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@romanticpursuit
SUE ME I WANNA BE WANTED!
⋆˙✶ ݁ nara, she, her, twenty, bi, salvadoreña. i love older men and women. writing about them is my specialty.
this blog is 18+. minors dni !!
requests are open
currently writing for… jack abbot, andrew 'pope' cody .
accepting requests for … jack abbot, pope cody, clark kent, ellie williams, trinity santos | writing prompt request
my complicated masterlist
e.w masterlist
✶ jack abbot !!
started a new ssri and is a side effect not feeling motivated to write or
sorry for no roadblock chapter
andrew cody is so pretty little birds by sza
oh wowwwww i’m wettttt
sneak peek of roadblock chap 6 😝😝😝😝
homecoming
pairing: andrew “pope” cody x reader
content: pope and reader are in highschool | pope has a fat crush on reader | baz being his usual wacky self | bullying | angst with comfort | poor pope just wanted to impress you | happy ending
🟡 author’s note: this was inspired by that one unreleased ethel cain song that’s trending… i was going to make it completely angsty, but i had to give andrew a happy ending
—
“…what the fuck is that for?” baz barked out, amused by the half-finished poster that sat in the middle of pope’s bedroom.
pope instinctively moved to hide it from his pestering step-brother, but it was too late as baz stepped in, swiftly grabbing the poster board from his grasp.
“will you go to…” baz began to read out aloud, “oh, pope, don’t tell me you’re planning on asking that girl to the dance…” he cooed condescendingly.
pope stiffened, his jaw clenched tightly as baz teased him. “put it down,” he mumbled, biting down the sense of humiliation that always followed after baz’s words.
“alright, alright… no need to get yourself worked up,” he scoffed, carelessly setting it down.
pope let out a relieved huff the second baz left the room, moving to lock his bedroom door before carefully smoothing out the creases that his brother left. he looked down at the poster, his eyes glazing over the colorful letters.
he had been planning to ask you to the homecoming dance for the past few weeks. he even strung julia into it, asking for her guidance and girlish opinion when it came to preparing his homecoming proposal.
sure, he felt incredibly out of place; even borderline foolish for attempting to craft something like this.
but he wanted to do it for you.
he wanted to be someone charming, someone who could impress you, similar to the male leads of the romcoms you adored watching. that reason alone was why pope spent the rest of his night locked away in his room as he finished up the poster, obsessively making sure that every detail was executed just as he planned.
you two had met in science class. your teacher had assigned you as lab partners for the semester at the beginning of the school year. initially, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at not being paired with one of your friends, but pope had turned into a pleasant surprise. despite your peers warning you of pope’s unsettling demeanor, the two of you collaborated well, and eventually it gave way into an easy friendship. it was something that pope held protectively, especially when everyone seemed to prefer baz over him. besides you, there were only two other people in the school who would tolerate his company.
once the day to ask you to the dance finally arrived, he spent the whole class watching you with butterflies flooding his stomach. each time you’d flash him an easy smile or make eye contact with him, he’d feel the mix of nerves and anticipation worsen as the time ticked past.
the bell rung for the final time, dismissing students for the day. pope hurriedly rushed downstairs, his feet carrying him to his locker. “do you… would you want to go to the dance with me?” he muttered to himself, practicing the grand question as he opened his locker.
he reached for the poster and bouquet of crochet flowers he carefully prepared, before heading towards the lobby where he requested you to wait.
as he rounded the corner, he didn't see baz and his football friends waiting, grinning as they prepared to spring their trap. before pope could even take a step towards your direction, the group ambushed him, catching him completely off guard.
he felt his shirt become wet, drenched and slimy with a sharp, pungent smell.
“holy shit, i can’t believe you were actually planning to ask her,” baz scoffed, cracking up at the sight of pope holding the items.
the other guys followed suit, thinking his efforts were some kind of joke.
pope shifted slightly, his heart pounding out of his chest as he felt the halls close in on him.
he felt ridiculous and humiliated, the buzzing in his ears blocking out their continued remarks until something else hit the side of his face.
he looked down, realizing it was a discarded frog leg from the dissection earlier that day.
shit, how was he supposed to face you when he had animal guts splattered over him?
when the poster he had prepared now reeked of formalin?
would you laugh at him as well?
what if he accidentally embarrassed you by asking?
what if this entire time, you had been tolerating him out of sheer politeness?
“it’s bad enough she’s stuck with a nutjob like you. i heard mr. smith had to assign her as your partner because no one else wanted to volunteer,” one of them snickered.
pope couldn’t bear it anymore, quickly turning to rush away from the obnoxious bunch. his vision was too tunneled to realize that he had ran past you in the hall, your brows furrowed at the sight of his distress. he faintly heard you calling his name as he left the building, not realizing that you had picked up the discarded poster and flowers.
pope was thankful that the following day was saturday, at least then he’d be able to hide away from everyone, especially from baz.
he wanted to wring his brother’s neck for orchestrating something like that, but his embarrassment kept him cooped up in his room, not moving an inch even after craig and deran’s attempts to invite him to the skate park.
he only slipped out of the cody compound when he knew nobody would notice, his feet dragged as he walked to the cathedral, the only safe place that he had left. as he reached the entrance, his eyes spotted you seated on the steps.
he almost turned around and fled until he heard your voice, “andrew, wait!”
you were sweating slightly from waiting on the steps for hours, your hands holding onto the poster board and flowers.
“i knew you’d show up,” you sighed happily, flashing him a small smile.
he stiffened as you stopped right in front of him, awkwardly glancing around before his eyes uncomfortably settled on your face. he swallowed nervously, his mouth feeling incredibly dry as he watched you hold up the crochet bouquet.
