Oh My Gosh! This Little Drabble Had Me Cracking Up At The End! I Love It!!!

oh my gosh! This little Drabble had me cracking up at the end! I love it!!! 🤣

congrats noxy! 🎉🥳👏🎊🙌🍾🥂

you know what imma ask… ✍️ doesn’t matter who but he’s gotta be thick

THANK YOU BEEF!!

I'm so grateful for your friendship and for all the love and support you give me. You are such a creative and special person and I'm so glad to have you in my life!!!

Here is a tale of THICC boi Frankie on a first-date hike with (you). I really hope you like it!!!!

if it were a snake, it would have bit you (WC: 542)

“Ouch!” Frankie hollers.

“You alright?” You call down the hill, a good ten steps ahead of him.

“I don’t know, I think-,” and that’s when Frankie sees the snake, slithering off the traill. Oh shit. He just got bit by a snake.

“Hey are you okay? You look pale, wanna stop for a snack?” you’ve made your way back down the trail and stand in front of him now.

You feel kinda bad. Your online dating profiles included pictures but you don’t think you realized how big of a guy Frankie really was until he showed up today. Why on earth had you picked hiking as a date? It’s not like you were the world’s most fit person yourself. Plus - a date where you ended up sweating in your crotch? How are you gonna get to second base now?

“F-fuck, I think I just got bit by a snake,” and he points to where he felt the sting.

His dick.

“Are you joki-”  and then you see a little spot of blood coming out of a little prick-hole in his jeans, right next to his fly. “Oh shit!  What do we do?” You’re too far up the mountain to go back for help and your cellphones aren’t getting service all the way out here. “Okay I have an idea, but you gotta relax, okay?”

Without another word you drop to your knees and undo Frankie’s fly, pulling his pants open and his underwear down over his dick. You see a tiny wound on the tip of his dick right next to his slit. His dick is soft but the size is still impressive and you hear him murmuring you don’t have to do this above you as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. His belly pushes against your forehead as he hunches over you to brace his hands on your shoulders.

Trying to focus that you’re trying to suck out venom, you work hard to ignore the fact that he’s getting thicker and harder in your hand, and break yourself off him to spit every 10 seconds. Although you think that popping him in and out of your mouth might be having the wrong effect, and it’s only kind of your fault that you keep rolling your tongue over his sensitive frenulum. You’re used to giving pleasure, not life-saving post-snake-bite treatment!

Just as you think you’ve done the best job you can do you hear him groan oh no I’m so sorry and he erupts all over your tongue, pulling himself out with his right hand and finishing coming on the ground at your knees. He’s apologizing repeatedly and doesn’t even seem to notice you’ve swallowed everything he gave you. You look to your right and see a bunch of thorny vines creeping onto the trail that you remember pushing out of your way when you went by them minutes ago.

“Hey… is this what bit you?” you ask, still on your knees, pointing to them.

Frankie blinks his eyes several times, refocusing after his orgasm. He turns to see what you’re pointing at and you watch his eyes go wide and then his entire face turns beet red.

This first date turned out better than you’d planned.

🐍

thank you to @strang3lov3 who helped me come up with this little scenario and also the hilarious title for this story.

This most certainly helps! Makes me feel like I’m on the right track as well ❤️ Thank you so much for always trying to help me and others!!!! You’re the best 🤩

Congrats on 500! 🥳🎉 I’m not surprised at all that you have that many followers cause you are a badass and have amazing work 😘

💌-What is your process for writing? Do you do outlines? Do you have certain things you do to prepare yourself to write?

Thank you so much DD!!!

It's been so fun getting to know you and I'm so glad to be able to share this wonderful fandom with you.

Thank you for asking about my writing process! I hope my answer is a little helpful for you (if not a little bit long-winded).

I actually always start my fics by making a moodboard. While I'm making it, I'm thinking about details I want to include (besides the main ideas) and that helps my moodboard take shape and gets me in the right frame of mind. The moodboard can always be edited down the road if details end up getting changed, but that's how I start.

Then I start taking notes. I did an outline once but I prefer to go less formal now because I add details and the outline format was not conducive to that. I write major notes down as I've thought of them and then as I go through it a second and third time, I add in details.

I often think about certain parts of the story like scenes from a movie, and I like to think about them in detail, with specific dialogue. So I will write those things out too (roughly) and then I can go back later to fine-tune that whole scene. I will build my story around these scenes - them being the major plot points - and the rest gets filled in as I go along. I also get to know my characters more as I go along.

As an example - This scene (from chapter 6 of Devotion) - the highlighted dialogue was on my mind from the VERY beginning of this series conception back in December. I wrote it one of the very first days I was making notes on this story. The first picture (in green) is the raw stuff I put into my notes and below it (highlighted with yellow) is the final posted scene.

So yeah... I just take notes and add in details each time I go through, focus on main plot points (or scenes), and then write around them. I hope that helps!

🥵🥵🥵

Free Use, Full Plate

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 1,741

Summary: Joel's frustrated after a long day at work and takes it out on your pussy. Basically just pwp

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, assplay, fingering, f!oral receiving, consentual freeuse, breeding & house wife kink, food waste, reader has hair, breasts, and wears yoga pants. Joel calls reader sexy momma.

Notes: Just a life I wanna live, tysm to everyone who voted in this poll this was the winning vote. Ty @saradika-graphics for the divider.

Joel walks through the front door, tired and frustrated after a long day of work. The smell of dinner cooking fills the air, and he sees you bent over, grabbing a pot, your shirt riding up, revealing the small of your back.

You've had an agreement for a while now - free use, where Joel can take what he needs without any hesitation or resistance from you. It's a release for him, a way to let go of the frustrations of the day without taking them out on anything or anyone else.

As he approaches you, he can feel the tension in his body begin to ease. He reaches out and runs his hand over your shoulder, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers. You don't stop what you're doing, but he can hear your breathing quicken as he continues to touch you.

