꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 3.4kay word count , black fem reader , oral sex [ r. performing ] , established relationship .
𝜗ϱ 𝓁𝓊𝓋 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝓂 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓀 . . . dis iz a repost omgie ૮꒰っ ̫ _ ꒱ྀིა uhmm . literali jus tweaked like 3 sentences or so . yh . plz take dis . ageless blogs + minors Do Not Touch ! ! ! !
you are an eager thing — for better words, a diligent thing.
eren and onyankopon were not aware of the monster that they would create after taking your virginity. unwisely, they thought of it all being temporary. you wanted them nearly every day, could never get enough. a pout and soft tug of their fingers and it was clear what was set to occur within the next five minutes, whether it be at home, in the car, in a grocery store’s bathroom. the way you’d kiss them would sometimes too reveal what was clear your mischievous, little brain’d been brewing — you’d do it more slowly, deeper, add a meek tongue suckle.
you’re akin to an energizer bunny, and eren and ony aren’t out of shape, they aren’t supine, bone idle human beings, but god damn . . .
in all honesty, you simply want to become better at it . . especially, for them. it’s only a plus that it feels so good and, you realized that, unfairly, after only two more occurrences, the both of them were now able to pluck at and play with your body as if they themselves were part of it; always knowing where to touch, where to grip, fondle, and kiss. as much as it is a beautiful thing between people who love one another, sex, boiled down to its simplest, is a skill — one that you have yet to master.
“wanna make you feel good,” you uttered to ony.
funnily enough, you don’t say this while straddling his lap or laid underneath him, no, you decide that you’re going to ask him to teach you how to suck his dick while he’s standing in the kitchen, glazing a smoky, sweet sauce across pieces of raw, seasoned chicken that lay across a pan which he was going to place into the oven.
ony can’t help but scoff a soft laugh as he lets the oven door slam closed once he’s done, “ma’, i feel like you approachin’ this all wrong,” the last, little bit of sauce sits within a bowl and he pours it down the sink drain before turning on the water and grabbing a sponge to begin to wash it. “you lost your virginity . . eight days ago, right? you don’t have to know everything off the bat.”
you’re leaning your hip on the cabinet beside him, watching his hands move. you notice that they’re big — fingers long and nimble. chewing upon the skin of your bottom lip, your own hesitate when you reach out to touch his flexing bicep. ‘i’m yours now,’ he mumbled that night after you all settled down and prepared to get some sleep. ‘we’re yours, and you’re ours.’ both him and eren had noticed how shy you were with initiating touch while out on your first date at the pier. they have to keep reminding you that it’s okay, you hardly need their permission.
the memory is enough to give you the confidence needed to wrap your hand around the fold of his elbow and push yourself closer into his side. “i know,” you sigh and close your eyes, nuzzling your face into his side. “. . y’smell so nice, onya’.” he always does. morning, noon, evening, and in the middle of the night.
angling his head down to look at you after shutting off the rushing water, ony takes in how you melt against him — close your eyes, breathe in deep, release it out slow, grip him tighter. he supposes that this is yet another reminder that you like him . . you really like him. your long, cat eyed falsies flutter before you’re looking up at him, cheek pressed against his bicep.
eren’s gone . . he’s been gone since around eight this morning and the two of you have been alone in his apartment for about seven hours now. unlike onyankopon, your morning ticked off to a slow start. he got up with eren to go on his usual, six am jog and send him off with a kiss goodbye, came back and you’d still been asleep. you hadn’t woke up until around ten and found the two of you by yourselves.
ony makes you a little bit nervous . . . for no other reason, due to the fact that he’s uncommonly handsome. you still feel a bit shy, you don’t think that’s ever going to change around him or eren. however, unlike eren, onyankopon doesn’t really speak too much. he’s happy to simply exist around the ones he loves without saying anything or drawing attention to himself — and you’d think a person like this would be self centered, or a bit of an egomaniac, nonetheless, he’s always attuned to your wants and needs.
he sits at the kitchen island, taking a call, laptop open, and papers spread along the marble in front of him, sees you take a cautious step his way, and is almost instantly patting his lap and opening his arms so that you’re able to take a seat. he knows when you’re needy, hungry, or tired, and this goes for eren, also. the two of them were once two halves of one whole . . however, from those two halves, a piece was broken, and now there are three.
“baby, you don’t gotta do this if you don’t want to, y’know that?”
your eyebrows furrow in the tiniest bit as you look away. it’s an odd mix of feelings polished across the beautiful features of your face, main ones being tenacity and inhibition. “i-i know,” you sigh and lick your lips, pushing yourself closer. “but i wanna do it, ony, really.”
you’re adamant, and ony’s just a man — one look at you and he’s already bricked.
smirking, he wraps a hand around your throat to pull you in for a kiss, “alright,” he mumbles against your lips. “i’ll teach you.”
you both situate yourselves in the living room — onyankopon on the couch, long legs spread agape to give you room to sit between them. your knees are cushioned by a pillow. “okay,” you breathe out quietly, placing your hands on the knobs of his knees. he wears a white tee and a pair of red nike sweats.
you watch as he lifts his hips and before you can so much as blink, his dick is exposed, twitching and half hard, rested within that deep valley where his thigh meets his groin. your eyes flit across smooth, dark brown skin. the bulging tendons flexing on either side of your head, the thin, hollow gorges that map out his abs once he lifted his shirt nearly halfway up his torso to keep precum from dripping on it.
slowly, your thighs rub against one another, hand flexing above his cock before you wrap it around his base to make it stand upright. “. . oh my god,” you whisper. it seems even bigger when it’s directly in front of your face as opposed to when he’s just laying the underside flat on your tummy to size you up — the length surpasses your forehead by a couple inches or so, and you don’t want to think too much about how tight you have to literally squeeze your palm around it if you want your middle finger and thumb to touch because he’s just that thick too. “ ‘s heavy.” your giggle reveals how nervous you are, onyankopon can’t help but smile. you’re cute.
“yeah?” he mumbles, stacking his fist atop of yours where you hold it. “sometimes i like t’jus . . .” he never finishes his sentence because he figures he’d rather just show you.
pulling his shaft back an inch or so, he lets it fall back onto your chubby cheek with a small plap. how quick you are to gasp is amusing. you appear to be so scandalized. huffing a chuckle, he slaps his tip on your lips, then the other cheek, “mm, like that,” onyankopon folds his arm behind his head, spreads his legs just the tiniest bit wider, and sinks deeper into his seat — he’s getting comfortable. “feels better when i slap it on a tongue, though.”
instantly, you’re letting your tongue loll out of your mouth, making the tip of it touch your chin while, callowly, slowly, you tap his fat tip on the surface.
your eyes are locked upon his . . his expression is a familiar one — lids drooped halfway into his eyes and you watch as lazily drags his bottom lip underneath the top row of his teeth, simply watching you.
“. . like that?” you ask, pushing yourself in closer between his legs.
he hadn’t known that you could get prettier, but you do. looking up at him with your big, brown eyes — you’re so eager to make him proud. “mhm,” he quietly hums while the hand behind his head curls into a loose fist. “kiss it.”
your glossed lips pucker so that you’re able to stow a sweet smooch against his frenulum.
“jus’ like that,” he mumbles. “. . . you’re so fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?”
another sweet, sheepish giggle and another delicate kiss, this time lower, near the middle of his shaft. you look up at him when you give one more, right atop of his balls. a muscle in his thigh flutters — you decide to take a note of that. “mm,” you make your way back up and lick your lips, swallowing what little you can taste of him within the back of your throat. “so do i . . . lick or,” you breathe and touch the tip with your index finger. “suck it now . .?”
onyankopon scoffs a laugh, “i mean . . shit, every guy’s different, some like to jump straight into it . .” he engulfs your fist within his own. “i don’t. i like the kisses and tongue slaps, and when you stroke it a couple times . .” he leans forward and soon, a dribble of spit is falling onto the fat crown of his cock. with his fist over yours, he makes you polish it across the rest with long, slow strokes, ensuring that your wrist follows his when he rotates it as he gets to the top. “like that. an’ whenever you ready, you can try to suck — take your time.”
you’re timid, spine feeling as though a string had been corded around it and yanked from up top to make you sit rigid and taut. “. . you’re not gonna get soft?”
“nah,” he smirks. “not around you.”
you flush and decide to pin your focus onto what now both your hands hold. gathering a wad of saliva on your tongue, you curl it to make certain that a slow trickle of spit falls out past your lips and onto him, not wanting too big of a mess. you’re aware that you may be way too in your head, thinking and self doubting yourself. you try to fight it, to live in the moment — stroking him the way he showed you, you’re pleased when ony’s eyes close and he releases a soft, slow breath, “mhmmm.”
you mirror the sound on your own, lips parting at the sight of his cock gifting you another warm trill of precum that begins to spill across your fingers.
a taste, you only want a small taste . . .
onyankopon’s body twitches when you suddenly wrap your lips around his tip, using the peak of your tongue to dip inside the cleft and swallow another dribble of it. “mmm,” you hum, enraptured by the tang. skin and salt, briny and tepid. your eyelashes flutter once you blink up at him and decide to take another inch deeper inside.
underneath his breath, ony utters, “slow, baby, slow.”
the corner of your lips stretch further and further the more you swallow. you only make it about halfway before your eyes are burning with the influx of tears and you’re forcing yourself back up for a gasp of air with thin strings of spit hanging from your lips. “oh my god,” you swallow, panting out a few breaths. “y’so big.” faintly, you wonder how eren has managed to ever deep throat this fucking monster? you decide to try again . . however, once more, you only manage to fit about four to five inches of him inside before your gag reflex is forcing you to cough him back up.
“hey, hey,” onyankopon’s sitting up when he sees a familiar pout and your eyes beginning to glaze over. that’s not good.
you’re frustrated. “i can do it, i swear,” you hiccup and let him cup your face within one of his palms so that he can force you to look up at him. “d-daddy, i can do it.”
he kisses you sweetly, stroking your tears away with gentle swipes of his thumbs before they fall further past your cheeks. “chill,” he’s smiling though, finding you all too precious. “don’t cry, mama.”
you drag the front of your wrist over your cheek, “. . ‘rennie can do it, i wanna do it, too.”
“eren doesn’t have a gag reflex,” he informs, “you do . . so this means, we gotta train your throat if you want t’be able to take it all the way down, baby,” he kisses you again. “and that could take a few days or some weeks, regardless you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. it feels good either way for me.”
“i want to do it.” your little frown of determination shouldn’t be so endearing, nevertheless, it is. your mind is made up, and onyankopon’s beginning to learn that once that happens, there’s not a thing in the world that can change it.
“okay,” he whispers, caressing your bottom lip until you open and let him dip it inside. “ima tell you right now though, ‘m only gon’ give you about half of it . . we’ll work in another inch another day, ight?”
he waits until you nod before he’s relaxing back against the settee’s cushions. only half. you can do that, you’re sure.
again, you try — mouth opens, gets stuffed with his cock, only this time, you stroke what you can’t fit with your hand, keeping your grip tight and cheeks suctioned. eyes big, you look up, gauging ony’s expressions once more while you suckle him slow and steady. you watch as his facial muscles relax and eyes close, “. . m-mmph, fuck, t-there you go.”
you try not to do what you’ve seen in porn, aware that the videos may not be good for study material, albeit, can’t help but gag on him a second time to induce more spit to drip out of your mouth and down the pillar of his dick. when he feels the ring of your throat constrict around his tip, ony’s legs jerk. so, you do it again . . and again, gagging shallowly on him while your other fist gathers on top of the one holding him upright. as you stroke them, you start to also twist the two in alternate directions.
you think this is where onyankopon loses himself — head tilts back, fingernails dig into his own knees, “h-hah . .” his moans are guttural and low, vibrating underneath the heavy breaths he drags in through his opened mouth. “shiiiit . . yeah, jus’ like that.”
you hum. if you had a tail, it’d be wagging, you’re sure. popping off for a moment, you pant and keep massaging his cock, watching rivulets of your spit drip down to his quivering balls.
you like this.
you like kneeling between his legs, mouth packed full of thick, dark dick, hearing the mesmeric sounds tumbling past the thick pillows of ony’s lips. when you clench your thighs more close against each other, and feel the familiar sensation of your clit throbbing against the soft cotton of your panties, you presume that you like it more than you think. you swallow him down again and soon after, your fingers find the thin, soft, wrinkled skin of his balls. tentatively, you press down on them, in a somewhat firm manner.
“rub, baby . . between your fingers — mm, that’s right.”
your hands are soft — almost unnaturally so. ony’s seen you lather a sugar scrub all over them one night so he supposes that’s why. for a beginner, you’re good . . you’re better than fucking good, honestly. you keep your cheeks siphoned and your lips tight, ony might as well be stroking his dick in a drain pipe. it’s a fucking vice. harsh breaths tremble when you exhale them through your nose, and when you’re not making small glug glug glugs, you’re whimpering in a manner that makes onyankopon think this may be a bit too overwhelming for you, nevertheless, you stare up at him with those bottomless, wide brown eyes and he sees how much you enjoy this.
ony feels his heart hammering, it sends a new flood of blood that feels all too hot and broiling for his body, makes his hips shift and rock where your hands lay flat against. god, he likes you. he likes you so, so, so much.
“f-fuck,” he lets his head fall back when you decide to let your tongue caress the underside of his dick while you continue to gulp him down. you move it from side to side, “god damn, baby . .” he moans and takes hold of the back of your neck for some type of leverage. “y’eatin’ that dick up . . s-shit.”
when he feels your nails scrape against his inner thighs, feels you begin to trace precious, little hearts against them, he’s unable to warn you of his release.
you feel his balls jump and twitch, and soon the muscles within his cock are flexing as an influx of warm, thick cum begins to pour inside your mouth. you squeak out a small sound of surprise, straightening your back, and keeping your head still to let it all comfortably gather onto the welcoming palette of your tongue.
onyankopon groans out a long, mellow, “fuuuuuuck,” basking in that exceptional feeling of the pit of his stomach dipping low to work out the rest of his seed as clusters of white, blinking orbs dance behind his closed eyelids. “f-fuckin . . pretty ass, shit,” he’s groaning, making you squeeze your fist tighter to let the last, few drops dribble out. “you fuckin’ . . perfect, oh my god.”
when you swallow and release his tip with a satisfied hum, it’s at this moment that the machinery of the front door whirls with a sharp shlick as a key twists inside of the lock and opens it. from then on, there’s a relieved sigh being exhaled out of a chest, thump of shoes falling, and soon, eren is revealed, standing in the entryway of the foyer.
his keys dangle from his index finger and he holds his phone within that same hand. thick, brown brows jump so high upon his forehead that they almost hide behind the beanie he wears once he takes in the picture of the living room and who occupies it. he takes his time speaking and while he tries to find his words, you cover your blushing face. “. . oh,” he finally utters after a while. “okay.”
ony chuckles.
“okay,” eren repeats while walking over, handsome smile spreading across his lips. “so . .”
you drop your hands when he stops before where you still kneel. onyankopon decides to fill in what was clear you were too embarrassed to say. he motions to his flaccid dick, measured at six and a half inches on soft, laid against his stomach, and adjusts an arm behind his head again, still revelling in that glow that only a damn good orgasm can give, “baby wanted me to teach her to suck dick . . so, i did,” he smiles, eyes heavy.
when he puts it like that, so crude and vulgar, you smack his knee.
“mm,” eren’s smirking now, tongue rubbing against the inside of his cheek. “. . . so, mama, how you like it?” he’s curious.
you nibble on your bottom lip and look away from them both. they’re such teases. “. . was nice,” you quietly reply, blinking up at him. “can’t deep throat it though . . have a stupid gag reflex.”
“yeah?” he crouches down and cups your face within the web of his hand. the lids of his eyes fall low into them as he slowly maneuvers your head from left to right — as if you were some brainless sculpture, meant to be nothing short of admired. “how’d she do, pa?”
“fuckin’ . . .” ony has to think about his words. there’s literally none for what he just experienced, all he’s really able to say is, “A plus.”
eren lengthens himself back to his full height while grinning, “A plus, huh?” your eyes are fixed on his fingers, trimmed and polished with a clear coating. they pluck at his belt and, on instinct, your mouth moistens with a new flow of saliva. “i jus’ gotta try this out for myself, then.”
craving jack’s mouth so badly during a shift with him that you’re a total brat— like stomping and being snooty and having an attitude.
so on your “break” he takes you to his truck, lays you in his back seat on your back but he keeps standing. he eats you with his hands on your knees as he coos “what am i gonna do with you, huh? my mean, messy girl… where’s my little sweetheart? hm? where’d she go… miss her so much. puffy cunt can’t replace my baby but ohhhhh she’s trying…”
꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 20.1k word count ( . . . yeah ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა ) , fem reader [ she / her prnz ] , soulmate au , reader is hyperfem ! ! ! , she wears dresses n bows n skirts , traveler ellie , kinda mean ellie , age gap [ not rllie . . but rllie . . but Not rllie . . you’ll understand ] , nonhuman reader :3 [ she’s not a monster ] , mention of family death , dom + sub dynamics , pouty reader , pet name usage [ ex. angel, babe, baby, mama, little girl ] , strap on usage , thigh riding , oral sex [ r. + e. receiving ] , ass eating ! [ r. receiving ] , ellie has a broken limb for half of the fic , impact play , lots of praise , vvv minor degradation , overstimulation , fingering , lots of cum , ellie is also taller + bigger than you in dis fic . don’t care how tall or big u may be .
belladonna's note to you .ᐟ . . . another loooonnggg one :3 but but but ! ! i had lotzzzz of fun w writin dis one . i’ve never written smthg kind of like . . mystical-y ? fantasy-ish so . . i tink dis will b one of da bbiez i hold close to mi heart ): here u are ! ! have fun < 3333 Minors / Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch !
“ if you came to me with a face i have not seen with a voice i have never heard, i would still know you. even if centuries separated us, i would still feel you. somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and i. when we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. love is the only thing we take with us. it is all we carry from one life to the next. “ — lang leav
the delicate flares of the moon’s light squeezes through ragged, sharp branches and brushwood to shine a pale gleam onto the muddied face of a girl.
she pants — breathes hard chuffs of air that pitches into a wheeze on the inhales upon her delicately touching a bleeding wound that’s stretches vertically about four inches down the bars of her rib cage. heavily, the soles of her dirt caked boots drag through jillions of dried leaves and twigs. she walks with a heavy limp — essentially hauling her right leg behind herself as if it had been a lone sack of spuds.
it’s cold tonight.
air feels in such a way that it’s biting — gnawing frosted, angry fangs through the thick corduroy of her jacket and bottoms to dig in deep within the cushion of her flesh. she shivers, she aches, she groans.
the eventide seems to drag . . . it’s as though the more she focused on the stinging, whetted pain of the gash oozing out precious, fine rivers of cardinal plasma, the longer the night had continued to fall — darkening the forest around her, chiseling thick tree bark into silhouettes of wading bodies, sprigs into sharpened knives, and the water of shallow riverbeds into blood.
ellie wheezes once more, watching the world tip on its axis for a moment . . slowly turning on its side, sending her slanting with it. her hand slams against the jagged surface of a tree stock as she pauses and breathes, attempting her best to relax, to think, to stay alert as her other palm weighs down upon her injury. blood seeps through the rifts of her nimble fingers — warm, thick, seemingly never ending.
she releases a trembling sigh through the delves of her nose, looking out towards the earth spread out before her underneath the short, thick feathers of her lashes. it’s nothing but a thicket of woodland and bushes. she fights to ignore that unremitting feeling of anxiety eating away at the muscle of her heart — sending the organ on a hurried frenzy that also alerts her brain of the fact that, ‘ you could be stuck in here for the rest of your life. ‘
she’d rather fucking die.
through the blurry border of her vision, albeit, she notices a glow.
nothing too bright, nonetheless, a softened radiance enveloped around the outline of a person . . another human being about fifteen yards away.
the dull blades of her nails eat through the bark of the tree as she squints her eyes a bit tighter, fighting to determine if the figure had been real or a simple hallucinated byproduct of too much blood loss.
furthermore, posthaste, a gentle, resounding giggle floats inside the tunnels of ellie’s ears.
“wha . . .” she swallows a pained gulp to moisten her dry mouth, watching the gleaming contour pick up the edges of her ankle length dress by the fabric at her thighs and begin to skip away. it moves slowly — as if a sailboat wafting upon rocky shores — buoyant and gliding. “w-wait,” ellie gives a shaky step. her vision seems to blacken for a twinkling before it returns once more. the figure seems further away now. “fuck, wait.”
it isn’t like ellie to beg for help. she doesn’t know why she decides to ask for it tonight, even so, she feels as though she can’t stop herself from following the girl in front of her.
leaden legs propel her forward. ellie feels as if she’s running, yet she’s not getting any closer. her hands reach out for the rough barks on either side of her, using them to thrust herself onward, more quickly.
she hears a giggle again — a sweet, melodious thing that echos in her ears and spells her limbs into nothing but heavy casts of molten honey.
“you have the sweetest soul i’ve ever seen.”
ominously, the voice begins to sing, quiet and prettily — tone sweeter than the syrupy saccharine of a honeysuckle, “have you ever loved a rose, and watched her slowly bloom; and as her petals would unfold, you grew drunk on her perfume . . .”
her voice is everywhere — sounding as if it had been amplified from the skies down into ellie’s ears.
she’s gasping for breath, fighting to move faster. harsh winds rush by and her feet sink into pulpy, sodden beds of running streams.
“have you ever seen her dance, her leaves all wet with dew; and quivered with a new romance — the wind, she loved her too.”
she’s getting closer. the luminous frame only about four yards away now. upon a closer view, ellie realizes that it isn’t the consequence of too much blood loss sending her tired mind into a running swirl of delusion, nor simply her imagination. no, the girl running — coasting in front of her is glowing.
a brilliant blaze of cool white exudes from her pores, glaring softly against the shrubbery around her, igniting the forest.
“have you ever longed for her, on nights that go on and on; for now, her face is all a blur, like a memory kept too long.”
ellie feels herself slowing.
her throat and lungs burn with the inhales of frigid airs and no longer can she ignore the pain of her injury. she reaches out her hand, forcing her way through the exhaust for a wink longer.
“have you, ellie?”
at the exact same moment the tip of her finger drifts along a curl — finer than woven gold, softer than satin — her next step is misplaced.
what was supposed to be ground underneath her is gusting air. ellie doesn’t have the energy to scream when she feels her body plunge down into the pull of gravity, within the darkness over a cliff.
glooming murk is what surrounds ellie’s vision when she opens her eyes.
no.
never mind that.
golden rays of warm sunshine is the first thing she sees upon finally welding up enough resolve to truly open them.
she stares at the streaks for a while, mind blank, eyes hazed over. fine particles of dust make themselves known as they drift and float within the beams glowing in through a low window that had been bordered by twisting vines.
“oh, goodie!” she hears. “you’re up.”
she’s supposed to be dead.
she plunged off of the peak of a thirty foot high cliff . . . she’s supposed to be gone.
and yet, she smells sweet yeast and hears the sound of a pot with water bubbling over and the voice of a girl. ellie flits her tired eyes over to her left, revealing her aching body laid sprawled over a burgundy, leather loveseat. her leg, the right one, has a thick plank of wood beneath it with pieces of fabric knotted firmly around the base of her knee down her shin to her ankle to hold it into place.
the gash along her rib cage is patched up, fragrant of strong pharmaceuticals that seep into the air underneath the plaster.
ellie exhales a slow, soft breath and palms her temple. her brain feels as though it’s hammering against the bounds of her skull.
