Succession2.05 | Tern Haven

Succession 2.05 | Tern Haven

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And this li’l one has…Marcus’ smile or ears or somethin’, maybe. He’s part of you…so he’s part of her, too.”

I love the way these two understand each other’s grief. You so beautifuly capture the pain and terror and joy of parenthood. I’ll never get tired of this little family! 🥰🥰

Postpartum

A one-shot set in the One Day at a Time universe. This probably won't make sense unless you've read that, but you do you.

Rating: Teen Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, mostly follows canon, angst, hurt/comfort, fluffy baby stuff, babyfic, postpartum depression-ish (not really, but could be triggering), ppd, hormones are wild y'all, breastfeeding is hard, mentions of Sarah and her being black so obviously leaning hard into the tv series and maybe racial themes if you squint? Word count: 1.8k

Notes: Sometimes I just can't get these characters out of my head.

You can also read Postpartum on AO3.

~*~

Joel wakes to the sound of crying, and not the baby’s this time. It’s Charlie, sitting up in bed with Anna at her breast, curled over the child’s nursing form and sobbing.

“Hey, whoa,” he rasps, sitting up and fumbling for the bedside lamp. “S’wrong?”

“She’s not getting enough,” she says through tears. “I don’t know…I just…it’s been three days and she needs to eat and there’s no letdown and I can barely squeeze anything out–”

“Hey, shh, s’okay,” he says. “Midwife said that’s normal, ‘member? Can take a few days for everythin’ to…uh…work.”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if I’m b-broken? What if she’s starving and she can’t tell us?”

He shakes his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and sliding over to tuck her under his arm, careful because she’s sore and tender everywhere.

“You’re not broken,” he says. “You’re just…tired. And–”

“If you say I’m hormonal I will hurt you,” she hisses, then her eyes go wide and apologetic in the dim light, lower lip quivering.

“I’m sorry,” she moans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–it’s these fucking hormones, isn’t it? Fuck.”

“S’alright, I know–”

“You don’t. You really don’t. Everything hurts and I’m wearing a goddamned diaper –and these fucking cloth pads are worthless, I think I’m leaking on the bed again–”

“S’why we put a towel down. It’ll wash out—”

“...and my vagina is fucking ruined . It’s g-g-grotesque.”

“Midwife said you didn’t even tear,” he says, biting down hard on his cheek to stifle a chuckle. “I’m sure your, uh…your…um y’know…is just fine.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, tears catching on her lashes and streaming down her cheeks.

“My nipples feel like they’re being rubbed with broken glass. She doesn’t even have fucking teeth yet, how can it hurt so much? And she’s not getting enough, I just know it–”

He swallows hard and rubs her back like when she was in labor, firm strokes at the base of her spine.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpers, rocking forward over the baby. “I can’t…I wanted this so bad and now I’m just going to fuck it up.”

Another sob and now the baby starts to fuss quietly. Salty tears drip from the end of Charlie’s nose and land on the shell of Anna’s tiny ear, catching in her hair, dribbling down her forehead.

“Oh, great, now I’m crying on her,” Charlie sniffs. “Take her, Joel, before I drown her, she’s gonna be soaked–”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up,” he murmurs, but he lets Charlie slide the baby into the crook of his free arm. He bounces Anna for a few seconds, watches her tiny hands and fingers flex, then relax. Soon she’s fast asleep, entirely unaware of the drama unfolding around her.

“You’re doin’ just fine,” he says, kissing the damp curl of hair at Charlie’s temple. “S’only been three days.”

“I’m so scared,” she whimpers. “How are we supposed to do this? The world is fucking over , and we’ve gone and–and brought a child into it. What the fuck were we thinking ?”

“We weren’t. We were really fuckin’ drunk,” he quips.

She glares up at him with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, biting back the urge to laugh as he redoubles his backrubbing efforts in a silent apology. “But…you’re doin’ so good. She’s safe. She’s healthy. Look–she’s snorin’.”

Indeed, Anna’s tiny sniffles have deepened into soft baby sighs that puff against Joel’s bare chest. He finds himself unable to look away, drawn into a trance by the subtle rise and fall of her ribs, the rapid pulse of her heart thrumming under her delicate skin.

“She’s perfect, see? You’re doin’ great. Could use a little more sleep is all.”