He pulls your shirt up and over your head, exposing your bare back. He leans down and presses his lips to your skin, feeling you shiver beneath his touch. He unclasps your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

As he cups your breasts in his hands, he can feel himself getting harder. He moves closer, pressing himself against you as he continues to touch you. You're still cooking, but he can hear the soft moans escaping your lips as he kneads your flesh.

He reaches down and undoes his pants, freeing his cock. He slides it between your legs, feeling the heat of your body through your stretchy yoga pants. No matter what was agreed upon Joel never pressured you to dress or look a certain way and it made you feel much more confident in yourself and your relationship. He rocks his hips back and forth, letting himself enjoy the sensation of touching you, even if it's just through your clothing.

“Mmm, Joel, you're home," you say, looking over your shoulder at him with a smile. "How was your day, my love?"

He doesn't answer right away, instead focusing on the feeling of your body against his. He can feel the heat of your pussy through your pants, and he presses himself against you harder, grinding his hips in slow circles.

“Don't wanna think about it. Just tell me what you're makin' baby," he finally says, his voice weak with desire. He slides his hands down your sides, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants. He pulls them down, exposing your bare ass. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him, getting on his knees and pushing his face right in there, taking the globes of your ass and making them jiggle onto his cheeks.

You giggle at the feeling, but you can't help feeling aroused as his large nose hits some of your folds as he shoves his face in as deep as he can, almost like he wants to suffocate the bad day away. "Just pasta," you reply, focusing on stirring the sauce so it doesn't burn.

He finally stands up and replies, "Smells delicious baby, just like you." he says, leaning down to press his nose into the crook of your neck, taking a deep inhale of your sent. “Mmm fuckin’ heaven.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him as he continues to grind his hips.

You let out a soft moan as he nips at your shoulder. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body responding to his touch, but you try your best not to let dinner burn. He reaches down and slides a finger inside you, feeling how wet you are. He groans at the sensation.

"Joel," you say, your voice trembling with pleasure. "I'm almost ready to serve dinner."

"That's alright, love," he says, his voice strained with desire. "I can wait."

You turn around in his embrace to kiss him, but he stops you, his eyes darkening. He pats the countertop beside the stove. "C'mon, get up here darlin'."

"But the food." You point at the pan.

"You know, I could eat this whole dinner and still not be satiated in the right way. Now get on the damn counter, you sexy momma. Gonna fill you up real good.”

With those words, you scramble to the other side of the stove, sitting on the countertop. He starts rubbing his hands across your naked thighs, slowly working his way up until his hands reach the center of your chest.

“Come closer, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Wanna taste you.” He leans close then lowers his head and bites the tip of your nipple. Your nipples start to erect instantly, and your core feels tight. “Fuckin’ perfect.” He gets lower so his face is right between your legs.

Your stomach clenches as he kisses your inner thigh. “Joel…”

His eyes look up into yours. He pulls his mouth away just enough from your skin so he can talk, "Worry 'bout the sauce, I'm busy havin' my appetizer." His tongue swipes your clit, licking it gently before he begins sucking on the skin. You let out a soft sigh when his warm tongue touches your clit once more. You try to tend to the dinner currently cooking but it's near impossible to do so with him rubbing and sucking at you. “Keep stirring," he adds with a playful smirk. He slips two fingers between your legs, sliding them into your folds and circling one slowly before he plunges two more in. He starts moving faster. Your orgasm starts building in your belly.

"Mmmm, Joel..." you whine, grabbing onto the edge of the counter, digging your nails into the wooden surface. "I'm gonna come…" You start thrusting against his hand.

Joel stands up, not letting you finish and takes a step back, his eyes roaming over your naked body. "You're so fucking beautiful, baby, I'm the luckiest man," he says, his voice loaded with desire. He reaches out and runs his hand over your breast, tweaking your nipple between his fingers.

You gasp at the sensation, your body already on edge from his earlier ministrations. "Joel, I need to finish dinner," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I know, darlin," he says, his hand sliding down your stomach and between your legs. He starts rubbing your clit in slow circles, making you moan with pleasure. "I won't let you burn it."

He helps you off the counter and turns you around so you're facing the stove, your naked ass pressed against his hips. He reaches around you and grabs a pan of garlic bread, placing it in the oven. "Now, let's get back to work," he says, his voice low and seductive.

He slides his cock between your legs, the head of his shaft pressing against your wet folds. He starts rocking his hips back and forth until he slides inside you, fucking you slowly and deeply. "Keep stirring, baby," he says, his lips pressed against your ear.

You cry out as he hits that sweet spot inside you, your body trembling with pleasure. "Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasp, your fingers tightening around the spoon.

"Not yet," he commands, his hand reaching around to rub your clit.

He starts fucking you harder, his hips slapping against your ass. You can feel yourself getting close, your orgasm building deep in your belly. "Joel, please," you beg, your voice trembling.

He reaches up and grabs your hair, pulling your head back so he can kiss your neck. "Uh-uh, you wait till I say so," he growls, his teeth scraping against your skin.

Joel continues to thrust into you, his pace steady and relentless. You can feel your orgasm right on the brink, your body feels like it might explode "Joel, please," you whimper, your fingers tightening around the spoon you were supposed to be stiring the sauce with. "Joel, I can't, m'gonna come please," you gasp, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Yes you can, baby just a little more,” he says, pulling your hair and kissing the side of your head, holding onto you tightly. “Wanna fill you up, make you round and beautiful.” He slams into you, his balls hitting your ass. You feel juices dripping from his length, mixing in with your own fluids as they drip down your leg and onto the floor. He pushes his hips in harder and harder, causing you to cry out as you feel the intensity of his hard, thick flesh hitting your walls.

You can feel your heart racing as well, your mind clouded with lust and pleasure. "Oh fuck, oh god, Joel,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and gripping the edge of the countertop for dear life as you feel your climax building. “Oh Joel! I'm coming'!" You cry out as your body convulses against him. You hear him release a long, loud, gutteral moan, releasing into you.