“hi.”
you make yourself known.
you round the couch with your hands behind your back and an enchanting, little smile on your face as you stand before ellie. “you took quite a nasty fall.”
ellie can only stare at you for so long prior to her beginning to realize that she had been coming off a little rude. she notices your hair first — long . . so fucking long, stopping near midway of your shins in fine rivulets that do little to hide the pointed peaks of your ears that protrude out from the sides of your head.
and she tries to look away from you, she really, fucking does however, she can’t. each time her eyes attempt to shift away, they only seem to gravitate back up into yours and there’s this certain way how your smile lessens into a mere smirk . . . as though you’re aware of her strain and struggle that makes ellie’s heartbeat grow irregular.
“. . what are you?”
your brows furrow as you glance up into the air, as if trying to recall something, prior to you clicking your tongue and rocking up on the toes of your feet to put yourself back into motion once more. “i found you at the bottom of a cliff,” you tell her, voice sounding as though tiny tinklings of bells resided in the back of your throat, sending each word out pass the divot of your tongue into a harmony. “leg was broken — bone jutted out from your skin and all . . hmph,” you give a firm pout and shiver as if remembering it. “brought you back here and patched you up. you should be saying thank you.”
you walk to the staircase that resides a few feet behind the loveseat. cynical eyes of hardened sage follow your every move, watching you bend to take hold of a chubby, ginger cat that lazed upon the bottom step and adjust it in your arms.
“. . thank you,” ellie’s voice is flat.
when you turn back around to face her, you can’t help but giggle at the sight of her head, peeking up from the back of the sofa just so that she was able to keep an eye on you.
“don’t look so frightened,” you coo quietly, scratching underneath your cat’s chin. “look. say hello to ellyllon,” you suddenly pause and press your fingers against the pillowy skin of your lips, eyes wide. “mm, two ellies now. ‘s gonna get a bit knotty. call her lonnie, then.”
both ellie and lonnie quietly stare at one another, neither making a gesture to greet the other.
you let a beat of tensed silence pass, ahead of giving a dispirited sigh and letting the feline hop from your arms to prance back to where she had originally been.
“okay,” you mewl and give a small shrug. “we’ll try that again later, hm? ‘m sure you both will grow to be fond of one another. the two of you are very much alike.”
keenly, ellie watches you turn to your left to walk over to and push open a swinging door. through flashes of it waving back and forth as it settles to completely close shut, she’s able to see a kitchen, completed with a large fire pit that takes up an entire wall that sparks heavy, warm flames and an old, rustic table with a fruit bowl and bouquet of tulips in a pink tinted glass vase set upon the middle of it.
she shifts her widened eyes over to the front door where her pack hangs on a nail beside.
“okay,” she hums quietly. “uh, i just want to give my thanks for you helping me. last night was a fuckin’ blur, i’m usually much more attentive to my surroundings,” she’s slowly moving to straighten up her haggard body and place both feet on the floor. “i’ll just . . . be on my way now.”
the kitchen door is slamming back open to reveal you holding a silver tray enclosed within the small digits of your fingers. upon the tray sits a freshly baked and buttered bun, arrayed with heirloom tomatoes, churned goat cheese, and hummus on the side.
your pretty, little face is full of dejection as you whimper and utter, “b-but i made this for you and,” you hiccup, eyes beginning to brew with darling tears finer than chiffon. “i have a chicken p-pot pie in the oven and — you can’t go. not yet.”
ellie’s body is molded halfway into a position of her reaching for your wooden coffee table to further straighten herself out. albeit, when the savory, sweet scent of the buttered bun and goat cheese drift within the tunnels of her nose — her stomach decides to hit her with a punch hard enough to knock her back down into her seat.
a free meal. she can’t pass it up.
“. . alright,” she utters. can’t deny that your face, although stunningly ominous, aids in her final decision as well. “just for dinner. i have to head back out.”
your tears are gone after a simple blink and you’re squealing while rushing over on your tip toes, pass another chubby, lounging cat ellie hadn’t even noticed, plausibly due to its onyx - black coat, to set the platter down on the table. “how nice of you,” you coo and then round the table to plop down beside ellie, thigh to thigh. “you have manners. i like that.”
with a huff, ellie reaches for the bread. her fingers are tearing off a decently sized piece when, abruptly, her hand is smacked away. she pulls it back into her chest, snapping a rough glare your way. “what the hell?”
you only give a sweet simper, “you’re injured, silly,” with a roll of your big, pretty eyes.
“my hands aren’t.”
“shush.”
you’re ribboning off a warm piece of bread, scooping some goat cheese on it with a delicate finger then holding it up towards ellie’s lips. your eyes are honed in upon them, lids falling halfway into glassed over irises when you utter, ‘ say ahh. ‘
you’re strange. ellie can’t decide if she hates you.
when she allows you to feed it to her, you absolutely beam and reach for a tomato. “i don’t get a lot of travelers out this way,” you quietly tell her with the fat of your bottom lip jutted out. “ ‘s jus’ me and my kitties and goaties and horse and piglets and chickens. on the rare occasion that someone does venture into this part of the forest,” a twinkle shines within the pupils of your eyes as ellie slowly chews. “they’re usually a man . . . i’ve never had someone like you though.”
“someone like me?” she questions after swallowing.
as eerie as you are, you could make a damn good bun though.
you nod with a tiny ‘ mhm ‘ then pop the tomato pass her lips. “a girl — really, really rare. think the last one i met was about . . .” you tilt your head and look up towards the heavens as you think, small pinkie pressed within the skin of your chin. “forty years ago.”
ellie chokes on the gulp down this time and turns her head away to keep from sending some pieces of slimy fruit your way.
you jolt and hesitate upon your hand falling onto her back to rub soothing circles upon it. “ellie, oh goodness, are you okay? is it your side?”
she’s coughing hard, reaching out a hand to keep you at arm’s length. “f-forty . . — fuck, forty years ago?”
your face is smoothed over with endeared bewilderment as you nod and carefully settle your hands within your lap. you hadn’t known what the big deal was, why ellie began to stare at you seemingly harder than before, if even possible, with eyes of bright apple darting across almost every centimeter of your features.
no smile lines, crows feet, not a single wrinkle in sight.
you hadn’t looked a day pass ellie’s own age which had been twenty two years old.
the only thing that had somewhat gave away your maturity — that had ellie believing, albeit for a split second, that you were older than you appeared were your eyes.
time seems infinite as she stares into the dark, boundless pit of your pupils — letting her own globes drift across smooth irises where endless torrid summers and bitter winters of generations upon generations danced upon the surface of.
the longer she stares, the more the heavy ponderosity of her heart divests. it is as though the muscle had been shedding the years of loneliness, of dreadful melancholy, sorrow, and worry until there was nothing . . . nothing but you inside of it, inside of her, glowing bright.
ellie watches you smile. it starts off as a slow thing that has the corners of plump, glossed lips lifting until blushed cheeks were brimming, curving your eyes into sweet crescents. “oh, ellie,” you hum quietly and cup her face within the cradles of your hands.
your delicate touch sends an immediate wave of sweet serenity over the girl’s mind. it shuts off. she doesn’t think, doesn’t move, no longer feels the claws of hunger scratching along the interior of her stomach.
“w-wait . .” she slurs, watching her vision fade into a muddled cloud as exhaustion starts to pull her eyes down.
she hears you shushing her quietly, prior to your face inching in close. ellie wants to shove you away, wants to slap herself, make herself get it together, nonetheless, you’re daintily nuzzling the rounded tip of your nose against hers for a sweet bunny kiss. “let it take you, hm? . . you’re a stubborn one. i’ll make it all better. i promise.”
time is subjective.
at least, for ellie it is.
she isn’t quite sure how long she sleeps for. each instance of her waking up, through the window before where she lays, she finds the golden sphere of the sun hanging high within the soft blues of the skies, sinking below the perimeter of the horizon where cosmos bid ascending, green hills and slopes goodbye, or it simply being gone — leaving her sister, the moon, and all of her dazzling nebulas of children behind.
occasionally, she hears you humming softly, to that familiar song she heard in the forest that night. she sometimes feel the gentleness of your fingers — them peeling back the plaster on her side to gently sponge her gash clean, rub a thick paste into and bind a new piece of adhesive to it.
ellie isn’t sure if its her mind jiving and fooling her, nonetheless, she’s sure each time before you add the paste and after cleaning it, you lean in real close to where your lips nearly touch the cut and meekly, you murmur something into it, enclosing sweet words inside the wound with a final kiss.
she’s absolutely positive that you have her underneath some sort of trance.
against her waking up every now and then and finding the strength to move, she only makes it about halfway to the front door prior to you appearing out of thin air, shushing her tired huffs and groans with coos, silkenly sweet. you always walk her back to the couch, lay her back down, adjust her leg, and bundle her up within a thick, fleece blanket. “you’re okay,” you always tell her, kneeling down beside her body. constantly feeling as though her tongue had been too thick for her mouth, ellie could only stare at you through dim eyes, trying her best not to lean into your lulling touch that smooths tufts of dark auburn from off of her freckled forehead. “gonna take care of you. ‘m gonna take good care of you, ellie. haven’t i always?”
she never understands what you mean. you seem to talk in riddles — everything connected though puzzling and unclear.
still, regardless of such . . . of your blatant eeriness, ellie likes when you feed her, likes your cooking, and can’t help but begin to like your pretty face, too.
you allow ellie to wake up a few weeks later.
spring is here, bringing in tow the blooming of sweet daffodils and precious daisies. plump beads of dew make home upon the blades of grass that spreads into a field along the inclined slope your charming, little, pink cottage sits upon . . you think it’s a good time.
spring is a season of new — new beginnings, reawakenings, and flowerings.
you’re seated on a tire that hangs from thick twine, wrapped around a firm branch underneath the weeping willow tree in your backyard. you can hear ellie groaning once she finally begins to rouse and stir and you try your best not to squeal.
ellie, you think while dating the journal you hold against the seat of your thighs that are pulled in close to allow your body to scrunch up real small within the burrow of the tire. ellie, ellie, ellie, ellie.
you think that’s all your mind consists of now. just her, will always be. freckled cheeks, eyes the hue of calla lilies, tawny hair, flushed lips, bulging biceps, strong thighs, hard calves, agile fingers.
a shaky breath is exhaled past your lips as your ear twitches in the direction of your cottage behind you, listening to her curse as she conceivably gathers enough bearings to stand. what’s heard immediately after she takes a step is a tiny yowl from lonnie and you try not to giggle to much when ellie hisses back, “what the — why the fuck are you laying right there then?”
you hide your grin with your fingers, hearing the heavy thuds of a boot and the hard mold of a leg cast taking slow steps out towards the deck where you reside . . and you try not to coo at the face ellie makes as she steps out into the sunlight, one eye squinted tightly shut.
she looks around — at the white picket fence that borders your backyard from your farmhouse that stands proudly in the middle of a field acres away . . at your flowerbeds and little shed that houses the necessary tools needed to keep your cottage so quaint, at the two baby lambs sleep beside the tree you hang from, then finally . . . at you.
her eyes begin to acclimatize towards the sunbeams and she stares at you for a moment.
you give a happy sigh and rise gracefully from the swing to pad your bare feet through the grass all the way to her. “how did you sleep?”
she’s still staring at you, expression indecipherable to most as the corners of her lips pull down — not you though. you can practically read what she’s thinking as if she had been nothing but words on parchment spread before of you. she’s wondering what you are. it’s all she ever seems to think and it makes you deflate a bit and pout.
“good,” she murmurs, taking one more look around. “shit, where . . . where the fuck am i?”
“my cottage.”
“mm,” she sucks a tooth, tilts her head, and lifts her brows — making an expression that clearly reads ‘no shit.’ “yeah, i can see that.”
you disregard her sarcasm to suddenly gasp and shoot up on your cute toes. “would you like a tour?”
her answer remains unknown, drifting along a warm breeze as you start to trot away, expecting her to follow.
you’re pleased once she does.
your feet step onto the back deck of your home where a white iron tea table and two matching chairs sat in the corner underneath a window. a pink, lace trimmed tablecloth drapes along the expanse of it and right in the middle is a bouquet of white and pink hydrangeas plopped within a heart shaped vase. “this is the terrace,” you lift your arms above your head, wiggling your fingers as if to say ‘ ta - da! ‘
ellie tilts her chin skywards, admiring the pots of plants and flowers, hanging from hooks along the protruded awning that tent the entirety of the deck. she can’t lie . . . it’s cute — very . . charming.
you lead her inside the home, showing her the kitchen where a kettle of tea boiled on a grate within the fire pit, the staircase which you conveyed’s upper level chartered your bedroom, a guest chamber, and a bathroom.
beside the flight of steps, ellie can’t help but notice a short hall with a door standing directly across from her. another is aslant to it — she thinks it’d lead to the basement.
“come, come.” you’re ushering her out towards the front, through the living room. “wanna show you the porch swing.” it’s your favorite part of your home.
the front porch is painted white and a swinging, pink bench, padded with comfy pillows and a lone fuzz covered serape, hangs from the canopy of the roof on ellie’s right. it sways idly, almost to the tune of the wooden wind chimes which dangle beside the front door’s threshold and peals a sweet melody, involuntarily relaxing the rigidity of her muscles.
a clothesline hanging long dresses, fine blouses, and sweaters flanks near the left side of the front yard, completed with a large wooden tub and a washboard plopped inside of it upon the bright, green lawn. ellie tries not to stare at the night slips and panties, clearing her throat and immediately whisking her sight to somewhere else.
in wonder, her lips part at the heart shaped stone path that curves this way and that between shrubs of pretty flowers to lead out towards the gate, down the short hill, where a large meadow branches off into the beginning of the forest. it’s about twenty yards of land until it does — in which another large weeping willow stands proudly, underneath it, a few stone hedges that piques ellie’s interest, causing her brow to raise.
“my old animals,” you follow her sight with your own and your fingers poke and twist at the wooden rail of the short staircase, languidly. “couldn’t just toss them anywhere.”
“oh.” she nods slowly with the corners of her lips tugging down as if saying, ‘makes sense.’ “understandable.”
“yeah,” you sigh and the sound of your bare feet padding quickly down the stairs so that you can go and stand in the middle of your lawn breaks ellie from her reverie. “this is my little home.”
you’re proud of it. she reads it in your big smile — warm and kind and for some reason, ellie wants to smile, too.
“you like it?”
she’s imprepared of your question.
you watch her lips pop open, prior to her pausing. she seems to really think about it, really ponder her decision before nodding, voice gentle, “yeah,” she utters. “yeah, i like it.”
dinner that night consists of roasted duck, veggies, potatoes, cheesy cauliflower, and an apple pie for dessert.
ellie’s reminded of the last time she ate so good — ten years ago in her hometown of jackson, just her . . and him. she had managed to shoot her own kill for the first time — a tiny, white rabbit. fur peeled, skin braised, then covered in a sweet sauce . . . she had ate until she couldn’t anymore, enclosed within the sound of burning, crackling embers and his low chuckles at her banal jokes.
“what’s wrong?” you’re pouting, tilting your head.
you both sit at the kitchen table, across from one another and ellie has her thumbnail lodged between two teeth lined along the bottom of her gums, trying to work out a particular piece of duck that had gotten stuck. she stares out into nothing, eyes blank, deadly quiet and that isn’t abnormal.
ellie is, mostly, a quiet person.
though, you know she’s bothered upon the feeling of your own heart sinking into the deepest, darkest pit of your tummy. makes you feel as though it’s going to suddenly rush up and out your mouth through your throat or implode where it sits. it’s horrible . . . grim.
she doesn’t answer your question, merely looks up into your eyes and asks, “which way to texas from here?”
you take your time replying — inhale a breath, straighten your spine, stand, then reach for both your dishes to stack and walk over to the sink. “you’re leaving?”
ellie nods, “yeah . . got to.”
“you got someone waitin’ for you?”
she doesn’t. she wants to tell you that she does though. “no,” the word comes out before she can even attempt to lie — tickles up her esophagus in front of the real truth falling off of the sheet of her tongue, making her brows furrow at her own answer, taken aback. “uh, no. i guess i don’t. i just—“
“—why are you in such a hurry then?” your pointed ears flick as you turn back around to face her.
your face . . . how cute. lips pursed, eyebrows dipped in low, cheeks puffed. a lone piece of a honey crisp apple dots the corner of your mouth . . ellie’s thumb twitches in your direction, wanting to swipe it away.
“why are you fighting to keep me here?” her question hangs within the atmosphere of the kitchen like a thick cloak. her eyes are drilling as they stare into yours and she slowly leans forward, familiarity beginning to brighten her face. her mind flows her through that night all those weeks ago . . . of the glowing silhouette and elfin song. “that was you,” she utters, voice soft. that was you . . . she had fallen off of a cliff trying to chase you. “you in the forest . . singing. what—“ she stops herself, scoffs a bit, and looks away. “who the hell are you?”
you haven’t told her your name. all this time has passed and you haven’t told her your name, what you are, what you want from her.
it all seems to suddenly hit ellie at once.
and you, you mewl and walk over, taking her by surprise once you kneel in front of her and take a seat upon your haunches. your lashes are long as you bat them up at her, nevertheless — even in a position so servile, so . . . obedient, ellie knows that it’s not her in control here.
you tell her your name quietly, plump lips curving around the syllables with a hum. “y-yeah,” you stammer and look away, suddenly sheepish. “that was me in the forest, but, ellie,” you perk up, face earnest and imploring. “i never meant for — this, your leg, i . . at first i just saw a figure and i,” your mind seems to take you back and your eyes absolutely sparkle as you stare off at a lone piece of firewood propped up against the kitchen’s doorframe. “i got so happy, ‘cause i knew who you were and . . regardless, i haven’t had a visitor in such a long time and i jus’ wanted to . . play, have some fun, i don’t know but i see now that, hm,” you huff and frown. “i took it a little too far. it doesn’t help that . . . that . .”
when you look back up into her eyes, your own are tender and soft. you stare at ellie as if she had been everything and more — the creator of all things good and divine and ellie’s chest begins to burn because . . geez, she’s never held someone’s stare for so long and this intense.
“what?” she asks, irises flicking from left to right within your own, searching for an answer. “it doesn’t help that what?”
you shuffle closer on your knees, fitting yourself between her legs and take hold of one of her hands. cliché, ellie fucking knows, but your touch kindles a flame that rises from the tips of her fingers, up her arm. her blood warms a degree hotter and it all swarms up to her face, sending a blush the hue of ripe cherries blossoming across her freckled nose and cheeks.
“don’t you see?” you squeeze her palm, just a bit. “i don’t . . i don’t know how to expl— mm,” you get frustrated with yourself and puff your cheeks out again after pausing. “i don’t know how to say it.”
you simply take hold of that single hand you held and you grab ellie’s wrist, leading her palm towards your chest.
as her face darkens a shade again, ellie freaks and attempts to pull it back, “wait—“
“—relax, ellie,” you coo with a knowing, little smile and she . . does. she breathes out an exhale and allows you to press her hand against the center of your chest, right over where your heart resides and you do the same against hers.
for a moment, nothing happens. ellie’s staring at her twitching fingers, wondering what the hell you were possibly trying to do but then she feels them — the pounds of your heart . . hard, steady . . and a bit rushed.
when another second passes, she recognizes that it matches the exact same tempo of her own. the realization makes her eyes squint as an alloyed sensation of doubt and bewilderment settles within the root of her stomach. and ellie wants to pull away, she wants to snatch herself from you, grab her pack, and hightail her ass out of here but she feels . . . stuck. your touch is not the slightest bit forceful or demanding, albeit still, she can’t move.
“i wondered for the past few weeks why the first person to stumble into this forest within the last thirty years had been you. why you had been the one to see me that night and,” your eyes are twins of gleaming heavens as you pull your hand back to hold ellie’s within the cradle of your soft palms. “it’s because you found your way to me — back to me. we’re destined, ellie. we’ve always been.”
the outer corner of ellie’s right eye twitches as she stares at you, deep into your own. “you’re crazy,” is what she whispers quietly, finally building up enough willpower to slip her hand away from yours and stand. “you’re fucking crazy, lady.”
you pout, slowly standing with her and — there it is, that precious expression . . that tiny shift within your natural, sweet resolve that makes ellie’s chest ache. ellie has to take a step back and the hind of her cast knocks against the wooden chair behind her, sending the legs scraping against the tiles of the kitchen floor. ellie tries not to pay too much attention to how your shoulders shoot up to your ears at the sound, how your pretty face screws and body tenses as if a string intertwined along your spine had been forcefully tugged from up above. everything you do, every word you say . . . they seem to be already written within the universe’s book. you don’t walk — you glide, or you skip, or you coast. you don’t talk — you drawl and soliloquize.
“ellie,” your voice breaks between the two syllables as you take a step toward her.
ellie takes another back, blindly reaching for a utensil upon the table beside her. the second her fingers touch the smooth steel of one, she fists it and shoots her arm up, holding it out between you both.
her eyes are dark, louring into yours — eclipsing day with night. “i swear to christ, if you take one more fucking step . . .”
tears, warm, soft, and shimmering, bubble up the surface of your eyes, drip off of the long cast of your lashes, and down the smooth surface of your cheeks. “ ‘m not crazy,” you whimper, chin angling down and away from ellie. “and ‘m not a liar—“
“—shut,” the volume of her voice makes one of your cats yelp and scurry along from the kitchen’s threshold. when you gaze over, you see lonnie simply seated on her haunches, head tilted, staring at ellie. “the fuck . . up.”
ellie takes another good look at you — trailing her eyes up from your soft feet to the dress you wore, long, lilac, and pretty. she looks at your fingers, your hair, your eyes, your ears. “are you a w—“
“—‘m not a witch,” you hiccup and roll your eyes, lifting your hands up to gently dab away your tears. “if you’d put the butter knife down and take a seat so that i can further explain, that’d be nice, ellie.”
ellie looks at the utensil she holds. she hadn’t even noticed that she had grabbed a weapon so callow. silence seems infinite as you both stay where you stand. time ticks and ebbs away just as a woodworker’s blade on a rind — sharp, unchanging, steady. ellie’s hesitant. you look as though you wouldn’t hurt a fly, couldn’t is a word that no longer occupies her mind because she’s positive you can. you’re not human . . not completely from what she sees, some . . . creature from god knows where, ellie thinks she has enough reason to stay on guard with you.
though, when she slowly makes a move to take her seat once more, this time, a bit more further from the table, and when she watches you go to take yours, however pause with a soft noise of oracle, then turn on your feet to scurry off upstairs, she realizes that the pained knot in her heart hasn’t always been there.
it’s strong — feels as though a hand has been reaching inside of her chest this entire time . . tying and twisting arteries with veins, knotting them all up with one another until it was one, ginormous mess.
her face is one of discomfort as she massages the area over with her fingers, trying to work it out.
you’re back within an instant, your cats are in tow too.
you carry a book, one almost half the size of ellie, and it’s thick, completed with frayed pages and a torn spine. flowers are flattened between the pages, clearly used as bookmarks, and a large bronze crest is stamped upon the hardcover on the front of the book. when you let it fall onto the table with a heavy thud and flip open to the front page, ellie only catches a quick glimpse of it prior to you beginning to thumb through the sheets quickly.
with you preoccupied, ellie turns her attention to lonnie. the feline sits right beside your feet and continues to stare at her, blinking slowly . . eyes almost squinted with suspicion.
ellie narrows her own.
the hell . . .