Charlie whimpers miserably and presses her face to his side. “She can’t sleep if she’s starving, Joel.”

“She’s not gonna starve. We’ll call the midwife in the morning. She said they have—what is it, donors? If you can’t—“

This elicits another wail from Charlie. “You mean if I’m broken .”

Shit .

“No, no, that’s not what I—I meant just to—I’m—fuck,” he grits out, decides he’s better off shutting up. Instead, he rocks his daughter in one arm and holds the mother of his child in the other, waiting out the storm.

“Was it like this with Sarah?” Charlie murmurs after a while, voice laden with exhaustion.

“A little,” he says, hesitating. “Her mom was a lot younger than you an’ she wasn’t…wasn’t ready. She was a kid herself, and I prob’ly wasn’t the best partner. Hell, I was only 22. S’not an excuse, but…y’know. S’what it was.”

He shifts uncomfortably, remembering the long nights, the fighting, the abrupt dissolution of his family’s future before it had even begun.

“Anyway, she uh…she couldn’t handle it. Left when Sarah was a few months old.”

Charlie makes a sound in the back of her throat, then reaches over, gently grasping one of Anna’s impossibly small feet, rubbing at her little toes until the baby spreads them wide and pushes against her fingertips.

“She’s so perfect, I’m worried I’ll…I’ll ruin her, somehow,” she whispers. “But I can’t imagine leaving her.”

He meets her eyes, the next word rolling tender from his lips, tightening his hold around her shoulders to emphasize the point.

“Exactly.”

They stay like this until her breathing slows, until they’re drifting in that liminal space of exhausted new parents. Charlie wipes at her eyes, lets out a drained sigh.

“I wish he could have met her,” she says, her words muffled against Joel’s chest. 

He . Her late husband, one of many ghosts that floats about the edges of their lives, caught in the periphery. Joel feels a twinge of something like envy, but it’s hard to be jealous of a dead man, so he brushes it aside.

“You’ve never told me his name, y’know,” he says instead.

“I didn’t? Oh,” she trails off. “It was Marcus.”

He rumbles an mmm in acknowledgment and rests his chin on the top of her head, marveling at how perfectly she fits there, wondering if he could fill that space for her someday.

“Sometimes I could swear I see him in her,” she continues. “Isn’t that silly?”

“I dunno,” he murmurs, swallowing hard. “Sometimes…I think I see Sarah in her, too.”

She blinks up at him. “Well…at least that makes sense .”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Joel sniffs, tracing a thumb down Anna’s cheek, lost in thought. “Sarah took after her mom…she was half black. Looked nothin’ like me.”

He regards their daughter–pale complexion, silver eyes, straight dark hair. But still, she’s in there; his Sarah, his baby girl. Something about the slope of her nose, the arch of her eyebrows, the curl of her thumb against her bottom lip.

“What was Sarah like?” Charlie murmurs sleepily, nestling further into the crook of his shoulder.

“Stubborn as hell,” he says immediately, the words pouring out before he can lose his courage. “An’ you don’t have to tell me she got that from me. Already know.”

“You? Stubborn?” Charlie says, and he can feel her smiling against him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks. “When Sarah was about three, she threw a fit in the store. Wanted…somethin’ or other, I dunno. A toy, prob’ly. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I had to drag her outta there kickin’ and screamin’.

“Except…she doesn’t really look like my kid, y’know? So she had the whole store convinced I was tryin’ to kidnap her, and they got security askin’ me questions, and she doesn’t understand, just keeps…keeps cryin’ and holdin’ on to me–”

He breaks off, surprised at the clarity of the memory; his flailing, sobbing kid in his arms as the security guard grilled him, the creeping shame and anger at being singled out, him and his girl against the world. A lump lodges itself in his throat and he blinks back tears.

“Got us outta there as fast as I could,” he says. “God…haven’t thought about that in forever.”

“That’s…awful.”

He shrugs. “Losin’ Sarah was awful. The rest was just…life.”

“You don’t talk about her,” Charlie whispers.

“S’hard, but…this helps,” he murmurs, stroking Anna’s dark hair, ducking his head to place a gentle kiss to her crown.

“Anyway,” he sighs, a deep, shuddering breath as he brings himself back to the flour-sack weight of the baby girl in his arms, the warm comfort of Charlie’s shoulder against his ribs. 