As you come down from your high, he presses his forehead against your shoulder, breathing hard as he lets go of your hips. He finally pulls out, his cock glistening, soaked with your juices. He turns you around pulling you in close. "I think dinner's ready," he says, smirking.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, "I think you're right," you say, your hands running over his chest. You open the oven door to be met with disappointment. The garlic bread is burnt to a crisp, and so is the sauce.

Joel walks up behind you, "you orderin' or am I?"

You both can't help but chuckle at the situation and decide to order pizza, knowing it's a quick and easy solution. Joel wraps his arms around you as he gives you his phone to search for a local pizza place online, placing the order together.

Once the order is placed, you turn around in his arms, looking up at him playfully pouting, "I guess we'll have to settle for pizza tonight."

Joel leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, whispering, "I'd eat pizza every night if it meant I could come home to you like this."

This is fantastic! Wish my first time had been that good 😅

unearth [no outbreak!joel miller x virgin f!reader]

summary: When your normally strict parents go out of town for two weeks and leave you on your own for the first time with little warning, you're left reeling and afraid of being on your own for so long. Luckily, Joel Miller, your father's best friend, very generously offers to let you stay with him. Your long time crush on him shouldn't be a problem at all. ratings/warnings: E [smut, yearning, Joel is a little manipulative, loss of virginity, dad's best friend, nice big age gap (reader is 21, Joel is 40), liberal use of baby girl, religious trauma of the Christian variety (no denomination noted), reader wears a sundress, shaming of sexuality, bad relationship with reader's parents, insecurity, flirting, trouble orgasming, pussy pronouns (she/her), humping/grinding, masturbation, unprotected PIV, oral sex, references to early 00s media, soft Joel, i think that's it] wc: 6.1k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! so i've had this idea for like a really long time but i thought maybe everyone had already done all this so i let it rot in the docs, and then i just suddenly felt the need to finish it. so happy birthday, pedro, i hope you never read this. for all the girlies (gn) with some leftover issues related to sex and purity culture, this is for us<3 special shout out to @mothandpidgeon for the feedback and to her, @swiftispunk, @haylzcyon, and @joeloverture for listening to me yap about this specific fic for months now.

masterlist | joel miller masterlist

It’s summer again. 

Everything is sticky and hot and you’re out of class for another month and a half until your senior year in college starts. Finally—finally you’ll graduate and get out from underneath the thumb of two strict religious parents and live your own life. 

You hope, anyway.

For the first time in your life, at twenty-one years old, they’re on a vacation without you. Really, it’s less a vacation and more of a marriage retreat—something to revive or restore or renew whatever good Christian couples do after twenty-five years of marriage. You’d only been half paying attention when your mother sprang this bit of news on you at their anniversary party, too focused on the idea of being home alone for two whole weeks starting Monday morning. 

You’ve never been home alone for more than a night at most. The dark is scary enough with other people around. A day might be doable, but two weeks? All alone? 

It’s not like you have anywhere to go, either. Your friends from school all live scattered around the country, and anyone you’d had a relationship with as a teenager isn’t the kind of person you want anything to do with now. 

Typical of them, really, throwing you in the deep end and expecting you to figure it out when it’s finally convenient for them that you learn how to swim. They’d done the same thing when it came to driving, too. 

“You’re an adult,” your father had said, after spending the last three years making sure you understood that he’s in charge and you are not an adult. “Figure it out.”

To your surprise, it was Mr. Miller to the rescue. Mr. Miller, your father’s best friend—one of those blue collar working man types that always has a little dirt under his nails. Mr. Miller and his t-shirts that hug the fullest part of his bicep and his big bear hugs that last a little longer lately. Mr. Miller who’s always made you trip over your sentences with his sweet brown eyes and big smiles. 

He doesn’t like it when you call him Mr. Miller, but your parents are insistent about it. He’s never made his own daughter address them by their last names, something that’s always brought you great joy to observe. They’re obsessed with propriety, but not enough to confront someone else about it. 

And you know why. It’s not about respecting one’s elders—they just want to control things. Mr. Miller—Joel—is not one so easily controlled. 

You don’t really understand his friendship with your father, but you suppose it’s not your business to understand. You're not quite sure what close male friendships are supposed to look like, after all. Joel might not know a thing about your father.

When he offers you his home for the next two weeks, you don’t even think of declining, not even in the polite way your mother taught you. Decline once, and then accept. It makes no sense to you, but it’s “manners.” You don’t care about manners right now. 

“Are you excited to have the place all to yourself?” He’d asked after your mom told you. Joel, apparently, knew about it all before you did. You shook your head. 

“Not really. I’m a little scared of staying on my own for so long. I’ve never…I mean, they’ve never…” 

He’d just nodded and you’d quickly grown embarrassed, wishing you’d just lied. His daughter was younger than you, off enjoying life on her own at UT so much that she’d found housing near the campus and stayed there, and here you are, worried about the dark. 

Humiliating. 

But then he’d bumped your shoulder with his and asked, “Why don’t you come stay with me for a couple weeks, sweetheart? I’m not around all that much when I’m workin’ a job, you’ll have all the privacy you need.”

“Really?” You asked. “I mean, my parents, I don’t know if they’ll—but yes! I’d really like that.”

You’d tried to keep your cool, tried not to act too eager, but it was useless. You’d been to his house before, but never alone with him. Not that you thought anything would happen, of course. He was just being kind to you, like he always has been. 

He just wanted to make you feel safe. 

It only takes you a few days to adjust. He leaves early in the morning and comes home late covered in sweat and dirt and sawdust. He meant what he’d said; you really do have all the privacy you need. You wish he’d give you less. Some nights, he sits with you in the living room and scarfs down whatever little meal you’ve made for him. Never anything fancy, just canned ravioli or a frozen pizza, but he looks so grateful every time you wonder how long it’s been since anyone did anything for him.

You might do just about anything for him.

A week into your stay, the heat is relentless—eighty nine degrees at nine o’clock, and even with the air running you can’t stand more than a tank top and a pair of flimsy shorts. You don’t think too much about your attire—it’s July in Texas, after all.

