onto the sheets.

He's abusing that soft spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Not to mention, he's quite thick and because of that it's easy for him to reach every spot in you with ease. After rubbing against that sweet spot multiple times Ajax feels your walls grow tighter around him, making him let out a deep groan. "You're squeezing me s-so tight, sweet cheeks" he grabs your ass to use them as handles "Let loose will ya?" he said, breathless and desperate. You shook your head 'no', "You're too de-ep! wah-" he pushed his foot against the bed, thus making a leverage for him to push himself quicker and sloppier into you.

You let out a cry when he did that, holding on to his shoulders and scratching them in the process. Your vision begin to blur as your orgasm approaches, you whined out his name and he pants your name "Let it out for me- give it to me, come on girlie i know you can do it" you tried your best to not be too loud but the way Ajax moved his hips, the task at hand is proven to be impossible.

With tear filled eyes and a loud moan, you finally came and not long after Ajax does too. After the both of you catch breaths, Ajax pats your head and kisses your forehead but as Ajax's breaths start to become normal, you start grinding your hips against his dick that's still inside you. Even though you're filled already, you need more. "It's still hot..so hot" she mumbled as if she's in a trance of some sorts. She then sat up, bouncing on him. This forces out a gasp out of the Harbringer, he then lets out an amused chuckle "Well I did say you're not done until i said so" he chokes on his groans "But from the looks of it-ah~" he said between whimpers "It seems like I'm the one who lost the bet" you continued to bounce on him, losing yourself on the Harbringer's cock until the heat subsides.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

I never wrote for Childe, this is my first ever time writing about him. I hope you (Childe stans/fans) enjoy it. I was feeling a little silly writing this, don't mind me hihi

Also, I want to ask. Would you guys be intrigued by the idea of a weeping angel but instead it's those horse statue enemies in genshin that eventually bangs you. Would you guys want that? Comment down below, if u want to see it

also, free palestine y'all🍉

[rubyin-wonderland]

Bodyguard

opla!Zoro x reader

Summary: when out and about, there's only one person you trust to protect you from harm

WC: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: kidnapping, blood, injuries, implied death, protective zoro

Another day, another town. Another piece of the big, wide world to be explored. Today, you find yourself in the bustling streets of a city.

Bustling isn't quite the right word. The streets are completely packed from one side to the other with people. And there's a constant flow of people in and out of buildings all across the street, blocking the view of the stalls set up for the farmer's market, which is where you are trying to get.

You had paired off with Zoro for grocery shopping, which you tended to do whenever possible. Besides being in a cute flirtation with him, you enjoyed how easily crowds typically parted when faced with a man wearing three swords on his belt. He was at the very least, intimidating, which was good when you were walking down busy streets and wanted some personal space.

The way he stood next to you gave the impression of a bodyguard, arms crossed, always looking around for signs of danger. You had to admit it made you feel a little special when he acted that way. Like he actually was your bodyguard, and you were something precious, to be protected.

You managed to find a way out of the crowd of people, moving to the sides of the road, leaning against the wall of a building.

Zoro followed, standing next to you in this brief moment of peace before you would be forced to go back into the crowd, and hope you would be carried to a stall that sold what you needed.

You glanced at Zoro's perfect posture next to you. "At ease." You joked, nudging him gently. He went along with your bit, loosening up and leaning back against the wall next to you.

"What do we need?" He asked as you pulled out the list Sanji had given you. His eyes remained scanning the heads of the people all around you.

You opened the list, which was short and featured quick drawings of the items, a likely jab at your accomplice.

"Lettuce, onions, celery and strawberries." You read out loud. Zoro continued his perusal of the crowd.

"Any danger?" You asked, following his gaze across the insanity of the crowd. "Not with me here."

You hummed at his response, patting the dagger concealed at your side. "You're the best bodyguard in the whole world." You complimented. He returned the smile.

You worked up the courage to go back into the crowd, Zoro following closely behind as you spotted a fruit stall across the way.

The crowd raged like a storm around you, a swirling mess of elbows, feet and tight squeezes.

It was so bad, that at one point, Zoro reached out with the hand not resting on his swords and grabbed your wrist to stay with you.

You pulled away at first, believing the grab to be from a stranger in the crowd, but relaxed when you saw Zoro. You rearranged your hands so that they fit with each other properly, before continuing to your destination.

When you reached the stand, the rush continued right behind you, but no longer jostling you and tossing you around. The stalls on the side of the road seemed untouched, despite the mass of consumers dashing back and forth across the crowd.

You would soon learn from the lady working the stall, that people rarely ever came to stock up on supplies, and prefered to save their money for the array of artisanal wares they had for sale within the buildings.

Your hand still clasped in Zoro's, removed itself soon after he let go in order to inspect the produce, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to overtake your face.

Zoro continued to watch the hustle of the street while you shopped, so focused on the insanity in front of him, that he neglected the danger behind him.

A man approached you, sauntering towards the stall while the owner's back was turned.

"Well hello there." He smiled. "What brings you to the finest stall at the market?" He leaned against a pole, attempting to look suave, but it failed. You played along nonetheless, hoping that if you made the right moves, you could avoid paying for the fruit yourself.

"Just buying some strawberries. Unfortunately I can't get very much." You looked downcast, attempting a pitiful smile before you looked back at the berries.

They were red and shiny, most definitely sweet and juicy as well, perfect for any of Sanji's culinary masterpieces.

In all honesty, you had more than enough to pay for the strawberries, but that wasn't the point of your little game. The point was being tricky. And you could do that.

You looked back at Zoro, ever focused on the crowd, and decided to go for it.

"Could you please help me out?" You asked, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper. "I'd be ever so grateful."

He looked away, a smile spreading across his features, as his hands reached into his pockets, revealing the money for your fruit.

You reached out to receive it, but he stepped away before you could grab it. He wanted you to come closer.

"Of course, I'll need some payment of my own." He said quietly, his eyes alight with a mischief you weren't sure you liked.

For a second, you debated not going along with it. It would be easier to just pay for the fruit yourself, and then go get the rest of the items on the list. And yet, you wanted the challenge just a little too much. Besides, Zoro was right there, he would notice if you were gone.

"What payment does a man like you want?" You asked, taking a step away from the stall.

The second you moved away from the stall, you felt strong arms pull your arms behind your back as the man pounced forward, shoving a cloth into your mouth, silencing your cry for help before it escaped you.

"You will do quite fine." He grinned.

You attempted to fight this attack, but the arms holding you back were strong. Your attempts to escape were futile as you were escorted into the alley.

You jerked your body back and forth, trying to free yourself, trying to kick your way out as you disappeared down the alley, the fabric gagging you.

You wriggled in the grip of your captor as the man knocked rhythmically against a door embedded into the wall. He then turned back to look at you as you kicked the shin of your captor.

"It's good to know that pirates will fall for this trick." He smiled, just about to caress your cheek when a shadow drew across the alley.

"What do you think you're doing?" Zoro asked, looking at the entrance of the alley, briefly setting eyes on you before setting his glare on the man attempting to touch you.

The man dropped his hand, facing Zoro, looking bemused, before his eyes trailed across the three swords dangling off Zoro's hip.

"You're..." "Roronoa Zoro." Zoro's face was serious, a deadly glare set on the man. "Let go of them."

The grip on your arms weakened a small bit, but not enough to free yourself.

"So, the great bounty hunter has stooped to working with pirates? That's tragic." The man taunted. "Let go of them. Now." "How the mighty have fallen." The man sauntered towards Zoro, looking sympathetic.

"Let go of my crewmate." "Make me."

The order from the man forced one of Zoro's blades from their sheath. A flash of the metal, and suddenly an angry red line was drawn across the man's face, a drop of blood beginning to trail down his face. Zoro held the blade against the man's face.

"Let them go or you'll lose something next." He ordered. The man said nothing, challenging Zoro's order. And so, Zoro followed through, one quick swipe, and the man's hand was freed from his body, falling to the ground with a solid noise. Completely severed with one stroke of the blade. There was a scream, but the endless crowd outside hardly seemed to notice, the scream fading into the din of footfalls and chatter. Soon the man was quietly sobbing, which was less attention grabbing for the situation.