“here it is,” you sniffle, wiping away the last bit of your tears and ellie focuses her sight back on you. you tuck pieces of your long hair behind your ears to remove them from your vision. ellie has to stand to view the page herself when you point to it, however, just her fucking luck, the words printed on the old parchment aren’t english, moreso greek. her eyebrows furrow at the little, pastel etch of a tiny figure, maybe about four inches tall. its skin is a pale green, it has pointed ears, and eyes the color of cyan. wings protrude from its back — they’re scraggly, resembling tree branches and it wears leaves for clothes.
her eyes snap from it to another image, this one of what looks like a woman, walking along a creek, hand outstretched where a butterfly sits perched upon her fingers. she has wings too, only they seemed to be composed of iridescent scales and more rounded out. she wears a knee length dress, made of woven gold.
another image is of a woman. she doesn’t have a solid, physical body, no, she’s concocted of the water she stands in with soft blue eyes, plush lips, and hair stopping at her ankles.
ellie stares at all of the sketches for a second longer.
“wait,” her voice cracks as a slow smile of disbelief raises the corners of her lips. “. . this is a joke, right?” she looks at you though points to the book. “you fibbin’ me?”
“ellie, i’m not a liar,” you look at the book and point to the tiny, green creature. “this is a pixie . . here is a fairy, and this is a sprite.”
the longer ellie stares at the images, the more she notices that you take on characteristics from each species. she doesn’t have to speak because you tell her. “you keep asking me what am i,” you utter gently. “this . . is it. they’re all me.”
ellie inhales a slow breath through her mouth. she places both hands flat on the table and takes a few steps back so that she’s now leaning over the book. “. . you don’t have wings.“
“i can show you them,” you’re playing with your fingers, rubbing your index harshly while nibbling at your bottom lip. “they’re pretty . . . wide . . so we’d have to go outside—“
“—i don’t want to see — what the f . . .” ellie takes in another breath and looks up at you through lowered brows. “what does any of this have to do with what the hell you were saying? destiny and shit?”
you look away, soft lips jutted, “i don’t know how to explain it, ellie . . you’re not gonna believe me.”
wordlessly, ellie straightens her posture and starts to make her way out of the kitchen to the living room. you follow her, voice pitched an octave higher, “we’re lovers, ellie,” you spout through a shallow breath. “we . . we’re soulmates. two halves, one whole. y-you and me.”
ellie scoffs, limping slowly towards the couch. she has her eyes set for her pack, it’s right underneath the center table. “you’re insane, you know that? you’re crazy.” she’s getting the hell out of here. if she had known that for weeks, she’s been in the care of someone so looney, she would’ve tried harder to leave. she conjures up that you’re just lonely . . . you’ve been here on the outskirts of this forest for goodness knows how long and you’ve lost your mind, it’s completely fathomable.
“i’m not crazy.”
one moment, her backpack is resting underneath the table, propped up against one of its legs. the next, it’s suspended in the air. ellie pauses in her steps, watching it float almost an entire foot above her head . . . then it moves. she jolts, falling into a crouch, narrowly missing it when it flies past her face to halt suddenly beside your own.
you keep the sack hovering in place with a single finger.
ellie’s heart falls.
your expression is unreadable. you’re staring at her as if upset that you even had to do that to prove her wrong. “i’m not crazy,” you softly reiterate.
when ellie looks down at lonnie, the cat seems to give a low mmrph of pride, intertwining herself between your legs to plop down at your feet and fix her with a smug glare.
the embers of the warm fire casts rays of golden against your skin.
ellie can’t stop staring at you.
you both are seated upon the floor within the living room. it’s been a couple hours since dinner. the sun has fallen and the moon has made her home once again within star studded, indigo skies. since you’ve miraculously made ellie’s backpack float within thin air, she decided that she ultimately had to hear you out and understand this whole, soulmate-one bond type connection the both of you seem to share.
you had told her, “you feel what i feel and vice versa.” and left it at that.
ellie thinks, sadly has to admit to herself, that she’s too scared to ask anymore questions.
she inhales a shuddering breath through her nose, lips rolled into her mouth, watching you stroke the coat of your black cat whose name ellie has only now found out — ozias. you call him ozzi for short. “so,” her voice is low when she speaks against for the first time in an hour. and you look up at her with your big, round eyes, expectant and waiting. ellie bites her bottom lip. “. . . how do you know that i am your soulmate?”
you take your time answering; look back down at ozzi, hum softly to a lone tune playing in your head, sigh. “because i feel it,” you gently reply. “i don’t want you to go. i’m drawn to you.”
“okay, but—“
“—we’re magnets, ellie,” your voice is teetering on a tired edge, as if you’ve explained this a dozen times before. “within every life time, we find each other. that’s how it goes. i don’t know why, don’t ask, okay? i’ve been here for so long and i still can’t find a reason, but . . it’s you. sometimes you come back as a friend, a pet, a muse . . this time,” you feel a warmth span across your nose. “you’re my lover. you’ve always been mine . . . and i’ll always be yours. that’s how it always is.”
ellie clamps her mouth shut, finding herself silenced, and looks out toward the fire’s dancing flames.
you’ve always been mine and i’ll always be yours.
she hates that her stomach flips at the simple sentence. with another creeping silence comes more questions. ellie can’t seem to quiet her mind for the life of her. “. . a pet?” that one word seems to blare louder than the others.
you huff a small giggle, touching your lips, “. . it was a while ago. i resided near the gulf of mexico back then. you were a wolf,” you grin and gaze off into the fire. “very protective — if even the wind blew a certain way you would snarl and bite at it. very sweet . . kind, gentle. we went everywhere together. you’d never let me leave the house alone.”
your words revoke a sense of deja vu within ellie and that, by the narrowest of margins, lets her know that this was real and, straightforwardly, not a delusion. she sighs, “why is it—“
you shush her and stand, “no more questions, alright?” your long hair sways as you bend to grab the pail of water beside the fireplace and wet the flames, ebbing them out. “you’re curious, i know, but we both need sleep. it’s gettin’ late, els.”
you hold out a hand and ellie takes it, this time without thinking.
your touch is calming — so, so gentle and soft and nice.
“no more couch for you.”
you help her up the stairs quietly, keeping an arm wrapped around her midriff, careful with her still healing wound. by the time you both make it up to the second story of your cottage, exhaustion seems to hit ellie tenfold. maybe it was the trek up, maybe it was you.
she’s always sleepy around you.
you open the door to the guest room, delicately whispering to her that your room was just next door if she happened to need you. ellie’s then carefully laid down, bundled up, and only a second away from sleep’s chasmic embrace when you hear her quietly murmur, “sorry for . . . butter knife . . and calling you a liar.”
“i accept your apology.”
you’re smiling as you close her door, walk to your own bedroom, and take a seat at your vanity to perform your nighttime routine. kismet’s your best friend. you can’t help but thank her with a thousand whispered prayers and expressions of devotion for guiding your ellie back to you.
ellie’s dragging herself down the staircase with both hands on the rail, slowly, come the next morning.
last night, that’d been the best sleep she’s had in a long, long time. she feels . . renewed, ready to take on today’s obstacles and challenges without a moment’s haste. initially, upon her eyes first opening earlier in the day, ellie had known last night had been a dream. her floating sack, your crestfallen face and teary eyes, pompous lonnie, this . . soulmate, thing ( ? ). it all seemed as though her brain had produced it on a whim, maybe the pain of her leg was really starting to get to her.
nevertheless, then, she smelled cinnamon . . and had been greeted by a fat ozzi who plopped down on her chest, as if to say, ‘get up’ and, she’s aware now. you’re real.
you’re really here — standing with your back towards her as you stir a thick, firm batter with a wooden spoon, working it tirelessly, standing on your tip toes. lonnie, never too far from you, sits atop of a chair at the dining table that had been seemingly pulled out and angled to face you for her comfort.
ellie lugs herself over to the other, making sure to cut her eyes at the feline who only seems to give her a bored blink.
“good morning, ellie,” you sing quietly, making sure to turn your head over your shoulder to look at her. “you feel okay?”
“i’m fine,” she replies, trailing her eyes across your dress of choice for today. it’s not a dress at all, but tiny, blue denim overalls with cute bees stitched along the outer hemming and a white, short, puff sleeved, blouse underneath.
“good, good.”
you seem to be a bit more frantic today, shuffling all over the kitchen — from the stove to mix and settle the pot of grits that begun to boil over, the fire pit to check on the rising biscuits, back to the fridge to grab a carton of milk, the sink to rinse a few things off, then the countertop once more. ellie and lonnie follow you with their eyes silently.
“i was thinkin’ that maybe i’d show you the grounds today.”
you’re surprised when ellie makes her way to stand beside you. she doesn’t say much, only a firm, ‘hand it over’ while motioning to the bowl you hold. your eyes are wide and your glossed lips are popped open, “i can do it—“
“—you’re all over the place.”
you hand ellie the bowl with minimal back talk. she’s right. you don’t know what’s got you so jittery today, irregardless, you do know that it has something to do with the pretty, red haired girl with a sharp tongue standing next to you. you lean awkwardly against the counter, watching her begin to stir the batter . . . and she isn’t bad at it, not in the slightest.
she gives you a look beneath the strands of hair that hang into her eyes once she finds you staring, a huffy one. “gonna just watch me like a hawk or . . ?”
you flush, embarrassed. you don’t want her to think that you can’t trust her with the food, you know that she knows what to do. “sorry,” you whisper and head over to the fridge once more to grab a small basket of eggs, close the door, walk to the stove, then reach above it within the cabinet to grab your favorite cast iron skillet. “scrambled, over easy, or none?”
“scrambled, please.”
you’re cracking two eggs inside of a small bowl, sprinkling a good measure of black pepper, salt, and paprika onto them prior to grabbing a fork and beginning to beat them.
ellie’s clearing her throat while you do, still mixing when she utters, “so . . how do you like your eggs?”
you’re marveled at her question — one so mundane, anyone else wouldn’t think of it as such a huge feat, albeit, you do. it’s ellie . . someone that runs through your brain day and night. someone so arduous and complex you had begun to think that maybe . . . this would be the lifetime where you’d have to let her go. nevertheless of you knowing that it’d be a long one . . for what’ll feel like an eternity of misery and heartache, you now know that she’s willing to try. in her own type of ellie way, she’s giving you the go ahead for you both to do this.
“mm, over easy,” you gently say, trying not to blush too much while pouring the runny eggs into a buttered pan. “with salt, pepper, and strawberry jam on top.”
“. . . that sounds good.”
you think you feel your wings fluttering. “. . i’ll let you try some off of my plate.”
breakfast is mostly quiet this morning.
you eat, ellie eats, you both try not to stare at the other too much though find it nearly impossible not to.
ellie likes your face.
she knows that’s not the cause of the bond, thinks that if she saw you back in her hometown you’d have her awe struck, despite a soul tie or not. your features are enchanting and pretty all over.
“i’ve been sewing some clothes for you over the last couple of days.”
when breakfast is done and dishes are washed, you’re leading ellie to the living room where a few pieces of clothes laid folded on the table. two pair of pants, some shorts, a few shirts, a flannel. ellie thanks you quietly. you’ve got her measurements down pact . . her style, too. she’s thankful that’s you’re not shoving a dress into her arms.
“uhm,” you’re chewing on your bottom lip, wide eyes looking at ellie’s cast. “would you like a bath or shower? we’d have to wrap your leg for both, but i think a shower would be a little easier for you.”
ellie doesn’t care. she shrugs, face even. “alright.”
and so you help her back upstairs into the bathroom. her leg is then wrapped in cellophane, after, you’re twisting a few knobs to kindle the spray of the shower. “wash cloth’s right there and there’s the soap . . it smells like honey.”
she can’t help but sniff a soft chuckle at the somewhat useless piece of information. still, above all, ellie’s appreciative. you’ve been doing a lot for her since she’s been here.
“i’ll let you . .” leisurely, your eyes pull up from her feet, up her legs, to her thighs. thick muscle strains against firm cotton. you exhale a sharp breath. “i’ll let you — yeah.”
the day spent with ellie is . . . nice.
you had planned to show her the ropes of how you ran your farm while still managing to keep your cottage so quaint and clean — were prepared to instruct her on how you fed your baby lambs, the pigs, cows, and hens. you don’t have to show her how to behead a chicken, ellie already knows. watching her effortlessly go through your taskings, emphasis on her with a healing leg at that, that sometimes take you all day to complete is . . . gut stirring.
she doesn’t talk much, does it all with minimal difficulty.
you’d sometimes hear her scoff a soft chuckle when you’d make a tiny mistake — trip over a stone, snag a nail on a hay bed, almost fall head first into the riverbed where you both had been filtering it for some fresh water. it’s as though she had been the one living here for decades and not you.
“what now?” her voice is rich and low as she asks you the question. the sun has begun to set and a glow the shade of warm apricot paints her skin and makes the sweet moles and freckles on her face appear more palatial.
you both stand in your backyard. the chores are done, your animals are fed — nothing else to do. you hum softly, “. . . we can have some lemonade,” you look down at your feet, covered by your favorite calf length western style boots and innocently kick one out. “i can answer the rest of your questions. ‘m sure you have some.”
ellie takes a seat at the table on the back deck. a deep sigh is expelled from within the midst of her chest. she’s exhausted, of course she is. even so, only after a hard day’s work is she susceptible to the feelings of satisfaction and sweet serenity. she likes feeling useful, and if she wants to push it a bit further — be more honest with herself, she likes doing all of this with you, for you. you’re a small girl . . ellie stands over five inches taller than you. how you’ve been managing to get all of this work done alone? she will never know. the amount of times you’ve nicked and pricked yourself today was ample.
“here we are.”
you’re placing two tall glasses filled with ice down on the table. there’s a straw within both glasses and a lemon wedge tucked onto the sugared rim. the pitcher is set down with a firm thud, followed by a platter of chocolate chip cookies. “help yourself.”
ellie grabs two cookies, aligns them with one another and bites into them both while you pour cold lemonade inside of the glasses, almost to the brim. “ta’mk you,” she murmurs around her mouthful, dodging the straw to take a sip right from the glass. cold, sweet, and refreshing. “. . . you’re a really good cook.”
you smile softly, taking the seat across from her, “you think so? . . thank you.”
ellie gives a few short nods and finishes her cookies, takes a few more large swills of lemonade then lounges back in her seat with another big sigh. “so,” she utters. “let’s just get right into it, yeah?”
you give a small shrug and sip through your straw, “ ‘m ready.”
ellie licks her lips free of sugar and stares off into the horizon where the tall blades of grass kissed the bottom of the sun. “you said that i feel what you feel . . and you feel what i feel . . . . what does that—“ as the corners of her soft lips pull down, her brows push in close. “what does that mean?”
“exactly what you think it means,” you giggle and take a cookie. “i mean, undoubtedly, you feeling annoyed that you stubbed your toe or lost a pen is a fleeting emotion — things like that, i barely feel. however, i can feel when you’re longing for something . . for someone. i can feel when you’re happy, when you’re tired, when you’re angry. and you, me.”
ellie pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, scoffing a small ‘huh’ while tapping her finger against the table. she doesn’t know how to feel about that, she’ll be sincere. never has she been able to put her emotions into words, only actions. knowing that someone else feels what she feels — at any given moment or time . . . addles ellie.
on one side of her mind, she’s battling with feeling bad for you. you shouldn’t have to be subjected to her emotions all of the time, she thinks that’s cruel . . selfish. an agendum so callous and wicked, nothing you can say about how this could be a ‘ blessing ’ can amend her now crossed feelings towards all of this. the other, is naturally annoyed. her feelings are hers, yes, albeit, no longer having the privacy and volition to stomp them down within her chest if she wants to without you . . knowing everything is . . . fathomless.
your sweet voice is more quiet when you gently utter, “you’re upset.”
ellie smiles, looking down at her legs that she calmly sways in and out. that spark of bile making home within the cradle of your heart seems to grow larger. “ellie, i can always ignore it,” you murmur, setting your cookie down to let your hands fall against bare thighs. “if you don’t want to talk to me about something, i’ll never pressure you . . . i’d want you to tell me outright about your feelings in your own way, on your own time,” more delicately you whisper. “i promise.”
the auburn takes in a big inhale, blows it out, and lifts her head to shake it. the fire diminishes a bit. “so, who came up with this whole . . soulmate, two half, one whole bullshit anyway?”
“i don’t know,” you shrug. “the universe . . ancestors . . the moon, whatever you want to believe. for some, it’s just . . . definite.”
“so some don’t have a soulmate?” ellie finally looks at you, eyes dark beneath her overgrown bangs. “ ‘s what you’re sayin’, yeah?”
your responding nod is slow, “those are the people we call lost souls,” you pluck your cookie back up between your fingers again and bite into it, licking chocolate from your lips. “i’d say . , about eighty to eighty five percent of us have a soulmate.”
“and these soulmates can be . . platonic . . . and pets, right?”
quietly, you reply, “that’s right.”
ellie folds her arms, looking back out towards the horizon. so many questions. she has so many. “am i the same . . . you know . .”
you fill in the rest of her question yourself, “the same person? within each lifetime?” you look up towards the sky and tilt your head left and right as if you were weighing something within your head. “somewhat . . your personality never changes, just your appearance and name. you’re never a male though,” you swallow the rest of your cookie. “ever.”
ellie finds some comfort in that, “and you just,” her hands come up then fall back down onto her thighs with a resounding smack. “always find me. we’re always . . drawn.”
“i can pick you out of a crowd of a million people, ellie.” it’s not an exaggeration. it’s true. you don’t know how else to explain it. ellie is quite literally half of you, and you, her. “if at any point you decide to leave, reason being unknown . . we’ll always find ourselves back with one another.”
ellie keeps quiet, considering that a challenge . . . one that she will irrefutably accept.
⠀ ⠀ ❤︎
slinking out of your cottage during the early mornings of a sunday proves to be more difficult than ellie had thought.
she has to be deadly silent — constantly takes deep inhales of air to hold within her diaphragm upon exiting the room right beside yours, all in efforts to not make any sort of literal sound. she walks slow, a snail would give her shit for being in its way. her cast is heavy and hearing it thud against the flooring, a wall, a piece of furniture . . ellie might as well simply knock upon your door and tell you that she’s leaving.
she doesn’t think she can do it.
you’re pretty, yeah, most definitely. you’re sweet, can cook your ass off, kind, clearly intelligent, there’s so many good things about you that ellie has had the pleasure in witnessing and being on the ending receiving of, nonetheless . . . maybe it’s the inevitability of it all — of the endgame of you two. ellie doesn’t like to feel controlled . . . she doesn’t like to be contained and fixed to one thing, whether that be a relationship or not. she’s not sure she can do this.
she’s huffing come her cast dragging through ragged branches and moist leaves.
she has gotten out of your cottage successfully and managed to find an opening to the forest that hadn’t seemed to be trailing her towards her doom. “fuck that,” she’s murmuring while ducking underneath a tree trunk’s tattered arm. “ ‘m not doin’ this.”
near the back of her stubborn mind, ellie feebly wonders if you’re going to be okay — if you’re going to need her help when beheading the chickens, gathering up the pigs, lifting a heavy sack of flour. what if you trip again and fall into that river stream? hurt your pretty head and lay there all concussed in a mat of moss? ellie knows that this forest is pretty unoccupied most of the time, doesn’t mean curious kids and puerile men don’t scour and scavenge to gauge if the myths and bedtime stories about what resides inside isn’t true.
ellie stops in her steps . . releases a weighty exhale . . and tilts her head up towards the sky with her eyes closed.
she shouldn’t be thinking about this. she shouldn’t be worrying about you.
she forces herself to drag on.
why do you have to be so pretty? make your house look so pretty? it’s as though you want to attract the murdering creeps looking to get their hands on a sweet, little thing like you.
the further ellie gets, the more an almost gaping ache in her chest starts to broaden. “f-fucking . .” she snuffles a hard breath.
mint green and pastel yellow brighten the sky — dawn.
she can’t do it.
she can’t leave you. she refuses. “the fuck has gotten into me?” she’s grumbling, essentially stomping on her way back towards the way she had came.
she had only managed to make it about an hour or two out, albeit, it takes her approximately forty five minutes to get back to your cottage.
feet away, as she’s re-emerging through the swirling tree trunks that open up into a stone bath that zigzags through the grass up the small slope to your home, she sees the small figure of you . . . seated upon your darling porch swing.
you’re curled into a ball, silk, white nightgown still on, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them and the side of your face smooshed against the knobs. a thick wad of shame and sorrow spans across the stave of ellie’s chest as she lets her backpack fall upon the steps that open up to the front porch. up close, your eyes are red rimmed and glassed over, trickles of mucus escape the little holes of your nostrils and you don’t even move upon hearing her footsteps nor look up at her.
“. . .” ellie swallows and croaks out a stifled, “i’m sorry.”
your answer is only a sniffle.
ellie doesn’t know what else to say. she’s hardly ever been sorry before, she’s hardly ever began to even care for someone before . . aside from him, but . . . clearly you’re becoming an exception. you're wiggling your way through into ellie’s life, into her mind, into her heart . . it’s fucking crazy.
“if you don’t want to stay then you don’t have to,” your voice is so tiny. ellie’s never heard you so frail. you lift your head and look out towards the iridescent green and blue glow of the tree’s leaves. “i’m not chaining you in the basement or something, ellie.”
“i know.” ellie hesitates . . nonetheless goes to take a seat beside you. it’s a weird feeling to describe how the ache in her chest ebbs into nothing — no, a warm . . mushy sense of affection as soon as you’re in eyesight. you’re like a cup of rich, warm cocoa on a snowy night, that first, crisp autumn breeze after a scorching summer, a strawberry flavored ice pop as the sun’s streams beat down on her. “ ‘m sorry, i . . .” she breathes out. “god, this is — this is fucking . . i’m sorry, alright?”
you sniff again and ellie lowers her head as she rubs her brows. she understands how you feel because she feels it — the sheer heartache and abandonment and pain. she hopes that you feel how sorry she is, how it hadn’t been in her intentions to make you feel so blue.
“mm,” you use your knuckles and push them against your tear ducts, hoping to stop the tears sooner. “ ‘m gonna . . . ‘m gonna go lay down for a bit longer.”
i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that. let me make it better. what can i do to make it better?
silently, she watches you unravel yourself from your curled position — feet delicately falling against the smooth deck of the porch as you stand, your gown dropping back down to your shins. she’s left to hear your little sniffles and barely there mewls as you skim past her to walk back inside.
⠀ ⠀ ❤︎
the rest of the day is solemn.
you spend most of it inside of your bedroom, only leaving it to go to the bathroom, downstairs to feed ozzi and lonnie, or grab yourself a little snack if you got hungry. through the kitchen’s windows, each time you happen to peek through the lace curtains, you see ellie in the henhouse or barn, feeding the lambs and chicks, lugging a wheelbarrow, or even crouched down within your backyard, snatching the weeds from your pretty garden with more force than necessary.
you know she’s sorry. if you hadn’t been able to feel it, you still would’ve known. her regret shined brightly on her face the second she caught you sitting on the porch this morning.
you knew she had left — the nihilistic, seemingly waiting abyss of emptiness had woken you up in the middle of the night as soon as she got far enough. you had thought she’d be gone forever, that you’d be alone for the rest of this lifetime.
you hadn’t encountered a person like ellie before. she’s different . . . nevertheless, she doesn’t divert you. you’re intrigued and fascinated by all things her, you know you can’t stay upset with her for too long — especially come a soft knock at your door near around lunchtime.
you know it’s her.
you had been seated at your work desk, sewing machine in front of you, and round specs drooping down across your nose bridge. ellie needed more clothes, you knew the ones you gave her could only last for so long. “hey,” she’s panting softly when you open the door, dew drops of sweat peppering her forehead. “uhm,” she licks some off of her top lip. “i know . . you’re upset with me — fuckin’ livid probably and i know that i have a lot of fuckin’ audacity but . .” she pauses then touches her hair — grabs an long auburn strand that halts almost near her hips, by her ear and lifts it a bit. “i was wondering if you could . . . possibly . . cut my hair?”
you look at her through the lenses of your glasses, at the freckles and deep, green eyes then at her hair . . . then give a slight smile. “yeah, sure,” you quietly retort. “come in. take a seat over there.” you point to your vanity and don’t miss how she heaves a relieved sigh.