“you… made these for me? to ask me to homecoming?” you asked.
he gave you a brief nod, his fingers drumming against the side of his thigh. “…it’s a gift. my sister told me that you’d like it,” he mumbled.
that earned him a wider smile from you, your eyes lighting up.
he cleared his throat, before replying, willing himself to speak a little louder. “i’m not going anymore,” he clarified, the sound of their teasing laughter still ringing in his ears. “you… you should go with someone else.”
“…well we don’t have to go to the school dance. we can just do our own thing,” you suggested. “i didn’t really wanna go anyways. it’s just gonna be a bunch of sweaty teenagers packed into the gym,” you shrugged.
pope’s brows furrowed, the thought of you choosing to spend time with him rather than attending a special event seemed out of reach.
“oh! how about the science museum? it’ll be open late if we go on a friday night…” you continued, rambling on and on about other potential options, other things that included you spending time with him.
pope quietly stared at you, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in reality. he had been ready to crawl into a hole and never come out, but now, you were standing right in front of him, casually pitching a night at the museum as if it were the most obvious choice in the world.
“the science museum?” he repeated, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders.
“yeah! unless, you think looking at fossilized bones and learning about our solar system is too lame for a friday night?” you teased.
a tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of pope’s lips. “i heard they’re also opening a new wing for exotic bugs and insects,” he informed.
“so… is that a yes?” you asked softly, leaning in slightly, your eyes searching his. “andrew, i never cared about the dance. i just wanted to go with you,” you added, sensing his hesitation.
the lingering sting of embarrassment finally vanished, replaced by something warmer, something steady fluttering in his chest. his drumming fingers went still against his leg. he looked down at the handmade gift in your hands, then back up at your face, realizing you meant every word.
“yeah,” he said, a shy, but genuine smile breaking across his face. “…i’d really like that.”
without thinking, you reached out and gently squeezed his wrist. “it’s a date, then.”
pope felt his cheeks heat up, but for the first time all week, he didn’t mind at all. “it’s a date,” he agreed.
this is so cute im crying
i lowkey have the entire chapter 6 of roadblock planned yet haven’t written it because i have no motivational bone in my body right now. someone tell me to hurry or something. bully me idk.
a little rant. i absolutely hate living in texas for many reasons. one being the drivers. i was just given anxiety meds because i have bad driving anxiety — also just sitting in the car anxiety LOL. i will be the passenger driver because i genuinely get so scared at anything. ANYWAYS. this was barely yesterday and today a stupid big fat truck totaled my sisters car while i was in it.
was i very rude because she was very rude? yes. do i feel bad? kind of. she didn’t have a license. and had a baby on board safety 1st sticker on the back.
get me out of this terrible state. i’m moving to canada.
Ahhhh hiya!! What about “meet me in the bathroom” Dennis Whitaker x reader?
a/n … well yes! sorry if this isn’t smutty enough, today has been hectic but i still wanted to write this. this is from the category light smut + meet me in the bathroom + dennis whitaker
content … clubbing, drinking (both), suggested bathroom seggggg
word count … .600
—
Dennis seems completely unaware of the effect his new haircut has on you. He’s sporting it freshly styled along with the gold hoop in his ear and a blue plaid button down that was bought before his biceps grew. He has a white tank top underneath, and his sleeves are rolled up to prevent the heat radiating in the slightly packed club — yet, there’s a sheen of sweat coating his forearm and chest beneath his gold chain.
You’ve been ogling him since before you stepped into the club, though the humidity and result of dancing amongst his coworkers have elevated his beauty. When he walked out of your shared bedroom with a tank top on, slightly wet from hair styling, you nearly pleaded for him to walk out like that: shirt tucked into his jeans, flashing the silver belt buckle. While he asked you a multitude of questions about what to wear, what scent to spray, if he should put a diffuser onto his curls, you stared at him with desire and a trail of imaginary saliva falling out of your mouth.
You were silent on your way to the club, like a shy girl on her first date. All you could do is intertwine your fingers and press your face against his bicep. You could only whisper your drink order into his ear and sheathe your face as best as possible — only turning your blushing face down to look at his beat-up boots. You only became extremely confident and ready to pounce when Trinity made you take two shots back-to-back.
Now you’re on the dance floor, hot hands trying to unbutton his already half-open button down and your lips — ridden of their lipliner and stained with grenadine — along his jawline. Dennis, with a couple drinks in his system and a step above tipsy, is enjoying this. When you distance your lips, he’s following them with his own, mouth parted and whining like a distraught puppy. You kiss him whenever he asks, and you maneuver his hands down to your ass.
This play of hand-grabbing lasts until Dennis plays with the hem of your black mini skirt. “You look so pretty like this,” he pants into your ear, then licks along your lobe. “Top is almost sheer. People might see your tits if they stare hard enough.”
“You like it?” you ask him, grabbing his hand and moving it slightly over to feel the inside of your thigh.
He nods with a lip between his teeth. “You know I do.”
“Even if you can see my tits?”
He gets a bit more handsy and moves his hand over to your backside, grabbing your ass and digging his fingers into the fat. “I think the gym has prepared me enough to ward off some weirdos.”
You chuckle and grab his chin. You press your thumb into the tip and pull him down to your face. You kiss him harshly, the tip of your tongue pushing further into his mouth, wrestling with his for some kind of comfort. His hand keeps squeezing, and you realize shortly after his mouth is grazing more than just your lips, that you’re becoming the couple that nearly has sex in the middle of the dance floor. So, you pull away and whisper into his ear, “Meet me in the bathroom.”
You step back and tread into the bathroom, where Dennis meets you a minute or two later, hard cock pressed against his jeans and his palms pressing against said outline.
“This can’t be sanitary,” he says, pointing at the overflowing trashcan and the graffiti ruling the walls.
“Just fuck me, okay. We’re not doing it on the floor, Denny.”