The man holding you let you go and you immediately pulled the cloth from your mouth, tossing it on the ground.

The man who had held you back was now looking between Zoro and his companion, nursing the bloody stump where his hand had been.

You walked up to Zoro. "Leave them. They were smart enough to not hurt me." You insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Luffy's probably waiting for us and we aren't done shopping." You put your other hand at his elbow, guiding it down. The sword descended.

"I should cut their heads off." Zoro hissed. "I don't think our captain would approve." You tutted, crossing your arms and leaning on his shoulder. "It's one less hunter on our trail." "There's two of them, and have you forgotten the hunter we work with?" You pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling playfully.

He frowned in return. "Let me handle this." You raised an eyebrow. "I won't kill them." He waited a second to see if you'd let that go. "Please." You sighed, but walked over to the entrance of the alley. "Be quick about it. And be clean."

You heard the commotion, but you saw none of it, looking out at the road to make sure nothing drew any attention, and to maybe see if any of your crew had wandered over.

After a minute, you felt a gentle kiss pressed against the crown of your head. "All done?" You asked, turning to face Zoro. "Yes."

"Good." You took his hand and guided him back over to the stand, looking at the strawberries again, taking a basket of them and paying for it.

The rest of your trip was uneventful, and mostly spent jostling other people while trying not to get trampled.

On your walk back to the ship, Zoro was still holding your hand, keeping you close.

"Promise you won't get kidnapped again." "I was going to get us some free fruit. You're welcome." He gave you a look. "And I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He sighed. You reached up to kiss his cheek. "I knew nothing was going to happen to me, by the way." He hummed as you leaned against him. "I have the best bodyguard in the world."

[anundyingfidelity]

YES, MA’AM — Sam Winchester/Sam Wesson ft. Dean Winchester/Dean Smith (Chapter I)

Summary: Sam is the new tech support guy at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., and he thinks you, his supervisor, are related to him in ways more than professional. He not only dreams of ghosts and Dean Smith, the sales and marketing director, but you, the pretty boss who seems very fond of him, maybe a little too much.

Word count: 1.3k.

Pairing: Sam W./Sam Wesson x female reader (main), Dean W./Dean Smith x female reader. Situated in 4x17 - It's a Terrible Life.

Warnings for this series: smut with plot, sexual tension, sub!Sam, dom!reader, switch!Dean, co-workers with benefits with Dean, boss/employee dynamics, canon violence and stuff. Slow updates oops.

Notes: welcome to my very first spn fanfic, hope you enjoy this short series of Sam and Dean!

If you'd like to be added, the taglist is here!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

Chapter I | Chapter II

Chapter I: A Boring Life

Taking a quick look at the clock on the corner of the screen of his computer, Sam let out a long sigh. Lunch hour was far from near. He continued drawing the monsters he saw in his dreams on the notebook, those who wouldn't let him continue his abnormally boring and stupid life.

"Hey, Sam," a voice called, making him jump slightly on his seat.

He cleared his throat shutting the notebook and sitting right this time as he took in your figure towering over him in the cubicle with a smile on your lips.

"Hi, uhm... Is something wrong?"

You chuckled slightly. He wanted to slap himself for saying that. For Sam, bosses coming to him meant he might have done something wrong. He didn't want to know what he screwed up. Barely three weeks have passed since he started working there. As much as things were strange and weird around, Sam just wanted a quiet life.

"Not at all," you answered in a friendly manner. "Actually I just wanted to give you kudos. I've received good compliments from customers who called for help, you're doing excellent!"

Sam breathed out, feeling a heavy weight on his back dropping. He smiled. "Well, thank you. It feels good doing that."

But a raise or something would feel absolutely better, he thought.

"Sure! You're brilliant, have you ever been told that?"

"Uhm, not here. I mean- I want to say you're the first one. Sorry, the first one to say I'm brilliant, I- uhm I never really got kudos before? I don't think so but it does feel great."

He stumbled so much with his words that it made you laugh a little but he noticed you tried to suppress it. So you gave him a nod.

"Yeah, of course. I also see you're very organized with your stuff and reports," you remarked before taking a quick glance around and leaning a little bit toward him, your face morphing into a shy look. "Probably I shouldn't but could you help me with some reports today? You'd be off the phone, I just really need to send them by the end of the day and I'm extremely busy."

You bit your painted lower lip with big doe eyes, waiting for an answer. Since the first day he saw you around the company, he thought you looked extremely familiar. Like he had seen you before. Hell, it was like he knew you ages ago. But he wouldn't say it out loud, he might look like a creep.

You'd usually come like this to his spot just to talk and get into business, sometimes he'd go to ask you something he wasn't sure about from a call, but he never, ever herd from a complaint or that his work was shit from you. In fact, you were very kind and smart, always letting him know you were there if he needed anything. And you were pretty. So damn beautiful that you got his heart agitated and his body aching when you bent over a desk wearing tight black pencil skirts and those matching high stockings. He began to think probably you liked him but you used to get close to all of your employees on the tech support floor. You were just being nice to everyone.

"Uh, sure. I can do that," Sam curved his lips into a smile.

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver! I'll send you those in your email, ask me anything if it's difficult, okay?"

You responded with happy demeanour and quickly walked away back to your office, leaving him alone before he had the moment to say something. Just two minutes later he received an email from you with a bunch of reports and data to organize.

Sam scanned the files quickly while hearing the sounds of a chair rolling to his side.

"I think she likes you, man," Ian, the messy and chill coworker of his, teased. Sam chuckled.

"Nah, she's just nice to everyone. Besides, she needs help."

Suddenly, a notification popped from the side of his screen on the computer.

It was a message from you. It read:

Put on the headphones and listen to some music if you want ;)

"You were saying?" Ian joked again.

He smiled. Well, at least he'd be off the phone. Shouldn't be that hard, right?

The night fell and Sam found himself alone on his desk at eight o'clock working on your reports. Seeing the long reports and files he thought could make it on time to finish his shift at four and leave on time. It was fucking Friday. Poor him.

At least you ordered delivery for dinner for both of you. The good thing was that he wasn't really alone on the floor, you were in your office but soft music played as you worked on your stuff. Moments later, you found yourself sitting by Sam's side as he worked the final things on the last report.

"It's done," he announced, his body falling to the backrest of his chair.

"Thanks," you whispered shyly as he sent the finished files back to you. "I'm so sorry though, it's so late."

"Well, didn't have anything to do either."

"Really?!"

Your surprise made his eyes fall on you. He shrugged. "Just sleep."

You raised your eyebrows. "I thought maybe a girlfriend was waiting for you or something?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. "No, nothing like that."

The question was odd coming from you, so he decided to play a little.

"What about you?"

This time you shook your head. "Just my books and my TV."

Sam hummed. "It's a boring life, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well I get to pay my bills by the end of the month... And I meet nice people here... And I see you- Sorry."

You cut off your words all of a sudden, your eyes blinking rapidly saying you realized what you just said.

"My bad. We should get going."

You gave him a smile to try and brush off your words, but they were strong enough to get in Sam's head unnoticed. He watched you walk away, turning your computer and lights off on your office as Sam did the same on his spot. Once done, you walked out the floor together in silence.

"Thank you again. I don't think no one would ever do this for me here," you admitted with a deep exhale.

"Yeah, no problem," Sam smiled kindly as you got closer to the elevator.

"Really, I owe you. Do you have a car to get home or something? I can give you a ride if you need."

"I do, don't worry," he said as you stopped in front of the elevator, the doors opening.

"Great, so I think this is it," you grinned at him. "Have a good night."

"Thanks. I hope you have a good weekend, boss."

You nodded. "You too, Sam. Take care."

He saw you disappearing inside the elevator with a wave of your hand and a beautiful smile on your face. With a sigh, he made his way to the locker room and took his briefcase and stuff out. It was just a couple of minutes that he saw you leaving when he went back to the elevator. Checking his watch, the lift arrived and before he could get inside, he got a shocking picture in front of him.