“All that to say…I get it. Hell, sometimes I catch myself thinkin’ Ellie has my eyes,” he chuckles. “Makes no fuckin’ sense…but maybe it don’t have to.”

Charlie shifts, rests her head against his chest, slurring her words slightly. “Mmmm…she does, though, doesn’t she?”

“Sure, let’s say she does. And this li’l one has…Marcus’ smile or ears or somethin’, maybe. He’s part of you…so he’s part of her, too.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, yawning. Soon her breathing is slow and even, her body relaxed and pliant against his.

He allows himself the luxury of staring, struck by the way Charlie’s dark lashes fan over her cheeks, the mirror image of Anna’s.

Within minutes, they’re both asleep in his arms.

~*~

“Joel…Joel, wake up. I think–”

Charlie’s voice is soft and calm, no longer frantic, her words nuzzling gently against the dim reaches of his brain. He’s vaguely aware of the weight of the baby being lifted from his chest. He blinks, stretching, neck and shoulders tight where he’s dozed off against the headboard. The light is still on and a soft early morning dawn filters through the bedroom window.

He watches with heavy eyes as Charlie puts the baby to her breast, watches Anna’s little mouth eagerly searching for the nipple, bobbing against it greedily before latching on, drawing a soft hiss from her mother at the initial sting.

The baby makes deep, wet suckling sounds and tiny, satisfied grunts, making him think of a piglet. He smiles groggily and cups her soft little head in the palm of his hand, watching frothy bubbles of milk gather at the corner of her lips as she eats and eats and eats.

“Joel, look…”

Charlie’s trying to show him something but he’s too tired, too sleep-deprived to understand until he feels her hand guiding his, placing it on her swollen breast the way she used to place it on her stomach. The flesh underneath is tight and full and definitely not broken.

He kisses her crown and breathes her in, all lavender and powder and milk, still cradling the baby’s head in his hand as he drifts off to sleep.

somehow didn't read this until it hit ao3 this week and OH MY GOD I devoured it.

This healed me after a long week!!!

- boyfriend's dad!joel masterlist -

dividers by @saradika-graphics

ao3 ♡ fic tag

status: ongoing pairing: joel miller x f!reader summary: moments between you and your boyfriend's father, joel miller, who you have a secret relationship with. no outbreak, no use of y/n. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 40s), daddy!kink, praise kink (use of babygirl), dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, oral (both f and m receiving), facials, creampies, cheating

safety

stress relief

quickie

snack break

prove it

words

wait

needy baby

ezra + bath oil + titties

GO

You absolute menace ily hahaha. Initially I was just going to do a short lil drabble that was a continuation of our disgusting musings about this man, but then I said why not make this into an entire feature in honor of @swiftiscruff's Friendship Exchange? You know, give our boy Ezra some real time to shine, and all in the name of celebrating friendships formed over that little verbose slut?

So, here is my Ezra oil shower titty fic dedicated to the lovely Kelli in celebration of the Friendship Exchange.

𝗔𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂

PAIRING(s): Ezra x fem!reader RATING: explicit material | 18+ WORD COUNT: 3k CONTENT: AU where Cee doesn't exist sorry lmao, established relationship, titty fixation, edible/food safe bathing oils, Ezra comes with his own warning, egalitarian assplay, cumplay, fabric washcloth used as gripping agent

Your nose for the most part had become blind to Ezra’s signature, tangy musk that edged into a ripe stench on hotter days. Even though you’d settled into the outskirts of a modest trading town and begun taking on the doldrums of keeping house, Ezra hadn’t fallen from his habit of going a little too long in between bath days. In times past he would go unshowered due to lack of amenities – the worlds you’d traveled and harvested from had hardly offered much in the way of hygienic routine – but now there was no such obstacle. He could bathe any time he wished and take as long as he pleased. You had your own home together now, one you were building upon each and every day, but the transient, unpredictable life that had become so ingrained into him was hard to shake. The notion of permanence was fleeting no matter how many days passed under your roof.

You, on the other hand, had become part fish since putting down roots here. There was a bathtub and a separate shower, and you craved the warm pool of water to soak in after a long day. Ezra liked to give you grief for wasting such a precious resource as water even though this planet was abundant in it. And yet, his admonishing never kept him from slipping into the wash room to ogle your bare form in the bath. You just wish every now and then he’d partake himself.