Dennis doesn’t need another agonizing plea for him to unbutton his pants and take you from behind against the sink.
yesterday i watched the episode of girls where hannah spends 3 (?) days with joshua having sex and doing things together and im like ugh i need that with jack abbot
let me write something
trying to think about how jack abbot would react to reader getting a tramp stamp. immediately turned on, hands on your hips to steady his shaky figure. he’d bend down to stare at it, hover his fingers over the shapes and lines.
me overly turned on because i have a tramp stamp and when i got it, i was talking to someone and she was completely in awe at it. i hate her now, she’s terrible, but jeezus just thinking about how JACK ABBOT would be all over you.
he’d ask how long you can wait until you have sex, or until he can touch it. he’ll be ecstatic when you ask him to clean it, because of course he’d want to help you. he’ll take the saniderm off in the shower — his body on his shower chair while you stands beneath the warm stream of water — and moisturize it when you step out.
once it’s healed, he’ll want to fuck you from the back, just so he can see that beautiful back tattoo. he’ll kiss it when he can, and when you’re lying side by side, he’ll memorize its shape and outline it with his fingers.
ugh take my phone away.
ANYWAYS!! here’s my tramp stamp 😝
trying to think about how jack abbot would react to reader getting a tramp stamp. immediately turned on, hands on your hips to steady his shaky figure. he’d bend down to stare at it, hover his fingers over the shapes and lines.
me overly turned on because i have a tramp stamp and when i got it, i was talking to someone and she was completely in awe at it. i hate her now, she’s terrible, but jeezus just thinking about how JACK ABBOT would be all over you.
he’d ask how long you can wait until you have sex, or until he can touch it. he’ll be ecstatic when you ask him to clean it, because of course he’d want to help you. he’ll take the saniderm off in the shower — his body on his shower chair while you stands beneath the warm stream of water — and moisturize it when you step out.
once it’s healed, he’ll want to fuck you from the back, just so he can see that beautiful back tattoo. he’ll kiss it when he can, and when you’re lying side by side, he’ll memorize its shape and outline it with his fingers.
ugh take my phone away.
sometimes i like to like things because i can? oh you seem kind, okay ill like your post. oh you have the cutest fic theme, okay ill like it cause yes.
🐒 <3 hey my little munkeys !!
i saw this idea on @domesticblisss tumblr account and wanted to follow lol. i’m wanting to write a bit more but my brain has not been as creative as i’d like it to be (unless im in the shower and things stem for approximately 20-30 minutes). i’d love to write some blurbs/drabbles based on the prompts from the various lists below …
ׂ╰┈➤ smut | fluff | kissing | vulnerable/sad | angry confessions
characters i’ll be writing for ⤵︎
the pitt 🩺
🍌 jack abbot
🍌 dennis whitaker
🍌 trinity santos
🍌 cassie mckay
other
🍎 andrew 'pope' cody
🍎 clark kent /superman (david corenswet)
🍎 ellie williams — the last of us
🍎 joel miller — the last of us
this might be a little complicated but this is how it’ll work: send me category + prompt + character for a drabble/one shot of up to 1k words — i am terrible at staying within word count so if i were to choose 500 words i’d break my own rules each time.
ROADBLOCK
summary … reader is an author who has recently begun writing a book with sexual content. she's experiencing a bit of a roadblock because, well... she's a twenty-five-year-old virgin. she doesn't know what to do, until hot and sweet jack abbot comes up to her in her beloved coffee shop-slash-office.
warnings … ooc jack. a lot of sex. hair pulling. choking/throat stuff (?). double penetration. nipple play. finger sucking. cockwarming. age gap (reader is mid twenties, jack is mid forties). not edited
wc: 6.5k
a/n: sorry to the agent on my phone. i had to do so much freaky research to figure stuff out and i was ashamed.
next | masterlist | pinterest board
Writing about sex with little experience feels foolish. It doesn’t matter how many erotic books you’ve read, or how many romance films you’ve diligently watched to figure out how sex is supposed to happen. You still find yourself riddled by the process because all you’ve done in your twenty-five years of life is have foul make-out sessions and clitoral stimulation.
Your readers have yet to call you out on the sex scenes in your books. No one thinks they’re strange, but that might be thanks to your best friends and editor. If something sounds off, they’ll let you know.
You’re currently writing a young adult romance between a college student and her TA, and have hit a roadblock as you write them having sex for the first time. The character, Lara, is both shy and a virgin. You decided she’d enter sex slowly, opting for grinding, humping, and sloppy make-out sessions before ripping her TA Adrian’s shirt off.
You’ve gotten past the making out, but you’re unsure of where to go next. How much do you feel when you’re grinding on someone? Should she be wearing the dress you initially put her in, or jeans?
Your head is starting to throb, so you decide to call the day quits. Right as you go to slam your laptop, a man appears in front of your table, blocking the sunlight from shining onto you.
“I can feel your headache from the counter,” he says.
The voice is sexy. It feels tired, but extremely hot. When you look up at him, he’s just as sexy, if not more. Heat climbs up your chest and takes over your face. Men who look like him don’t usually come up to you.
“I’m writing a novel, and I’ve hit a plateau,” you tell him as you scratch off the sweat forming on your forehead.
“What’re you writing about?”
You chuckle and start rubbing your neck. “It’s embarrassing to share.”
He shrugs. “Can’t be,” he says and then points at the chair pressed into his crotch. “Can I sit while you tell me?”
You nod. “Go ahead,” you say, then he slides in and motions for you to keep speaking. “It’s a young adult novel about a senior in college who falls in love with her TA.”
“That sounds fun,” he says with a smile creeping onto his lips. “How did you come up with that?”
It’s your turn to shrug. “I used to have a crush on my TA.”
He laughs. “Do you use a lot of experienced scenarios for your books?”