Dean Smith, the marketing director, had you pinned against the wall and kissing down your neck. Your blouse unbuttoned, skirt up, lips open and eyes closed in bliss. Dean noticed the doors were open, pulling away his plump lips from your skin.

"Sorry buddy, wrong floor," he beamed and pushed the right button.

When you opened your eyes once again, you met Sam's open mouth and wide eyes as the doors closed. Great, now he might think you're a slut. 

[ddejavvu]

A bit late for multi-monday but what about Professor James sending students with love letters every session to Professor Reader?

How are you anywaay? How was your day?

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

--

James has chosen a blonde woman to deliver your mail today, a chem major that has perpetual bags under her eyes. You get it. If you had majored in chemistry, you'd be exhausted constantly, too.

"Professor Potter asked me to give this to you," She smiles awkwardly at you, letter in hand, "He said not to open it, and I didn't, the sticker just came off in my backpack."

"I trust you," You smile kindly at her, taking the note and nodding to her seat, "Thank you for being our messenger."

She departs with a kind nod, but you have a feeling she hadn't enjoyed running James's message. She takes her seat and you peel the letter out of its envelope, peering down at James's messy, but endearing scrawl.

'Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I'm writing to you today to speak about the administration's new budget cuts. Starting 9/01, there will no longer be Nespresso pods stocked in the break rooms, nor will there be a machine for you to bring your own. I'm sure you'll lament this loss just as much as the rest of us, but it's either that or our salary that gets cut, and I think- okay, hopefully that was enough boring bullshit to deter any unwanted eyes. The last bloke I sent to you had the thing open before he was even out the door. I'm gonna tell Allison to keep it closed, but you know nosy students. I have more interesting things to talk about than coffee machines: I managed to find a substitute to proctor my students on Friday! We can take the whole day out on the town, we'll peruse the street market and catch dinner and a show. I would have told you over text, but this seems, like, a million times more romantic. Plus I can't write in red glitter pen over text. Go with me, darling? Say you'll be sick for your Friday lecture, send out an email the night before. Students love that. Not that they don't love you and your class, though. Bet they just don't love you as much as I do. Which is a lot, I love you a lot.

Your love (who loves you a lot),

James Potter <3'

[miyuhpapayuh]

back at the office.

“Well, at least you two are on a first name basis, now. Improvement!” Mercedes pokes Mya in her side. She swats at her friend’s hand in feigned annoyance.

The pair are seated on a park bench across from the office, munching on fruit before they have to clock in for the day.

“Girl, gon’ somewhere,” she says with a laugh, “We work together and that’s about it. He’s probably not even from here!” The aloof tone of her voice betrays her actual feelings.

“Ma’am, that accent is thicker than chunky peanut butter out the freezer. Of course he’s from here. Or at least near here! Plus, I seen him at the poetry spot downtown, he could be pretty decent,” she says casually, while chomping on a chunk of watermelon.

“And just what the hell are you doing at a poetry spot? Last book you read had a big cat on the front,” Mya jabs at her friend.

“First of all, fuck you,” she’s interrupted by Mya’s snort of a laugh. “Second of all, didn’t I tell you? I met my new boo down there,” she finishes with a shimmy of the shoulders.

“How many felonies does this one have?”

“I’m gonna let that one go ‘cause I’m in a good mood. And if you quit being a punk, you can snag yourself a man, too.”

“I’m not a punk. I’m just not in the market for a man right now.” She shrugs as Mercedes rolls her eyes.

“Chile, a lie don’t care who tell it. Ray Charles can see you want his ass.”

Mya can’t contain the burst of laughter that leaves her lips.

“Why would you say that??”

“I'm just sayin’!” Mercedes continues through her own laughter.

“I’m not ‘bout to play with you today,” she dabs the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes. Glancing at her phone, she notices she’s dangerously close to being late.

“Oh shit,” she pops up from her seat grabbing her things, “Savannah’ll have our heads if we're late again.”

“Please, Savannah loves us. She’ll fire that shiftless ass Colin before she fires you,” Mercedes responds as she gathers her things at a more leisurely pace.

“Either way it goes, I’m not tryna make a habit outta being late.” She says, as they make their way inside.

“Nice of y'all to join us,” none other than Savannah herself greets them both just as they punch their timecard in the lounge.

“Hey auntie!” Mercedes cheeses, before heading out.

“So, what lil’ boy done caught your attention and got you showing up late now?” Her boss teases.

It never fails to surprise her how nothing gets past her boss, not that he was the reason for her tardiness.

“Nobody. Only thing that has my attention is work,” she lies casually, trying to breeze by her and back towards the lobby.

“Hmm. You sure it’s not that handsome young tender with the strong arms that’s always breakin’ his neck to catch a glimpse at you?”

Her ears perk up at the new piece of information, and she deftly pivots on her heels.

“He does?” she responds a little too earnestly for her own liking. Clearing an imaginary blockage from her throat, she adjusts her tone.

“He does?” She repeats, cooler this time, as she tucks a freshly straightened, cherry red tendril of hair behind her ear, a nervous tick.

“Mhm.” The all-knowing smirk on her boss’ full lips makes Mya’s cheeks redden even further.

“All the time. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you out yet. Must be shy like you. Lord knows if I wasn’t married and old enough to be his mama…” she trails off.

As if her poor cheeks couldn’t get any rosier.

“Alright! I’m gonna start workin’ now.” She starts to back her way out of the hall toward the printer room to save herself further embarrassment.

“Hey! You're coding, for the next hour. Grab the big stack of card stock from the back to refresh your signs, before you get started.”

Grabbing her tools for the day, she heads to the big printer in the middle room, closing the door behind her.

She’d taken it upon herself to color code the system, helping everyone navigate through it just a little easier, as well as replacing the faded, white company signs with brighter, more colorful ones.

Pulling up her stool, she gets started.

A knock sounds at the door, before Isaiah steps inside, heading towards the supply closet.

“Mornin’, didn’t mean to interrupt,” coming out with a stack of copy paper in hand, he looks up to see the pretty brown girl with bright red hair that’s had mind jumbled for the last few weeks or so.

She looks up from the screen and smiles. “Mornin’,” she responds, “I’m knee-deep in this screen, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“S’alright. Just came to refill the printer.” He replies, gesturing towards the big contraption she was currently sitting in front of.

“Oh! Let me move out of the way, sorry.” He chuckles, watching her grab her laptop and work on her feet, before he moves in to refill the tray.

“It’s alright. What you workin’ on, today?” He asks, printing a few documents.

“Coding the system to make it easier for everybody. Then, I’ve gotta redo the signs, out front. Savannah’s finally letting me loose in here.” She giggles, typing away on her keyboard with one hand.

Gathering his paper, he moves out of her way. “Sounds like a project. Can I see?”

“Sure!” She sits her laptop down and shows him the screen as she types away.

“Our plans are in green, projects are in pink and tasks are in blue, now. Holidays are highlighted, as well employee birthdays. Ooh! I really loved doing that, because I get to choose different colors for that, as well.”

He hums a laugh. “This your avenue, yeah? Projects?”

“Projects can be fun,” she turns toward him. “Imagine if she let you use photoshop on the ads that you create? It would take them to the next level!”

“You’ve seen one of the ads I’ve done in photoshop?” He asks.

“Mhm. It was up on the main computer, the other day. I didn’t know it was yours, until I saw the little eye you placed in the corner.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “It’s like my watermark, for now.”

“It’s cute. But, your ad was nice!”

“I appreciate that. Especially, coming from you.” She blushes, as he heads toward the door.

“See you later?” He asks, hope burning behind his brown eyes.

“See you later.” She nods, mirroring his smile, before they get back to work.

About an hour and a half later, all ten of her fingers are cramped to hell and her back is killing her, but she’s finally finished with her project.

Closing the door behind her, she sighs and heads towards her own office, bumping into Savannah.

“Oh, Mya! The system is running so smooth, now! And the signs look wonderful!” She praises.

“Thank you! I’m always happy to help!”

“So am I.” She smiles.

“What do you mean?”