“thank you.”
ellie slowly enters your room, unashamedly turning her head all over to get the full scope of it.
it’s bigger than what she had thought it’d be — given your little cottage, she hadn’t known so much space of it belonged to your bedroom.
inside, your bed is big and plush, covered with dozens of frill and lace trimmed pillows. the comforter is a thick quilt, printed with baby pink carnations all over, both ozzi and lonnie are asleep upon it. a large, oval shaped, golden mirror hangs above your bed, bordered with pink roses. beside it, and essentially covering the entire wall behind your bed are old photographs and paintings, hanging necklaces, dream catchers, and vines. suspended potted plants and singing, heart shaped sun catchers dangle throughout, glinting precious little rainbows across the walls, your bed, the floors . .
“woah,” ellie’s breathless.
there’s a strong scent of you all over — something akin to rose and baby powder, fresh and clean. it makes her tremble.
“let’s see.”
she tries not to stare at you too much once she’s seated at your vanity. your fingers stroke slowly through her scalp as you try to analyze where to start first. ellie can’t help it — her eyes close at the sensation . . she lets herself melt into your soothing caress.
you try not to smile too hard. “you have a couple knots . . gonna have to brush them out, okay?”
“yeah, sure,” she nods, watching you grab a wooden detangling brush and part her hair into thirds with a finger. you grab a section and begin at the ends.
for a while, it’s quiet between you.
the doors to your windows are both open, you decide to focus on the sweet chirping of the hummingbirds and buzzing of bees outside while you work carefully, shifting around ellie here and there to better brush a piece or part once more.
“you know i’m really sorry, right?”
you hesitate, “. . . yeah, i know, ellie.”
“. . okay, good,” she nibbles upon her lip and taps her good foot. “. . . it was never in my intention to make you cry—“
“—ellie, it’s okay,” you look at her through your vanity to assure her of such. “it’s in the past now and . . all i can do now is move forward.”
you mean that — every word. there was no use in still being upset with her. she’s back, and regardless if she’d stayed gone, you knew you had no right to be upset with her even then. “okay,” your voice is tender. “how short do you want it?”
ellie looks at her reflection, “uhm . . . up to here,” she uses her middle and index fingers to grab a section of her hair between them near the nape of her neck. “want all this shit gone.”
you giggle — quietly, but you’re smiling and ellie likes that.
she smirks a bit.
“alright,” you sigh. “let’s get to it then.”
you’re careful . . very, very careful. the heavy, stainless steel scissors impart sharp snip! sounds with each cut. ellie keeps herself still; she feels as though with each slice of her hair that falls down onto the floors below, a little piece of her is renewed and replaced by something fuller . . better.
you layer a couple sections, thin them out with shears, adjusts her bangs to where they aren’t too much in her face and . . there it is. ellie’s amazed. “shit,” she marvels breathlessly, leaning in close to her reflection within the mirror to touch her head. “way better than what that old man used to do.”
you’re happy she’s pleased with your somewhat amateur hairdressing skills. still and all, you can’t help but think you did a good job yourself. with her hair shorter, it’s as though more of her face is revealed. you can’t help the quickening beat of your heart when she looks at you through the mirror and you come face to face with features so intense . . and brooding. her bangs had previously hid most of her forehead and her hair had grown out to where when she’d turn her head or bend it downwards, the sides of her face were covered.
now, it’s all . . . open. her jawline is nicely sculpted and she has a natural, cool toned contour that carves out her freckled cheeks.
you feel your own heat with sudden demure, and you quickly turn away to begin sweeping up the hair with a lone hand broom and dustpan. “old man?” you ask, not wanting a silence to stretch out awkwardly.
“hm? . . yeah,” ellie huffs a soft chuckle. “uhm, joel — he uhm . . he took me in when i was a kid back home, basically raised me.” her eyes are closed now and her elbow is propped up against the seat’s armrest. she scratches at her eyelid.
faintly, you return, “that was sweet of him, ellie.”
“yeah . . .” she sighs and drops her hand, face that familiar blank. with her hair gone, her stare is more stoney. you seem to look away each time you both make eye contact. “yeah, it was.”
“where is he now? . . back home?”
“no, he’s dead.”
you feel your own heart start to seep with dark melancholy. you stop sweeping to slowly stand, eyebrows lowered and lips in a small pout, “oh, i’m . . i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have asked—“ how insensitive.
“—it’s fine,” ellie quiets your apologies while raking her fingers across her head, sending tufts the color of dark copper off of her forehead. “happened about . . two years ago now, fuckin’ . . bar fight, can you believe that shit?” her voice is lower now and she rolls her eyes as if she had been recalling the day. “fucker’s always been rational and . . i guess, logical? right in the head? — i don’t know . . i do know that he had to have walked away but . . . those motherfuckers couldn’t let whatever he said go. snatched him up and beat him to death in the alley.”
grief isn’t a sensation you’re too familiar with. you hardly feel it because you’ve never gotten too close with others who hadn’t been your animals or ellie. you feel hers though . . and it’s strong. it hurts — physically pains you. “mm,” you take a seat upon the edge of your bed, rubbing a soft palm over your chest. “i’m sorry . . . ‘m really sorry, ellie.”
she looks at you, at your grimaced expression, your hand, how your eyes began to fester with warm tears behind your round specs.
her own widen and the rolls the chair on its wheels over to you, “oh shit, i didn’t — i forgot you feel what i do, damnit—“
“—no, no, don’t make this about me,” you shake your head, soft lips quivering. “this’ll pass . . i guess it’s more of . . . i don’t like that you’re hurting so much.”
ellie pauses.
i don’t like that you’re hurting so much.
she breathes out a slow breath.
i don’t like that you’re hurting so much.
she shouldn’t. she tells herself that she shouldn’t but god . . you make it hard. what could she have done within her past lifetimes to receive such a gentle soul like you? her eyes fall to your lips — and she hardly even thinks about it. she rises halfway up from her seat, grabs you by the sides of your face and pushes her lips against yours. you’re surprised, ellie’s surprised, but she decides shit, she’s already here, why stop?
you taste just as sweet as you look, similar to cool whipped cream and all of those fucking fruits you like to eat almost all day. ellie breathes out a sharp exhale through her nose and kisses you harder upon the feel of your little hands grabbing hold at the sides of the shirt she wears.
ellie’s slow with it, drags and separates her lips from yours with leisure smacks as if she didn’t want to pull away, as if with each peck and each skim, she finds herself craving more, more, more. when she straightens up, standing before you, your face still held between her hands — you have to tilt your head almost all the way back to accommodate her build.
the position you find yourselves both now in is . . . telling.
you soon realize that you’re dreamily sighing between pull aways, your hands grip her tighter, pull her closer. you recognize that you’re yearning, falling quickly within her spell. “e-ellie.”
when she hears you whimper — a sound connate to the one you had made only hours earlier, then, full of hurt and sadness, this one more needy and full of desire . . ellie supposes that’s what snaps her back into reality.
she pulls away, lips flushed a watermelon red.
and she doesn’t say anything to you, simply takes a step back — eyes wide with what you read is . . panic, prior to her quickly walking out of your room, slamming the door behind herself.
⠀ ⠀ ❤︎
life is a bit . . . different after that.
you’d thought that ellie regretted the kiss, that she’d run away soon after you fell asleep again and head for the hills, nonetheless, that doesn’t happen.
ellie . . . seems to pretend that it didn’t happen. she doesn’t get weird or distant or cold, no, she’s still . . a bit aloof at times, but, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. she begins to open up more over the next month, even so, telling you about her life back in jackson, the reason of her leaving ( “jus’ for a change of scenery.” ), more about joel. and it feels good opening up to her as well, revealing your wings to her for the first time, educating her about your history and the makings of your kind, and she’s so eager to learn all about it — reading through your novels and books within a day’s time.
albeit, with you both growing to know one another more, becoming more comfortable with one another . . you recognize that the two of you are beginning to inch into unknown territory.
you want to feel bad when you find her voice dipping and weaving in and out of your ears, akin to a radio being turned up then down, when she talks to you sometimes yet you can’t. the kiss plays on rewind within your hazy brain, almost all day and everyday. the way she had kept you still so effortlessly, how she stood tall before you, letting you hold onto her like the true, whiny little thing you are.
you’re both ecstatic come her cast coming off.
you try not to giggle too much at the expanse of pale skin that darkens into an olive tan near her knee and thigh. you think she looks a bit silly, however, ellie doesn’t mind. she’s happy to no longer walk with a hobble or limp, to shower without needing to wrap her leg any longer, to do things without the occasional aid of you.
summer is here — and what she brings is a bright, shining sun, cloudless skies, and humid nights spangled with glowing lightning bugs.
tonight’s one of those nights where you think you’ll be sleeping in the backyard, upon the soft palette of grass with your lambs and cats, letting dame nature cuddle you within her arms. your ears flick upon the sound of the back door closing. you don’t move from your position on your back because you know it’s ellie. her steps are light as she pads on over.
“here.”
you flutter your lids open, discovering her above you, carrying a bowl. she holds it out and you sit up to carefully take it.
“eat.”
within the bowls are frozen, cube shaped, yogurt bites. little pieces of strawberry, mango, or banana are capped inside of the treat and as soon as you find yourself suckling on one, you think you’ve been hooked. “oh my goodness.” your widened eyes follow ellie as she takes a seat, pretzel style, beside you. “ ‘s so yummy, ellie.”
frozen vanilla yogurt and fruit — like a child who has managed to get their sticky, little hands on their favorite candy, you recognize that if anyone were to take the bowl away from you, you’d probably throw a natural born fit. humming and rocking from side to side happily, you indulge upon your bonne bouche with not a simple care.
ellie huffs a small sound through her nose, smirking, watching you get lost within your own world as you look down into the bowl, murmuring, “think i like the banana the most . . — no, no the strawberry. ooh, but the mango is so good, too.”
she’s happy you appreciate the dainty, frozen treat. it’s been too hot lately. she hasn’t seen you drinking enough water or staying out of the sun, no, you seem to live outside now, frolicking about, disregarding your overall health. ellie doesn’t like that . . not one bit.
“y’ever been into town?”
your big, doe eyes look over into hers and ellie tries not to focus too much on how your lips are puckered around that melting cube which drips creamy, tiny droplets down your fingers. “mm, a while ago,” you answer with a smack of your tongue. “. . . i get weird stares when i go.”
maybe it’s your ears . . or your hair . . or the way you dress, but each time you head into the town of mullsberry located about an hour and a half out east from the forest, you register that you become the talk of it. “i don’t like goin’ there.”
ellie doesn’t understand, “why’s that?”
you shrug, popping the now softened cube inside of your mouth to slowly bite down on it, “makes me uncomfy.”
“mm, yeah?” ellie doesn’t think about it. she sees a lone trickle of yogurt dripping down from your lips and reaches over to swipe it away with her thumb, pop it inside of her mouth, and suckle it off. “well, we gotta go. you need sunscreen . . and a hat.”
the action had been so quick, so unanticipated, it leaves you quiet — owlishly blinking at her. your response is delayed. the chords of your voice seem to be shrouded beneath tiny hiccups and dry wheezes, “. . . i don’t need sunscreen.”
“everybody needs sunscreen.”
“but, i don’t need it—“
“—you’re getting some.” effortlessly, ellie ends the conversation. you roll your eyes, pushing another cube inside your mouth, deciding this time to let the warmth of it melt the yogurt for you.
ellie lays back against the grass, heaving out a comforted sigh as she closes her eyes, “. . out of all your lifetimes, who’s been your favorite ellie so far?” she mumbles, hands interlocked upon her stomach. she’s been curious. the more she learns about you, the more she adores. which one made you laugh the hardest? smile the biggest? you loved the most?
the shirt she wears is a simple black beater with a flannel over top. it’s a bit tight — rides up to stop at her belly button with her new lounged position. you hadn’t heard her question. your eyes are transfixed at the sight of her stomach, flat and carved and a distant thought of you pushing it all the way up . . . of you lowering your head to trace the deep divots and valleys with the pad of your tongue flashes through your mind.
you wonder what she’d do if you climbed on top of her. if she’d push you off, keep you there . . make you grind yourself against her lap in that same desperate way you’ve been envisioning yourself for the past couple weeks now.
“huh?”
ellie peeks one eye open, just in time to see both of your own staring at her thighs. “hm?”
you both are quiet.
ellie lifts herself upon one hand to then lean on it. she’d caught you — blatantly. you feel your nose begin to fester with a familiar heat.
“what’s up with you?” quietly, she asks the question.
you stay silent and direct your vision to the grass below to delicately push your hand through the blades. not a thought runs through your mind. you don’t know what to say. you feel embarrassed.
ellie’s voice is sweetly firm as she directs your eyes back up into hers with a nice nudge of her knuckle upwards beneath your chin, “you know, it’s basic manners to answer when you’re asked a question, hm?”
you turn your face away, now pouty, “it’s nothing.”
she turns your face back her way . . and holds it there. ellie reads the unrefined amount of shock within your eyes, it makes her smile. never has there been a case given to ellie where she’s been able to unveil you this side of her — the one who if not just as, maybe even more tougher . . and mean . . and frigid than the one you already see. it’s refreshing to finally give you a taste.
“what’s up?” is all she casually asks, not giving you the option to pull away — not anymore.
again, you whine, “it’s nothing, ellie, i swear it to the stars—“
“—i feel it,” ellie scoots in close, heels on the grass, legs agape, free arm draped across her knee. you just want to scream because, goodness, how, of all times, did you forget that she can feel it? “know i can feel it, right?”
the gaze held between you both grows dense, it weighs down upon your heart akin to a boulder on foam, sinking lower and lower to the pit of your stomach until ultimately, it ends right within your core, pushing a solid beat against your hardening clit. there’s no point in veiling how you feel anymore, what is clear that you want — not when you know that she feels the same way, if not, more.
she releases your face from her hand while gathering a deep breath within her nose. she then blows it out with a slight smirk on her face and a gentle ‘ hm, ‘ interlocking her fingers and letting them hang between her legs. her touch is already missed.
you look down at the grass again, trying your best to be as inconspicuous as you can upon your body tilting her way so that you can nudge your forehead against her shoulder — almost in the same way ozzi does to your shin when wanting an extra nibble of your sliced ham bites. ellie lets you. she tilts her head down with a slight smile, watching you rock back on your butt, still not looking at her before you tip back forward and do it again.
she doesn’t say anything. you don’t either.
you groan impatiently — a little sound, similar to a kitten’s hiss, “ellie.”
“hm?”
you press a bit harder, only this time, you also push your face up to get a nose full of her scent from within the pocket of her neck. she smells like your soap, nonetheless, something strong and woodsy and almost directly after her scent is entering then coasting between the lines of your veins, a vicious wave of syrupy slick finds its home within the seat of your little panties.
you push yourself between her arms, separating them, prior to you shoving her legs down flat to then swing your knee onto the other side of her hip and take a seat. your actions are quick, but . . they are also anticipated. ellie isn’t taken off guard, not in the slightest bit. in all fact, she even quietly chuckles at the feel of you push your face deeper inside of that splendid, little pocket of her neck to get another deep whiff of her smell. your hands are grappling at her shoulders, small fists gathering the fabric of her flannel between them, pulling.
“mm, ( ❤︎ ) . . . (-(❤︎), babe, hold on.”
“no.”
your hand is grabbing a chunk of her hair at the crown to pull her head back. you don’t hesitate, no, you dive head first, colliding your lips against the soft surface of hers, breathing her in, holding her tight, making sure she doesn’t pull away. you’re exhausted. you’ve hit your limit with the dance around and the teasing and pointless flirting. life is short, you don’t want to waste not another second from kissing her . . touching her . . having her.
ellie hums — it’s a long, ‘ hmmm. ‘ a deep thing, coupled with her calloused hands sliding beneath the thin garment of your little dress to grab your hips. her hands are frigid to the touch and as your glossed lips pop open at the sensation, your breath hitches upon the next inhale. ellie takes advantage of the accidental blunder to touch the roof of your mouth with the tip of your tongue. when your body essentially liquifies above her, pushing your breasts harder against her own, ellie does it again. she nudges her tongue against your own, curling it around it, pulling it further inside of her own mouth.
your responding hiccup is adorable. you start to rock — pushing and pulling your lower half back then forth, dropping yourself further down to receive some friction from her shorts against your throbbing cunt.
“what are you doing?” ellie’s voice is quiet. she speaks through slight pants, looking up at you beneath the fine feathers of her lashes. she feels what you’re doing — the beat of your clit against her thigh, the way your lips separate with each pull back then smoosh back together when you grind forward . . your pussy isn’t quiet neither, no, she hears the wetness, the squishes and slurps and purls. it’s as though she’s begging for ellie, to fill her up, make her cry and burst and gape.
your counter is a little sniffle and mewl as you tilt your head back against your shoulder, eyes closed, “n-nothing.”
“nothing?”
you nod, lips falling open when your hips stutter and makes your clit catch on one of the buttons of the pockets on her cargos. “n-nothin’. i . . p-promise, ellie.”
softly, ellie laughs. she can’t help it. “shit,” she leans back and watches you, corners of her eyes creasing from her big smile. “what am i gonna do with you?”
you seriously think about the question even while never ceasing to slow the momentum you had built up during that kiss. what is she going to do with you? and what are you going to do with her? she’s yours and you’re hers. you’re compelled to gasp once more at the simple thought. your pussy produces another wave of sticky slick. “oh, heavens.” the quickening beat of your heart should scare you, never have you felt it hammering so fast, in spite of such, you know that it’s the wedded reaction of both how you and ellie are feeling. she’s nervous too, she’s aching too, she wants you too.
“fuck me.” that’s the answer to her question. you whimper out the two words gently, even while so needy, you’re still shy, still hesitant. “p-please, el’.”
ellie finally chokes up. she doesn’t make a sound, not outright, but her spine straightens . . her breath catches . . her eyes grow a bit wide. “what?” she watches you lick your lips prior to you biting down slightly onto the corner of your lower. with your eyes still closed, your eyebrows furrow, and she knows what you’re going to say, what you’re going to do. still, while feeling so good, you’re embarrassed and second guessing it. “no, no,” ellie doesn’t want that. she enfolds you within her arms. “jus . . . jus’ say it for me one more time. that’s all,” she grazes a small kiss upon your collar bone, right above the pearl linked sautoir of a gold framed, white opal heart. “want you to be sure."
you swallow, lowering your head down to press your forehead against hers. ellie smells your fine scent of roses, jasmine, and white musk and leans in to lightly brush the rounded tip of her nose against yours for added assurance. she has her answer, she knows what she wants to do. she’s waiting for you.
“i have . .” your voice is nothing but a mumble beneath the quiet chirping of cicadas and crickets. “i have this . . toy . . . in my bedroom. before you came, i barely even used it . . bought it when i went into town two years ago — was sittin’ in my nightstand forever . .” you release a breath, closed eyes squinting just the slightest bit tighter. “but then . . that kiss . . . . made me — you made me . . i dunno,” you squirm, hips shifting. “been usin’ it since then—“
“shit.”
ellie manages to lift you both with one arm holding onto your waist as the other helps hoist herself up so that she can stand. you wrap your legs tighter around her when she pushes on it and can’t help the giggle that slips past your lips as she quickly stumbles into your cottage and up the stairs. “you’re gonna show me . .— why are you laughing?” ellie’s trying not to smile too hard herself. “think i’m playing . . huh?”
the door to your bedroom bursts open as she pushes through.
you don’t have any electrical lighting, only candles. there’s about four of them lit on your vanity, two on your nightstand, and a couple more on your work desk. they all bathe your room in a light, golden glow.
both lonnie and ozzi lay asleep atop the foot of your mattress. they jolt with a slight yelp when ellie plops you down and scratches her fingers against their scruffs to wake them up.
“out,” she tells them.
you laugh a bit harder, watching your babies hop from the bed onto their paws.
ellie bends to shoo them faster with her fingers tickling their tails, an act neither of them appreciated. they trot a little faster with irritated hisses. “yeah, yeah. go. hurry it up. mommy’s mine for the night.”
the door closes behind them with a firm click. your mouth is agape, corners of your lips raised with a slight smile as you watch ellie walk back over to you, pausing for a moment to kick off her shoes. “lonnie’s going to seriously hurt you one day.”
ellie slowly slides herself between your legs to hold herself above you with her forearms on either side of your head. she’s smirking, jade irises shimmering beneath the darkened sky of the night. “what about ozzi?”
her body, lean and tall, pressed against yours makes you shudder. “ozzi,” you inhale. “o-ozzi likes you.”
ellie lowers her head down and you think she’s going to kiss you, withal, she sidesteps to peck a gentle smooch against the chub of your cheek. you squirm underneath her, knees bending, folding back so that the pudgy lips of your pussy pressing up against your panties is exposed. you’re impatient, ellie knows you are. “please,” you gasp and pull at her flannel. “c’mon, ellie . . please.”
“jus’ wait, pretty,” she mumbles and grabs the bottom hemming of your dress. “gonna be good, yeah?”
you will, you will be, you promise and you want to tell her but you’re far too pent up. words become nothing but a jumbled mess knotted within your brain. ellie hums, gradually sliding her hand down the front of your panties, inch by inch. her eyes are focused on your face, catching the exact moment when you suddenly gasp when her fingers find your clit. “shit, baby,” ellie sucks in some air through her teeth at the feel of the pads of her fingers slipping and sliding off of the slicked nub a few times before she can firmly begin to circle it. “y’fuckin’ soaked . .” when she starts to hears them — those precious little squelches and slurps, ellie decides that just feeling you isn’t going to cut it.
she slips her hand out. you whine, of course you fucking whine.
“careful, baby.” ellie’s shushing you as you pull at your dress, lifting halfway up to tug it off of your body only to get some of your hair caught in the strappy neckline. she’s smiling as she helps you unfurl it, slender fingers gentle. “see, this is why we need to take our time. there’s no rush . . we got all night.”
you sniff, “ellie, before you . . i — jus . . . can you stand, please?”
ellie’s eyebrows lift, nonetheless, she goes with your request to slip off of the bed and place her two feet on the floor. you follow her, only to then grab her hands and lead her over to the center of the bottom of your bed frame, a few feet away from your vanity.
“been wantin’,” your eyes are focused downward as you let ellie’s hands go to slide your own up her torso. “been wantin’ to do this . . for so long — think since . . . that day you helped me out around the farmhouse.” since you saw the swathe lines of her biceps rippling through her shirt, the way she parted her lips to exhale those shallow pants, how she brushed her then long hair back with gapped fingers to comb it off of her flushed face. you want to know if she’d look the same when you get to finally do what you’ve been dreaming of, if she’d let you.
ellie’s mind is blank. she holds her breath when you lean in to give one, little kiss beneath her ear. she thinks she knows what you want . . . withal, she thinks better of that. are you that type?
her lip is pinned beneath the top row of her teeth once she feels your fingers plucking open the button of her shorts to then pull the zipper down. your tongue is warm and soft — it drags down the slope of ellie’s neck to her collarbones where you drag it back inside of your mouth to plant a kiss at. then it’s back . . down the middle of her chest, near the peaks of her tits . . . and you’re lowering down.
ellie hadn’t known when she found the glossed mahogany of your bed’s footboard between her fingers, but she finds herself gripping it tight enough for her nails to leave indents within the wood. “hey,” she breathes, chin lowering to watch you kneel and tug her shorts all the way down her legs. it leaves her in her simple grey briefs. “hey, babe . . — what are you—“
“—shh.”
your fingers — small and pretty, nails painted a pearlescent, lemonade pink, dip inside the band of her those as well so that you can pull them down, too.
ellie breathes out a curse while her head tilts back. she’s exposed. she’s open . . all for you to see. “jesus—“ it’s an odd feeling. she’s had some mediocre experience with girls back in her hometown. a sloppy kiss hidden behind a park’s apparatus, a tit grope over a shirt in a childhood treehouse, some quiet fingering in her bedroom — all actions she’s performed on one, never had done to her.
she hears you hum, then the feel of soft skin upon her thigh. she has to look down . . .
and there you are . . cheek rubbing against her and your eyes are sparkling. it’s like you’ve hit the lottery, you’re as excited as a kid at the fair. “are you shy?” you look up at her as your fingers tickle up the inside of her calf.
ellie scoffs, “fuck no.”