“Sometimes,” you tell him. He nods. You don’t share any words for a moment, only a stare so intense your sweat starts coating your upper lip. You have to wipe your mouth and jaw with the back of your cardigan and force yourself to speak to try to cool yourself down. “Can I tell you what’s making everyone feel my headache from afar? You just have to promise not to be creeped out.”
“Sure.”
“This is weird to confess to a stranger, but you’re a stranger… so it won’t matter. Maybe,” you ramble. “I’m at the first sex scene, and I can’t figure out how to write it.”
It’s fascinating how surprise doesn’t coat the man's face. He just nods and relaxes his previously tense shoulders. “Does that usually happen?”
You scoff. “Is it ridiculous to say yes?”
“Why would that be ridiculous?”
“Regular people don’t struggle doing it.”
“What’s ‘it’ here?” the man asks with a smirk audible in his words.
You choke on your saliva and have to cover your red, hot face. “‘It’ as in writing sex scenes. But maybe doing the act, too.”
You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You don’t usually talk about sex with people – outside of writing, it feels taboo. You don’t engage in conversation with random people, even if they are attractive. Hell, especially if they’re attractive.
He laughs and scoots his chair closer to the table. Closer to you, it feels like.
“I’m Jack, by the way,” he says and slides his hand over the table.
You shake his hand and tell him your name. It comes out loud. Or maybe you said it in a normal volume, but your brain is scrambled, and you’re unable to hear yourself.
“Sorry for telling you all of this. I know it’s strange, but I needed to get it off my chest. It’s also been a long day, and the countless coffees I’ve had haven’t done anything.”
“I’m not bothered,” he says. “It’s cool to see the writing process in real time.”
“It can be exciting. If I were in my zone, I’m sure you’d be able to hear my keyboard clacking from the counter, too.”
“I’d like to see that.”
You’re sure your heart does a back flip. You’re also certain your thighs just clenched together.
“Well, when I get over this bump in the road, you will. I’m here every other weekday from ten to two. I hate my office, and this shop is quiet enough most of the day to let me write. You’re more than welcome to sit and chat with me… or stare.”
He bites down on his lip and nibbles on it before placing all of his upper body weight on the table. He leans forward, thick arms slightly draping over your laptop, and whispers, “Why are you struggling so much? Is it because you’re not …” He scrunches his nose, like whatever he’s going to say might shove a knife into your chest. “Are you not good in bed?”
Your eyes go wide, and you stifle an awkward laugh. It borders on a fit of laughter, and you have to reel yourself in. “Well! I wouldn’t know,” you tell him as you cut yourself off. “I’m a virgin.”
“Oh,” he pops. “Okay. That makes sense.”
“It does.”
“Sorry for asking.”
You shake your head and place a hand over his arm. You want to squeeze, but decide to rub over his black Henley.
“It’s a valid question,” you say, trying to soothe the mind you can already sense is going insane.
“I can help,” he shoots out.
“What?” you respond almost immediately.
“I can help you with your… roadblock.”
“Is it weird that I want to say yes?”
“God no,” he scoffs out. “This entire interaction has been a bit weird. The weirdest thing you could do is say no.”
“Then yes.”
You tell your friends you’re going on a date even if it isn’t exactly one. It’s easier than telling them you’re going to lose your virginity to a man you’ve only met at a coffee shop.
To be fair, your conversation dragged on for hours after you exchanged numbers and settled on an evening. It was fun, and it didn’t feel forced. You could joke back and forth and spill your unnecessary stress regarding your projects without feeling nauseous about it. So if you think about it, that was your first date.
Even if your conversation was sweet and your text messages haven’t lost rhythm, your hands tremble as you knock on his door.
You immediately hide your hands behind your back and roll on the balls of your feet. You feel like a kid, strangely, and the mere thought of it has you reevaluating your stance.
You don’t have any time to fix yourself up, though, because Jack is immediately opening the door. It’s almost like he was waiting beside it.
When he fully opens the heavy black door, it’s like someone has punched the air out of your lungs. He looks better than he did when you met him, if that’s possible. His hair looks grayer, somehow, and shiny, like he mixed a dollop of gel with water and hovered his fingers over the tips of his curls. He has another Henley on, but it’s white this time, and dark-wash jeans that look incredibly loved.
You nod to get the rest of your body working. “Hi,” you say — or squeak.
He nods back with a crooked smile before looking you over. “Hi. You look great.”
You shrug. You’re wearing a black camisole with your special lacy maroon bra peeking out of the hem. Then just a pair of jeans. Nothing special, but you take the compliment anyway. “Thank you, Jack.” You point at his shirt — the one he probably has loads of. “How many of these do you own?”
“A whole closet full.”
You chuckle. “I figured. They look good, though. Hopefully, next time it’s a forest green?”
“There’s already a next time? What if the sex is bad?”
“According to all the blogs I’ve read, you can work on sex if it is.”
He nods with a mischievous smile, then jolts out of the haze he’s in. He steps aside and motions for you to walk in. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you out here long enough. Come in, make yourself at home.”
You slither past him and take a look at his overly large bachelor pad. Calling this an apartment feels wrong because it’s far bigger than whatever you call a house. Your house is small, old, and has low ceilings. It also has a faint smell that verifies its age.
“Do you ever get lonely here? Sorry if that’s invasive, but it’s so big. And…” You step into the living room, a place with no photos or artifacts on the dark wood table. “Bare.”
“Sometimes,” he says, his voice louder. “I’m always at work, so I don’t really care. Does your place look like this?”
You shake your head. “It looks like an antique store. I’ve filled it with so much since I moved in two years ago.”