“I may have put a bug in someone’s ear about someone.. you can thank me, later, sweetheart.”

“A…what? Savannah, what are you talking about?”

“Your secret admirer is about to become not so secret, anymore.”

Her heart begins to beat triple time.

“Oh, God… I think I’m having a stroke.”

“Oh,” Savannah starts laughing. “You are too much, girl! Just relax! I know he’s pretty, but he’s a sweet man who’s sweet on you!”

Isaiah conveniently walks down the hall, his sight set out for Mya.

His eyes light up as he spots her talking to their boss.

“Afternoon, ladies.” He greets. “Can I steal Mya away?”

“As long as you give her back,” Savannah pats his shoulder, before heading back down the hall.

“Hey,” she waves, that intoxicating cologne of his hitting her nose.

“Hey,” he smiles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I was kinda hoping that you would join me for lunch.. that is, if you didn’t already have anything planned, of course.”

The corners of her mouth lift into a smile. “Well, seeing as we like the same kind of food, I would love to join you for lunch. Let me just grab my wallet.”

She moves for her office door, until he speaks, again. “I was actually hoping that I could buy your lunch, as well.”

“You’re doin’ a lot of hoping, today.” The smile never leaves her lips.

“Looks like I’m doing a whole lot scorin’ today, too.” He humbly brags.

“Does this work for you, often?”

“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve tried.” He laughs.

They share a laugh. “Lead the way.”

☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.☆:☆: .☽ .☆: .☽ · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆

“So, where exactly are you from?” Mya asks, biting into her sandwich.

The pair had decided to head over to Panera for a quick lunch.

“I’m from Texas. Dallas, to be exact.” He replies.

“Ah. I told my friend that you weren’t from here, I knew it!” She giggles.

“How’d you tell?”

“Well, no offense… but, your accent is rather thick. They don’t really sound like that, down here, too fast.”

His smile takes over his entire face at her comment. “None taken. I’ve gotten that, a lot. I like the accents out here, though.”

“Well, at least y’all sound like you come from somewhere.” She rolls her eyes.

“What do you mean? You’re from here, ain’t you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t sound like it.” She frowns.

“Yes you do,” he snorts. “You got a lil twang.”

“You’re only sayin’ that.”

“Honest,” he holds his hands up. “You do. It’s subtle, but it’s there.” He assures.

“Really?” Her brows raise. He nods.

“Mhm. Don’t trip, pretty.” He says, popping a chip in his mouth. She blushes.

Catching the three minute warning on her phone, she begins to gather her trash.

“Almost time to head back?” He eyes her movement, reluctantly doing the same.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “rest of the day’s filled with paperwork.”

“Well, we can’t all be God’s favorite and color code the system in the mornings.” She laughs at the crack he takes at her.

“It’s not just about making it pretty, mister big  arms.” She playfully rolls her eyes.

“My broadness distractin’ you, little lady?” He asks, amusement coloring his tone.

Yes. God, yes.

“We should head back.” She stands up from the table to toss her trash. His eyes travel to her derrière.

“Mm.” He remarks to himself, standing from the table to throw his own trash away, before they head back to the office.

Making plans to catch back up once the day was finally over, Mya sinks down in her chair.

Her phone begins to ring.

“Hey, mama,” she answers, turning her laptop back on.

“Hey, baby. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just ready for the workday to end. It started pretty great, though.”

“Yeah? What’s going up at Vannah’s that’s got you in the good spirits, besides the angel, herself?” Her mother speaks fondly of her beloved boss.

“She’s finally taken me up on my offer to brighten up the place!,” she cheeses like her mother could see her face. “I started color coding the system to make everything easier to navigate, because it was starting to give me a migraine! Nothing on this earth should ever be that dull.”

Her mother laughs. “You are something else. But, that’s amazing, sweetheart. I always knew you’d be able to showcase your talents.”

“Thanks for always believing in me.”

“Always. Now, who’s this boy that Mercedes was goin’ on about?”

Sighing aloud, she sits up in her chair. “I gotta call you back. We’ll talk about it later, I promise.”

“Is she in trouble?”

“She’s about to be. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby. Bye bye.”

Hanging up, she quickly facetimes Mercedes. “Look, I know you and my mama are cool and all, but why would you tell her about Isaiah?”

“Girl, I honestly just told her that you got a crush on somebody, like you always do! And she was like “is he cute?” And I was like “do you know your daughter? The men are always fine!” And she laughed and that was that.” She shrugs.

“You two are gonna give me grey hair.” Mya shakes her head, beginning to type away at her keyboard.

“Now, I know you FaceTimed me to spill somethin’, so please get on with it.” Mercedes laughs. Her infectious laughter grows as Mya turns her attention back to her best friend.

“Ooh, I knew it!”

“Cedes, be quiet,” Mya giggles,” he asked me to join him for lunch and offered to pay for it! So, we went to Panera and talked. He’s from Texas, by the way.” Mercedes’ mouth falls open.

“I was wrong??”

“You were! I told you, too!” She whisper yells. “He’s from the south, but it ain’t here.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. So, you got you a Dallas cowboy, then, huh?” She says, the look on her face makes Mya wanna hang up on her.

“I really don’t like you.” She tries to hold back the smirk.

“It’s okay! Cause, I really love you!” She cheeses. “And, that’s cute, seriously. He bought you lunch and made you fall in love!”

“I’m not in love!” She laughs.

“What was in that sandwich? Bacon?”

“Mercedes.” Mya calls, it falls on deaf ears.

“That bacon must’ve been extra crispy.”

“It was. Goodbye.”

“Ride ‘em, cowgirl!”  She quickly hangs up, shaking her head.

“That girl is a mess.”

Grabbing her keys, she locks her office door behind herself and heads towards the front of the building to wait for Isaiah, like they’d planned.

“Yeah, she’s great.” He smiles, telling his friend and coworker, Jane, about Mya.

“I knew you two would hit it off. She’s been eyeing you for a while.”

“Well, she wasn’t alone.”

“Don’t I know it. You’ve talked my head about her for months, Isaiah.” She laughs, patting his shoulder.

“That’s what friends are for, right? Don’t I listen to you when you go on and on about uh, whatever his name is, this week?”

She rolls her eyes. “Tell your girlfriend to enjoy you, cause I’ll be killing you, soon.”

He laughs. “Don’t be me like that, Jane Doe. I’ll catch up with you later.” They hug and part ways.

He finds Mya with her head in her phone. He walks over, her eyes locking with his as he approaches her.

“Hey, pretty.” He greets, enjoying the view of her reddened cheeks as she twists her lips up.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Can I walk you to your car?” He offers.

“Sure.” She accepts, allowing him to lead the way, opening the door for her. She mentally checks manners off her list.

“Thank you, Isaiah.” She unlocks the driver side door.

“You’re more than welcome. Before I let you go, I’d like to ask you somethin’.”

She leans against the car door. “What’s up?”

“I been meanin’ to ask you, if you’d like to accompany me to this new spot, Friday?”

Completely taken aback that he was actually asking her out, her immediate yes jumped out, before she could contain herself. Their smiles are identical.

“I would love to. What kind of spot are we talkin’?”

“S’called Tropic. You know, one of those clubs with the disco lights, like we’re still in nineteen seventy-five and the drinks got them tiny umbrellas in ‘em.” He chuckles, rambling on as she dazedly stares at him.

“Sounds like fun.” She cheeses.

“It’s a date, then," grabbing her hand into his own, he softly caresses her skin. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too.” Her voice came out smaller than she liked. He doesn’t tease her about it. Kissing the back of her hand, he releases her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She nods.

Waving goodbye, he heads to his own car, leaving her to slide inside of her own and squeal.

“A date?!”

[haggishlyhagging]

“By 1900 child mortality was already declining—not because of anything the medical profession had accomplished, but because of general improvements in sanitation and nutrition. Meanwhile the birthrate had dropped to an average of about three and a half; women expected each baby to live and were already taking measures to prevent more than the desired number of pregnancies. From a strictly biological standpoint then, children were beginning to come into their own.