“The suns in all their unwavering glory has me feeling wrung of every bit of moisture,” he huffs as he fills a glass with something to wet his tongue and flood his scratchy, dry throat. “It’s good fortune that we needn’t adorn ourselves in protective suits here. I can only imagine the sort of foul fog that would cling to me then.”

You’re well aware of the second sun’s habit of becoming unbearable in these few weeks that your now home planet rotates closer to it. Your skin is sticky and wet with exertion, but at least all the growth pods you and Ezra have worked so tirelessly to establish are flourishing. They needed as much extra attention as any human on this planet did during these hotter spells. Soon enough you will forget all about the vehement heat when you and Ezra take your yields to the market during The Great Exchange and come home with lighter wagons and heavier pockets.

You accept the glass from Ezra and drink down whatever he’d poured. The cool creep of it down your throat already feels one step closer to equilibrium. “I guess we should wash up before we get the entire house dirty,” you reason.

“Hm, I suppose we should.”

You trod upstairs to the bathroom and bite back a scream when you see Ezra procure one entirely too small washcloth from the cabinet.

“You’re only washing at the sink?” you ask in what you pray isn’t a too panicked timbre.

“You don’t think the sink is robust enough to address my filth?”

You scrunch your nose, and that’s all the answer he needs. He chuckles a little and sets the singular washcloth aside. It already has smudges of who knows what just from him handling it.

“Tell me what you propose, my Little Gem.” He has an easy smile and those dangerous, glittery eyes fixed onto you.

“I mean, if you’re too tired I could, you know, I wouldn’t mind getting you washed up.” You shrug as though it’s enough to offset your way too eager proposition.

“You believe my own efforts are inferior?” he teases. “My Little Gem needs to take matters into her own hands and not rely on the fates?”

“Well, you’re always talking about wasting water. Wouldn’t it be saving water if we showered together?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You would forgo your hallowed soak just to bathe with me, Little Gem?”

“I’m way too gross to just get into a bath. It’d just be sitting in a pool of my own funk. This level of gross calls for a full on shower, I think.”

“And you’ll tend to me in there?” he purrs as he steps closer to you and curves his hands over your hips. The pungent tang of his body makes your nose scrunch again.

“Much to tend to, it seems,” he remarks in response to your overt repulsion.

You need to take Ezra up on his noncommittal commitment of getting into the shower with you before he changes his mind. You quickly concoct a plan to hold his attention and agreeability in the small shower. You grab the soaking oil you drizzle into your baths on especially achy days and prop it on the shower ledge. You start peeling off grimy, damp layers of clothing and nod to Ezra, who begins doing the same.

You cross the room to where you stow your accessories and extras and grab a few items to pin your hair back. The last thing you need is something getting in the way of you giving him a thorough scrub down. Ezra saunters after you like a cat on the prowl, eyes roaming greedily up and down. Before he can derail the entire enterprise, you slink into the shower and start the water.

The initially cool spray is a contrary sensation to the heat emanating from your skin, but it quickly warms to a soothing slip. The stall darkens as he steps inside, broad shoulders blocking out the light struggling to filter in through the expanse of him. His frame was a thickened amalgamation of corded musculature padded in the softened flesh of a satiating supper every evening. The work here kept him lean for the most part, but you much preferred this iteration of him – all brawn and lithe but with the markers of an untroubled life.

“It seems all displeasure with my hygiene is forgotten once I’m naked as the day I was born,” he murmurs low and self-satisfied.

You roll your eyes but know he’s correct. A lover as competent and enthusiastic as Ezra meant overlooking other personal drawbacks wasn’t too difficult. “I’m sizing up my work,” you protest.

“And what do you make of its sizing?” he purrs with a gentle roll of his hips against you.

You knew this was where things would go almost immediately, and yet you still had the nerve to be caught off guard. “Ezra,” you grit out. You guide him under the stream and tell him to stay put while you grab the stack of washcloths you’ll need.

Upon your return you note the ashen brown water falling from him and circling the drain. “I must admit–” he says through the water rushing over him. Your eyes catch the flex of his biceps as he raises his arms up to work the water through his hair and scalp. “–There is something quite divine about the ritual. All sins washed away. A clean slate. A pure soul ready to be defiled once again. Isn’t that right, Little Gem?”