“How do you plan on moving it all out in the future?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” you tell him as you step into the kitchen off to the side of the living room. It’s bare, minus a few appliances on the stove and clean dishes sitting on a rack. “I live in the house I grew up in and don’t plan on moving out anytime soon. My parents moved away to the middle of nowhere when they turned 65. They’re the landlords, but I’m planning on buying the house from them in the future.”
“How's the rent?”
“Good. Thankfully.”
Jack fills a glass with water and scoots it across the island. “Do you want something stronger?”
You hoped he would ask that. You can’t fathom getting any further without a drink in you. “Please,” you begged. You take a sip of the water to ease the dryness in your throat and watch him step back towards the bar cart he has in the corner of his living room. “What do old guys usually have on bar carts?”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Ouch. I’m not that old,” he hisses. “And bourbon, whiskey. There’s a bottle of tequila a younger resident gave me during a Christmas party a couple of months ago.”
“I’ll take the tequila,” you reply. He sends you a thumbs up and swivels around back to the kitchen island. You watch him grab a glass from the cabinet and set it a few inches away from you. There’s silence that fills the room, but you cut it short before it gets nauseating. “Sorry, I called you old. You’re not that old.”
“Hm. How old do you think I am?”
“Forty.”
“Five,” he corrects. “Forty-five.”
“I like my men older,” you say with a smile.
He laughs at this and raises a brow. “How much older?”
“You’re twenty years older than me. Is that an answer?”
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath in disbelief. “How have we spoken about everything under the moon but haven’t brought up age?”
You shrug. “Is that a problem? Me being much younger than you?”
Jack shakes his head. “I knew you were younger,” he tells you as he now opens his fridge and scrummages around for a liquid that doesn’t look green or orange. He takes out a bottle of orange juice and a can of coconut water. “Sorry if this sucks… I’m not much of a juice guy.”
“It’s okay. I used to mix alcohol with anything in college. Just pour me up.”
Jack pours enough tequila into the glass to ease the tension in your shoulders. Then he mixes up equal parts orange juice and coconut water. He mixes it with a metal straw, then pushes the glass over with his pointer and middle fingers.
You take a sip. Strong and good. You should have been drinking stuff like this instead of an artificial fruit cocktail and half a bottle of tequila at twenty-one.
You decide to revert to the conversation you were having before. “I know there’s a big age difference, but I don’t mind. Unless it’s strange for you, then we won’t do anything but enjoy one another’s company.”
“I don’t care,” he replies immediately. “It just amazes me how put together you are at that age. I was nothing like you then.”
“I had a lot of mental health issues when I was younger. That, and my parents went through a rough patch at the same time; they were trauma dumping on me any chance they had, but never thought of listening to me. I guess it might have… changed me,” you say. “I don’t know. Then I started writing and publishing a bunch of deep shit, and people loved it. I earned good money from it and was able to leave my house without relying on anyone.”
“You matured before you had to, it sounds like,” Jack answers.
You nod. “Not too mad about it, though. It’s led me here, in an older man’s house who doesn’t have any decorations up.”
“Shut it,” he playfully scolds. “I’ll put something up just because of you.”
You look at him and bat your eyelashes. Half intentionally, half not. “Good,” you say with a smile that bleeds into your tone.
He grips the counter, and his obnoxiously large biceps strain against his long-sleeved shirt. He lets his body lean against the edge of the counter, using all his might to catch a closer glimpse of the smile pulling at the corners of your eyes. “Good,” he whispers, tone gravelly.
You stare deep into his eyes – it almost feels like you’re in a romance film, consumed by your love interest. You’re trying to find something he isn’t saying through the color of his eyes, a tint you can’t make out. All that you find is his pupils getting wider and wider until you choose to drop the challenge of figuring out their color.
You need him in a way that’s alarming to anyone. You want to forget about your drink, crawl over the marble island, and rip that sexy Henley off him. Well, not before you kiss him in a way you’ve never kissed anyone before.
“I think I want to make out with you right now.”
“Oh-ho,” he laughs. “Yeah?”
You take a big sip of the drink Jack made you and push yourself off the edge. You round the corners of the island to where he stands. You turn your head to the side and study his face: the stubble growing across his chin and jaw with patches clinging onto its melanin; the lips his teeth keep toying with, and how they’re getting redder by the second; and how his Adam's apple keeps bobbing up and down in either desire, nervousness, or a secret third option.
“I’m not usually this bold,” you whisper.
“Why is tonight any different?” You can smell the toothpaste – or peppermint gum – on his breath. It draws you closer to him.
You shrug and shuffle closer to his bicep. “You’re not creepy.”
“I’m not, you’re right,” he replies. The more he drops his voice, the more gravelly it becomes.
Jack turns his body with his left hand still gripping the counter like his life depends on it. You walk into his chest and, unlike before, when you had just met him and found gripping his arms too creepy, you bring your fingers up and hug the muscle of his bicep. Your other hand is at your side, sweaty and empty.
“Can we move this to your bedroom?”
He nods like a teenage boy experiencing attention for the first time. He lets go of the counter and places his hands on your hips. He pushes you backwards, in the direction of the bedroom, you’re assuming.
You try to push your face into his, but the position makes it hard to.
Your struggle ends quickly, though, as he pushes you into his chest while he twists the doorknob and opens the bedroom door. You cling to him and grab his face, pulling it down for your lips to meet. It’s sloppy at first. Your lips are confused about where to sit – the top lip, the bottom lip. You’re not sure if you should slide your tongue into his mouth yet, or if it’s too soon.
You do whatever your mind wants to anyway.
Making out is fun, especially when it’s messy but eager. You can taste the peppermint on his tongue as he tries to grapple with yours, which tastes like the alcoholic mixture he made for you a couple of minutes ago.
“You taste so good,” you gasp as you pull your lips away. A trail of saliva ties you both together, and you lick your lips to savor it.
“I want to tell you something,” Jack breathes out.