Economic changes too pushed the child into sudden prominence at the turn of the century. Those fabled, pre-industrial children who were "seen, but not heard," were, most of the time, hard at work—weeding, sewing, fetching water and kindling, feeding the animals, watching the baby. Today, a four-year-old who can tie his or her own shoes is impressive. In colonial times, four-year-old girls knitted stockings and mittens and could produce intricate embroidery; at age six they spun wool. A good, industrious little girl was called "Mrs." instead of "Miss" in appreciation of her contribution to the family economy: she was not, strictly speaking, a child.

But when production left the houschold, sweeping away the dozens of chores which had filled the child's day, childhood began to stand out as a distinct and fascinating phase of life. It was as if the late Victorian imagination, still unsettled by Darwin's apes, suddenly looked down and discovered, right at knee-level, the evolutionary missing link. Here was the pristine innocence which adult men romanticized, and of course, here, in miniature, was the future which today's adult men could not hope to enter in person. In the child lay the key to the control of human evolution. Its habits, its pastimes, its companions were no longer trivial matters, but issues of gravest importance to the entire species.

This sudden fascination with the child came at a time in American history when child abuse—in the most literal and physical sense—was becoming an institutional feature of the expanding industrial economy. Near the turn of the century, an estimated 2,250,000 American children under fifteen were full-time laborers—in coal mines, glass factories, textile mills, canning factories, in the cigar industry, and in the homes of the wealthy—in short, wherever cheap and docile labor could be used. There can be no comparison between the conditions of work for a farm child (who was also in most cases a beloved family member) and the conditions of work for industrial child laborers. Four-year-olds worked sixteen-hour days sorting beads or rolling cigars in New York City tenements; five-year-old girls worked the night shift in southern cotton mills.

So long as enough girls can be kept working, and only a few of them faint, the mills are kept going; but when faintings are so many and so frequent that it does not pay to keep going, the mills are closed.

These children grew up hunched and rickety, sometimes blinded by fine work or the intense heat of furnaces, lungs ruined by coal dust or cotton dust—when they grew up at all. Not for them the "century of the child," or childhood in any form:

The golf links lie so near the mill

That almost every day

The laboring children can look out

And see the men at play.

Child labor had its ideological defenders: educational philosophers who extolled the lessons of factory discipline, the Catholic hierarchy which argued that it was a father's patriarchal right to dispose of his children's labor, and of course the mill owners themselves. But for the reform-oriented, middle-class citizen the spectacle of machines tearing at baby flesh, of factories sucking in files of hunched-over children each morning, inspired not only public indignation, but a kind of personal horror. Here was the ultimate "rationalization" contained in the logic of the Market: all members of the family reduced alike to wage slavery, all human relations, including the most ancient and intimate, dissolved in the cash nexus. Who could refute the logic of it? There was no rationale (within the terms of the Market) for supporting idle, dependent children. There were no ties of economic self-interest to preserve the family. Child labor represented a long step toward that ultimate "anti-utopia" which always seemed to be germinating in capitalist development: a world engorged by the Market, a world without love.”

-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Intuit: “Our fraud fights racism”

Tonight (September 27), I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

Today's key concept is "predatory inclusion": "a process wherein lenders and financial actors offer needed services to Black households but on exploitative terms that limit or eliminate their long-term benefits":

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2329496516686620

Perhaps you recall predatory inclusion from the Great Financial Crisis, when predatory subprime mortgages with deceptive teaser rates were foisted on Black homeowners (who were eligible for better mortgages), resulting in a wave of Black home theft in the foreclosure crisis:

https://prospect.org/justice/staggering-loss-black-wealth-due-subprime-scandal-continues-unabated/

Before these loans blew up, they were styled as a means of creating Black intergenerational wealth through housing speculation. They turned out to be a way to suck up Black families' savings before rendering them homeless and forcing them into houses owned by the Wall Street slumlords who bought all the housing stock the Great Financial Crisis put on the market:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

That was just an update on an old con: the "home sale contract," invented by loan-sharks who capitalized on redlining to rip off Black families. Back when banks and the US government colluded to deny mortgages to Black households, sleazy lenders created the "contract loan," which worked like a mortgage, but if you were late on a single payment, the lender could seize and sell your home and not pay you a dime – even if the house was 99% paid for:

https://socialequity.duke.edu/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Plunder-of-Black-Wealth-in-Chicago.pdf

Usurers and con-artists love to style themselves as anti-racists, seeking to "close the racial wealth gap." The payday lending industry – whose triple-digit interest rates trap poor people in revolving debt that they can never pay off – styles itself as a force for racial justice:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

Payday lenders prey on poor people, and in America, "poor" is often a euphemism for "Black." Payday lenders disproportionately harm Black families:

https://ung.edu/student-money-management-center/money-minute/racial-wealth-gap-payday-loans.php

Payday lenders are just unlicensed banks, who deploy a layer of bullshit to claim that they don't have to play by the rules that bind the rest of the finance sector. This scam is so juicy that it spawned the fintech industry, in which a bunch of unregulated banks sprung up to claim that they were too "innovative" to be regulated:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

When you hear "Fintech," think "unlicensed bank." Fintech turned predatory inclusion into a booming business, recruiting Black spokespeople to claim that being the sucker at the table in the cryptocurrency casino was actually a form of racial justice:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/07/business/media/cryptocurrency-seeks-the-spotlight-with-spike-lees-help.html

But not all predatory inclusion is financial. Take Facebook Basics, Meta's "poor internet for poor people" program. Facebook partnered with telcos in the Global South to rig their internet access. These "zero rating" programs charged subscribers by the byte to reach any service except Facebook and its partners. Facebook claimed that this would "bridge the digital divide," by corralling "the next billion internet users" into using its services.

The fact that this would make "Facebook" synonymous with "the internet" was just an accidental, regrettable side-effect. Naturally, this was bullshit from top to bottom, and the countries where zero-rating was permitted ended up having more expensive wireless broadband than the countries that banned it:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/02/countries-zero-rating-have-more-expensive-wireless-broadband-countries-without-it

The predatory inclusion gambit is insultingly transparent, but that doesn't stop desperate scammers from trying it. The latest chancer is Intuit, who claim that the end of its decade-long, wildly profitable "free tax prep" scam is bad for Black people:

https://www.propublica.org/article/turbotax-intuit-black-taxpayers-irs-free-file-marketing

Some background. In nearly every rich country on Earth, the tax authorities send every taxpayer a pre-filled tax return, based on the information submitted by employers, banks, financial planners, etc. If that looks good to you, you just sign it and send it back. Otherwise, you can amend it, or just toss it in the trash and pay a tax-prep specialist to produce your own return.

But in America, taxpayers spend billions every year to send forms to the IRS that tell it things it already knows. To make this ripoff seem fair, the hyper-concentrated tax-prep industry, led by the Intuit, creators of Turbotax, pretended to create a program to provide free tax-prep to working people.

This program was called Free File, and it was a scam. The tax-prep cartel each took a different segment of Americans who were eligible for Freefile and then created an online house of mirrors that would trick those people into spending hours working on their tax-returns until they were hit with an error message falsely claiming they were ineligible for the free service and demanding hundreds of dollars to file their returns.

Intuit were world champions at this scam. They blocked their Freefile offering from search-engine crawlers and then bought ads that showed up when searchers typed "freefile" into the query box that led them to deceptively named programs that had "free" in their names but cost a fortune to use – more than you'd pay for a local CPA to file on your behalf.