“no?” you giggle and nuzzle up against her again. “well, i think you are.”
“and you’re just the smartest girl in the world, huh? you know everything?”
you shrug, little smile precious and adorable, “yeah.”
ellie rolls her eyes at the same while your fingers find the soft lips of her cunt. her next inhale is sharper than last and she has to close her eyes to remind herself to gather her bearings. this is nothing and she already feels as though she’s a hair away from blowing her load like a fucking teen.
“ooh,” your voice is quiet and your tone takes on a dreamy lilt as your index and middle fingers spread open her pussy so that you can catch an eye full of the wetness that shimmers behind them. “y’so pretty, el’.”
ellie hums, “y . . yeah?”
“mhm.”
your tongue is sudden. ellie’s entire body tenses the minute she feels it nudge at her clit. “oh, shit,” her voice is lowered to a sigh.
and you’re eager . . so fucking eager. your lips wrap around the swollen bud before you’re rolling it over the textured, little pad of your tongue again. you suckle it loudly with cute whimpers of your own and you stare up at ellie the entire time — eyes big and round and so empty and so trusting.
“fuck,” ellie fists a handful of your hair as she falls back onto one of her palms that press against your mattress. “yeah,” she’s breathless, mouth continuously falling open to shape a perfect ‘ o ‘ as her thick eyebrows fold in close. “j-jus like that, baby . . jus like—“ when your tongue slides an inch down and she feels the tip of it probe her clenching hole, ellie jolts. it’s a sudden reaction, neither of you expect it and her own response makes the auburn laugh around a hiccuped grunt. “—o-oh, fuck . . who . . . t-taught you all this, huh? y-you’re . .” she swallows. “you’re so fuckin’ good.”
you pull back to catch your breath and swallow her taste within your throat. “mm,” you savor the tang and brine, it’s already hooking. “no one . . you jus’,” your face burns. “you taste heavenly, ellie.” not the sweetest of fruits, the most tender of savory meats, or honeyed candies could compare. she’s your own luxury, your favorite treat.
“mmm.”
your mouth is back on her before ellie can blink. as the seconds pass, it’s as though you get more comfortable. you let your fingers trail up her thighs to her hips, then back down to her calves, and the way you touch her is . . riveting. by its nature, you can’t seem to get a fill. what’s enough, isn’t. you’re not satisfied, not even while you have copious amounts of ellie’s juices dripping down the sides of your face, from your chin, flowing down your neck to your heaving tits.
“god, you’re so . . .—” ellie’s voice tilts on a while as she lets her head fall back. the sounds you make are disgusting . . they’re sloppy and wet and sticky and you moan like you can’t get enough. “o-open. tongue out,” the auburn snaps your head further back, looking down to watch you comply to her directions. “ ‘s a good girl . . fuck, you’re so g-good to me.”
her hips start to buck . . she drags the soft strip of her pussy back and forth across your planed tongue and hiccups at the look you give her. you look . . . happy, as if this was what you wanted this entire time . . as if you’ve been dreaming about this your entire life. “s-shit, you’re my good girl, huh?” ellie watches you nod. your nails dig deep into her skin . . she likes the pain. “all m-mine . . . mine . . for the rest of f-fuckin’ eternity.”
when she cums, you squeak. her eyes roll back and body tautens almost painfully tight but you’re pushing yourself further up, swallowing each gush and stream like a kitten starved. ellie shivers, falling back onto both of her palms to watch you lap her clean. “so yummy,” you murmur into her cunt, long lashes fluttering up to gaze at her. your tongue drags slow, wide circles along her stout clit. it throbs and aches and pounds, you can’t help but kiss it a few times, too. you don’t want to pull away, not even for a moment. “one more time?” your lips are already pulling gently at the bud when you ask the question.
ellie heaves a tired chuckle, “oh no. no. up.”
she forces you to stand and you pout your plush, glossed lips at her once you do. “jus’ one more?”
she grabs your face — in that same despotic way she did only less than half an hour before. her eyes are drilling. “don’t get greedy,” she murmurs, rubbing her thumb along the fluid drying into a sticky paste on your cheek. “y’so messy.”
you can’t help yourself. you push in to kiss her. ellie appreciates the mix of you two’s conjoined taste. she relishes in it as she turns to lay you back down upon your bed. “you don’t think i want a taste too?” she utters into the heat of your mouth while her fingers peel away your panties. “didn’t know you were so fuckin’ selfish.”
your pussy aches when exposed to the cool air and you whine at her words. “ ‘m not.”
“i think you are.”
“and you’re the smartest—“
the sudden yelp when you’re flipped over onto your stomach is warranted, followed by the squeak upon a thick smack being stowed onto the plump skin of your ass cheek. “ellie.”
“dunno how i’m jus now seeing it.” her roughened hands are grabbing your hips and she’s tugging them back to prop you up on your knees. “you’re kind of a fuckin’ brat.”
you don’t like that word. not one bit. “i’m not.”
“you are.” ellie sends another smack to your ass to watch the way it bounces back. fuck. she’s had dreams about this — about rubbing lavender scented oil upon the globes until they shined beneath the moon’s rays, groping it tight to watch the skin pale around the shape of her hand, swatting at them hard enough to bruise . . especially when you wear those fucking denim cut offs . . the mini dresses and tiny overalls. “shit.”
when she peels the rounded orbs away from each other, splitting them far apart . . she’s faced with your chubby, leaking pussy and a winking button right up top. she feels her cunt begin to ache again. “ ‘s no way in hell i’m ever leaving you again, you know that?” your responding giggle makes ellie think that you don’t take her words serious. “you’re stuck with me.”
“i know, ellie.”
she lets her thumbs graze your folds prior to her carefully separating them and gluey webs of your crystalline nectar, strung along your hole and clit awaits her. “so fuckin’ beautiful.”
ellie lets her first mind get the best of her — she swats one more smack against your ass to hear you yelp again before she’s lowering her head and burying her face within your pussy. you positively melt where you lay, eyes cycling back within your skull as your mouth falls open, “oh,” your voice is pitched an octave higher. “oh, ellie.”
she hums her understanding, stroking her tongue along your clit back and forth, back and forth to hear you whine. your hips wag from side to side and ellie doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull away or push yourself further back into her mouth but she grips them between her heavy palms to keep you still. you’re delectable. she can’t help dragging her tongue further up to taste the knitted surface of your hole above.
“ellie!”
she pulls off with a loud pucker and smiles, letting her fingers stroke between the creases of your labia to collect the product of your arousal along the pads of them. “too much?”
you keep quiet, save for your hollow breaths.
“tastes good though . . gonna keep me from it?”
when her middle finger slowly starts to breach the inside of you, you guess that’s when you finally, truly, ultimately break. your eyes close as you bury your face within the crease of your inner elbow and shake your head. “a-again.”
“hm?”
her finger slides in ‘til the knuckle. you’re warm . . and so fucking tight. “again what?”
a tease. she’s a fucking tease. “d-do it . . again,” you’re whimpering, hand reaching back to grab a cheek and spread. “please? . . pretty please?”
ellie licks her lips. when her finger is halfway free from the inside of your cunt, you hear a quiet ‘ ptu ‘ as a net of her saliva is shot onto your hole only to be quickly followed by her tongue. when you ask so cutely like that, how can she say no? her middle finger pushes and pulls from the inside of your drooling pussy as her tongue caresses the taut ring. she gets it messy — lets her saliva drip from the canvas of her mouth so that those darling, little clicks and slurps can echo off of the walls of your bedroom.
when she slides in her ring finger beside her middle, your hips buck. “oh, stars,” you’re mewling, reaching a hand down to grab her wrist when you feel her push them in deep with each thrust inside. “hng, ellie . . . e-ellie . . — please, ‘m . . ‘s a lot.”
ellie pulls back, “move your hand,” she breathes. you’re fucking with her pace with the amount of squeezing you’re doing and ellie needs free reign. when you don’t do remove it quick enough, ellie grabs your wrist and pushes it away herself. “grab my wrist again and i’m tying yours.”
she straightens her back to kneel before you and push her palm against your back, making sure you don’t lose that arch. she wants to just watch for a while — watch the way your pussy spasms around her fingers, how it drips and squelches and throbs soon after she trades the in and out technique for a more stroking motion. “oh, fuck,” she curses when she sees that first trickle of thick, white cream.
she thinks her eyes are deceiving her — has to remove her palm from your back to spread your ass apart again to watch your cunt slowly begin to froth precious, little milky bubbles at her knuckles.
“feels so good,” you’re babbling, spreading your knees further apart to feel more, more, more. “jus’ l-like that . . d-don’t stop, ellie, please.”
“ ‘m not, baby,” ellie’s voice is nothing but a whisper as she watches a few beads start to ooze down the smooth veneer of your thighs. they remind her of the pearls that are currently draped across your neck — so dainty and pretty. “oh my god . . how are you — fuck, it’s so much.”
you tremble beneath her. all that leaves your spit slicked lips are whimpers and cries, not a single intelligible word. how a girl so articulate and eloquent gets dumbed down just from a few fingers toying with the inside of her little cunt, ellie doesn’t know. but, she likes you like this. likes you just as much when you’re teaching her about your history or telling her how much she should feed your kittens and lambs.
she can’t help but chuckle and tilt herself forward to pepper a line of kisses up your curved spine, “you’re so fucking cute,” she murmurs against your skin. “y’hear that?”
her palm has to cover your mouth just so that the both of you are able to hear the thick wallows of your pussy gushing around her digits. she sees how your eyes widen just the slightest bit with embarrassment, feels how your body goes rigid and your hand scramble for hers against your mouth to pull it away.
ellie only pulls her fingers out so that the both of you can also hear the wet ‘ pop ‘ of them exiting. she’s smiling against your temple as she plows them back in for a thrust or two then jerks them back out. “so fuckin’ dirty,” she groans with a chuckle at the feel of you melting and shivering back against her. “filthy little girl.”
she plants four, sticky little pats against your pussy before she’s flipping you back over. “where’s your toy, hm?”
you’re panting, thoughts jumbled and voice gone as you let her question flow in then out of your ears. you don’t know. you don’t know anything anymore. you just want to cum. you were so close just then. everything hurts. “hey,” her voice is breaking you out of your reverie. “hey, pretty girl.”
when she kisses you, you sniff out a soft cry. ellie coo’s. “none of that,” she mumbles. “i’m trying to make it all better — make you feel more good.”
“ ‘s in . . the drawer,” you give a quivering sigh while using your chin to point to where it is. “over there.”
ellie merely has to stretch one slim arm over to pull open the case and shuffle her hand around to find a phallic shaped object hidden within a silk drawstring bag. beside it is a bundle of faux leather straps. she grabs hold of them both, interest piqued. “oh, shit,” she scoffs a small laugh. “hm . . what’s this?”
you cover your face, horribly shy. “. . . it c-came with the harness!” you squeak. “i jus . . i took the toy out of it.”
“yeah?” she takes her time unraveling the bundle of belts until she could somehow make out the leg holes and where she’d tighten it around her waist. “this is going to be fuckin’ fun.”
you watch her open the bag and pull out the dildo — it’s about six and a half inches with a hefty girth. ellie’s smile seems to widen. you know she’s laughing at the color you picked . . a bubblegum blush tone that ombred out into a hot pink near the tip. “it’s pretty.”
you pout, “are you just saying that?”
“no, no,” she’s giggling while adjusting it inside of the harness. “it is . . . it fits you, i suppose.”
she’s climbing between your legs with a nice sigh, gazing at you for a moment. your blush seems to burn ten degrees warmer. “what?”
she closes her eyes for a split second, eyebrows raised as she shakes her head, “nothin’,” she tells you. “nothing, you’re just . . really fucking attractive, uhm,” she clears her throat and leans over you as you giggle. her cheeks are glowing a bright red. “we need lube?—“
you’re quiet when you utter, “—no, no,” while grinning over your bottom lip. “jus’ . . rub it against me . . . get it wet.”
ellie groans softly, adjusting herself more comfortably atop of you, “can you . . why say it like that?”
“like what?”
she’s pushing the underside of her cock against your still creamy cunt while grumbling, “want me to fuckin’ bust untouched? don’t do that.”
“think i do.”
“what’s gotten into you?”
“ellie, i’m achy—“
she slides in nice and smooth, watching your words die out on your tongue. the face you make is incredible — your eyebrows even out, mouth drops. “there you go,” ellie hums and breathes out once she reaches the hilt. your pussy is spread wide against the girth of the strap and she can’t help but adore that she has all access to your clit now that it’s fully exposed from the folds of your lips. “feel nice?”
“yeah,” you whimper and nod quickly, hands sliding up to her hips. “s-so good.”
“mhm.” rolling her lips inside of her mouth, ellie pulls her hips back a couple inches and pushes herself back forward. “. . . you’ve really been using this for the past few weeks? every night?”
you smile around a dreamy little moan and bat your eyes open to look up into hers, “yeah,” you repeat. “jus’ thought of you . . . spreading me open . . bending me up, makin’ me . . t-take it.”
“oh my god.”
ellie supposes she’s never saw this side of you before. the one not so shy, the one who sees what she wants and takes it — regardless of you having to pull out the whines and the pouts and huffs to get it. she reaches for your knees, the backs of them, and folds them until they find the lobes of your ears. you gasp, widened, glistening eyes gazing up into hers prior to you nodding, “l-like that, mhm . . j-jus’ like that.”
ellie lets a web of her spit fall onto the dildo to wax it just the tiniest bit sleeker. “don’t move.” she gives you what you want — tugs herself back and makes her hips fall again to drop her cock in and out of your needy pussy. and you take it . . you take it so fucking good. your voice is caught in your throat as you lay there and keep still, eyes squinted shut and mouth wide open.
“o-oh fuck,” ellie moans, feeling the harness knock against her clit with each pound inside of you. “fuck, baby . . why are you — s-so fuckin’ pretty — god.”
you suck in a squeaking inhale, arms pulling ellie in, in, in until her face is tucked within the curve of your neck and your legs are draped over her shoulders. “oh, christ — holy . . ‘s so deep. e-ellie . .” you’ve never felt it so deep. “oh, my.”
your pussy thanks her with ringing gurgles and sucks. it feels so good. she feels like heaven personified atop of you, heart against yours, hands indenting marks within your skin, lips siphoned around a chunk of your neck to bruise a love bite. your nails dig into her skin for a grip as she increases her momentum. “been wantin’ you for so long,” you hear her whisper beneath your ear. “been needin’ to kiss you . . f-fuckin . . hold you . . make this pussy all mine.”
“yes,” you hiccup as your little toes curl. “p-please, ‘s yours. ‘m yours . . i promise.”
“i know,” she moans and abruptly slams in to keep herself there for a moment. “i know, baby . . . t-think i wanna see you. i gotta see you.”
you let her pull herself away so that she can pull out and roll atop her back. “c’mere,” she’s hurried. ellie doesn’t want to keep herself away from you for a second longer. “ride it for me?”
you veer one of your legs to her other side and lean over onto a palm to reach back and carefully lead her cock back inside. “ellie,” you sigh her name sweetly. she’s so pretty, hair haloed upon the pillow, darkened eyes of sage locked upon your face.
she groans, hands clutched at your waist to carefully begin to push you up and down her length. your hair’s so long, you have to gather it all onto one shoulder to keep it out of the way and ellie shouldn’t find that so endearing but she does. everything about you is absolutely bewitching. “fuck, baby,” she’s breathless, watching you lean forward to steadily stroke your cunt from crown to base, hips seemingly made of water. “keep goin’, yeah?”
you nod, bottom lip bitten, “s-so good . . your cock feels so good, ellie.”
your words make her shiver. she groans, grabbing hold the spheres of your ass to begin to make you rock harder, faster. “so filthy,” she whispers, swatting it when you release a particular loud sob. why the fuck did she put up a front for so long? that she didn’t want you? she can’t imagine never feeling this, seeing this again. “fuckin’ dirty — how can someone so pretty be this fuckin’ dirty, huh?”
you hic, keeping still for when she begins to meet you halfway, pounding you effortlessly from the bottom without a breath hiked. “ ‘m gonna c-cum, ellie,” you warn. you’re crying — beautifully, might she add, literal glitter encrusted tears cascading down the lower line of your lashes and down your soft cheeks. ellie hates that her cunt throbs at the sight. she feels depraved. “cum,” she utters. “cum on me. can take it, angel, y’know i will.”
she watches your eyebrows furrow and and eyes squeeze shut, “e-ellie . .” you gasps her name. “ellie, hng — oh . . . oh, f-f- . .”
abruptly, your knees knock closed and your spine straightens. ellie swears she feels it — your sticky, creamy cum gushing out over her cock, your walls compressing, locking her inside of you. the both of you are gasping. “oh, shit.” your entire body quivers over ellie’s hips. “shit.”
she smacks your ass to feel the skin recoil and you jump. ellie lets you catch your breath, let’s you slowly unwind your body from it’s coiled position and she massages her fingers within the knots of your muscles. she’ll allow you to think that she’s done, just for now. it looks like you need the peace of mind. you’re panting, eyes still closed, and head bowed. “good job, mama,” ellie lifts herself up to pull you inside of her arms. “you alright?”
you drape your arms across her to plop the side of your face upon her shoulder and nod, “mhm.”
her hands rub circles over your back and you soften. so good. you feel floaty . . completely gone.
“c’mere.”
when ellie’s rolling over and pulling out, you’re thinking she’s going to put the harness away and lay back down, nonetheless, she’s carefully turning you back onto your tummy and tugging you back up on your knees. “ellie?” your wonder is palpable.
“you okay? . . i can do this?”
your pussy is gaping, still achy . . still wanting. “yeah.”
shit. ellie’s already sliding back in. you whine, grabbing hold of the comforters within your fists.
“gonna let me fuck you for jus’ a while longer. want you to feel good, that’s all.” ellie’s selfish. she wants you to feel good, no doubt, but she also wants to hear those fucking moans . . and cries and cute sobs and disgusting squelches . . she wants to watch your body shake and your ass bounce upon her pelvis . . wants to pin you down and make you cum until you can’t take it anymore.
and you seem to love how fucking rough she is. you let her hold a heavy hand at the back of your neck and pound you until your legs give out, leaving her directly atop of your flattened body. you do nothing but cry out precious ‘ yes ‘s and ‘ more ‘s and ‘ like that ‘s as she bites down hard enough onto your shoulders to leave the indents of her teeth into. she smacks your ass hard enough for the skin to begin to purple and all you do is sob out her name as if you wanted her to never stop.
god. ellie can’t help but think she hit the fucking soulmate lottery with you.
⠀ ⠀ ❤︎
you fuck until the sun rises.
your moans and cries indubitably dance within the heart of the forest and across the acres of land that surround your tiny cottage. ellis’s fucking exhausted come the end of it, albeit, given the amount of sweat and cum lost, she’s still not tired enough to go to sleep. she stays up . . . simply watches you doze as her fingers dance across the pretty slopes of your features . . your nose and lips and eyes and pointed ears.
you sleep for what feels like eons. she doesn’t blame you. she’s fucked, what she knows, the life out of you and when you wake you can hardly even stand. “lonnie . . ozzi,” you whine out their names when you both hear scratching at the door. ellie chuckles, pulling you in to kiss beneath your chin. “mm, let ‘em wait just a few hours longer . . they’re so fucking clingy.”
“ellie, those are my babies,” you’re giggling yet tugging her in with your legs to keep her close. “mm . . our babies, now.”
ellie gives a content sigh. she likes the sound of that, she’ll be honest. muttering soft enough for only the two of you can hear, she says, “. . ozzi’s my favorite.”
your responding swat to her chest is expected, “you have to love them both, equally.”
when ellie pulls back to look into your eyes, she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face at the simple sight of you. “speakin’ of . . .” her low voice trails. “out of all of your lifetimes, who’s been your favorite ellie?” she repeats the question from the night before. she’s curious of your answer.
the question is heavy. you think about it while gnawing on your bottom lip, cheeks warming. you don’t want to say it, you shouldn’t say it. it feels wrong but, “you . .” you sough quietly, heart light. you’re happy to know that she feels it. “you’re my number one, by far.”
Sorry if not welcome but wow the concept of the caption is making me dizzy 😵💫😵💫 rent a boyfriend who ends up surprising u by being soooo good. Who do u think of everyone that you’ve written for or haven’t that would fit this concept? My mind is saying Armin idk he’s be just the right amount of mean and nice. The way this girl is kicking her legs so much is so cute she rlly cannot stop squirming
rent a boyfriend jus screams choso 2 me i dunnooooooooo . him doin it for quick cash , fucks u like this on barely day 4 of u knowin each other && after , suddenly u’re on the edge of a panic attack everyday at da simple thought of him fuckin somebody else the exact same way he did u I Dunnooooooooooo . u get a litl unhinged . . . freak him out a bit but s okay cuz ure prettie , u smell nice , make him a litl nervous , n ur pussie feels like a slice of heaven so . . he’ll b ur bf for real dis time .
just wondering how armin deals with jubie + reader during their cycle and or ovulation, and how the girls also deal with each other during that time
i feel like it jus makes sense 2 say dat jubie n ur moon cycles r synced ! armin knowz when those five days r on the approach becuz jubie gets more horny than usual n you become more of a crybaby . one look at the two of you on a random day and he’ll mumble “ah . . . there it is” and somehow you and her know exactly what he means .
he doesn’t do much out of da ordinary when ur periods r coming but when dey r here , he’z makin u && her rest up . he’z also one of those partners who makes the two of you eat a bunch of iron rich foods a few days before and while on ur cycles too — steak for dinner , spinach omelette for breakfast , u can pout all u want but the only thing he’z lettin u girls snack on iz dark chocolate . a cramp hits one of you bad durin the night , he’z right there with a large , warm hand pressed up against your hips , thumb rubbin soothing circles on it as you clutch onto the heating pad on ur lower abdomen . murmurs , “jus breathe through it, sweetheart. dad’s got’cha.”
jubie appreciates orgasmin on her period . they make her feel better , so often , u’ll lie in bed , listenin to her prettie whines n whimpers seep out from the bottom crack of the bathroom door while armin’z splittin her pussie open on his cock in the shower . you massage her thighs if they happen to ache , let her curl up against your back , hold her hand when her cramps get sharp and she remindz you 2 take ur medicine , kisses ur tears away , n retightens ur bonnet if ure too weak to barely lift a finger . jus da three of u takin care of each other <33333
those few dayz of ovulation iz a bit more intense . ure more sensitive to their touch && jubie suddenly enjoys prancing around the farm in the tiniest shorts , skirts , or dresses wif no panties on becuz she likes the feeling of both your and armin’z eyes trackin her every move . armin starts to notice the extra kissing , your eyes goin a Bit more glassy than usual if him or jubie praises you , the way petty lil arguments disappear becuz one of you can’t stand bein too far frm the other . s precious .