You nod. “What?”
“Sit down first.”
You quickly walk to his bed and sit on the edge. It’s almost uncomfortable because you’re already wet. “Okay. Now what?”
He pulls up his right pant leg to his knee to reveal a partially amputated leg. “I don’t have half a leg.”
“Okay,” you answer. “Does that stop you from having sex?”
“No…”
“Was that supposed to turn me off?”
“It usually does.”
“I’m not turned off.”
Jack crosses the few feet from the door to where you sit at the edge of his bed. He just stands there for a moment, looming over you without saying a word. Then he says, “How do you want to start?”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because you really don’t know where to start. What you do know, though, is how good his thighs look in his pants.
Without thinking, you place your hands on his thighs and run them up to where his hardening cock is. His body twitches, and he releases a low grunt. “I can’t stand up while you’re doing this to me.”
“Do you want to sit down?” you ask him as your fingers start toying with his zipper.
Jack grabs your hands and carries them in his palms as he decides to sit next to you. You paw at his thighs like an excited puppy as he takes off his prosthetic and sets it against his dresser, eager to play with him – or chew him up as if he were a toy.
Your fascination with thighs was never explicit, just a thought in the back of your head that would crawl up to the forefront of your mind when thinking about sex. It was something you read in an erotic book when you were younger. It was never the missionary or multitude of sex positions that every couple would abuse in these novels. It was the grinding on strong, fatty thighs that would bounce if you asked kindly enough.
You’re thinking about it now. The demon in your brain is desperate to crawl out and sit on your shoulder, shouting “Ride it, ride it,” into your ear.
You place your chin on Jack’s shoulder and hover your lips over his ear. “I want to ride your thigh first, if that’s okay?” you whisper, then kiss his earlobe.
“Please,” he whines.
You stand from the bed and toy with the hem of your camisole. It’s now occurred to you that you have all your clothes on, and they're entirely too constricting. So, you pull off your camisole and drop it onto the floor beside his prosthetic. Then you fiddle with the button on your pants and slide them down your legs. They sit there for a minute, pooling around your feet without any plans to be stepped out of.
“I like your panties,” Jack says.
You fight a smile. They’re a pair of matching maroon underwear, with a black bow sewn onto the front. They’re simple, but there’s a bit of lace above the cotton material. “I got them on sale,” you reply, even though you should’ve just said ‘thank you.’
Jack eyes you down. It’s an astonished look he gives you. His pupils are blown out like you’re a drug he’s filled his body with, and his lips won’t stop quirking up as he takes in the white stretch marks littering your hips and stomach.
“Come here,” he tells you.
You step out of your jeans, kick them towards your shirt, then shuffle towards Jack's open legs.
His hands grope your ass and the back of your thighs as you step between him. He sinks his nose into your stomach and smells you, hard. You hope he can smell the body oil you coated yourself with after your long shower.
Jack leaves wet kisses on your stomach that trail up to the hem of your bra. “Take it off,” he orders.
“You take it off,” you tell him.
He playfully rolls his eyes and pulls you closer to his chest. He maneuvers his hands behind you and quickly undoes the bra clasps, hauling the straps down your arms. The quick movements burn your skin, yet his breath and the sudden gust of AC that fills the room hardens your nipples.
“Pretty,” he mutters to himself. He takes a nipple into his fingers and your breath hitches in your throat. You drop your head to your chest and shut your eyes, trying your hardest not to sound overly aroused at the soft touches. “I need your tit in my mouth. Is that alright?”
“God, yes,” you plead.
Well, there goes your attempt at not sounding overly aroused.
Jack wraps his mouth around your tit and sucks on it. His cheeks hollow out as he sucks you up, then deflate when he chooses to circle your nipple with his tongue.
You’ve had your boobs and nipples touched and licked before, but it’s never elicited such a reaction from you. Maybe it’s because it’s always been after the foul attempts of fingering you. It felt like compensation for how shit it was, but it ended up leaving you bored and exasperated. This time, though, you could probably get off on it.
“I need to sit,” you breathe out when he pinches and twists your left nipple.
“Need me to take anything off?”
You don’t really care; you just need some friction. But the way his biceps are straining against his Henley has you itching to feel them under your hot fingers.
“Take the shirt off, keep the pants on,” you tell him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.
He goes to follow your orders, but you beat him to it. You grab his shirt from his grasp and pull it up and over his body. You throw it off to the side where the rest of your clothes are, and run a hand through his tousled hair. Then you slot one leg between his and one outside of his right leg.
“You’re hot,” you tell him as your fingers ghost over his freckled arms and chest.
“Well, thank you,” he replies.
“I mean, the shirt made you extremely warm,” you chuckle. “But yes, you are incredibly sexy.”
Your fingers start roaming his neck, touching the grooves his wrinkles leave beneath his ears. You lower your head down and kiss each one.
Jack is intoxicating. It’s scaring you just a bit. You knew you’d have sex at one point — maybe it’d take longer, but it would happen — but it didn't cross your mind that it would be lost to someone you'd known for less than a week. That thought would have terrified you a couple of days ago, or the young teenage girl who imagined losing it to a long-term boyfriend.
Yet, here you are, enjoying it with Jack, who is not a boyfriend, or a friend, but not a stranger, either.
You’re not sure if this is supposed to be a one-and-done situation. As you’re slowly grinding into his thigh — that has your insides going absolutely insane — you can’t stop thinking about how long this will last. After you’ve orgasmed, which you already feel creeping up on you, will you have to throw your clothes on and leave? Act like this never happened? Send a ‘thank you’ text and finish your book; treating this as a sex education class for inexperienced adults?
You’re thinking about this too much, and you can feel it between your eyebrows. The little crease that Jack seems to notice, because his thumb is pressed against it, rubbing back and forth gently.