The Attorneys General of nearly every US state and territory eventually sued Intuit over this, settling for $141m:

https://www.agturbotaxsettlement.com/Home/portalid/0

The FTC is still suing them over it:

https://www.ftc.gov/legal-library/browse/cases-proceedings/192-3119-intuit-inc-matter-turbotax

We have to rely on state AGs and the FTC to bring Intuit to justice because every Intuit user clicks through an agreement in which we permanently surrender our right to sue the company, no matter how many laws it breaks. For corporate criminals, binding arbitration waivers are the gift that keeps on giving:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/24/uber-for-arbitration/#nibbled-to-death-by-ducks

Even as the scam was running out, Intuit spent millions lobby-blitzing Congress, desperate for action that would let it continue to privately tax the nation for filling in forms that – once again – told the IRS things it already knew. They really love the idea of paying taxes on paying your taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/20/turbotaxed/#counter-intuit

But they failed. The IRS has taken Freefile in-house, will send you a pre-completed tax return if you want it. This should be the end of the line for Intuit and other tax-prep profiteers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/17/free-as-in-freefile/#tell-me-something-i-dont-know

Now we're at the end of the line for the scam, Intuit is playing the predatory inclusion card. They're conning Black newspapers like the Chicago Defender into running headlines like "IRS Free Tax Service Could Further Harm Blacks,"

https://defendernetwork.com/news/opinion/irs-free-tax-service-could-further-harm-blacks/

The only named source in that article? Intuit spokesperson Derrick Plummer. The article went out on the country's Black newswire Trice Edney, whose editor-in-chief did not respond to Propublica's Paul Kiel's questions.

Then Black Enterprise got in on the game, publishing "Critics Claim The IRS Free Tax Prep Service Could Hurt Black Americans." Once again, the only named source for the article was Plummer, who was "quoted at length." Black Enterprise declined to tell Kiel where that article came from:

https://www.blackenterprise.com/critics-claim-the-irs-free-tax-prep-service-could-hurt-black-americans/

For Intuit, placing op-eds is a tried-and-true tactic for laundering its ripoffs into respectability. Leaked internal Intuit memos detail the company's strategy of "pushing back through op-eds" to neutralize critics:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Intuit spox Derrick Plummer did respond to Kiel's queries, denying that Intuit was paying for these op-eds, saying "with an idea as bad as the Direct File scheme we don’t have to pay anyone to talk about how terrible it is."

Meanwhile, ex-NAACP director (and No Labels co-chair) Benjamin Chavis has used his position atop the National Newspaper Publishers Association to publish op-eds against the IRS Direct File program, citing the Progressive Policy Institute, a pro-business thinktank that Intuit's internal documents describe as part of its "coalition":

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Chavis's Chicago Tribune editorial claimed that Direct File could cause Black filers to miss out on tax-credits they are entitled to. This is a particularly ironic claim given Intuit's prominent role in sabotaging the Child Tax Credit, a program that lifted more Americans out of poverty than any other in history:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/29/three-times-is-enemy-action/#ctc

It's also an argument that can be found in Intuit's own anti-Direct File blog posts:

https://www.intuit.com/blog/innovative-thinking/taxpayer-empowerment/intuit-reinforces-its-commitment-to-fighting-for-taxpayers-rights/

The claim is that because the IRS disproportionately audits Black filers (this is true), they will screw them over in other ways. But Evelyn Smith, co-author of the study that documented the bias in auditing says this is bullshit:

https://siepr.stanford.edu/publications/working-paper/measuring-and-mitigating-racial-disparities-tax-audits

That's because these audits of Black households are triggered by the IRS's focus on Earned Income Tax Credits, a needlessly complicated program available to low-income (and hence disproportionately Black) workers. The paperwork burden that the IRS heaps on EITC recipients means that their returns contain errors that trigger audits.

As Smith told Propublica, "With free, assisted filing, we might expect EITC claimants to make fewer mistakes and face less intense audit scrutiny, which could help reduce disparities in audit rates between Black and non-Black taxpayers."

Meanwhile, the predatory inclusion talking points continue to proliferate. Nevada accountants and the state's former controller somehow coincidentally managed to publish op-eds with nearly identical wording. Phillip Austin, vice-chair of Arizon's East Valley Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, claims that free IRS tax prep "would disproportionately hurt the Hispanic community." Austin declined to tell Propublica how he came to that conclusion.

Right-wing think-tanks are pumping out a torrent of anti-Direct File disinfo. This surely has nothing to do with the fact that, for example, Center Forward has HR Block's chief lobbyist on its board:

https://thehill.com/opinion/finance/4125481-direct-e-file-wont-make-filing-taxes-any-easier-but-it-could-make-things-worse/

The whole thing reeks of bullshit and desperation. That doesn't mean that it won't succeed in killing Direct File. If there's one thing America loves, it's letting businesses charge us a tax just for dealing with our own government, from paying our taxes to camping in our national parks:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/30/military-industrial-park-service/#booz-allen

Interestingly, there's a MAGA version of predatory inclusion, in which corporations convince low-information right-wingers that efforts to protect them from ripoffs are "woke." These campaigns are, incredibly, even stupider than the predatory inclusion tale.

For example, there's a well-coordianted campaign to block the junk fees that the credit card cartel extracts from merchants, who then pass those charges onto us. This campaign claims that killing junk fees is woke:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

How does that work? Here's the logic: Target sells Pride merch. That makes them woke. Target processes a lot of credit-card transactions, so anything that reduces card-processing fees will help Target. Therefore, paying junk fees is a way to own the libs.

No, seriously.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/27/predatory-inclusion/#equal-opportunity-scammers

[junedenim]

dance in my underpants

the consequences of destroying bras

warnings: smut, age gap, fucking & stuff

word count: 2.7k

It was a trip to the mall. Two people who are having fun. The guidelines of your relationship haven't been outlined yet. Neither of you have raised any complaints about it. I mean, how could you complain when he looks like that and he fucks like that. 

You had fucked in a bed finally. Like a proper fucking. A couple of times now actually. Usually at his place because it was gargantuan in size and he had no one living with him in that villa. You fucked at your place once, last night, when your roommate was away for the weekend. During foreplay before the aforementioned fucking, he ripped your bra. Now you're at the mall after a promise to replace it that you are making sure he upholds. 

"I don't know why you need a bra," Alex says. "You look much better without one. You don't even need a shirt." He's got his arm wound around your waist. Your body touches his side and you walk in sync without even noticing.

"You'd like for me to walk around topless all the time?" You question. The mall is mostly bare. It's a Wednesday before noon. Something Alex is deeply annoyed by but you've got plans later today and you don't need this guy ghosting you over a bra, especially when you've seen what his house looks like. You can milk this sucker for the prettiest, priciest bra imaginable.

"I think society would like you walking around topless all the time. You'd get the key to the city or something." He's dressed differently today. Most of the time he's got that suit jacket on that looks like he just came from investing in the stock market or fucking your mom. Now, he's got a leather jacket on that makes it look threatening and burns holes through you, especially when his hard exterior dissolves into a chuckle.

"I think I'd be put on a sex offender list if I did that." He laughs at that and tightens his grip on your waist. You like how hard he presses into your skin. Fingernails indents found on your thighs. He isn't only in this practice. A fair share of clawing at his back has been demonstrated.

"Isn't that like your First Amendment right to do that? It would be freedom of expression. Your boobs are like a special art form or something. Like the Venus de Milo or something." He's cute with his sunglasses, his admiring gaze peeking through, that smirk that threatens his lips, that chain that hangs from his neck.

Inside the store, his eyes dash around the room with wonder like he is a kid in a candy store. You let out a huff of laughter. "You look like you're about to make love to the bras. You sure you want me walking around topless?"

He leans and whispers close to your ear, "No, I'll just rip every single one off of you."

You snap around and look him in the eye. "You will not be ripping any more bras of mine."

He nods with a tight smirk. "Yeah. And who is buying the bra again?"

"You're replacing what you broke."

"In that case, I'll buy you as many as you want as long as I can tear them off you." You giggle to distract yourself from the heat that rises from your core and floods through your whole body. You walk over to the push-up bra section. 

Alex comes behind you holding up a red lace balconette bra. "Already found you a winner." He is talking in a hushed tone because he knows exactly what it does to you. Rings of fire flush your cheeks. He reaches around you and picks up another one, a black push-up number. "Ooh, this one too."

You accept the bra with a laugh. "What is this? Project Runway?"

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Does that mean I get a fashion show?"

You slap the bra in your hand on his chest playfully and turn away from him, the uncontrollable smile spreading on your face. You search through the store more. Alex, of course, has more suggestions and, well, if he's going to pay for it, who are you to deny trying them on?