You’re in the living room watching American Idol when Joel gets home. He grimaces at the TV on the way to the kitchen.

“You like that show?” He asks a moment later, leaning against the doorframe with a beer in his hand. His dark hair is curled with sweat, and his jeans are even tighter than usual. How does he get any work done in those things?

“Just the auditions,” you say, shrugging. “Those have to be staged, right?”

He gives a noncommittal nod, coming to a halt in front of the couch. His eyes drag over your bare legs and up to your low cut top. “You warm, sweetheart?” He asks. 

“A little,” you admit, suddenly very conscious of the way he’s looking at you. “It’s no big deal.”

He sits next to you, spreading his legs in that domineering way men do so that his jean-clad thigh presses against your leg. “Bet you’d do good on this,” he says, nodding toward the TV. “Pretty girl like you.”

“I can’t even sing,” you point out. 

“Don’t matter,” he laughs. “With that face? That body? Shit.”

You bite your lip and let out a nervous giggle, too flustered at the idea of him looking at your body at all to answer. You like it, though—it sends a rush of arousal through you, and you cross your legs, hoping it disguises the way you squeeze your thighs together.

“Ah, shit,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, honey. That make you uncomfortable? I’m not tryin’ to be disrespectful.”

“No!” You quickly dismiss his worries. The last thing you need is him thinking you’re some little girl who can’t take a compliment. “Thank you, Joel. You’re very sweet.”

He brushes his knuckle over your bare shoulder and smiles. “You, too, sweetheart.”

Goosebumps flare over the skin he touches, but he doesn’t remark on it. Twenty minutes later, he’s somehow even closer to you, pressed right up against your side. He smells like outside, like he needs a long shower, but all that does is make you want him even more.

He gets up eventually, knees popping with a soft groan, and stretches. “All right, sweetheart, I’m gonna head on to bed. Can barely keep my eyes open.”

You stand, too, not ready to part with him just yet, but lacking any reason to keep him around. Instead, you reach past him for the remote and turn the TV off, pretending like you’re tired, too. You couldn’t be more awake. 

Before you can even try to make yourself leave, Joel slides his fingers underneath the thin strap of your tank top. “This is a pretty thing,” he says. “You usually wear this around the house?”

You swallow. “Am I not supposed to?”

“‘Course you can,” he says, smiling at you and pulling his hand back. “Just can’t imagine your dad letting you walk around in something like this.”

“Well, I’m not a kid,” you say, slightly indignant. “It’s hot, so I’m wearing it. And I wear it at home, too.”

You’re lying.

“Attagirl. Just want you to be comfortable here, sweetheart.” Joel grins and squeezes your arm. You want him to squeeze everything on you like that. 

That night you toss and turn, trying to stop the burning need in your belly. You cup your mound, too scared to try to give yourself any real relief, but you need something. Eventually, you fall into a restless, fitful sleep, haunted by vivid and dirty dreams starring Joel Miller.

The next morning you wake with an angry, insistent throb between your legs. The house is quiet—Joel must have left for the day already—and you know, without a doubt, you need to do something about the wet, sticky arousal between your legs. 

It hits you that you finally can do something about it without fear of someone barging in, too. Your hand trails down your stomach, reaching into your panties, and you let out a long sigh of relief as you reach your hard, swollen clit. 

It’s not so easy, though. 

You rarely get a chance to do this, and you can count the number of successful orgasms you’ve had on one hand. It’s always so much work, and today is no exception, no matter how riled up you are.

You try every way you can think of—on your back, on your tummy, standing, sitting, laying down, fingers in, fingers out. Nothing works. You need something more. 

And then, of course, there is the all-consuming guilt that eats at you, always. Even though you’re alone, even if he’s at work, you’ve been defiling yourself in the house he’s so graciously offered to you, and you can’t stop from thinking of him, touching yourself for hours until your fingers cramp and shoulders ache and you still can’t get there. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes. 

You need this so much. 

It’s been months now, maybe over a year since you’d come. Consciously, anyway. Sometimes you wake up after a particularly erotic dream soaked and twitching and furious. It’s not fair. Why not when you’re awake, too?

But you know that answer deep down. It’d been beaten into your head for years and years: no sex until marriage and no violating your body. It’s disgusting, only dirty girls do that, and you’re not a dirty girl. You were a good girl. You went to church, you did your chores, you babysat your neighbors’ kids for free, you did volunteer work. 

You were a good girl. 

Dirty girls have sex; they let men touch them in ways only husbands should. Dirty girls drink and smoke and won’t make it into heaven. 

You’d been determined to make it into heaven, once. Now, you don’t care so much about some heavenly kingdom. You’re more interested in getting off. 

You sigh and peel your sweaty body off your sheets. Maybe a shower will take your mind off all of this. A shower and a book in the living room, somewhere public enough to keep your hands off of your pussy.

The couch is overstuffed and suede, comfortable and squishy enough to take a nap on without waking up with a crick in your neck. You lay down and pull a book from your bag, intending on finishing all the assigned reading for your Women’s Fiction class before the semester begins. 

Most of the books you’ve read for school, even the novels and short stories have been dry, dense classics—the perfect distraction. It might even put you to sleep. 

After a while, though, you think you might be in trouble. 

A description of a man’s hands has your whole body trembling. Joel has nice hands—large and veiny with a rough palm and calloused fingertips from years of working with wood and nails and power tools you couldn’t name, but that was fine. Maybe he’d show you one day. 

Closing your eyes, you lay the book on your chest and breathe, trying to regain some control. You’ve lost every bit of control you’d deluded yourself into believing you’d had as Joel’s hands invade your consciousness.

He could teach you a lot with those hands, you think. You bet he knows a lot about pleasing women. Maybe he could even teach you how to please yourself. 

You imagine him directing you in that firm voice, praising you for listening so well. Telling you how proud he is of you. That you’ve done such a good job, you’re such a good, sweet girl.

You hike up the little sundress you’d put on after your shower, trailing your fingers up and down your torso and focusing on how soft your skin is. They hit the book spine and a thought crosses your desperate, needy mind. 