“I can feel your headache again,” he says.
“Sorry,” you mumble and relax your face as best you can.
“What’s going on? You want to stop?”
You drop your hand to his bulge and give it a soft squeeze. He hisses, and the fingers that carefully slid over your eyes are now squeezing your chin.
“Don’t ignore the question. Are you okay?”
You nod. “Kinda wondering what happens after this.”
“I make you some dinner, maybe?”
You squint, watching him in case he bursts into laughter. “That it?”
“No dinner… more sex?”
“I mean, like, will I be kicked out? Will we keep texting once this is done?”
“Do you want us to keep talking once this is over?” Jack asks, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip.
Even if his dick isn’t inside of you yet, or his mouth hasn’t been coating in your slick, you know you want to keep seeing him. You have a good feeling about him, and you rarely have those with romantic interests.
“Yeah,” you say.
“Then we have dinner, you talk about your work while I try not to fill you in on all the open wounds I see daily. Sounds good to you?”
You kiss the pad of his thumb. “Yeah,” you say again.
Jack notices the kiss you leave on his finger, and how your tongue is pressed against the front of your mouth at the sight of it. He prods further in, and you wrap your mouth around it. He groans at the tightness. If his dick wasn’t already hard, it most certainly is now.
He thrusts up, and you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself upright.
“This just comes naturally to you, huh?” he stutters.
You pull his thumb out of your mouth and drag his hand to your throat. “Can I be honest with you?” you ask as you continue driving your clothed pussy against his thigh. You’re picking up speed, and honestly, it’s working as a truth serum.
Jack nods. “Of course,” he pants.
You squeeze Jack’s hand, silently begging him to tighten his grasp on your throat. “I think about this often. How I’d be fucked. I’m not always in control, but I come faster when I am,” you tell him. “I think about someone choking me or pulling my hair as I fuck myself with my fingers or toys or… when I hump my pillow. I think about what I would look like from the back: face squished into the mattress, gasping for air as someone fucks me fast and hard. I think about grinding on someone’s thigh and leaving a big mess. I think about it all, constantly.”
You stop talking because Jack has tightened his hold on your throat. He’s bouncing his leg just a little, but he also won’t stop squirming beneath you as you dig your nails into his shoulders. You can feel how wet you are as you move against him, and it keeps you going until you orgasm.
You tilt your head back as the sensation shoots through your bones. You feel weak, but you could keep going. Maybe not with Jack’s clothes on, though.
“You are something,” Jack tells you, his hands letting go of your neck and exchanging it with your tits. He massages them, and you’re quick to let out a quiet moan. He chuckles. “You want to keep going, or are you too tired?”
“I’m not done.”
“What position?”
“You choose.”
“Ass up, face down,” he tells you, and pinches your ass for you to get up.
You stand up and peel your soaking wet panties off, then crawl onto the mattress. “Do you want me to already … be in position?” you ask him. “Or wait. I don’t know how sexy it’ll be if I just stay in that position.”
“Just sit,” he tells you.
You sit in the middle of the bed, your body propped up by your elbows as you watch Jack take off his jeans, then his boxers. He’s holding onto his dresser for balance as he does this. You see a pair of crutches to the side, but he isn’t using them.
You don’t know what you were expecting, but maybe it wasn’t this. You’ve seen dicks before, but his is nicer than the ones you’ve seen. It’s thick, not too small but not overly big that it becomes worrisome.
“Can I suck you off?” you spit out before you can truly process it.
“Maybe,” he replies as he digs into his dresser for a condom. You observe him as he rips the packaging and slides the condom over his red, swollen cock. “Not right now, though.”
“After dinner?”
“Did you create a sex checklist before you got here? It sounds like it.”
“I thought all guys wanted their dicks sucked?” you said, firing back at what sounds like rejection. “All the ones I’ve casually dated have.”
Jack strokes himself as he makes his way to the bed, holding onto the furniture to get back to you. You watch as he grabs a pillow and places it at the edge of the bed, a few inches away from your feet.
You knew nothing about having sex with someone who has a below-the-knee amputated leg before. You still don’t know anything. Jack might be saying yes to whatever you want to do, but is it comfortable for him?
“You know, we don’t have to do this position if it’s uncomfortable for you,” you tell him.
He grunts and shakes his head. He rests his clothed stub on the pillow and pulls you toward him by your feet. “I requested this. I just need a bit of cushion for comfort, that’s all.”
“If you feel uncomfortable at one point, let me know, okay?”
He nods. “Now ass up, face down,” he tells you.
You turn around, lift your ass into the air, and press your face into his mattress. He pulls you closer as he positions himself correctly on the bed.
“You’re so wet,” he chuckles. Jack’s thumb presses against your hole, wet and fucking needy for his cock. He spreads open your folds and pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt, collecting whatever slick he can.
As he gets closer to your clit, you can feel more fingers gather along your pussy. He scoops up your juices, and less than a second later, you hear him groaning like he’s just eaten dessert.
You push your face deeper into the mattress. “Are you fucking tasting me?”
“What about it?” he asks. “You taste good, don’t worry.”
“I’m really wet, and I’m starting to get embarrassed.”
Jack's hand – the one he had in your cunt – runs down your spine and collects a handful of hair. He pulls you up just a bit as he presses the red tip of his cock against your hole.
“It’s good that you’re wet,” he says. “I’m flattered. And it’ll be easy to fuck you.”
You make a terrible attempt at nodding. “So then fuck me, Jack.”
He slowly pushes into you, and you struggle to moan through the position your neck is in. Even then, it’s loud and whiny.
Jack lets go of your hair as his cock is fully inside of you. There’s pressure, but it’s nothing bad. He doesn’t thrust at first, just slow in-and-outs as you get used to him.