“What?” you mumble absentmindedly, too preoccupied on ogling the trail of water snaking down his torso and into the thicket of brown coarse hairs below his waist.

He only grins with a devious slant to his mouth and pulls you under the spray with him. His hands wander across your body in a lazy exploration. The only thing keeping you from abandoning your task altogether and just letting him take you right there in the shower is the persistent odor still clinging to him, now taking on a damp quality that only heightens the earthy grub and grit components within.

“Take a seat on the ledge, Ezra.”

He gropes the curve of your ass and presses a few kisses to the column of your neck before complying. “I’m at your disposal.” He spreads his arms open, inviting the work and focus of your hands on him.

You avoid looking at his half hard cock bobbing gently with every movement and soap up the first cloth. You try to avoid the snare of his gaze as you begin scrubbing his face, but he catches you with it as you lather through his beard. The corner of his mouth pulls up, an instant reassurance that he knows exactly the effect he has on you.

His face is a brighter, pinker vision once you rinse it, and it solidifies your resolve to scrub every inch of this man while he’s indulging your whim. His hands roam up and down your legs as you scratch and scour his hair. The fragrance of the soap combined with the purged dirt fills the space. You move to your hands and knees and start scrubbing from toe to knee then thigh to groin. He surprisingly doesn’t make too much of a fuss, which is good considering it takes three separate washcloths to get that section entirely cleaned.

“Surely I’ve indulged your caretaking long enough to have earned a different kind of corporeal attention?” He leans forward and noses at your neck and earlobe, and your body shivers despite the warm rush of water trailing down your back.

“Grab that bottle to your left,” you order as you start scrubbing down his torso. Your breath catches when your wrist bumps into his fully hardened, weeping cock, and you catch the curve of a smirk playing on his mouth. He holds up the unlabeled bottle and gives it a questioning shake. 

“An aphrodisiac?” His eyebrow cocks in devilish curiosity.

“Bath oil,” you snort. “You can, um, put some on me while I’m working on you. You know, just so it has time to soak in before I wash up, too. If you don’t mind.”

His eyes narrow and pull the edge of his mouth upward. He sees right through you, just like he always does. “Here I was thinking my purest Little Gem wouldn’t resort to such lowly deceit and bribery.” He pops the cap of the bath oil open and drizzles a moderate amount into his hand before setting the bottle aside again. He’s clearly amused with the ruse you’ve concocted, but unfettered exploration of your body is apparently a bribe he’s willing to accept.

“Resume your venture to free me from all the remnants of my labors,” he obliges.

“You know, you could just say ‘keep scrubbing me because I know I still smell’, Ez.”

He grins and raises his hands until they hover above your chest, little trickling lines of oil falling onto the slope of your breasts and dripping down slowly. You push your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep yourself grounded. If Ezra decided to start toying with you, you didn’t stand a chance at resisting his efforts.

You slather his arms from wrist to shoulder and work your way to his torso. Meanwhile he grazes a slick finger against your nipples in a ghost of a touch that has you subconsciously chasing his hand. You finish underneath each of his armpits, and, just when he’s behaved himself long enough to catch you off guard, he flicks one of your nipples hard with the edge of a fingernail. A shaky gasp of sharp pleasure flies from your throat quickly followed by a second one when he does it to the other side.

“See to my hindparts, won’t you?” he solicits with a deceptively innocent expression.

You clench your teeth together and take a step forward so you can reach over his shoulders and wash his back. He dips his head and takes as much of your breast into his mouth as he can and suctions with as much strength as he can exert. You yelp and attempt to release the clutch of his mouth from your sensitive bud, but he only sucks harder with a satisfied groan. His arms circle around each of your legs and cause you to lose your footing, which he uses as a distraction to switch sides.

Little pinpricks of purple have cropped up in a bloom of red from where he already sucked, and the force of his pull now promises no different for the other side. He loved to do this to you – get you off kilter, overstimulated, and seeking out more, often all at once. Your breaths come out whiny as he latches and pulls on your nipples and tissue.

“Ez,” you gasp. “I’m–I have to–to finish.”

He grips the flesh of your ass and pulls one cheek aside so that he can deftly push a thick fingertip into your puckering rim. It glides in with no resistance, and you almost think the oil wasn’t even necessary with how much you ached for him to fill you there. He pulls away just enough to disorient you with his intoxicating diction.