When you head to the fitting rooms, Alex tells the employee working the section, "I'm gonna help her out."

Past the employee, you turn back to him with an accusing smile and an agape mouth. "You wanna fuck me in the changing room."

He pulls a shocked face as if it could be the most unaccepted thing ever. "You and your dirty mind. Shush."

You enter the fitting room with him following behind as he locks the door and rubs your hands over the fabric of the bras in your hand. It simulates a feeling in you. That one that's becoming familiar with him rubbing his hands all over you. Over your body. Over your breasts. Over your nipples. Your eyes stare at him, specifically his ass in those pants.

"You gonna make me?" You tease. He turns around to look at you. Quickly taking his sunglasses off, he looks at you smug. 

Alex is strange. An anomaly. He eyes you up and down, smirking the whole way, and then he sits on the little chair in the corner of the small room, crossing his legs. He could be Vito Corleone right now if he had a cat on his lap. A really hot young Vito Corleone, a young Marlon Brando. Or something or other, you're too horny-drunk to think of proper figures. He rubs his chin and says, "Maybe. Try on the black one first."

"Turn around," you joke.

His eyes widen and he lets a chuckle. "You know I've seen you naked before. Like fully nude, right?"

You nodded assuredly. "Oh, yeah, I know, but I'm afraid you'd get too turned on and cream your pants."

Alex gives a half-ass laugh because, yeah, you've turned him into a completely horny pervert that he is definitely going to cream in this fitting room but he's hoping it will be in you and not his trousers. "Shut up."

It's your turn to look smug. A flirty look with batting of your eyelashes is the quickest way to get him turned on. You undo the bra you were wearing and answer his request for the black bra first. It's cute, but not quite your style. However, it's definitely Alex's as he is practically drooling over himself. "I don't like it," you announce, reaching back to undo it.

"I fucking love it. Don't take it off yet."

You indulge him, standing there in your panties and bra. There wasn't much need to take off your pants but it will definitely quicken the process when he does fuck you. You furrow your brows and taunt him, "Weren't you supposed to be a cool older guy? You're more horny than my high school boyfriend."

"I fuck you better than your high school boyfriend." There's the smug bastard.

You huff and undo the bra. "You'd have the be a corpse to fuck worse than my high school boyfriend." 

"When was that? Last year?" 

"And you went to school when log cabins were a thing, right?"

He scoffs, "Funny." You both do that a lot. Tease the other about their age. The age gap isn't much of an issue because you're two adults and you're just fucking. Literally all the time fucking.

You slip on the red one, mainly because he picked it and you want to quicken the process and just have him fuck you already. Fingering, blowjob, penetration, you don't care, you just want him to get to it already. 

"I like this one." You fiddle with the straps. You're a temptress, snapping one strap back on your skin and letting the other one hang off your shoulder.

"I like this one too." He is, of course, staring at your boobs and not at you.

You hum. Staring into the mirror, you ask, "Are you sure it's not too sexy?" You're just waiting for his next move, trying everything to entice him. You look at him through his reflection in the mirror.

"I don't think too sexy is a thing." He is still sitting in that chair.

You sigh loudly, poking at the cups. "Then maybe it's not sexy enough."

"Not sexy enough is definitely not a thing."

You turn around. He's leaned back in the chair, showing no sign of movement. You're desperate and he is too, even if he isn't showing it now. "Prove it?" You request.

He wags his finger accusingly. "See, I knew you wanted to fuck in the fitting room."

You hold your hands up as acting defense."Whoops. You caught me. But you can't be looking arrogant in that leather jacket and not expect me to want to fuck you."

He's pleased by this, his grin growing into a shit-eating one. "Well," he stands up, "you are very hot in that bra. I just might have to."

You laugh. "Don't make it so procedural. Just get over here—"

With the go-ahead, he is pretty quick to interrupt with a hard kiss on the lips. "I'm worried you won't be able to be quiet though," he baits.

You rub your nose up against him, both breathing the same hot air. "I do have enough control over myself, unlike some other people."

"Shall we put it to a test?" No response is needed. He has his mouth on you in an instant. Like him admiring you in a bra but wanting you desperately naked, you push his leather jacket off in an instant. It splashes on the floor into a pile of black sludge. His boot kicks it back out of the way around where your clothes lie.

Hungry kisses on your neck and down to your chest. He devours every bit of your skin. Your belly, your thighs; his lips, his teeth. Every part of you is drawn to him, every inch waiting for his touch. When his fingers brush near the lacy edge of your underwear, you find yourself growing antsy, aching to be touched right there. To be touched by him and he's so close with one hand squeezing your ass and the other skimming your hemline but he just won't.

Suddenly he turns you around and the kissing doesn't stop there. Soft kisses over your ears, rough ones on your neck. You're helpless, unable to take control like you desperately want to—or pretend like you do. The feel of his weight on you and his hard-on pressed against your ass. Your breath comes in short bursts as he pushes you up against the wall. He's grinding against you and you're grinding against the wall, looking for some release.

Alex unhooks your bra and slips his hands under you. They're not cold, but you still shiver at the touch. The roughness of his grasp and the featherlike flick of his thumbs against your nipples. He murmurs into your ear, "Much better without the bra."

The throbbing between your thighs grows stronger as he pushes you against the wall, positioning himself at your knees. He slides your panties off, followed by his pants. He grabs your hips with one hand, pulling you up against his cock. You tremble, and you think he notices, because he teases, slowly rolling his hips against you, and you push back. He gets the hint and slips two fingers inside you, just barely, before pulling them out again. A frustrated gasp leaves your mouth, and you turn your head as if to say hurry the fuck up, but he just smirks and focuses his view on your pussy.

You're desperate and he knows it. He fucking enjoys it, keeping you in a holding pattern and grabbing your hips hard, like he's afraid you'll slip away, rubbing his cock against you like he's waiting for permission or really for you to beg. But you refuse to be the first to crumble and the next thing you know he's burying himself inside you, slowly but surely, like he wants you to feel every inch to the fullest. You gasp, just like he was hoping. A satisfied grunt leaves his lips, which not only gives you full satisfaction and pleasure of getting noise out of him but adds fuel to the fire and as he slowly pulls back out, you sway your hips a little, inviting him right back. His next thrust is harder and more brutal, but you're so ready for him that he pounds into you with ease.

"Oh, fuck," you moan and he is picking up the pace, trying to urge more out of you. You cover your mouth out of fear of capturing the employee—who is only a handful of feet away—and her attention. The aching becomes too much to bear, and you reach for your clit, but he slaps the hand away and holds it behind your back.

You whine, pushing against his thrusts, but he only slows down, murmuring into my ear, "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes," I whisper. "You're so—you're so fucking good."

"Uh-huh."

Once again you're left frustrated as he pulls out and flips you over. You arch your back against the wall as he expertly glides his hands around the curves of your body.

"A quickie is usually quick," you note.

He leans in closer, getting right in your face, gently raking his fingers through your hair. The look on his face is wanting, but soft. The slight part of his lips and his downturned eyes looking into yours. It's a jarring feeling, suddenly being the subject of his tender affection, but you're unable to look away or grab him and say we're here to fuck, not fondle. 

The taste of Alex's morning cigarette lingers on his lips. The tip of his nose bumps into yours as you allow yourself to sink into the kiss. His kisses are long and slow, matching the rhythm of your bodies as you begin to move again. You drink in all the groans and grunts you get out of him.

When he places his thumb just over your clit, the intensity catches you by surprise, but he steadies you. He holds his other hand over your mouth. Your moans muffled and hopefully quiet enough. He holds his thumb over your clit and you quiver at the touch. Your breath comes in shorter and shorter bursts. You're redder than ever, you're sure, and he looks so fucking pleased with himself, his arrogance driving you crazy in more ways than one. He picks up the speed a little, rolling his hips in rhythm with yours. The pressure on your clit and the throbbing of him inside you causes the sweat on his skin and your breath to shatter. As the orgasm overtakes you, you bite down on his shoulder, collapsing against him like you have no bones left in your body.