Maybe you need something firm. 

Maybe your fingers are too soft, your touch too light, your pillows too squishy. 

Jesus Christ, you’re possessed, contemplating nestling a book between your legs. You open one eye, peeking around for something to distract you from this, anything at all, but there’s nothing. It’s just you and your dirty mind.

You need to get out of the house. 

But as you stand, holding the couch arm for balance, something clicks. Cushioned but firm. Not too wide, not too tall. Your pulse quickens, eyes darting around the room as if expecting someone to pop out, but it’s just you, and this might be exactly what you need.

Despite your solitude, you tiptoe up to your room to grab a used towel from the laundry basket, not wanting to get any of yourself on Joel’s nice, clean couch. You still have a few more hours till he’s home. 

God, you really hope it doesn’t take that long. 

You spread the towel over the arm and hastily remove your panties, so eager the left leg hole is looped around your ankle that dangles off the edge. There’s really no graceful way to do this, and you try not to think about how ridiculous you might look as you press your swollen pussy into the arm. 

It’s…good. 

Shit, it’s perfect; just enough pressure to make your legs tremble. You rock back and forth, feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter, slick pouring out of you as you try new angles and rhythms.  

How had you never tried this before? You let out a soft moan, far too shy to be any louder than that, but it echoes through the room and the sound of your own pleasure spurs you on. 

At first you don’t think of anything other than this feeling, that you want to feel like this always, like it’s some drug you’ve just discovered. But then you see brown eyes and dark hair with threads of gray, that divot in his lower lip as you imagine him taking what he wants, looming over you as he tells you, “Ain’t free to stay here, darlin’.” What else could you do but enjoy it? He’s too big and strong.

Your hips move faster, clit pressing into the surface below you, calves aching with effort. You can see him underneath you now, holding your thighs as you ride him. It always looks like so much work on the videos you’ve seen, but maybe if it feels anything like this it’d be worth it. You’re getting close to something now, arousal sticking to the insides of your thighs as you bite your lips to keep from crying out. You’re almost there, that coil in your belly tightening and tightening, oh, God—

Sunshine pours through the front door and your eyes fly open, suddenly face to face with Joel.

With Joel. 

No, no, no.

You freeze and he stops short, eyebrows shooting into his hairline as he takes in the scene in front of him. There’s no way to make this look like anything other than what it is, especially not with your panties dangling pathetically around your ankle. 

Common sense and burning shame tell you to cover yourself, run away, grab your bags and leave and hope he never ever ever looks at you ever again. 

Fear, though, does something else entirely. Fear makes your body freeze, makes your eyes well up with horrified tears, waiting for some awful reprimand as you sputter out some pathetic excuse. 

Dirty, bad, disgusting girl. 

“I-I-“

The words stick in the back of your throat—there’s nothing that will make this situation any better. He’ll know you’re dirty, he’ll kick you out, he’ll tell your parents what an awful, disgusting—

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, hoping it means something. 

But he just shuts the door and kneels in front of you, cupping your burning face with his big hands. “Oh, no, no, nothin’ to be sorry about, baby girl. I shoulda told you I was comin’ home. You’re not in trouble, sweetheart, I’m not mad.”

You can hardly make sense of him as he gazes at you with those doleful brown eyes; all you know is that the panic has started to recede, replaced by a desperate, aching need. 

“You’re not mad?” You ask, hot tears spilling over. 

“Of course not,” he says, leaning in to press his forehead against yours and swiping his thumbs across your cheeks. “It’s only natural, baby. Feels good, huh?”

It fucking does, especially with this new feeling in your tummy and the smell of him invading your senses, woodchips and grass and some fading cologne. 

“Mmhmm,” you sigh, not daring to move. “I just—I never—I’m never really alone for long enough to make myself—“

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You can keep goin’ if you want, I don’t mind. Told you I wanted you to be comfortable here. With me.” 

You start to rock your hips slowly, keening as he pulls your dress up and wraps his hands around your hips.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. “I know that feels so good. You been needin’ this?” 

“Yeah,” you gasp; you can barely get words out. “Needed—for a while.”

“That’s it, c’mon, it’s natural, baby. It’s so, so good for you.”

You whimper at his words, still too shy to make much noise, but it’s like he can read your mind. “You make all the fuckin’ noise you want, baby girl. It’ll make it better,” he promises. 

“Joel,” you breathe, unthinking, focusing on what you think might be your first orgasm in ages. “Joel—“

“Let it happen, sweetheart. Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Look so pretty, baby girl, look so sexy. Good girl—“

That coil snaps, molten liquid gushing from you. You can hear noises coming from your mouth, but you can barely feel yourself making them. All the focus is on your wet, throbbing cunt.

Joel wraps his big arms around your shivering body when you come back down, kissing your forehead as he lays you on the couch. Your eyes feel heavy, body aching in a pleasant way. 

“That feel better?” He asks softly, kneeling over you with one thigh between your legs. He could take what he wants now, you think idly. You’re all spread out and boneless, and if he pressed himself into you you’d have no defenses. 

And you really, really want him to take it. 

“Mm,” is all you can say with a dreamy smile on your face. 

He reaches down between your legs and spreads your lips with two fingers. No one else has ever touched you there, and it makes you clench around nothing. 

You’ve never had sex, but you understand you want him inside of you.

“Goddamn,” he says. “She’s a pretty little thing.”

Heat blossoms across your cheeks.

Joel watches your face as his middle finger slides down to your entrance, rubbing little circles around it and making you squirm. “Yeah?” He asks. “You want me to play with you more?” You swear something cracks in your neck at your vigorous nod and he grins. “You ain’t ever had anyone do this to you before, have you?”

“No,” you sigh, feeling your voice come back. You clear your throat. “I…you know how my parents are.”

He nods, frowning, and you fear the mention of them might have ruined the mood. But he’d asked, and you want him to know. To your relief, he doesn’t dwell on it. 

“Are you sure, honey?” He asks.