“Perhaps before our wash is complete, you’ll be beseeching me just to feel the breadth of me cleaving you apart,” he husks. “Nearly weeping for me to bury my cock in this hole just as you did only two nights ago.”

 “It feels good,” you mewl weakly. 

He hums low and gravelly in agreement as he resumes his ministrations on your breasts. The tip of his finger plunges shallow, a slow in and out, and you know it’s just to tease you for what you won’t get until you are begging him for it. You think that he must revel in the sway he has over you when he so fervently succumbs to you. There’s something so raw and vulnerable in the way he cannot deny his devotion and attachment to you, and so he must have some part of you in the same way as to not feel entirely powerless.

You’re panting despite exerting very little energy at the moment. “I-I really need to finish washing you u—”

He pops off with a loud smack and abruptly stands. He crowds you against the corner and props a foot up on the ledge, caging you in with his cock right at your eye level. Your hands rush with a washcloth and soap, now more greedy to feel him than cleanse him. You lather his entire groin area and resist the urge to lick up the beads of precum dribbling from his ruddy tip. Your eyes keep traveling up to meet his where he watches down on you with an almost omnipotent, divine consideration.

The last washcloth falls to the shower floor, and Ezra slowly walks backward into the water to rinse himself. It’s probably just a trick of the mind, but you swear he appears less hazy than usual with all the grime cleared from him. Your mouth is slack as you watch from your hands and knees on the shower floor, impossibly cramped into the corner of the small space. He smiles down at you. You know how much he loves seeing you on your knees in front of him.

Without a word, he moves the shower head to the side so that it pelts against the tile instead of spraying down on you both before turning around and hitching his other leg up on the ledge. He braces himself on the wall and the wobbly metal and glass door on the other side.

“Reap the benefits of your work, Little Gem,” he says over his shoulder.

You frantically douse your hand with a generous dab of the bath oil and walk on your knees until your mouth is flush against the cleft of his ass. A strangled whimper ekes out of him as you reach a hand between his legs and stroke his neglected cock with the slippery pull of the oil. You entrench your face into him until your flicking tongue delves into his asshole. You massage and prod into it, eyes rolling back when you feel how it clenches in delight at your motions.

Ezra turns again to face you now with what can only be described as a wild, hungry look in his eye. He takes the neatly stacked pile of used washcloths and tosses them onto the floor. You have no time to question his motives because he’s grabbing the bottle of oil and squeezing globs of it onto your breasts, barely returning the bottle to its place on the shelf before he’s massaging them and awkwardly shoving his cock between them and rutting against their pillowy, fleshy tightness.

“Shit,” he hisses. “That ass. That asshole of yours. These tits.” He sounds pained just trying to speak. His face screws up as he fucks between them, moaning appreciatively when you use your hands to press them closer together for him to fuck.

“You like my tits?” you ask a little breathlessly.

He makes a noise of great effort, eyes pinching shut at your goading question. He frees his cock and takes the flat of his hand to slap against your peaked buds. You cry out in pleasure at the sharp, blissful sting. “Bet I could make you come for me just like this. Couldn’t I, Little Gem?” he grits.

“Y-Yes,” you moan.

He makes some unhinged noise and slaps against your breasts in quick succession, barking out an order for you to touch yourself, and teeth glinting in the light with a manic grin as you climax. He starts fisting his length over your face, breaths coming fast and heavy.

“Open wide now,” he pants as he tugs his cock faster. The tip of it knocks against your lip, and you open wider with your tongue jutting flat and spread out for him to cover.

“Just like that Little Gem,” he rasps. “Hold it open and drink me.”

A few short strokes is all it takes before he’s moaning and erupting all over your face and mouth, the hot, thick bands of his spend sticking to your skin wherever they land. He doesn’t stop jerking himself until every last drop is spent. When he’s finally done, he smears his softening cock against your face, collecting his cum in sloppy swipes.

“Now look who is soiled, Little Gem,” he hums. “Clean up the mess you’ve made.” He watches you with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. “Wouldn’t want to leave things filthy, would you?”

You oblige and take him into your mouth, sucking and licking until every trace of his spend has been swallowed.

I drew more of odl western Din and yes, I’m looking directly at you @frannyzooey