&& when night falls is when he finally allows the two of you to work all of that restless energy out on his dick or each other’z bodies if he’z tired . only when the both of u r ovulating iz when he arranges u girls in2 a certain position — both of u on all fours , one girl layin on top of the other , knees framed around her legs , pussie stacked atop of her ass . he’z able to trade between fuckin u both a lot easier . . doesn’t help that u both become embarrassingly insatiable n start 2 whine for him the second he pulls out of you . it makes the time slidin in between shorter .
Okay in one of your asks you mentioned that armin would make jubie and reader have his babies. How would they be as mothers and how would armin be as a dad?
they’d b so soft wif their babies ): reader ends up poppin out four of da chubby litl things , jubie three . births all meticulously planned . they’d b those mamas dat make personalized lunches for their bubs 2 take to school everyday in those cute, tin boxes with cartoon characters on em . walk the kids down the road to their bus stop lookin all prettie n glowy while quizzin dem on spelling words , what book they’re currently readin , all that stuff like it matters Greatly . . . becuz it does . wave em off every morning on da bus with squeals , big smiles , a thousand hand kisses , n shouted “i love you”s as though its the most important thing in the world .
jubie’z a moar clingy mama . cries at every kid’z kindergarten graduation . tries 2 talk u n armin out of sendin dem to da town’s preschool . “jubie, baby, they have to socialize . . .” she doesn’t wna hear it !
u’re deffie the more ‘fun’ mom 2 da kids . da type 2 b a litl more lenient wif da punishments . u manage 2 talk armin out of every other one , therefore all of them r more likely 2 go to u when they hv smthg sensitive dey wna talk abt u with . a safe middle ground , soft enough for dem to trust yet still somewhat steady enough 2 guide them .
armin’z a supes active father . every last one of em r strapped to his chest in a baby carrier the minute you and jubie pop em out . s why ppd doesn’t ever . . hit neither of u . for Weeks , after each kid , he lets you n jubie jus . . . rest . ur bodies need to recover , u need quiet for a bit , time to jus be . aside frm feeding n obvi , some needed bonding time , armin’z handling most of everythin on his own . cooking , cleaning , soothing , rocking , wiping , pacing .
he knows what he signed his name on that line right next to fatherhood for . runnin on four hours of sleep a night for a couple of months all in efforts to put a lifetime of effort , love , n care into his children , he’ll do it a thousand times over .
when the kids get older , he’z the one teachin them how to fix things around the house , how to carry themselves , how to apologize when they’re wrong with no shame . he’z Vri affectionate in his own way . scrufflez his sons’ hair when they walk past , utterin a soft “you did good” 2 them after they thru somethin difficult , naturally reaches out to fix a piece of his daughters’ hair , five second forehead kisses to em all before they walk out the door .
when one of dem can’t sleep , he’z the type to find em sittin on the porch n take a seat beside them . he won’t pressure them to tell him what’s wrong . jus be a steady anchor they know will alwyz b there .
so da kids grow up in a safe house . . full of steadiness, warmth, fun, n discipline . dey become well rounded , emotional and mentally healthy adults LOL . their parents bein poly iz def an interesting convo starter tho .
Being Jack abbots little young girlfriend and he just gives you his phone. Obviously because you know more about it!!!
He’s driving and his phone dings loudly over the speakers, he nods his head towards it to you in the passenger seat. “Can you see who that is for me?”
When you grab it and open it up (because of course you memorized his password) you groan seeing the text. “Robby says he will be thirty minutes late.”
Jack hums. He’s already switching on the blinker and making a turn. “Well in that case let’s go pick out some ice cream for my girl huh?”
Also!!! Whenever you walk anyplace he just hands it to you. Like the responsibility of putting the phone in his pocket is too much so he whispers out an: “hold on to this for me honey.”
Whenever he gets a call you pull it out and he answers. Always mumbling a “thank you baby.” Like you’re keeping him on track.
And not to mention he comes to you on the weekends showing you his email and asking. “I’ve been trying for fifteen minutes. How do I find the receipt for the airbnb we booked.”
“Jack you told me to book it.”
“How do I find the receipt to the air bnb you booked.”
n’Jack is so deathly scared of someone taking his phone and seeing the nudes you send him in little panties, he’s this close to putting all those photos on a USB. Until you show him the little private folder.
Old man with his phone is what I’m trying to get at.
“That little pout . . . you think it’s gonna get you anywhere with me?”
Jack’s too soft on you. He’s been needing to work on that.
You’ve been huffing and puffing out these big, obnoxious gusts of air with your arms crossed while laying beside him since he’s woken up to find you wedged up against his side as though you have a point to prove. You’re not the best at voicing your needs. You both know that.
Every few minutes, you shift closer, bump the arm that holds his phone at chest level, and upon Jack not reacting, sigh louder, snatch yourself away to continue glaring at the television screen. You’re waiting for him to magically fix whatever’s wrong with you without saying a word. Jack doesn’t appreciate that.
When he finally turns his head to look at you over the edge of his wiry, 5.00 prescription glasses, his expression is stony in a way that showcases he’s been hip on your silly, little game for a while now.
“What’s goin’ on with you?”
That slight jut of your bottom lip sits rooted and firm. Your pout is never truly obvious, one wouldn’t even notice it if they’re not around you often, but Jack is. He can spot it from a mile away.
“Nothing,” you grumble.
“. . . Talk to me.”
“ ‘m fine, Jack. Gosh.”
Your words earn a sigh . . . then a quiet chuckle. You hear the soft sound of the legs of his glasses folding shut, his phone screen clicking black, and the both of them being set upon his nightstand. Warmth floods the pit of your stomach. Finally, you want to sigh.
“Yeah?” he murmurs. He doesn’t believe you. “Don’t sound fine.”
Jack watches you for a long second — trails his eyes up your smooth legs, thick thighs, tiny cotton shorts, and the hoodie you wear that displays the letters of the university you attend in bright, red letters. You’re so pretty . . . and such a pain in the ass sometimes. “ ‘ll let you try again,” he hums, voice lower now, still coated in patience, but clearly not feeding into your attitude anymore. “Properly this time.”
You simply shift, not saying a word.
Too fucking stubborn for your own good.
Jack tilts his head, studying you for a bit again before whispering, “C’mon . . . Sit up for me.”
You finally glance at him. His face is unreadable. “What?”
Slowly, almost tenderly, he adjusts you. Gets one strong arm beneath your back, twists you towards your stomach, places a hand between your shoulder blades to keep you from resisting and gets you situated directly on your belly. “Yeah,” he quietly says. “Like that . . . Tummy time.”
Instinctively, you shift and try to push yourself back up but his hand adds some pressure. “Mm-mm. Still.”
You make a small, frustrated sound into the mattress as your fingers curl within the sheets. “No fair,” you whine beneath your breath. “This isn’t fair, Jack.” He’s arranging the space around you — pillows shuffling. One’s carefully pushed beneath your hips, two are tucked nice and tight against the outsides of your thighs. It’s all meant to be supportive, for both you and him.
His reply is simple as his fingers start to slide your little shorts down, “I know.”
Your breathing hitches on each inhale as your earlier irritation already begins to blur at the edges. It’s getting harder to not give in, to not fall.
“Didn’t do anythin’,” you weakly whimper.
“Yeah, you did,” he says, voice volume matching yours. “This is what happens when you don’t talk. When you leave me guessin’ on what’s goin’ on with you. It’s not fair, I agree.”
One of his hands smooths up the skin of your back beneath your hoodie while the other’s fingers swipe between the sticky, little folds of your pussy. When you mewl, he sighs, “You’re okay.”
He’s moving, careful and slow — adjusts his residual limb and his leg on those pillows beside your thigh, gets a thumb hooked within the hem of his sweats, tugs it down far enough to allow his half flaccid dick to flop over it and spits into his palm to polish it over his thick shaft. The globes of your ass jiggle when he slaps it on them, three pats for each cheek. You feel the weight of him, solid and firm.
“Don’t move,” he mumbles, voice gruff as he adjusts his cherry capped tip against the hole of your cunt. You practically hold your breath until you feel it — him pushing inside. Your eyes clamp closed, eyebrows furrow, and your toes curl at that initial sting of pain. You’ll always feel it with him. His cock is too fat for its own good.
“. . Daddy, wait—“
He’s adjusting himself, closing his legs around yours to keep your thighs pressed tight together, leaning forward to enclose your face within the frame of his arms. “Always so needy, huh?” He mumbles while dragging the curve of his nose down your cheek. “Get so mean when you want some attention. I don’t understand it. What’s the logic in that?”
“I . . d-don’t know—“
He suddenly drops his hips . . lodging the rest of his dick inside the gushy, warm confines of your pussy within one, smooth thrust. You choke on your next inhale and find yourself squeezing your nails into the skin of his hand in utter shock. You feel the other pushing at the bottom of your chin, “Atta girl, head up.”
The rhythm of his hips falling down onto the plush skin of your ass is constant . . and loud. He wastes no time in forcing your pussy on taking him — pushes himself in past those walls as if he were annoyed with them from keeping you from gaping. “Oh my . . G-God,” you’re hiccuping as your feet twist around one another in some sort of self soothing effort. “P-Please, okay.”
“Daddy’s got that brain feelin’ fuzzy, hm? . . . Easy, easy, I got you.”
You’re a squirmer, but Jack can handle it. Each sink of his cock inside you has your cunt pushing out a little bit of cream. It gets to a point where he can feel the thick warmth of it packing at the base of his cock . . sticking up against the front of his balls that plop onto your twitching clit. He breathes out a heavy breath as he lifts himself onto his palms and spares a glance down at the view of your ass ricocheting off of his hips.
“ ‘s okay,” he mumbles, voice drowned out by the lewd, sloppy sounds of dick pushing into wet pussy and those precious, hiccupy moans jumping out from your throat in time with each pound. “You’reee okay, baby. I promise.”
𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 ◞ 𝐬 strawberry ⧽ vanilla ⧽ chocolate
𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 40k
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 farmer armin 〆 black fem reader 〆 black fem oc
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 dark content . fauxcest . ddlg . porn with plot . eventual established polyamorous relationship . childhood friends to lovers . strangers to lovers . childhood abuse mentions , not very explicit . age gap . heavy pet name usage . love confessions . lots of feelings . reader has pubes ℘ a big clit ! fingering . oral sex . filmed during sex . dad kink . ass eating . cum swallowing .
⠀⠀ : ¨·.·¨ :ㅤ
⠀ ⠀ `· .⠀ 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓀 𝓅𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 . . . plz heed warningzzz ! ! i don’t want anybody surprised by the contents of this fic n decidin 2 lose their minds in m inbox , tanku . hv fun . dis fic took me so long </3 i wuz inspired 2 write dis by a friend who gave me da idea 2 pair dad armin wif two precious lil girlz ♥︎ . everybody say thanku 2 dem ! minors do not interact ! ! ! !
part two
Things change and two weeks pass quietly.
The first week of November settles in warmly over rural Missouri like a soft blanket. Leaves no longer appear brown, but deepen into cherry reds and pale gold and the mornings begin to grow cold enough to where Armin has to power on the farmhouse’s central heating at night and bundle up with a thick jacket, scarf around his neck, and gloves when leaving the front door at five am to get to work.
The dynamic between you all morph in ways that feels both subtle and ginormous. There’s a new rhythm to the three of you now and it surprises you how quick Armin had took on the role in your life as being your beau and a little something more.
His girls.
That’s what he calls the two of you now in passing when chatting with a few neighbors while grabbing the mail or a store clerk when the three of you are out in town. Jubie and you usually walk ahead of him, hands intertwined and swinging between your bodies as your boots or sweet sandals fall against the cement. Behind you both is always Armin, broad shouldered, tall, and handsome, infallibly carrying the type of strength that make passerbys step aside. A few glance between the three of you with a quiet question in their eyes but no one asks because it’s obvious. You all are together. Completely.
Your relationship with Jubie changes a bit, too. The two of you grow closer in a different kind of way, a more innocent, ‘wet behind the ears’ kind of way. You suppose that all this time all you’d needed was just permission for you to finally slip that small way Armin’s been wanting you to, because after receiving it, you can let yourself crawl onto the floor beside Jubie most days to help her with coloring a page — shoulders brushing as you traded crayons and sometimes filled in the same page. You let yourself hiccup and cry upon scuffing your forearm on a lone piece of wood while climbing down from the hayloft and you let Armin gruffly fuss over you as he cleaned and bandaged it up, not before Jubie had given it a soft kiss.
The first time she calls you sissy happens when Armin gave you your first lesson on riding Samson. She’d been seated on the beam of the fence, pretty in a pair of light washed overalls, yellow crop top and her favorite pair of brown boots. Armin’s body had been warm and solid against the back of yours — your hands were trembling on the reins next to his as he whispered to you on how to direct Samson and get him to gallop. “Sissy, you’re doin’ so good!”
The first time you happen to call Armin Dad happens accidentally . . that same day. Nothing dramatic, nothing bold. Just a quiet slip up as he helped you climb off of Samson, big, rough hands squeezing at your waist as your boots flailed while searching for ground. “D-Dad, no—“ “—I gotcha,” he grumbled in reply as his arms wrapped around your body to pull your chest flushed against his. “You’re okay, baby.” Your cheeks had burned hot enough to have you feel like your skin could just about melt off of your face.
And you’re sure Armin realized, but he hadn’t questioned it or even given a facial expression to show that he did. Those icy blue eyes stared into yours beneath the brim of his suede, white hat as he slowly placed you back down on the ground. Only after did he reach out, pull your face up towards his and leaned in to smack a slow, but firm kiss upon your lips — a deep thing that made your knees buckle as Jubie squeaked in the background as if she could feel it, too.
The house begins to change too.
You and Jubie press your ears up against his office door one afternoon, listening to his deep, guttural voice drawl out to someone over the phone about renovations. The wall between his and Jubie’s room and the one you used to occupy . . it needs to come down, the current one can’t hold a California King mattress and the empty room downstairs begins to get cleared out. Light pink paint, foam play mats, rugs, bookshelves, a monitor cam . . Armin decided it’ll be a playroom for the both of you. For rainy days and those days when the two of you feel too small and restless and need your own tiny, abode from the rest of the world.
Down in the barn workshop, you and Jubie like to keep him company sometimes. He’s building a new bed frame. The two of you like to sit on beds of hay, dragged flushed together and covered by thin sheets by Armin to keep the strands from poking your soft, delicate legs as you watch the frame take shape beneath his big, rough hands. Sometimes one of you pass him tools when asked, other times someone ( usually Jubie ) will nap, head resting on a pillow of thighs while you simply watch him work.
Often, he’ll have his flannel and hat off, leaving him in a fitted undershirt, jeans, and a pair of his western boots. You like to stare at the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin as he saws off some wood. His soft, dark blond waves fall loose near the beginning of his shoulders without his hat holding them back, sometimes sticking to his neck where sweat gathers from all the labor. There’s a sort of rugged charm to him when he works like this. You don’t think he knows just how handsome he really is.
Watching the slow pull of his steel hard, natural built muscle roll and flex makes it hard for you to look anyplace else. There’s something hypnotic about it — your lids fell halfway into your eyes and glossy lips parted — watching his palm rub across the surfaces of the wood to make sure they’re smooth enough.
One afternoon, he pauses to rake a hand through his hair while stepping back to inspect his work. The headboard comes together first. Thick, wooden beams sanded down and sturdy enough to hold, what you think, a dozen of huskies without creaking. Its center is upholstered with a cushiony panel made of a crushed velvet material in dark mahogany. It’s pretty.
Then his eyes drifted over to the two of you — Jubie with her face buried in your stomach, arm around your waist and long curls spilling over your lap as she snoozed, then you . . who had been staring directly at the very noticeable bulge pressing up against the front of his jeans. Pretending to look away was futile, you knew that, but you do so anyway with embarrassment flooding your body. He hadn’t said anything . . . not immediately, but you noticed how he smirked a little with a small, slow shake of his head. “You feelin’ alright, doll?” he asked, voice low and rough with that lazy, Mississippi drawl.
“Mhm.”
Jubie shifted, mumbling softly but not waking. Armin hums after a second of you both waiting for her to settle again. “Mm.” And though he says not another word, you knew exactly what he was thinking.
・・・・・
Wind howls against the windows tonight like it’s fighting for a way to seep into the cracks with mean persistence and somewhere deeper in the house, you hear wood creak as everything settles.
Inside the bed, beneath the covers, everything’s warmer — sweet and shared warmth. You wake without even meaning to. Not from the sounds or a nightmare, but from the soft, cool breaths wafting up against your shoulder blade. Jubie’s still curled behind you, arms around your body, and Armin’s curled behind her, but you’re aware that no one is asleep . . . their breathing isn’t deep enough.
For a while, you just listen. Waiting. But nothing. Jubie shifts closer to you, just slightly, and that’s when you slowly squirm, soft feet brushing up against hers before you roll over to see her wide, brown eyes opened and already staring at you. She doesn’t say anything . . so you don’t. Sleep still sluggishly moves throughout your veins, leaving you to gaze, heavy lidded at her, waiting for her to say something, but she doesn’t. Something about her appears a little . . frenzied tonight. Like, her brain has decided on something that her body hasn’t yet made a move to do yet.
You feel her hesitate before she eventually does.
Her hand lifts, fingertips brush over your forehead, down the bridge of your nose, to your lips - slow and gently. She touches you as though she’s barely realizing that you’re real, that you’re here, with them, and not going anywhere. Softly, you exhale through your nose, basking in her touch as her fingers pause at your lips before suddenly . . her hand falls back between your bodies beneath the blanket.
It’d been a small moment of sweet, sleepy solace until you feel it . . . her fingers again, this time, at the crease of your breasts. You’re too tired to react the way you want if you happened to not be half asleep. You feel your heart pick up a slight speed but you remain lying there, blinking slow, and body not moving as she slowly pushes a hand up the tight, lace trimmed camisole you wear to get a small, soft hand around your tit. You feel her squeeze, only lightly, prior to a thumb being swiped over the soft, inverted bud of your nipple. You inhale a shaky breath.
She continues staring at you, face mostly unchanging as she does it again, not surprised to feel the pearl of it eventually pebble beneath her insistent touching. Tentatively, shyly, eventually she pinches it between the pads of her thumb and index and pulls. Your breath hitches as you hiccup on a mewl, body twitching in reply.
Your twitch makes her twitch too.
Eyes dark, Armin watches the scene play out . . more specifically, your face. He knows the exact moment Jubie gets her sticky, little fingers in between your legs because you do it again — your body jolts as your shaking fingers slap onto her tricep, face turns into your pillow, and your breathing grows shallow.
Your reaction says a lot.
You’re not used to feeling good, especially not so suddenly. And when you make another sound, another mewl, this one trembly and resembling of a small sob, Armin’s there, pulling Jubie in closer which, in turn, brings you closer too. Because of his stature, he’s easily able to curl over you both if wanted, but, for now, he simply leans a bit forward to shush your sounds with a gentle drone of his voice and kiss your temple. “You’re alright, sweet thing” he mumbles, fingers tracing down the tender skin of Jubie’s arm to her wrist then fingers. He can feel that your thighs have completely closed around her hand.“Open . . Open ‘em on up for ‘er — there you go.”
The breadth of his large, warm hand guides Jubie’s . . shadowing her little fingers to sweep across the length of your slit over your thin, little shorts, and introduce her, as well as himself, to the surprisingly fat bead of your clit. “Gentle, baby,” he murmurs against the pierced shell of her ear, listening to Jubie’s own breaths grow a little quivery. He knows that both his girls are overwhelmed now, in ways that neither of you have ever really felt before.
When you twitch and hiccup again upon the moment Armin starts to assist Jubie in rubbing a few slow, firm circles on your clit, he feels how she hesitates when you breathe out a deep breath. But Armin knows what that means, even if she doesn’t . . “She’s feelin’ good.”
Her voice is small and quiet when she whispers, “Y-Yeah?”
Eyes locked on your face that you still have buried in your pillow, Armin nods, “Mhm — let us see that pretty face darl’, c’mon.”
“Mm-mm,” you shake your head.
Jubie whimpers, “C’mon, sissy, please?”
Armin leads her fingers to your hole where they can feel it — the slick that’s starting to seep from the little thing down into the seat of your panties and shorts. He makes Jubie slip her hand down the front of your underwear for finally some real skin to skin contact. That’s when you pull your face away from the pillow to sharply gasp, eyes closed, fingers now gripping onto Armin’s forearm. “Oh m’ . . G-God.”
“Speed up a bit, baby — that’s right . . nice an’ firm.”
Your pussy is growing so wet. Armin feels the warmth of your juices trickling past the creases of Jubie’s fingers onto his own. You’ve never been touched like this before — you almost notice that you can hear your blood rushing through your ears. The few experiences you’ve had with your ex had always been brisk and unfulfilling, he’d always left what felt like a gaping hole in you, figuratively that is, but this . . it makes you feel like your heart’s going to pound straight out of your chest. You all can hear the sounds, even from beneath the covers. Each soft shlup, shlup, shlup as your lovers’ fingers soothe sweet circles on your throbbing clit. It’s all intense . . in the strangest of ways that you can’t explain.
Your thighs close around their wrists as you hiccup, eyes tearing, “Dad, I f . . I f-feel weird.”
Jubie presses a kiss against your lips. Armin hums, “ ‘s okay.” You feel the weight of his deep, blue eyes, entirely locked on every expression, movement, and sound you give like he’s drinking them in, learning you. “You’re jus’ gonna cum, doll.”
You shake your head, noting a lick of fear carving space within the base of your stomach as pressure builds beneath your womb, “I don’ wanna.”
Jubie shakes her head, whispering, “No, no, ‘s okay, sissy. It feels good, I swear.”
Eyes full of dew and soft, pretty lips quivering, you utter, “. . Mm . . you p-promise?”
“Yeah, I pinkie promise,” Jubie breathes while she nods.
You feel Armin’s hand move. The sweet, little fingers on your clit still rub then a thicker, longer one is kissing at the hole of your cunt. It only presses up against it for a second, letting your inner folds blossom around the first knuckle until you suddenly feel it sheathe its entire way inside you within one, smooth glide. “Ngh,” your toes curl.
“Such a sweet girl,” Armin deeply groans before leaning to kiss your temple once more. “Let Dad in. ‘s all you need to do.”
Somehow, one of his fingers is enough to make you feel so full. A muscle in your thigh spasms when he pulls it half an inch free then presses back in until his knuckle is flushed against your perineum. God, Armin wants a taste. Your walls flex around his digit, desperately working at it as if it were trying to pull his skin off of the bone. A distant thought of Jubie’s little tongue laving at your chubby clit, your tongue pushing past the tight ring of her little ass, Armin supervising all of it, telling his girls what to do, how to make each other feel good — he breathes out a deep sigh through his nose as his hips nudge forward to fit the thick, hardening rod of his cock between the split of Jubie’s plush ass cheeks.
She keens at the feel, fighting to wriggle her own back to try to get some friction against her neglected pussy, all the while the muscles of your body wound tighter and tighter. Neither Jubie or Armin are able to peel their eyes away from the bridge of your nose cutely wrinkling and eyebrows furrowing when the first wave of your orgasm washes over you. “H-Hng, mmph—“
“Feels good, mm?” Armin mutters, watching you nod all softheaded and gormless. “God, look at you . .”
Your brain feels like it’s melting within your skull and dripping down your spine.
“Oh m . .” you buck your hips up into both of their touches, shivering and gasping for air. “P . . lease.”The word comes out broken and breathless. What you’re pleading for? You don’t really know but you’ve never felt this before. You don’t know if you’re begging for this profound, all consuming feeling to stop or for it to never end. Your body goes soft before it tenses then goes soft again like it doesn’t know how to react to the pleasure that keeps cresting and falling over it.