“Do you…do you not want to?” You ask carefully, wondering if he’s trying to back out, if he’s trying to say he doesn’t want this responsibility. 

“No, baby, I do. I really, really do,” he groans, still toying with your pussy. “Just want you to be sure. If it’s too fast—”

“I want it,” you say. Something desperate’s clawing at you, and you might explode if he doesn’t take it right now. 

“Not doin’ this on the couch,” he says. “Gonna do this right.”

You almost tell him you don’t mind where he does it, just as long as he does it now, but he’s pulling you off the couch and leading you upstairs before you can say anything. 

His room has been off limits until now—not as a rule, per se, but as a boundary you’d set. You suspect he wouldn’t have minded if he caught you in here poking around. 

Joel pulls your dress over your head and unhooks your bra, humming as your breasts bounce out of their confinement. He admires your naked body, and you try not to tremble too much in front of him. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

“Fine,” you murmur. “Just…nervous. Some of the girls I know said it hurts.”

“Not if I do it right,” he says. “Might be a little pinch, but shouldn’t be a big deal. If it is, you tell me, okay, baby girl?”

He’s so sweet it makes you ache. 

He pulls your nipple into his mouth and you arch into him, surprised and pleased at the new sensation. 

Joel chuckles and presses a chaste kiss to your nose. “Here’s what I’m gonna do,” he says. “I’m gonna eat your pussy for a while, see if we can get you more relaxed, and then I’m gonna stretch you out on my fingers. And then I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna try to make your pretty little pussy come all over my cock, all right? That sound good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I—Can you kiss me?” 

He smiles and noses your cheek, slotting his lips with yours. He slides his tongue across the seam of your lips, and you let him, following his lead as he licks into your mouth. 

A new, shuddering wave of arousal makes you wetter and wetter, and Joel presses his fingers against your clit and rubs. And oh, fuck, it feels so much better than when you do it, his firm strokes sending shockwaves through your body. He pulls his fingers away and sucks on them, and you whine at the loss of attention. 

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “Gonna take my time with you, remember? Wanted this for a long time, baby girl.”

“Really?” You ask. 

“You think I hang around for your old man’s pleasant company?”

You giggle. 

“Might not be able to let you go after this,” he says, kissing down your neck. “Might not want to.” He exhales a shaky breath. “Fuck, baby, can’t believe you’re lettin’ me do this.”

“Can I see you?” You ask, and he nods, shucking off his shirt and unbuckling his belt as quick as he can. You’ve never seen a naked man in real life, and he might have just ruined you for anyone else. 

You don’t know where to look, eyes trailing from his broad shoulders to his firm biceps, down to his soft belly and narrow hips. Nestled in the middle under a thatch of dark curls is his hard, leaking cock, red and throbbing under your gaze. Your mouth waters, wondering what it tastes like, what it feels like in the palm of your hand. 

You’ve read a million books with a million descriptions of thick, pulsing members, seen pictures in magazines and once, when you were feeling particularly brave, on the internet, but nothing prepared you for how much you’d crave it the moment it’s in front of you. 

Maybe it’s not all of them—maybe it’s just his. 

“Can I touch it?” You ask.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, yeah baby girl, you can touch it.”

It’s heavy, warm and smooth in your hand as you stroke him timidly. He moans softly, flashing an encouraging smile. “Can I taste it?” You ask, thumbing his leaking slit.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, nodding. You lick up the back of it before engulfing the head in your mouth, sucking softly and moaning at the salty taste of his precome. 

“All right, sweetheart,” he chuckles, pulling you off. “This is about you, and you’re gonna make me come if you keep on with that.”

You want to make him come, though. 

But you do as you're told, only pouting a little. He pulls your legs apart, throwing your legs over his shoulders to get as close to you as he can. He inhales and shudders, and you hope that’s a good thing. 

“Fuck me,” he says. “Smell so good. Just needs some attention, hm? Look at her, she’s drippin', poor thing.” He seems to be talking directly to your pussy now, and it makes you a little lightheaded with desire. “Think she needs my tongue. Think she needs to come again, get her all ready for my cock.”

He licks you from entrance to clit, groaning the moment he gets his tongue on you. His noises rumble through you, and he presses his finger gently inside of you. 

This is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s all slick and wet, the flat of his tongue pushing against your swollen clit as his finger massages you open. He brushes something inside, something you’ve never felt yourself, and you cry out his name. 

“There she is,” he murmurs. Your vision blurs, squeezing the sides of his head with your thighs. He keeps going, unrelenting, replacing his finger with his tongue as you buck against his face. “That’s right, baby, take it, take what you need.”

You can barely hear him, too lost in the sound of blood rushing in your ears as you snap again, gushing and gushing around his tongue. He works you through it, whispering praise as you tremble underneath him. It feels so good, it all feels so good—how had it taken so long to make it work?

Joel crawls up your body until he’s caging you with his arms, kissing you with all your slick on his lips. “Good girl,” he says. “Took what you needed, came so hard for me.”

You can barely speak, but you do have one request.

“Fuck me,” you beg, because you’ll die if he doesn’t. You need him, no matter much it might pinch or sting in the beginning, you need to be full of him. “Please, Joel, I’ve needed you for so long. I need you, I need you—”

He kisses your face, wiping away overwhelmed tears. “Okay, baby, shh. You’re okay, I got you, gonna make you feel good. You need me?” He asks. There is something soft and vulnerable in the question. You wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Need you, Joel, always wanted it to be you,” you sigh against his lips. He cradles you close, holding you like you’re made of glass. 

“You want me to get a condom?” He asks. 

You shake your head urgently. “I’m on the pill.” 

He only hesitates for a second before he coaxes your legs open and lifts your hips, shoving a pillow underneath until you’re exposed and spread out for him. You feel him notch the fat head of his cock against you and you snake your hand down to feel it, opening yourself even further for him. 

It’s a stretch to be sure, but you’re so wet and relaxed he slides in with minimal resistance. Nothing burns, nothing stings, nothing even pinches—it just feels incredible. The noise he lets out is obscene, long and growling, with his eyes trained on where your bodies join. “Wish you could—fuckin—see this—” He says, shallow thrusts punctuating each word. “Your pussy’s so—fuckin’-perfect, baby girl.”

He’s rubbing against that spot again, the one that had you keening earlier, but you find the area to be even bigger with his thick cock brushing it back and forth. 

Is this really the feeling you’d been shamed for your whole life? This euphoria, this overwhelming connection to someone you’ve cared about for so long? This was the bad, horrible sin that would damn you for eternity?

It doesn’t make any sense. 

It feels so good tears you start crying again, overwhelmed with every tremor and tingle and shock of arousal. This can’t be wrong—it can’t be—and there’s so much freedom in this knowledge. 

Above you, Joel’s eyes are closed in what you think is concentration, and you bring your hand to his jaw to stroke his beautiful face. He can’t know what he’s done for you, what he’s still doing for you, but you can at least make him try to understand. His eyes fly open at your touch, brows knitting in concern at your tears. 

“Baby, do I need to stop? Does it hurt?” He asks, slowing his pace. 

“No,” you gasp. “Keep going. I just—it feels so good, Joel. You’re making me feel so good, didn’t know it would feel so good.”

He readjusts your hips and hits you at a new angle. “My good, beautiful girl,” he moans. “Think you can come again, pretty girl? What do you need from me?”

“Faster,” you beg. You bring your fingers to your clit, still sensitive from earlier, and circle gently at first. And then it builds and builds, and he hits you deeper and deeper, until you feel it happening again. It’s smaller, weaker than the others, but that’s okay, too.

“That’s it,” he moans. “Attagirl, gettin’ so tight, you gonna come for me? Come on, baby, know you got one more—oh, fuck—”

He stops as you clench around him, crying his name again and pulling his lips to yours. Joel swallows all your cries, whispering soft praise as you clench and spasm around him. “Sweet little pussy just needed someone to treat her right, huh? Oh, you needed that so bad. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, baby girl, gushin’ all over my cock.”

He starts to move again, chasing his own high and massaging your tits as he does. “Love these,” he murmurs. “Gonna come all over these one day.”

One day. 

“Joel,” you whisper, looking into his eyes. “Please.”

He groans loudly and you feel him come with his face buried in your neck. “Fuck, baby girl,” he pants, collapsing on top of you as he finishes.

He pulls out of you, and there’s a soft ache in your chest at the disconnect. Will your heart always feel like a bruised peach afterward, or is it just because it’s your first time? Is it just because it’s him? 

And there’s that whole thing—the fact that it’s him at all. 

Your heart thuds dully against your ribs, all the dopamine and euphoria crashing into harsh reality. It’s not like anything can really happen between the two of you. 

“What is it?” He asks, pulling you into his bare chest. “Why’re you thinkin’ so loud?”

He’s looking at you with soft eyes, tracing his finger down your nose and cupping your jaw. “Y’okay?”

Joel’s not usually so forward. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s not usually so forward with you. 

He’s not the type to chase college tail, or be inappropriate with someone young enough to be his daughter. He’s not that guy, despite Tommy’s constant ribbing over Joel’s interest in you. 

He doesn’t know when you went from girl to woman or when he finally noticed it. He just looked up one day and you were incredible enough to make him stick around despite his increasing impatience with your father. 

He almost feels guilty when he invites you to stay. It’s not that he has any nefarious intentions—not really. Whatever happens, happens. He really does just want you to feel safe. 

But then you make him little meals and walk around in your little shorts and it makes him insane, it makes him do things he shouldn’t even think about. It makes him touch you, tease you, flirt with you in ways he knows you don’t really understand. 

And then he catches you. 

He catches you in the middle of the day, desperate enough to grind your hot little pussy against the arm of his couch, and what else can he do when you look so pretty and small and scared but encourage you? 

He wants you to feel all the pleasure you can, even if it means guiding you there himself. He can’t imagine being twenty one and all pent up, no outlet of relief for that little swollen cunt. How awful it must feel to walk around dripping wet and needy; he doesn’t want that for you. He wants you to feel safe and pleased and satiated, and if he’s the one to do it, then so goddamn be it. If it makes you happy, he doesn’t much care what people think. 

Right now, though, you don’t look happy. Your brows are pinched in thought, head cocked in his direction but not quite meeting his eyes. He curls his index finger under your chin, pulling you gently to look straight at him. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” 

You smile at the name and it warms him. “Just…nothing, really. Just don’t know what happens now. Like, with us. Or if this is it, or—”

“This ain’t it,” he says, more insistent than he intends. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t mean to stick around.”

Your whole body melts, like he’s just taken a solid ton off your shoulders, and you lean into him. “Really?” You ask. “I understand if it’s too much or too weird, you know. I know guys don’t like it when girls get clingy, so I promise I won’t.”

His heart aches at how earnest you are. 

“Don’t you worry a thing about that, sweetheart. I don’t scare so easy,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss and nosing your cheek. 

“And you don’t think I did anything wrong?” You ask. 

He frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“You don’t think I’m dirty now?” 

Joel can tell he needs to phrase his next sentence very, very carefully. “No, darlin’. You enjoyed yourself and there’s nothin’ wrong with that. No matter what you’ve been told, all right?”

You nod, not fully convinced, he thinks, but convinced enough. He pulls you in for another kiss—he could distract you from those thoughts, at least. You sigh against his lips, yielding easily to his tongue, and for a while he just kisses you. 

He should’ve done this first; should’ve taken it slow and gotten you used to everything over a period of time, but he’s never claimed to be a selfless man. He lets you explore his mouth and massage his tongue with your own, patient and more than willing to help you figure out what feels good to you. He could do this all day, all week, all month—hell, if he knew Tommy wouldn’t come looking for him he’d just take the next week off and teach you everything you’d ever need to know. 

You moan into his mouth and his cock twitches with interest, apparently recovered from earlier exertions. He grabs your thigh and pulls, urging you into his lap and smiling against your lips at the gasp you let out when you feel his cock nudging at you. 

“Joel,” you murmur. “Joel, can we do it again?”

He cups the back of your neck and squeezes softly. “Of course, sweetheart. Need more already?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Is that okay?”

“‘Course it is, darlin’. How ‘bout we try somethin’ different this time?”

You nod vigorously as his hands slide down your body and squeeze your hips. “Yes, please. Please, Joel, teach me everything, I wanna know everything.”

Joel shudders underneath you. 

“Say it again,” he growls, lining his cock up with your messy pussy and bottoming out.

“Teach me,” you gasp. “Please.”

a/n #2: if i had a nickel for every fic that had someone getting caught fucking a couch i'd only have two nickels but it's weird that it happened twice, right?

dividers by @saradika-graphics

YES! YES TO ALL OF THIS! Chefs fucking kiss! 😍

Dieter Measures Up feat. Dieter Bravo & Cookie (f!reader)

a HeftyThrowaway one shot drabble | Rated: 18+ | word count: 834 warnings: weight gain, grinding, Dieter being a needy mess A/N: thank you @toxicanonymity for celebrating 900 friendos in the bistro! and yes... this is a bit more than a drabble.

Dieter groaned. He looked over the email from his manager, suggesting in the firmest way possible that wouldn’t compromise their job, that he needed to wear an actual suit to the premier. To add to his grief, they put in bold right at the end before signing off: YOU ARE NOT WEARING ANYTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING SOMETHING YOU COULD SLEEP IN.

Included in the message was also the requirement to get fitted for the suit because they knew he hadn’t lost any of the weight he’d gained for the role. Rolling his eyes, he flipped the bird at his phone, tossed it into the pocket of his robe, and pulled the tube of raw cookie dough from the fridge. He forwent the spoon, taking a big bite of the dough, and leaned over the counter thinking.

An idea hit him: he could just send the measurements that were taken when he arrived on set to shoot ten months ago. He smiled as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his notes before it dawned on him that he had to be measured and then remeasured a few times over the course of the shoot because his costumes kept shrinking. As he wondered who he needed his assistant to contact to track down the measurements, another email arrived from his management team: DON’T ASK FOR PRIOR MEASUREMENTS. THEY WON’T BE ACCURATE ANYMORE.

He scowled at his screen. “Mother fucker.”

*****

It had been a while since he’d been to a tailor, normally opting for off the rack because prior to this role, he was within the sample size range. He was pretty sure he still was. Sure, he had less of the iconic ‘slutty little waist’ and sure, his belly had stuck out when he wasn’t close to being full, but there was no way he was that much bigger.

At least he thought that until the seamstress, an older European woman, came out and began to measure him. Every time he felt the measuring tape pull tight against his body followed by the older woman calling out a number much higher than he anticipated, his body reacted. Not negatively – no, quite the opposite. He was getting hard.

Even after the project wrapped, he kept you on as his private cook, telling you that now he’d had a bite of his ‘Cookie’, there was no way he could have any other. And while nothing was official between you, he hadn’t fucked around with anyone else, and even cleared out his extensive vintage clown pornography collection from the guesthouse and set you up in there so you could live on sight. He loved the praise you gave when he finished his meals and he craved the look you gave when he sat back, belly heavy and sitting on his lap.

He needed to get home. Now.

****

You stood at the door to the pantry, debating on whether to make burritos or chicken korma for dinner that evening when you heard the door from the garage open and slam loudly. Before you could ask if everything was okay, Dieter was behind you, shoving you against the wall, his front to your back.

“Fuck, you do your job so good.”, he grunted, biting softly into your neck. His whole thick body pinned you and he bucked his hips, seeking friction.

“Most bosses offer a raise… not a full body slam.”, you breathed back with a smile.

“Most bosses…”, he panted, “aren’t grateful… enough.”

“Dieter… we can go to the bedro-“

“No… right… oh fuck… right here’s fine…”, he grunted with a whine. He ground his hips, and his painfully hard erection finally found the right angle against your left ass cheek.

“Dee! The couch! Not here!”

His breathing picked up and he bit the crux of your neck and shoulder with a whine. “Just… almost… need this…”

 You pushed your body from the wall with all your strength, but it was no use; Dieter’s additional weight had made his physical self just as stubborn as his personality.

“Got me so… fuckin’ big… Olga… measured me… no idea… who I was… said I was a… a fat man…”, he whimpered in grunts, breath panting over the skin he’s made wet on your neck and shoulder.

You couldn’t help but moan in response, and his arm snaked around to your front, cupping your legging clad mound, and pulling your ass against him harder. It was almost painful, but also euphoric. Dieter’s breaths became faster and carried high pitch whines with them.

“I promise… I’ll fuck… I’ll fuck you later… after dinner… just need… to cum n-oh fuck!”

You felt a warmth through your leggings on your ass cheek and his whines hit heights that only dogs could hear. When he finally stilled, his body relaxed enough that you could turn around and face him. He gave you a goofy half grin with heavy lidded eyes.

“Now that we got that out of the way, I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”

Please 👉👈 May I have more? 🫠

Because I'm genuinely excited for FAT subby, needy, loquacious EZRA, here's a piping hot snippet for the untitled [more than like not a drabble but a full blown one shot] Ezra fic.

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

@morallyinept @xdaddysprincessxx @noxturnalpascal

You’d cared for him when his appendage was newly parted from his person, after a young woman dumped him off at your meager midwife’s centre. You hadn’t delivered a baby in at east eight cycles, but you were busy tending to broken bones and crushed limbs from the mine near by, so the idea of caring for a wound caused by a missing arm wasn’t far from your everyday. What was far from the standard men in your care was that this one wouldn’t shut up. Truly. You’d never encountered someone so close to death spew such a narrative. You almost wished to have him out of his misery just to stop his linguistic vomit. Thank god for sedatives. You didn’t even want to know his name, worried that if you had his, he’d need yours and there was no way someone this sick and wounded that was capable of carrying on like he’s memorized a thesaurus wasn’t capable of performing a hex or a curse on you.