“Don’t treat me like I’m porcelain,” you mumble into the sheets. “Fuck me like the old man you are.”
Jack slaps your ass and grips the blossoming red mark on your skin at this. He jerks back, then thrusts his cock deep into you. He thinks it might have been too much, but you can already feel your orgasm.
Jack doesn’t have to fuck you at all for you to come. You could have him inside of you, and you’d probably come in less than ten minutes. All he would have to do is play with your nipples, grunt into your ear, and you’d unravel.
You sure hope the sex continues after tonight, because now you really do have a checklist in your head of things you want to do with him, starting with a blowjob.
Jack picks up his speed and grabs your hips for stability and enough power to ram into you. His grunts are loud – echoing off the walls and puncturing your eardrums. It’s the best sound you’ve heard in a long time.
“Fuck me,” you moan into the mattress. “You’re so good. So fucking good.”
Jack loves the positive affirmations you cry out as he leans further over the curve of your ass. He grabs a handful of hair again and pulls you up. With this, you feel him much more.
The way he has you right now – hair pulled, tits out and still hard from when his tongue danced across them – is making you come.
“I’m close,” you whine.
“Yeah?” he grunts. “You’re gonna come from me fucking you from the back like this? Pulling your hair and drilling into your tight, wet ass pussy?”
You feel like crying. Not that his words are humiliating, but because you are right at the edge of your orgasm, and moaning isn’t enough.
“You’re such a good fuck,” he keeps going. “So good, you hear me?”
You nod. “Keep fucking me like this, and I’ll come.”
Jack does for a second, but then grunts in discomfort. You stop yourself for a moment and look over your sweaty shoulder. “You okay?” you pant.
He scrunches his nose and purses his lips. “Leg is kinda hurting.”
“Do you want me to ride you?”
“For your first time having sex?” He makes a ‘tsk’ noise with his tongue and shakes his head. “Let me just adjust.” He gets onto his bed and kneels near the edge. His stump is in front of him but in a more manageable position. “Come here. Position yourself in front of me, on your hands and knees.”
It’s awkward following his directions, but he carefully guides you.
“What’s this one called?”
“The kneeling fox.”
“Knowledgable on sex terms? Should I be jealous of someone?” you joke.
He laughs into your neck as he pulls you against him using your tits. “No, this was a long time ago,” he laughs. He palms your tit before adjusting himself a bit more behind you, grabbing his still hardened cock. “Lift your hips up a bit, alright?”
You do as he says, and when he aligns himself with your entrance, you sink down. “Mhm. Fuck me, I could come just sitting on your cock.”
“Oh yeah?”
You bounce your ass on his cock and place your hand over Jack’s, which is still holding onto your boob. “Fuck yes. Let me just sit on it. So thick and warm…”
“Keep talking,” he ushers you. “You’re so good with your words I might come just by them.”
“Is me not telling you to fuck me good enough? You want me to tell you how bad I need your thick cock and fingers in my pussy?”
He grunts. His other hand loops over your thighs and immediately finds your clit. He rubs over the wet bud, iliciting a whine from you. “This good?”
“Would be better in me,” you say in a low tone.
“You into double penetration?” he asks, amazed.
“Mhm… I think I’ll add that to my list.”
“Keep talking.”
“I’m gonna keep bouncing on your cock but I’m going to need you to thrust into me as hard as you can, too. I need to hear it off the walls. How wet I am. How big of a mess I’m leaving on your bed, on your cock.”
“I’m gonna come soon,” he cries out.
The squelching noises are loud.
You drop your head as Jack keeps circling your clit. You add onto the loud moans filling Jack’s room.
“Keep going. Fuck me harder,” you beg. He follows. You stop bouncing and let him jerk his hips faster into your aching cunt. The slapping noises your ass makes against his skin is like music to your ears. “Harder. Fuck me harder until I come all over you.”
Jack is breathing and crying hard against your neck. You turn your head so your ear is right beside his mouth. He takes your earlobe into his mouth and gently sucks on it.
His fingers go further down your pussy and dangerously close to your entrance. You want him to just sink his fingers into your already full cunt… You can just ask…
Jack does it. He sinks a finger into your hole and that does it for you. He doesn’t pump his meaty fingers into you, just leaves one there and you unravel completely.
Your orgasm takes over every inch of your body. You don’t exactly know what you say – whether it’s Jack’s name you mumble over and over through a series of moans, or if it’s just nonsense of ‘yes’ – you can’t make it out.
When you come down, Jack is still hugging you, and still fucking you, but slowly. “So good,” you hear him whisper. “Your pussy is so good, and tight, and fucking delicous. Just sit here for a second.”
“How long before I get a UTI?”
He lets out a tired laugh. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, just sit, okay?”
You spend the next three minutes cockwarming. Jack spends those three minutes kissing your shoulders and baby hairs that stick to the back of your neck.
When you decide to get up and use the bathroom, Jack picks up his crutches and follows you in. He tells you you’re free to pee. Really, he urges you because you’re incredibly shy at first.
When you do, he watches your naked body at the sink like he’s never witnessed such a beautiful person on earth before.
“What?” you ask. “Should I put a shirt on?”
He shakes his head. “This can’t be just sex,” he tells you with a straight face. “I need to take you on a proper date; because I’m starting to like you.”
“Good,” you tell him. “Now I don’t have to keep adding weird desires to my list just so I can keep seeing you.”
ROADBLOCK HIT 4K LIKES WHAT DA SHITTYTTTTT AHHH 🩷🩷🩷🩷🐒heart so big aye aye
hi we as a society need more ethel cain inspired andrew cody/shawn hatosy fics. I will be supporting this concept
thinking about the upcoming roadblock chapter i’ll be writing and how i honestly don’t know where to go after it … end it now or … let me know what you’d want to read!! give me some ideas :)