Jubie’s eyes widen as she pulls you in closer. She hadn’t known it’d hit you like this. “ ‘s okay,” she whispers, own voice shaking in both concern and awe. “ ‘s okay, sissy. You’re okay.”
When their hands are pulled away is when you finally can start catching your breath. You feel Armin’s scruff against your cheek, your neck, your lips, “Was a big one, I can tell,” he mumbles as your heart rate begins to slow. “Good fuckin’ job, baby.” When he lifts his hand, streaks of moonlight pouring in through the curtains catch on the slick laminated across the length of his middle finger. There’s a halo of cream packed at his knuckle.
Without thinking much about it, he forces Jubie’s chin up with a hand beneath her jaw to push that same finger plus his ring past her lips. She whimpers as she suckles on them — needy and sleepy, tongue curling between the spaces of them to get a better taste. “There you go,” Armin utters, ice blue eyes nearly navy as he pushes them further in to feel her throat convulse as she gags. “Get ‘em clean an’ Pa ‘ll make that lil’ flower a’yours cum too.”
You find out that your sleepiness becomes more pronounced after a good orgasm, nevertheless, you fight to stay up — blinking slow and heavily as you watch Armin tug Jubie’s legs opened beneath the blanket and that same hand that’d he pulled away from her mouth presumably push up her tiny nightgown between them. She whimpers for him, body lax, warm, and pressed against yours as his lips peck soft kisses across the slope of her shoulder to her neck before he looks at you.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” he mutters, noticing the still faint twitch of your limbs and those big, dark eyes of yours tiredly blinking. “Dad’ll see you when the sun comes up, I promise.”
Truthfully, you really don’t want to . . not when you start to hear those wet and pretty sounds of his fingers toying with Jubie’s pussy and especially not when you watch her eyes slowly roll back within her skull as he gets the top of gown down so that her plump tits spill out from over the neckline into the cup of his big, calloused hand. But, your brain doesn’t care. It forces you to blink a few more times, each one a bit longer than the last and in between those blinks, you watch Armin eventually get a hand over Jubie’s mouth, muffling high pitched squeaks and rendering her body nearly mostly immobile against his as . . .
Well, you never really get to see.
・・・・・
You’re last to wake in the morning.
As expected.
Overcast skies paints the bedroom within a grey, gloomy glow as you take your time stretching out your limbs and gathering your bearings. The sheets are warm and faintly wrinkled from where the three of you’d been tangled together hours before. You lie there for a beat longer than necessary, mentally fighting to gather your bearings, before finally swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Your hands feel empty this morning. Instinctively, you pat around your pillow for it, needy for the feel of Lily’s soft, sherpa coat as you grab onto where she’d been pressed against the headboard all night. You keep her tucked within your elbow the entire walk into the bathroom and while you brush your teeth.
You feel . . smaller today.
You notice it in the way how everything else feels a little too big. The creaking silence, the bed, even your own body. You don’t want to change out of your pajamas. You barely even wanted to climb out of bed. Walking downstairs and finding Armin standing by the door, keys looped around a finger, toolbox in the other, you aren’t surprised to watch him immediately notice. Your wrinkled, little pajamas, soft, bare legs and feet, Lily tucked close to your body. Something in his normally hardened expression softens . .“C’mere, baby doll.”
Your footsteps are slow and soft as you pad across the smooth floors on over. He’s already setting his toolbox down beside his boots by the time you reach him so that he can cup your face between his large hands, lift it, and peck a long, sweet kiss against your forehead. It’s after he pulls away when he studies you, really studies you — sharp blue eyes taking in the heaviness of yours and those perpetual dark circles beneath them . . the ones that have never quite manage to fade no matter how much rest you get. Armin finds the feature of yours to be quite beautiful.
They soften you in ways difficult to explain — make your eyes appear bigger and expressive, leaving you to look like you’ve been pulled straight out of one of the world’s most prized, billion dollar paintings.
“Ain’t you jus’ a fuckin’ sight, hm?” he mumbles, voice low and rough as he brushes his thumb just beneath one of those shadows, noticing the way you’re leaning entirely into his touch without even realizing it.
A faint crease folds within the middle of his eyebrows. It isn’t an expression of concern . . more tender admiration.
“Feelin’ a little soft today, mm?”
Your answer is small, “Mhm.”
You hear movement within the kitchen — Jubie closing a cabinet as her footsteps walk towards the fridge.
“Miss Birch called me into town. Heater needs fixin’and honey bee’s comin’ along for the ride,” his voice is quiet as his thumb strokes against your cheekbone now. “Feel like joinin’ us or you stayin’ put today?”
You hesitate as you think about it.
Your fingers tighten around Lily, gaze dropping somewhere upon his chest as your lips part. You’ve never been on the farm alone, you all know that. And regardless of you feeling a little apprehensive at the thought, you answer him softly, “I think . . . I t-think I wanna stay.” You’re not in the particular headspace to be around others today. You don’t have enough fight in you to even try to be social.
Armin hums , . like he expected the answer, just as Jubie appears from the hall behind you while wiping her hands on the sides of the stockings she wears beneath a denim skirt. Her curls are spilling from a big bun she’s thrown them all into this morning. She looks pretty as her eyes widen the second she sees you and takes in your sweet gentleness this morning, “Gmorninnn’, lovie love. Still feelin’ sleepy?”
Faintly, you nod with a small, shy smile. Pouting a little, she steps closer and her fingers find the edge of your tiny shorts that she slightly pulls on while gently asking, “You not comin’ with us? . . Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “ ‘m sure.”
She’s still pouting, even while mumbling, “Okay. We won’t be long, promise.”
“You stay inside,” Armin adds, tone a bit firmer now as he picks up his tool box again. “Doors stay locked. You need somethin’, you call me.”
Once more, you nod, “Yes, sir.”
That earns you a kiss. A soft peck on the lips. “Atta girl.”
Jubie leans in after — pressing a longer one to them before she’s wrapping her arms around you for a hug. You melt into it, holding onto her and basking in the fresh, sweet scent of her perfume and favorite body butter before she pulls back. “Be good,” you whisper. She giggles, uttering back a small, “I’ll try.”
Then the both of them are walking out the door. You watch Armin lock each one as you already begin to feel the difference without them here. Everything feels bigger, quieter. Holding Lily to your chest, you stand there for a moment, listening to their footsteps fade, doors slam closed, truck engine start, then gravel crunch as it pulls away. It’s only after you don’t hear another single sound when you finally move.
Slow and aimless.
Although they had only just left, the difference in the vibe of the house is already so stark. Nothing about it feels particularly unsafe, just . . . hollow. Like the house lost a layer of warmth you didn’t know you relied so heavily on. Exhaling slowly, you stop at the base of the stairs and look up at them. “Okay . .” you whisper, voice floating within the stillness. You can’t just stand around all day.
You force your feet to carry you back up the stairs and down the hall, to the bedroom once more. The bed is still unmade — sheets rumpled and mattress indented where the three of you’d been laying. For a second, you just stare at it while recalling a few visions from only about five hours before. Jubie’s warmth, Armin’s stare, their fingers. Your face grows hot. You hadn’t known that that could feel so good. Previous experiences have all been so lackluster. The appeal in sex for you’d been greyed out for a long time. However, a new, beaming seed of hope has been planted within you.
You think about doing it again — about your fingers touching Jubie, grazing down the softness of her skin, squeezing, nails biting into it, the way she’d melt into you, let you melt into her, allow you to learn her without pulling away. Something in your tummy flips. But then you think about Armin . . . and you grow a bit shier at the thought of the large, burly blond. Last night had been enough to show you that he isn’t only authoritative, staid, and grounded in the daylight . . no, it all carries over beneath the moonlight, too. If anything, it all seems to deepen when everything slows down, when there’s nothing to busy or distract him.
He doesn’t rush or fumble or second guess.
Something about the way he watches you and Jubie, the way he moves, the way he is makes it clear that he’s in complete control of himself . . . and everything around him. Especially Jubie. Especially you.
You don’t think he’d be like Jubie in the sense of letting you do or even say whatever it is that you want. Everything about him tells you that he’d probably guide you . . slow you down a few times . . make you look at him. Make you understand what it is you’re asking for before letting you have it. He’d know what you’re feeling before you even have to say it and when you’re getting ahead of yourself. When to reel you back in or let you drift out a little further.
You don’t think you want to do whatever you want anyhow.
Not when it comes to him. The thought of being handled by him, entirely, settles a feeling that’s been frenzied and untamed inside of your chest for too long now. You want it, you realize. You need it.
Shaking your head to try to clear it empty, you set Lily down beside Babs on one of the dressers, prior to walking over to the bed to begin to make it. No more thoughts. You tell yourself to save it for your journal.
Getting dressed feels like a lot of effort. But, you do it anyway. A pale yellow dress, halter necked, and speckled with black polka dots all over . . and frilly ankle socks — something sweet and soft for a morning like this. You change in the bathroom, movements slow and a bit tired like your mind is still stuck somewhere between sleep and awake. And when you’re moisturized, perfumed, and dressed, the bathroom mirror greets you next. You take your time doing your hair, too. Detangle, part, brush, smooth, and clip back.
Finished.
You look pretty. You feel pretty when you step back outside of the bedroom, Lily back in your arm as you try to figure out something to do. Your growling stomach points you in the direction of the kitchen first, so you go. A bowl of cereal seems fitting enough. Nothing too heavy nor light. You sit at the table while you slowly eat, legs tucked up to your chest on the chair, one hand holding Lily close while the other lazily stirs your spoon within the sugar sweetened milk between bites. You don’t rush.
Time ticks on when you’re finished, bowl washed, and walking back to the living room to try to watch some TV while curled on the couch. For a while, you flip through a couple of channels, fighting to choose between watching a woman bake a sock it to me cake or catching up on the news. Eventually you settle on a cartoon, something light and easy, be that as it may, it doesn’t keep your attention for long. You stare out at the window behind Armin’s recliner, at the still gloomy skies and wind pushing through the trees. The wind chimes sing a pretty song together as your mind wanders.
Nothing to do.
It makes you sigh before you’re back up on your feet again, this time without Lily, as you go to walk down the opposite hall of the foyer. The one that leads to Armin’s office and the room that’ll be your shared playroom with Jubie. You slowly push open that door first, letting your eyes catch on the three pails of pink paint that sit in a corner, the tarp on the floor, built bookshelves, and rolled rugs. It’s coming together slowly but perfectly. A space just for you and her. The thought absolutely warms you. Soon. You give the room one last look before you turn towards Armin’s office door.
You’ve never set a single foot inside, you don’t know why. It isn’t an off limits space, just . . not talked about, really. Hand on the intricately carved brass knob, gently you turn it while slowly peeking your head in through the space the more it widens. It’s as expected. Large, dark wooden desk neat and tidy, creaky, rolling chair pushed in, file cabinets line one wall, wide shelves stretch upwards along the other, a few small windows. Taking the chance, you walk on over to his desk on your tip toes, biting on your nail while reading over a few papers he still has lying across it. Something about irrigation, crop yield estimates, and supplier negotiations.
There’s two contracts spread out where more negotiations seem to be taking place. You skim them a bit, mind easily becoming dizzy with numbers, routes, and names, before you stop yourself. What you’ve seen is enough but it all reads good. Everything’s stable.
You turn to leave, close the door behind yourself, and that’s when you notice it, hanging from the ceiling, about a foot away from the two doors you stand between — an attic string, faintly swaying with the waft of warm air that pushes in through the house through the vents. You pause and stare at it as your head tilts.
You didn't know the house had an attic.
Without much thought, you give a small jump, landing back on your feet with a soft grunt as soon as you get your hand wrapped around the string and then tug. The old, wooden ladder unfolds out three times with a tired groan until it settles into place with a heavy, dusty thud against the rug beneath your feet. You blink up at it, trying your best to peek up into the dark square that’s now visible in the ceiling but, nothing.
Hesitant at first, you eventually press your foot on that first step, listening for any loud creak before you begin to climb, higher and higher until the length of where you are between the floor frightens you a bit when you look down. The attic before you is larger than what you thought it’d be. The air is stale but warmer. With half your body through the opening, you look around at the old furniture covered in sheets, metal fans that you recognize were recently retired up here after summer ended, old boxes lining the slanted walls.
It appears to be mostly storage when you fully climb up and get your feet on the floorboards. Everything’s been meticulously organized to give one space to walk without bumping against anything. A regular ol’ attic. Right when you’d gone to retire back down the ladder is when you see it. A certain box, a white one, written on the front of it is ‘Jubilee’ in Armin’s pretty, cursive handwriting. Your interest is piqued. You move closer to it, expecting to see maybe some of her old clothes or even a collection of shoes, nonetheless, the sight of an old camcorder sitting on two dozen stacks of tapes confuses you.
Upon a closer look, you see that they’re all labeled and dated. ‘Baby’s First Rodeo - 8/20’ ‘Roughhousing During Dusk - 3/7’ ‘My Sweet Girl - 1/1.’ You walk your fingers along most of them, letting flashes of Jubie being recorded at a wild rodeo, smiling and giggling while watching people get thrown off a bull or play fighting with Armin in a field of grass cross your mind. You decide to watch one . . just out of curiosity.
‘Havin Some Ice Cream - 7/5’ is the tape you choose. It’s the newest one you think — the tape is a bit more cleaner than the rest, label not as faded. You hold it carefully in your hand as you climb back down the ladder, walk down the hall to the living room, and kneel down in front of the TV to change to input until the cartoon you were watching is replaced with a screen of static. Cautiously, you push the tape inside the VCR, listening to it click in place with a soft, mechanical thunk and something begins to whirl.
For a second, nothing happens.
You remain kneeling in front of the screen, hands folded loosely in your lap . . . then, static is washed out for an opening scene of the foyer. The lighting is bright, afternoon sun spilling in through the screen door and windows as the camera remains angled down at Armin’s moving boots. You hear his spurs jingle on them while he moves down the hall, clearing his throat all loud and gruff the way he always does before pushing open the door.
Then the camera lifts . . to Jubie, sitting on the porch swing, barefoot and in a pretty, yellow dress with one leg lifted to her chest, the other’s big toe softly pushing her back and forth as she eats vanilla soft serve off of a waffle cone. When she sees the camera, she suddenly grows a big smile.
“There’s my fuckin’ girl.”
Armin’s voice, crackling through the speakers of the television makes you shiver. “Look at you . . .” He mumbles through a small croon, walking closer to her.
Jubie looks beautiful. You stare, wide eyed and lips parted, watching Armin come to a halt, directly in front of her which leaves the camera’s lens pointed down and her having to look up at it, past it to see him. Her deep, brown eyes glimmer something bright as she mumbles, “What’s that for?”
“What’s what for?”
“Papa.”
You hear Armin chuckle and watch the camera jostle a bit, “C’mon, you know what it’s for, sweetheart . .” The lens lifts a bit higher, almost as if he wanted to catch the contrast between her pretty, little face and his dirty, dark washed jeans — his crotch directly within her eye view. Your heart begins to beat a little faster as you think . . . No, no. This can’t be that type of video. You doubt it and push the thought out of your mind. “Let Dad get a nice look at ya’ . . sittin’ out here all pretty.”
Without looking away from him, Jubie’s tongue laves over the swirl of her ice cream, painting pink with a stripe of creamy white. It should be an innocent action. Truthfully, you think it is but then, you listen to Armin’s voice grow a bit deeper, “Hmm . .” he hoarsely hums. “Tastes good?” And suddenly, you don’t think so anymore.
She slowly nods, dimples cratering as she tries to keep from smiling too big.
“Yeah?” The camera jounces again then you hear it, you watch his belt buckle come loose as he uses only a single hand to do it. Jubie tilts her head, eyes slowly lowering down his strong chest to his hips, watching him until his cock is lugged from over his briefs and zipper.
You slap your hands to your mouth as your eyes bulge out of your skull . . . for two reasons. This tape isn’t what you expected, not at all. And Armin’s cock . . isn’t what you expected neither. It’s bigger than you thought, fatter than you thought. Seven inches, maybe seven and a half, about as thick as the breadth of your wrist that tapers off to be a little bit smaller at the chubby head of it. Even through the lens of the camcorder, you see them, the handful of veins that throb beneath the thin skin. Surprisingly, it’s darker than the rest of him, nearly a dark, warm beige, sharply distinct from the neutral tan of his hand when he grabs the base with a few fingers and makes the head bounce upon Jubie’s lips.
“So gorgeous,” he murmurs. “I hear good daughters give their Dad kisses when he buys ‘em ice cream. You a good daughter, baby?”
Jubie pouts, “Mhm.”
“You sure?” Armin’s voice is soft. He speaks like he barely can over the amount of want that’s brewing inside of him. “Then where’s my kisses?”
She leans in closer and in doing so, it leaves his cock lying against her face, big and pretty. Your clit thumps at the sight before you hear a small smooch. She pulls back after and cheekily smiles, “There.”
Armin chuckles again, “Mm-mm, I don’t think that lil one’s enough.”
Jubie’s manicured fingers softly grab him at the halfway mark. It looks heavy and even more menacing within her hand. Curls dancing within the wind and framing her face, her eyes stare, right into the lens, into yours while she puckers up her glossy lips and gives a big, wet kiss to his tip. Your hands slowly fall from your mouth as a quivering breath pushes past your own. Enamored, you watch her kiss all over Armin’s fat, mesmerizing dick on a glitchy, forty inch screen, heart pounding, fingers trembling, and cunt beginning to drip. You see his fingers move out of frame before they’re back . . lathering Jubie’s ice cream over his length, more on the tip.
It must’ve been really hot that day because it’s already starting to drip milky droplets onto her cheeks and bridge of her nose.
“Lick it.”
No hesitation, Jubie’s wrapping her lips around his head and suckling at it first, eyes big as she stares up into his own, swallowing cold cream and pre cum into her throat. “Yeaahh,” Armin softly grunts, stepping closer and smearing some more across his cock. “This’s how you thank me . . This is how you’re gonna eat the rest of this damn ice cream, darl’.”
She doesn’t seem to have a problem with it as she happily swallows him down til about mid way. The sounds are . . vulgar. Her mouth, lips, and throat all working, the drool that starts to drip, Armin’s deep breathing and grunts. You watch how Jubie’s eyes grow a little bit more . . empty, a bit more dazed the longer it goes on. The porch’s floorboards chirrs beneath Armin’s weight. Those same wind chimes carol in the background. “Mm, fuck,” Armin mutters as he grabs her by the back of the head to suddenly firmly pull her in until her nose is nestled in the thatch of light brown pubes at his base. “There y’go, kid. There you fuckin’ go.”
Jubie chokes. The ice cream falls from her hand to the porch with a faint splat.
You’d been so into watching Armin pull her off, so into admiring the thick, foamy strings of cream and spit playing between her lolled out tongue and his dripping cock that you don’t hear truck doors slamming and footsteps walking up to the door. It’s only when you do hear Jubie sing out, “Lovieee, we’re baaaack!” when you squeak, slap your palms to your mouth, then hustle forward to try and punch your fingers as quick as you can against the stop button.
But they hear you.
Jubie’s eyes grow wide when she sees what’s playing on the television screen . . . a small smirk lifts Armin’s lips. He folds his arms, standing behind Jubie, and leans his shoulder against the threshold, watching the screen abruptly go black as the tape eventually comes sliding back out from the VCR slit. Nobody moves. No one says anything.
You remain kneeling there, spine pulled absurdly straight, listening for them . . but nothing. Nervously licking your lips, you slowly grab the tape, hold it in your lap, and without looking at them, murmur, “I’m sorry.” Your voice is thin and quiet. “I wasn’t . . I didn’t . . .” You can’t find the words. Your brain is moving too quick. “It won’t happen again. ‘m sorry.”
Still nothing at first.
Then you hear movement. Armin. His footsteps, heavy and slow, grow closer to you until you see them settle in your peripheral but you don’t move an inch. Not yet.
“You were snoopin’.”
It isn’t a question. He says it bluntly. You slowly nod anyway.
“Hm.” He scratches at the scruff on his jaw, looking down at you . . at the tape in your hands. You listen to his bones pop as he lowers down into a crouch with a small groan before grabbing the tape from your fingers. You immediately let go of it. He’d only gotten a peek of what had been playing on the TV but he knows his own dick from a mile away. You listen to him turn the plastic over within his hands, read the label, “. . Yeah, ‘s a good one,” he mutters, almost to himself as his thumb brushes along the edge. “Not my favorite of me and ‘er, though. Think that seat belongs to February third. Jubilee in the Sun.”
Behind you both, Jubie shifts her weight, eyes unable to pull away from you now that the shock is starting to slowly ebb away. Curiosity and something inexplicably soft dances across her expression when Armin shifts his gaze on over to her . . then back at you. You’re like a statue — refusing to move, to say anything, when he properly takes you in, he can see that it’s something you must’ve trained yourself to do when high pressured situations like these arise. Go small, go quiet.
“Y’gonna look at me, young lady,” he says, voice calm but firm.
You flinch. Not very noticeable, but he catches it anyway.
Then your chin lifts slowly. Your eyes, big and teary, find his and he clicks his tongue, low and quietly, letting you watch his hand come up slow to grab you by the chin and keep you there. “Ain’t no need for all this, y’jus got curious is all.”
Softly, you nod as your chin trembles. His heart squeezes.
He nods with you, “ ‘s alright,” he utters. “We ain’t mad at chu, are we, honey bee?”
“No,” Jubie shakes her head, honest as a scout. “ ‘s okay.”
“Yeah,” his thumb brushes a tear away when it comes trickling down your cheeks. The pad of his thumb lingers on the apple of it, stroking back and forth just barely as you breathe in a shaky breath then slowly blow it out. He watches you closely, blue eyes penetrating and captivating—
“Baby girl,” he says, tone shifting towards Jubie without tearing them away from you. “Go grab that camcorder f’me.”
Your heartbeat skips.
She pauses, only for a second. Then chirps a soft, “Okay,”before moving.
You hear her footsteps fade down the hall where you know the ladder’s already waiting for her to climb. Armin’s hand slips from your cheek, but he doesn’t move away. He remains crouching there, just enough in your space to have your gaze locked on nothing but him. “Y’like it?”he eventually asks.
Breath caught in your throat, you only lift your brows before he clarifies with his face handsome and even, voice steady, “This tape. You liked watchin’ it?”
You hesitate . . . before you nod. “. . Y-Yes, sir.”
Something unreadable flickers across his expression — not surprised or even satisfaction. Something . . else. Every hair on your body rises. “Mm.” His tongue briefly presses against his cheek as he softly nods and studies you. When he speaks again, it’s while he straightens back up to his full height, voice deeper this time, “ ‘m gonna make one of you, too.”
Jubie’s already returning from the hall, camcorder held carefully between her hands like she’d already been taught to hold it like such before. Her eyes flicker between the two of you, the way you’re still kneeling, Armin not too far away from you. A bud of excitement sprouts from within her as she settles the camera into Armin’s outstretched hand, watching him turn it once within his grip, then reach up to pull his white, felt, Stetson hat from off of his head and place it upon the living room table.
He takes in the dress you wear, your hair, how quick your chest rises and falls and the way your hands fight to settle. He smirks. “You ain’t gotta be nervous.”
As much as his tone keeps your emotions stable, you find that there’s a hint of a tease to it too.
The camcorder lifts to his eye. He gives no warning when he presses the button to begin recording. You listen to the lens focus on you and swallow, knowing that you’re now being seen in a way that feels different from ever before. “You’re not in trouble. Ain’t nothin to be scared of,” he mumbles, eye fixed on you through the glass. “. . Stand up for me, beautiful.”
Gradually, you do. You rise onto your feet beneath his, the camcorder, and Jubie’s attention, watching him pull the eyecup away and hold the camera at his chest. “My goodness,” he mumbles, looking at you beneath his lashes as he steps in closer, wanting the lens to catch on the swell of your tits, sitting up full within the plunged neckline of your dress and the seemingly miles of soft, precious brown skin. “Jus’ a sight for sore eyes, aren’t you.”
Cheeks hot, you watch him look towards Jubie, “Her dress, baby girl.”
Sh bites down on a smile, walking on over to stand behind you. “ ‘s okay, right?” She whispers, fingers already thumbing with the bow you tied behind your neck as though she simply can’t help herself. With barely a pause, you nod. You feel her fingertips brushing against your skin as she slowly unties it, leaving the fabric of your dress to loosen bit by bit until it ultimately pools at your socked feet. You remained clothed in nothing but them and a pair of white, ruffly underwear, printed with little, pink hearts all over. “Beautiful,” Armin murmurs, forcing the lens to capture the curves of your body — flare of your hips, meat of your thighs. Your soft tummy, arms, legs, shoulders. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, good Lord.”
Jubie can’t help herself. You feel her fingers slide between the hem of your panties at your hips and she slowly crouches as she pulls them down. Reflexes make you want to cover yourself.
Armin clicks his tongue — once and firm. “Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. You slowly rest your arms back at your sides. Jubie pushes your dress and undies away from your feet. Then her hands are at your calves, pushing up, up, up, until they’re on the plush cheeks of your ass, squeezing.
Rounding behind you, Armin soon mutters, “Bend over for me, doll. Let Dad see that pretty, lil flower a’yours.”
You mewl, timid and shy, as you slowly bend at your waist, letting your hands fall flat against the table and legs spread just the tiniest bit wider.
“Spread ‘er.”
Jubie’s fingers are pulling your cheeks opened and you hear them both breathe out a deep breath. Your body’s shaking, you realize. All over. Nervousness isn’t a word that can even begin to explain what you are. You look behind you, “D-Don’t stare.”
The lens draws in closer.
“Fuck,” Armin grunts out. Your pussy is covered in soft, dark curls of silk. He guesses that video of him and Jubie must have really gotten you riled up because thick webs of slick are gathered at your entrance, glueing your lips together and turning some of those curls into more waves. But, it isn’t even just that.
The both of them had felt it last night — your clit. Fat and hard.
Seeing it, is a different story. It’s chubbier than the average, definitely. Round and a rosy brown. Jubie wants to suck on it. Her eyes grow foggy as she hones in on the plump bead, slowly lifting her hand to pull open your lips and get a better look. “Cunnie’s so pretty, sissy,” she pouts at the sight of glimmering pink and your tiny, flexing hole.
Armin knows what his girls want. What they both need.
He takes a step away. “On the couch,” he tells you. “Lay down. Let your sister have a taste at you, doll.”
Jubie gives a happy, little squeak. Mind drawing fuzzy, you can only obey — laying down against the couch, opening up your legs, and watching her crawl between them. “J . . Jubie.” You feel shy. Especially when she’s looking up at you, sparkly eyed and needy . . like your pussy in her mouth has been all she’s been wanting for so long. “ ‘m probably not as good at this as Papa,” she blushes, hands squeezing at your thighs. “B-But ‘ll do m’best. Pinkie promise.”
You let out a deep breath, blood pumping with adrenaline. No, something at the back of your brain says. Jubie won’t.
Her mouth inches closer.
She won’t.
But then you feel it . . her lips around your clit, her tongue.
Your eyes slam closed and a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before comes crawling out from your throat. You keen, high and soft, toes curling within your socks as she sucks . . hard. Armin gives an approving hum, capturing it all on camera — Jubie’s tongue wagging on your clit, your stomach shuddering, voice breaking.
You feel the muscle swirl around and ‘round on the fat and tender bead and impulsively reach out for her hand, interlacing your fingers through hers, squeezing it when her tongue dips lower to press up against your hole where slick begins to trickle from, sweet and salty. “Yeah,” Armin breathes, zooming in on your hairy, little pussy and Jubie’s nose pressed up against your curls. “My goodness, aren’t you two jus’ fuckin’ precious.”
She suckles up every droplet of juice your pussy produces, ringlets falling from her bun across her forehead, some blocking her eyesight, yet she doesn’t push them away. She’s much too enraptured with your cunt in her mouth — sucking at it. Your warmth on her tongue, smearing across her upper lip and the round tip of her nose until all she sees, smells, feels, and hears is you.
Incessantly, you squirm. Your moans are shaky and your mouth pops opened around a pool of drool, “Oh, p-please . .” you whimper, back arching. “Ngh, G-Gosh, Jubie. S’so good.”
You hear her breathe out a happy purr, tongue slowly pushing into the entrance of your dewy cunt to only pull it out, then ease it back in, fucking you with it, sweet and deep. Eyes rolling back into your skull, your fingernails bite into her knuckles as you toss your head back. It feels so good. “Mhm,” you whimper, hips lifting to deliriously roll your pussy along the plane of her tongue. “Mhmmmm.”
Jubie can’t take it. Mindlessly, she slides her fingers down the front of her skirt, into her stockings and panties. The mess her fingers are met with between her legs makes the color on her cheeks grow darker. Armin draws the lens up to your mouth where he dips his fingers into, muffling your sounds into weak garbles. “Tell ‘er thank you,” he coo’s, deep and low as he pushes them in til the ring at your throat. “Let your sister know how good she’s makin’ that sweet, lil pussy feel.”
“T. . T’tanmk you,” you mewl around his digits, teary eyes looking down into hers. “Mmph . . ngh, t-tha’k you, sissy.”
Armin hums, pulling his fingers away to give two, short, firm pats to your face. “Such good manners,” he whispers. “And what do you say to a thank you, honey bee?”
Around her wet mouth full, Jubie trills, “Y’welc’me.”
“Yeah,” he drifts his touch down your chest to a tit to squeeze at it. “Raisin’ two, polite, lil girls, ain’t I? Doin’ so good, both a’you.”
You squeak with he pinches at the small nub of your nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, adds a little bit of pressure, lightly tugs at it. Tiny bubbles of spit trickle down your perineum to your asshole. It shocks you to feel Jubie’s tongue following them — licking it with broad, slow strokes. You feel so dizzy. Overcome with so much ardor and want that it’s twisting your tongue. “You tell me when you cum,” Armin orders as you hear the familiar, metallic clank of his belt buckle undoing. “That’s how this goes. You tell Dad when that flower a’yours is drippin’ into ‘er mouth.”
Breathlessly nodding, you watch him move.
The camera is retired to the table, angled just perfect enough to have you and Jubie caught within frame. Armin falls to his knees behind Jubie, hands hooked within her bottoms, tugging them all off and carelessly tossing them somewhere he could care less about as he pulls his cock out from between the flaps of his zipper. You can’t see much . . not really from this angle, but you watch his hair brush against his jaw as he lowers his chin, his big, muscled arm pump a few times, then his lip get bitten over with his teeth when he presses a hand flat between Jubie’s back dimples before pushing inside of her.
Your clit is released from her lips with a loud, slick pop. The side of her face falls onto your inner thigh, eyebrows furrow, and plush, satiny lips pout around a whiny moan as he bottoms out within one, smooth thrust. “D-Dad, ohm’God—”
“—Keeeep those legs open, keep ‘em open. That’s right.”
Dreamily blinking, eyes unfocused, the buttons of Armin’s shirt are unfastened by him, one by one as he sits there within Jubie, cock entirely enveloped within her warmth, unmoving. What seems like miles of carved, tanned, hairy skin is revealed to you. There’s nothing soft about him, not a single thing. A thin, gold chain dangling a small cross against the dark hair that’s dusted across the muscles of his pecs catches most of your attention. Only because you’ve never noticed it before. It shifts slightly with each breath he takes, clearly made to be worn simply rather than shown off.
“Thought I taught you better than that, sweetheart,” he soon drawls at the scene in front of him, eyes locked on your silken, throbbing pussy. Even at rest, there’s weight to him. “Some’n sweet sittin’ in front of you an’ you sittin’ there like you don’t know what to do with it.”
Eyes wide and apologetic, Jubie mewls a soft, “ ‘m s-sorry,”as she kisses your clit. “I’m sorry.”
Armin doesn’t start moving until he sees her lips wrapped back around it. Each initial thrust is slow . . deep. Delicately, you brush Jubie’s hair back from her face, watching her eyes shyly close as she does her best to keep licking at the bulging bud of your clit and pushing her tongue inside your hole. Then, Armin racks up a nice, steady rhythm, rock hard dick driving forward into the soft, inviting cushions of her walls, leaving her mouth falling open to pant warm, hard breaths against your cunt.
You feel her fingers dig into the skin of your thighs as she fights to hold onto a meager thread of awareness. She sounds how you always dreamed she would — not a lot of words from her but so many sounds. Hiccups, whines, heavy breathing, and sweet yelps. “Hng. Ngh. Hng. Pa . . Papa, please, please, please—“
“—Get that pretty, lil mouth back on y’sister’s pussy, Jubilee,” he grits while swatting a thick smack to one of her bouncing ass cheeks. “You cum when she does.”
The incentive is enough for Jubie to pull your hips closer, burying her mouth back in your cunt and every thought rushing through your head melts away. You feel Armin’s eyes trailing between you both, admiring the jiggling orbs of Jubie’s ass before they’re lifting up to your face to watch your mouth choke out cute moans of bliss. His girls. So good. You both are so good, he doesn’t even know where to begin on it.
It all settles somewhere deep within his chest — a glowing though quiet type of pride that he doesn’t voice very often yet carries all the same. Jubie, soft and bright, always reaching, always feeling everything so openly. And you . . a little more careful and hesitant but just as sweet in your own way. You’re still learning. Opening yourself up. Trying your best.
You both are something he would have never expected to have. Not in this lifetime. But now that you’re both here, bridged together through pleasure he’s instilling, he doesn’t revel in it lightly.
“Papa,” you mewl and shift your hips this way and that. Armin looks down, using his thumbs to spread Jubie’s cheeks apart to get a better look at sticky strings of slick that’s beginning to thicken at his base. Always gets so wet, so fast this one.
“Hm?” He huffs, eyes dark as he pins you there with his stare, pace never halting. “What is it, baby doll? Tell me.”
Jubie’s middle finger is at the hole of your pussy. She pushes it in nice and slow, blinking up at you beneath thick, long lashes. Not long after arrives her ring and together she shifts them about, searching for that little button that always manages to turn her brain off when Armin gets his own fingers on it and . . lo and behold, when she feels that clump of nerves angled near the roof of your pussy, your nose does that familiar wrinkle and your hands curl into little fists within the couch cushions.
Armin breathes out a small chuckle, “Mmmm, good fuckin’ job,” he whispers to Jubie, palming the back of her head and pushing her mouth deeper inside your folds. “Wanna see you swallow it. Lick up every single drop, understand me?”
Breathless, Jubie nods. She was going to do that anyhow, but Armin’s instruction always makes it a bit more better. Your entire body goes catatonic . . and you barely make a single sound when you cum this time around. Armin hears it — the squelching of Jubie’s fingers working inside your cunt, mingling just barely beneath the louder, more deafening symphonies of his hips slapping up against her ass, heavy balls knocking on her clit. Contentedly, she swallows the gift of your release as it washes out upon her tongue, thick and musky. She even goes the extra mile to spread the fingers that are still inside you nice and far apart to dig it in between them for a more deeper, richer mouthful.
You begin to twitch. Your trembling thighs attempt to close as you squirm beneath her touch. “J-Jubie,” you gasp her name, tears of mind shattering pleasure dripping towards your temples. “Jubie, no more. No more, no more—“
She ignores you. Lips pull at your clit, fingers rub at your g spot, warm breaths tumble down to your winking asshole as your pussy continues to convulse and push out more and more rivulets of frosted cum.
“Oh my God,” you sob and arch your back upwards, muffling any more of your sounds into the pillow behind you as you go to squeeze at her free hand for mercy.
“Breathe.”
Armin’s voice is hard.
“Both a’you. Breathe.”
Jubie’s head is snagged away from between your legs. You pant, watching her lick her lips with a spacey grin on her face — looking similar to a puppy who’s recently gotten a taste of one of her favorite treats, brain now foggy as she whines for another. But then, Armin’s suddenly, firmly pushing her down . . side of her face against the rug as he picks up a mean, hard rhythm. Their skin meets for thick fwop fwop fwops as Jubie squeaks, arm still raised, holding your hand, letting Armin beat her pussy into a sloppy, little pulp. “Don’t get to actin’ up, girl,” Armin grumbles. “You listen when I tell y’lil ass somethin’.”
Soundlessly, she nods. Similar to you, she says not a word, barely even makes a sound when you hear her cunt squirt out jets of her cum around Armin’s dick. The crotch of his jeans dampen as stray droplets jump from between where their bodies meet come each thrust as each spurt seems to only grow more forceful the longer time ticks on. Mellowly, Armin drones out a deep hum, rolling his hips to better help her ride it out as her body shakes between his hands. “There it is,” he sighs when she finally breathes out a shaky sob. “Looked like that one felt real good, baby.”
Weakly, Jubie nods, “ S-So good, Dad,” she whimpers, body still quivering. “Y . . You make m’feel so g-good.”
Charmingly smiling, Armin leans down to press soft, tender kisses up the length of her spine. “You gon’ watch me make y’sister feel good, too?”
“Mhmm.”
The sweetest, little thing she is. “Alright, now. C’mon.”
He pulls out of her, languid and careful, admiring the moment when her walls release his head with a cute, bratty pop. Unsurprising. Needy, little hole just doesn’t want to let him go sometimes. Before moving onto you, he takes the camera from off of the table, letting the lens admire Jubie’s still arched, twitchy frame. He pulls it down to get between her legs — the pearls of liquid slowly dripping down her inner thighs, pulsing clit, hole still somewhat gaped around the absent length of him. “Pretty as a peach.”
Back onto the table it goes, he pulls Jubie up into his arms with a kiss to her forehead and lies her down on the chaise lounge of the couch.
You watch him with bated breath, eyes tracking his every movement — him pushing his jeans, briefs, and boots off, leaving him damn near barren as the day he was born. His expression is unreadable, but you know that his brain is churning, working and settling on a decision, as he finally makes his way towards you. You don’t know what you really expected, but it isn’t him suddenly lifting you, easily lifting you, with only one arm holding you steady within the air to grab a cushion from behind you, lay it flat, then you on top of it.
Your breath is pushed out of you in a cute puff of shock as you blink up at him, wide eyed, as he settles between your legs. The movement had been so quick, so effortless. Staring at his biceps, you swallow just as he grabs his base to give a few, hard taps to your clit with his cockhead. The both of your lips are parted, eyes locked between your legs, watching the fat, round bead tremble between each one. “Never seen a clit like this on such a small, lil thing like you.”
Blushing, you cover your face with a shy whine. “ ‘s it . . bad?”
Armin slowly shakes his head, blue eyes absolutely gleaming behind his easy expression, “Naw, not at all,” he utters. “ ‘s precious.”
You feel his tip at your hole . . gently pressing at it. Over and over and over again. His face doesn’t change. He remains staring at you as he does, watching your eyebrows furrow in and bottom lip jut out at the simple feeling. Oh, you’re so pretty. So, so pretty.
“Want it?”
Biting your bottom lip, you slowly nod while gazing up into his eyes, unblinking. Armin’s lips quirk. “Mm? . . You gon’ beg this old man for it?”
You’re so shy. Cheeks warm, you don’t say a word or even give a gesture, but your hand slides down . . you wrap your fingers around his base, giving his still, wet shaft, courtesy of Jubie’s orgasm, a nice, firm stroke before you begin leading it inside. Armin pulls back, shaking his head. “Mm-mm,” he softly says. “You be a big girl and use y’words. Ask if you can have it.”
You whine, huffing and puffing, “D-Dad, please?”
He faintly smiles, head nodding, “You got it,” he drawls. “Lemme hear ya.”
It’s either this . . or going the entire rest of the day, empty and aching. You know that he’ll do it — tell you to put your dress back on, maybe even send you outside to do some chores, bring you back in the house, have you watch some tv then start on dinner. The simple thought is enough to have your usual inhibitions shatter. You can’t survive that. Not when his cock is right here, needy for you just as much as you are for it. “Can I have it?” you whimper, hips shifting. “Please, Papa? Please, lemme have it?”
“Mmmmm,” Armin groans, eyes growing heavy. “Ask if I can put it inside . . Beg Dad to break this lil pussy in.”
Your hole clenches at his words, pushing out a glob of slick. “Pretty please,” you shakily breathe, voice thick with too much want. It’s radiating off of your body, you think. “Put it inside me, Papa? . . Break m’pussy in.”
“My God.”
Armin slowly presses in, bit by bit. Doesn’t halt for a second, even as you tense and go to press your hands at his torso, he still keeps on sliding in til he’s home. You begged for it so you’ll take it all. The folds of your pussy divide, leaving your plump, round clit exposed to his eyes. He listens to you squeak out the second his balls are pressed flat up against your asshole and he leans forward, caging you in within his body, lips pressed against your forehead to breathe you in when he ever so slowly begins to rotate his hips . . grinding his cock within the hot, fleshy walls of your cunt.
Your eyes feel like they’re crossing.
“Ungh!”
It’s the only sound you’re able to make. He’s so deep . . so impossibly deep. You never thought it’d be possible for anyone to reach where he is inside of you. “ ‘s okay,” you hear Jubie whisper against your ear. She intertwines her fingers back within the spaces yours and you look to your right to see her face lying right beside your own, tiny smile on her lips. “It’ll start feelin’ real good in a minute.”
His hips pull back.
No amount of anticipation is enough to prepare you for when he glides back in, smooth and easy. It feels like your breath is knocked out of you. “Oh my. . G-God.”
Gruffly, he mumbles, “ ‘s okay, sweet girl. You’re okay.”
Your juices dribble out from around his dick with each following thrust. Your muscles start to loosen, your body relaxes.
“Oh my God,” is heard again — this time softer, more saturated in pure rapture.
Jubie kisses the back of your hand, watching your facial muscles grow idle and mouth fall open when Armin’s rhythm becomes a bit more steady. She remembers how he felt sliding inside of her that very first time too. Made her think she was getting split in half. Howbeit, she thinks it’s just something painful to get through before the irrefutable pleasure hits and renders your body damn near immobile. She knows you’re feeling it now . . because you can barely talk. You’re barely even breathing.
“Ooh,” Armin exhales as his eyes close. “F-Fuck. Give Dad his pussy, sweetheart.”
Your mind is blank. Drawn completely empty. You feel Armin stamping a line of scruffy, sweet kisses down your temple, side of your face, to your neck, but all you can do is hold onto him with an arm hooked beneath his, fingernails clawing into his shoulder when he builds up a momentum. The coolness of his chain brushes within the valley of your bouncing tits once he gets a grip on the cushion below your head for better stability and pushes your legs open wider, fitting himself better between them to dig his dick in as deep as it could go.
You’re squeaking, you realize. Each plap of his hips pushes out a short, high pitched cry from your throat.
“Armin,” you sob his name, feeling him shake his head in reply.
“Mm-mm, baby,” he hums. “Now you know you girls don’t call me that. Address me proper.”
Your responding whimper is weak once he pulls himself back a bit to get a thumb on your clit, “Papa.” He carefully nods in reply while rubbing stiff circles on it. You feel like you’re simultaneously being broken into and mended back together.
From his position, now kneeled above you — Armin takes the picture in. Both yours and Jubie’s gorgeous, naked bodies, frizzed hair, and cloudy eyes. Your tits jumping upon your chest with each shove of his meaty, freckled cock inside the delve of your cunt, how the two of you hold hands. Jubie whispers something to you, eyes bright and a smile pulling up her lips. Whatever she says makes your eyes roll back into your skull and pussy react — your walls clamp down on him, nice and tight, and it leaks out a sudden wave of slick, trickles down Armin’s base and drips to his balls.
“How lucky am I . .” he says within a grunt. Two, pretty girls. Two, pretty, perfect fucking girls, all his, til the end of time. “How fuckin’ lucky am I.”
You feel so good. Borderline too good. You take the chance at looking down between where your bodies meet . . watching murky cream paint his cock with streaks. You feel and hear his sagging though fleshy ballsack clapping up against the split of your ass cheeks, loud and obnoxious. “Want Dad to cum in you?” Jubie hums as she rolls on her stomach to swing her legs in the air. “You gotta ask him real nice.”
Weakly though frantically nodding, you feel tears blurring your eyes when Armin gives a tilt upwards to your hips which allows the head of his cock to knock nearly right up against the nugget of your g spot. Not directly, no, it’s like he knows that that’d be entirely too much for you. But it’s . . right there. You feel like you’re going to pass out.
“C’mon, sissy, tell him,” Jubie whimpers as she pushes her face into your neck to kiss it. More timidly she soon admits against the shell of your ear, “W-Wanna lick it outta you.”
Drool drips past your lips. “Dad, cum in me,” you plead, voice warbly and needy. “Please, please . . please, cum in me.”
Armin huffs a short chuckle, leaning back over the both of your faces, “Mm?” He grunts. “Yeah, you want that . . . ? Or is your sister bein’ a bad influence on you, baby doll?”
You want it. “W-Wan’ it.”
You feel him grab you by the backs of your knees. It shocks you to feel him pushing them . . up, up, up, until your knees are nearly pressed into your shoulders. He adjusts himself too — pulls his legs up underneath him, gets situated more on his toes, then begins to drop his dick inside of your squelching cunt, over and over. Jubie feels your hand crawl up the back of her head. You squeeze at her curls, leaving her with no choice but to lean in and smack a sloppy kiss to your lips. She swallows your spit, letting you pant into her mouth as she wraps her lips around your tongue for an icky suckle. Both of your drool smears along your chins.
“Do I taste good?” She softly asks when she pulls away. You look absolutely gone, nevertheless you nod with a whimper,“T-Taste so sweet, sissy.”
“Wanna taste m’pussy?”
“Yeah.”
Your vision is bleary, but you watch her hand slide down her lithe though shapely body. It’s gone for a few seconds but when it’s back, her fingers are coated in a thin layer of her juices. You turn your head to suckle the middle two within your mouth and it’s as you’re swallowing her taste within the back of your throat when you suddenly cum with a quivering whimper.
Armin feels you clenching. Your walls lock down on him tight before they’re slowly relaxing then locking down on him again as your pussy continues to cast out thick, creamy billows of cum. Rhythmically, he groans out through his nose with each one, dropping himself in deep to apply well needed friction to your clit with the sheet of pubes above his cock. He feels the tightening in his balls. He’s been holding on for too long. “Ain’t cummin’ in ya’,” he breathes out. “Not today.” He needs to see it on you. The both of you.
Therefore, he suddenly pulls out, snatches the camera from off of the table and stands. Pointing the lens down at the both of your pretty, little faces, he fists his dripping wet cock with a tight hand and starts to jerk himself off, swift and firm. “Look at Dad, sweethearts,” he croons. “Gimmie a smile.”
It’s when you both do, all sweet and gorgeous, when the first shot of his cum ejects from his head and shoots out onto the both of your faces. He groans, guttural and quiet, as he beats the rest of them out, ass clenching, toes curling within the rug as he paints the both of your faces — cheeks, lips, and nose — absolutely white. “Good girls, so f-fuckin good. My God . . got t-this old man absolutely smitten.”
Jubie reaches up first. She grabs him by the base, staring up at him beneath her lashes as she suckles his tip between her lips to swallow those last, few beads of his sperm down her throat. He isn’t held within her mouth for long because she soon releases him with a thick pop and angles it more your way. Cum drips across your faces, drying quickly as you lean it to do the same. The camera catches it all — the cum, the kisses, the hearts that dance within the both your sets of eyes when you look up at him then at each other while tongue kissing his tip together.