His chest rises and falls with yours, he holds you there until you detach. Before you can say anything, he holds you up in the air and fucks you, hard against the wall. His thrusting becomes erratic, unrelenting, and with a mess of strangled grunts and groans that he tries to hold inside.

"Wouldn't it be really funny if she knocked on the door now?" You joke.

Alex laughs causing his pattern to be even more fucked up. His smile drops as his breath develops heavier and warmer against your ear. He bites the lobe softly and whispers, "I'm gonna come in you, okay?"

You nod the best you can and his breath becomes strangled and choked-up. He lets out a noisy exhale before his cum floods into you. He nuzzles into your neck and he lets out a moan into your skin hoping to cover it. You stroke the back of his head, scratching your nails soothingly across the surface.

"Shall I try on the rest?" You whisper into his ear.

He lifts his head and chuckles, "Oh, fuck." He shakes his head, still out of breath, he says, "No, I'll buy all of them for you. I don't care if they don't fit. We need to go back to bed."

You giggle at how exhausted he looks. "I have plans."

His cock is still hanging in the air. He has done little to clean himself up, still staring at you. You feel him ooze out of you but you shockingly like the feeling. "Come over after. I'll fuck you in the hot tub."

*

a/n: submit your bald alex photos for more, well, bald alex (fucking in public, of course).

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 6, 2023

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUL 7, 2023

The payroll processing firm ADP said today that private sector jobs jumped by 497,000 in June, far higher than the Dow Jones consensus estimate predicted. The big gains were in leisure and hospitality, which added 232,000 new hires; construction with 97,000; and trade, transportation and utilities with 90,000. Annual pay rose at a rate of 6.4%. Most of the jobs came from companies with fewer than 50 employees. 

The Dow Jones Industrial Average, which is a way to measure the stock market by aggregating certain stocks, dropped 372 points as the strong labor market made traders afraid that the Fed would raise interest rates again to cool the economy. Higher interest rates make borrowing more expensive, slowing investment. 

Today, as the Washington Post’s climate reporter Scott Dance warned that the sudden surge of broken heat records around the globe is raising alarm among scientists, Bloomberg’s Cailley LaPara reported that the incentives in the Inflation Reduction Act for emerging technologies to address climate change have long-term as well as short-term benefits. 

Dance noted that temperatures in the North Atlantic are already close to their typical annual peak although we are early in the season, sea ice levels around Antarctica are terribly low, and Monday was the Earth’s hottest day in at least 125,000 years and Tuesday was hotter. LaPara noted that while much attention has been paid to the short-term solar, EV, and wind industries in the U.S., emerging technologies for industries that can’t be electrified—technologies like sustainable aviation fuel, clean hydrogen, and direct air capture, which pulls carbon dioxide out of the air—offer huge potential to reduce emissions by 2030. 

This news was the backdrop today as President Biden was in South Carolina to talk about Bidenomics. After touting the huge investments of both public and private capital that are bringing new businesses and repaired infrastructure to that state, Biden noted that analysts have said that the new laws Democrats have passed will do more for Republican-dominated states than for Democratic ones. “Well, that’s okay with me,” Biden said, “because we’re all Americans. Because my view is: Wherever the need is most, that’s the place we should be helping. And that’s what we’re doing. Because the way I look at it, the progress we’re making is good for all Americans, all of America.”

On Air Force One on the way to the event, deputy press secretary Andrew Bates began his remarks to the press: “President Biden promised that he would be a president for all Americans, regardless of where they live and regardless of whether they voted for him or not. He also promised to rebuild the middle class. The fact that Bidenomics has now galvanized over $500 billion in job-creating private sector investment is the newest testament to how seriously he takes fulfilling those promises.”

Bates listed all the economic accomplishments of the administration and then added: “the most powerful endorsement of Bidenomics is this: Every signature economic law this President has signed, congressional Republicans who voted “no” and attacked it on Fox News then went home to their district and hailed its benefits.” He noted that “Senator Lindsey Graham called the Inflation Reduction Act ‘a nightmare for South Carolina,’” then, “[j]ust two months later, he called BMW’s electric vehicles announcement ‘one of the most consequential announcements in the history of the state of South Carolina.’” “Representative Joe Wilson blasted the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law but later announced, ‘I welcome Scout Motors’ plans to invest $2 billion and create up to 4,000 jobs in South Carolina.’ Nancy Mace called Bidenomics legislation a…‘disaster,’ then welcomed a RAISE grant to Charleston.” 

“[W]hat could speak to the effectiveness of Bidenomics more than these conversions?” Bates asked.

While Biden is trying to sell Americans on an economic vision for the future, the Republican leadership is doubling down on dislike of President Biden and the Democrats. Early on the morning of July 2, Trump, who remains the presumptive 2024 Republican presidential nominee, shared a meme of President Biden that included a flag reading: “F*CK BIDEN AND F*CK YOU FOR VOTING FOR HIM!” The next morning, in all caps, he railed against what he called “massive prosecutorial conduct” and “the weaponization of law enforcement,” asking: “Do the people of this once great nation even have a choice but to protest the potential doom of the United States of America??? 2024!!!”

Prosecutors have told U.S. district judge Aileen Cannon that they want to begin Trump’s trial on 37 federal charges for keeping and hiding classified national security documents, and as his legal trouble heats up, Trump appears to be calling for violence against Democrats. On June 29 he posted what he claimed was the address of former president Barack Obama, inspiring a man who had been at the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol to repost the address and to warn, “We got these losers surrounded! See you in hell,…Obama’s [sic].” Taylor Tarranto then headed there with firearms and ammunition, as well as a machete, in his van. Secret Service agents arrested him. 

Indeed, those crossing the law for the former president are not faring well. More than 1,000 people have been arrested for their participation in the events of January 6, and those higher up the ladder are starting to feel the heat as well. Trump lawyer Lin Wood, who pushed Trump’s 2020 election lies, was permitted to “retire” his law license on Tuesday rather than be disbarred. Trump lawyer John Eastman is facing disbarment in California for trying to overturn the 2020 election with his “fake elector” scheme, a ploy whose legitimacy the Supreme Court rejected last week. And today, Trump aide Walt Nauta pleaded not guilty to federal charges of withholding documents and conspiring to obstruct justice for allegedly helping Trump hide the classified documents he had at Mar-a-Lago. 

Trump Republicans—MAGA Republicans—are cementing their identity by fanning fears based on cultural issues, but it is becoming clear those are no longer as powerful as they used to be as the reality of Republican extremism becomes clear. 

Yesterday the man who raped and impregnated a then-9-year-old Ohio girl was sentenced to at least 25 years in prison. Last year, after the Supreme Court overturned the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision recognizing the constitutional right to abortion, President Biden used her case to argue for the need for abortion access. Republican lawmakers, who had criminalized all abortions after 6 weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant, publicly doubted that the case was real (Ohio Attorney General Dave Yost told the Fox News Channel there was “not a damn scintilla of evidence” to support the story). Unable to receive an abortion in Ohio, the girl, who had since turned 10, had to travel to Indiana, where Dr. Caitlin Bernard performed the procedure.

Republican Indiana attorney general Todd Rokita complained—inaccurately—that Bernard had not reported child abuse and that she had violated privacy laws by talking to a reporter, although she did not identify the patient and her employer said she acted properly. Bernard was nonetheless reprimanded for her handling of privacy issues and fined by the Indiana licensing board. Her employer disagreed.

As Republican-dominated states have dramatically restricted abortion, they have fueled such a backlash that party members are either trying to avoid talking about it or are now replacing the phrase “national ban” with “national consensus” or “national standard,” although as feminist writer Jessica Valenti, who studies this language, notes, they still mean strict antiabortion measures. In the House, some newly-elected and swing-district Republicans have blocked abortion measures from coming to a vote out of concern they will lose their seats in 2024. 

But it is not at all clear the issue will go away. Yesterday, those committed to protecting abortion rights in Ohio turned in 70% more signatures than they needed to get a measure amending the constitution to protect that access on the ballot this November. In August, though, antiabortion forces will use a special election to try to change the threshold for constitutional amendments, requiring 60% of voters rather than a majority.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON