Imagine stuffing a new feedee who doesn’t want to gain weight. So she requests only sugar free candies. You try and warn her those have consequences but she insists.
Half way through the 3rd bag her belly Let’s out this angry grumbly glorp and she blushes embarrassed
Soon she’s full of gas and moaning from the pressure that the sugar free candies have caused. She doesn’t want to let u touch her belly but soon too pressure is too much and she caves moaning in pain and pleasure as you rub her huge gut
“Maybe erppp next time- we should do full sugar?”
“Of course baby. As long as you try and finish the last two bags for me?”
Skinny partner holding the two sides of their fat partner's pants, able to see there's no way they'll meet, that they've outgrown their pants again, and being annoyed at themselves because now they're just stupid horny for their fat ass lover.
Imagine you wake up a little bloated, belly pressing into your pj bottoms just slightly. Getting dressed your shirt feels a little more snug than usual and your pants tighter. By noon your swollen and heavy, shirt riding up your bloated middle and struggling to stay stretched over your heavy gut. Your jeans dig painfully into your hips and thighs as your body swells and fattens. Breathing heavy as you struggle to remove your jeans, you realize your shirt is only covering your chest now, your fat globe of a belly hanging out before you. It’s firm and swollen to the touch. Standing you waddle over to the couch and barely manage to sit, gut slapping against your thick thighs. Your belly weighs you down and you pant to catch your breath, you must be over 300 lbs at this point. Your belly being the biggest part of you, sticking out almost two feet in front. By supper you’re starving, your huge belly now grown even larger and pinning you almost completely to the couch. After what seemed like an eternity, you manage to get on your feet and get to the kitchen. Mounds of food are piled on the counter and your mouth begins to water. Plopping down on the bench you hear a long creak but ignore it, choosing instead to dig into your feast. Bowl after bowl and stacks of plates later and you can feel the bottom of your gut touching the floor between your legs. It’s swollen beyond belief at this point and wedging you under the table, making your thick hog ass stick out obscenely behind you. Groaning, you rub our distended belly and pressed into the hard flesh until you hear a hard crack and the wooden bench beneath you breaks in two. Prisoner to your belly all you can do it lay there and massage circles into the bloated orb, moaning and panting to catch your breath from the huge weight in front of you. How did this happen, how did you become such a bloated pig. Fat rolls, no clothing, covered in food and sweat and still starving. All you can think about now is growing more, and you start to feel your belly expand.
Jack's personal assistant goes on maternity, so he's forced to hire a temporary PA. That ends up being Rhys. There's a temporary hurdle in the way of their pining, much to Jack's dismay, and some classic miscommunication, before finally Jack makes his feelings clear. What follows is very unexpected, kinky shenanigans that neither Rhys nor Jack are complaining about.
(An unspecified AU - Jack's alive, he's also not a bad dad, though he's still a bad guy, and it's more kink than plot)
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Borderlands (Video Games)
Relationship: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Characters: Handsome Jack (Borderlands)Rhys (Borderlands)Zane FlyntMeg (Borderlands)Angel (Borderlands)
Additional Tags: Porn with Feelings, Porn With PlotValentine's Day, Rhys is Handsome Jack's Personal Assistant, Personal Assistant Rhys (Borderlands), Good Parent Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pining, Weight Issues, Insecurity, Body Worship, Weight Gain, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Feeding Kink, Feeding, Feedism, Bloating, chugging, Stuffing, dad bod Jack, Chubby Handsome Jack, Praise Kink, Burping, Hiccups, Belly worship, Dirty Talk, Belly button kink, Belly Button Fingering, navel penetration, Tongue in navel, (idk how to tag that Rhys eats out Jack's belly button), Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Making Out, Grinding, Rhys is probably more the dom between them in this, Finger Sucking, Food Kink, Food Porn, Food Sex, Brief cameos from other characters bc I love writing Jack being bullied
(If you wanna read something kinky about bellies - with a little bit of plot too - here you are! Skip to chapter 2 if you want to just read the smut 😎)
Gotta figure out the best tags on tumblr for belly / feeding kinks so I can find more people. I've finally found my writing mojo again after WEEKS of writers block AND I HAVE A DESIRE TO WRITE FAT MEN BEING YEARNED FOR
Elliot who's somehow getting more attention from women than ever now he's gained weight. Maybe it's cuz his wedding ring is gone and there tan has faded, maybe it's because he just looks good and he knows it but Liv hates it. They're still FWB but eveytime he gets hit on in front of her, or gets handed a new number she loses her mind. One day Fin and Elliot are required to walk NY for a few hours and when they come back Fin jokes how Stabler got like 7 numbers. Later Liv rides him until he's begging to cum, marks him with hundreds of little hickeys, especially his stomach. He can't lift his arms without his waist showing and everyone seeing the teeth marks Liv left one him for weeks
[THIS IS A KINK BLOG]
Timeline context in conjunction with the series: It'd be early into season 9. Elliot had signed the divorce papers after kissing Beck, and he and Olivia started hooking up shortly after she returned as his partner (so by this point, they've been sleeping together for months). Elliot never slept with Kathy and therefore she's not pregnant.
TAGS: Friends with benefits, jealousy, possessiveness, weight gain, belly appreciation, love bites / hickies / marking, teasing, edging, orgasm control, dirty talk, light sub/dom undertones, riding.
Unofficial Property of Olivia Benson
(Bensler, 18+)
The ego boost of women flirting with Elliot was definitely appreciated. If he wasn't taking the time to focus on himself post-divorce, or if he wasn't hooking up regularly with Olivia whenever either of them needed that release, he might actually consider organising a date or two. The operative word being might—he works a high-stress, busy job and is a father of 4, so he doesn't even know when he'd be able to date, even if he wanted to.
Not to mention it feels a little sleazy to call a pretty woman who he'd met while working. Victims (or suspects, laughably) who tried their luck were always a no. Witnesses that asked if he'd want to get a coffee, though not quite professional misconduct still felt wrong.
Random women on the street, however? Well they were fair game—if he was interested.
He and Fin have just returned from field work. They'd been sent out to investigate a possible lead within a strip club. Walking back into the precinct, Fin is grinning like a man in possession of the world's juiciest secret, while Elliot trails behind him, playfully rolling his eyes. It takes little to no time before Fin is running his mouth, proudly announcing that “Detective Stabler is a certified player”.
“I see you were focused on the task at hand.” Cragen comments, the stoic expression letting up only in the twinkle of his eyes as Elliot smiles at him. He quickly reports their findings, explaining who had said what as he removes his coat to throw over the back of his office chair.
“I think we'd be amiss not to circle back to Fin’s opening remark,” John looks over his glasses between the group. “Care to enlighten us?”
Fin is swaying in his chair, hands in his lap as he looks at Elliot with something akin to pride, though it's all too playful to be sincere. Like a little kid in a candy store, his giddiness is palpable, that even Cragen cracks a curious smile.
“Stabler was asked out by 3 different women.”
Fin went on to describe the whole ordeal—how they'd been patrolling the street where the club was situated when a young woman in her late 20s simply approached and handed Elliot her number on a napkin, telling him to call her before skipping away to a small group of similarly aged women, all giddy and giggling. Elliot tucked the napkin in his pocket to be polite, laughing it off as Fin joked about her looking to “do charity work”. Then they'd interviewed a few strippers inside the club, and the bar woman abruptly asked Elliot if he was seeing anyone, and if he'd like to. Before heading back to the precinct, they'd stopped by a coffee shop, where lo and behold, another gorgeous woman was all heart eyes over Stabler, writing her name and number on his coffee cup for him to discover only as they'd walked out.
Elliot can’t help the smile that lifts his cheeks. It’s somewhere between awkward and smug. It’s not that he isn’t used to people flirting with him or even asking him out, but against what he’d assume, his subsequent weight gain seems to have attracted more people. Sure, he’s not wearing a wedding ring anymore either, but even just the way people look at him now compared to 3 years ago when he had visibly defined abs is quintessentially substantial.
“I’m pretty sure a couple of the dancers were eyeing him up too,” Fin adds with a laugh after explaining that the last girl at the coffee shop was, to quote, "ridiculously hot”. Elliot rolls his eyes and shrugs it off, busying himself at his desk, while Munch theorises that maybe the dancers eye up every gentlemen that walk into the club, and Fin counters that he felt quite invisible watching woman after woman do a double take when they saw Elliot (“and his ass”).
“I would refrain from fraternising with anyone you meet related to your work.” Cragen comments with a warning tone, though he doesn’t look all too concerned there’s anything to really worry about—especially when Elliot scoffs at the remark.
“Cap’, you know me better than that.” He falls into his desk chair with a heavy grunt morphed with a sigh, resting his hands on the pillowy curve of his abdomen. “Besides, Fin's exaggerating.”
“Not a shot, man. In fact, didn't one of the EMT’s ask you out last week?”
Elliot quirks a brow as he remembers. “Yeah, after having rushed an elderly woman close to death to the hospital. Can't say I'd have picked that moment to schedule a date.”
“You didn't jump to say no though.”
It's the first time Olivia has spoken since they returned, and the first indicator she'd been listening to their conversation. Elliot startles slightly, the humour holding his smile slowly fading as he meets her electrical gaze. He remembers the way she'd bristled after the EMT asked Elliot out, the frost pouring from the cold shoulder she'd given him the rest of the trip. Olivia had looked offended, almost, and the way she'd looked at him with disdain made Elliot's stomach drop.
Her expression now is unreadable to most, neutral in a way that's forced, but Elliot can see what she's not showing. The unspoken truth neither of them ever acknowledge when it strikes. Jealousy.
He's been jealous too. Olivia is breathtaking, and many men have tried their luck to gain even a slither of her attention, so he's pretty used to the feeling by now. There'd actually been a few shameful times even when he was married that he felt it, like when she'd update him about a date she'd gone on. The “best” times are when sleazy suspects try to chat her up in order to undermine her—he doesn't have to grin and bear it during those moments. Elliot's choice of jealousy tends to be sarcastic jokes or bitter eye rolls. He knows he has no right to be jealous, so what can he do?
However, in the same vein, Olivia also doesn't have any right…Right?! Their situation wasn't romantic, it was purely sexual (with moments of unspoken emotional yearning), and they were free to entertain dates should they so wish. They were one another's stress relief, and that didn't stop just because outsiders found them attractive too.
It was a catch 22. On one hand, seeing Olivia jealous made Elliot anxious. He hated upsetting her, hated the idea that she felt inferior, or that maybe she'd call off their arrangement because she'd dared to unpack what it meant to be jealous in their situation. On the other hand…
She was really hot when she was jealous.
Elliot swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat all of a sudden and forces out a humourless chuckle. “I think I was taken aback by her choice in timing.”
Olivia nods curtly. She looks down at the file on her desk, flicking to a new page, still nodding as she sucks her tongue against her teeth. Elliot waits for her to say more, but more doesn't come. He does his best to ignore the dread stirring at the pit of his stomach, to tune out the nagging guilt that insists it's rightfully earned its place in his subconscious, but all he can think about is that scolding fire twinkling in Olivia's eyes. The dimple in her cheek where her lips pursed to the side. The quirk of an accusatory eyebrow sharp enough to tear through his heart.
Damn be the woman able to use fury as a tool of seduction.
Time passes before they speak again. Elliot’s in the communal kitchen, stress eating his third doughnut from the box meant for everyone in the precinct. He doesn't hear Olivia creeping up on him over the sound of his own chewing. He startles, holding his hand to his chest.
“Did you get a chance to finish the write up for the Matthews report?” She asks before he has a chance to address the fright she gave him. He takes the last bite of his doughnut and nods.
“Typed up and printed.” He replies through a mouthful of doughnut before realising and swallowing. He always finds himself more self aware of his overeating when in Olivia's presence. She's never scolded him for it, never made him feel like it's a problem—if anything, she likes his hearty appetite and plushness—but that innate instinct installed upon him by society's norms, it nags him ever so quietly. “You okay, Liv?”
She blinks at him with a disconcerting stare before fixing herself with a smirk. “All good, detective.”
“Are you sure? I feel like maybe—”
“You free tonight?”
Her interruption gives him pause. His mouth hangs open like a trout, staring at her blankly as if waiting for his brain to reboot. Eventually, he finds words, “I can be.”
Olivia sighs. “You either are, or you’re not.”
“Okay, then yes, I’m free.”
“Good. Stay at mine?”
This was how they told each other: “Hey, I’m feeling horny and I want to have sex”, or “I need you to help me turn my brain off for a few hours, I’m fed up of feeling stressed, I want to feel pleasure”. They rarely ever outright said their explicit intentions, because in truth, there wasn’t any need. When the moment is upon them, yes, they communicate clearly, but the lead-up is like a well-rehearsed tango. She needs him, and frankly, with his worries that he’d upset her, he needs her too.
“I'll have to drive by mine first. Those sweats I left at yours were starting to feel tight, I think I've outgrown—”
“El.” She interrupts him so easily, stepping into his personal space and leaning in close to his ear, balancing herself by resting her hand over his heart. “If you sleep in my bed naked, I'll do the same.”
She steps back with a wink before turning on her heels to strut out the room. It's such a simple offer, but Elliot still lights up like a live wire. At home he tends to sleep naked, but he always feels it's presumptuous to strip down in her bed to sleep. She wore pajamas, or at least a tank top and knickers. Surely it's the polite thing to match her.
At the back of his mind he still worries about if she's mad at him, but the promise of sex has clouded all anxieties. He can't wait for the end of their work day.
~ 🚔🧁 ~
Everything happens in a flash. One second Elliot is standing at Olivia’s front door, the next he's being shoved onto her bed, her hands immediately ripping open the buttons of his shirt as she straddles one of his thick thighs. He'd never necessarily thought something as simple as a size difference would turn him on, but then again he'd always been slim with Kathy—only differing in muscle mass, which didn't look quite so obvious as it would now, well over 100 pounds heavier. Merely admiring Olivia's slender, toned legs either side of his thigh, that which resembles a wide log, it's like throwing alcohol to the wild fire of his lust.
She slides his shirt down his arms and chucks it across the room, grabbing his face to kiss him fiercely. Elliot's hands immediately find the delicate curve of her lower back. He never tires of touching her like this, feeling her lips on his, eager to devour the desire blooming. He swallows down her moans, offering his own for her to take. This is his nirvana, kissing a beautiful woman, knowing she desires him so deeply it takes control of her sanity.
As he's about to escalate things, her hands are pushing at his chest, demanding him to collapse, and he's in no state to fight back. He falls to his back obediently, and suddenly his lips are bare, making him whine. She's sucking at his neck, leading her way down his body, a woman on a mission. Her hands are kneading his chest, belly and hips interchangeably, obsessed with how pliable his flesh is. They've been hooking up for quite some time now, so Elliot is all too familiar with Olivia's wandering hands. Sometimes he needs to adjust to the difference of his figure from what it had been for so long, but with her at least it's normal to be squeezed, to be cherished as he is now.
She practically purrs while kissing his belly, nuzzling her face against his plush flesh like she could somehow get even closer, sew herself beneath his skin and become one. Her affection becomes more pronounced as she softly sucks at the softest roll of his stomach, her teeth grazing his skin, then pressing down to bite.
Elliot arches his back at the feeling, reaching down to card his figures through her beautiful hair. She keeps kissing, keeps biting, each a declaration of ownership he's not even aware of yet. She sucks at his skin, and Elliot growls from the back of his throat. He used to feel self-conscious about how sensitive his stomach was, but it's so commonplace to get that kind of attention from her now, he would miss it too much if she stopped. She finds a perfect rhythm, kissing and kneading his belly, moaning into his skin as she worshipped him.
Finally Olivia takes the fastenings of his jeans and pops open the button. She pulls them down to pool at his ankles and wastes no time groping the urgent bulge straining his boxers. Elliot gasps, hips jerking against her touch.
“I got myself ready before you arrived,” Olivia informs him, lips still peppering affectionate kisses over the stretch marks leading up his underbelly. Elliot's cock twitches at her words, much to her amusement. “You okay with me riding you?”
Elliot nods so quickly, it's a wonder he didn't just ask her to himself. Realistically, she doesn't need to ask, but that kind of routine of getting verbal consent is hardwired into them—a lifetime at SVU, it doesn't simply turn off when they leave the precinct. Elliot's reaching down for her, hands needing to take purchase somewhere on her body.
“More than okay. Fuck, that's so hot, you touching yourself before I arrived. Take whatever you need, baby.”
Whenever Elliot starts using the nickname “baby”, it usually means he's slipped into that dreamy place beyond his rational-thinking. The lust is in control now, and he's more susceptible to a beautiful, sexy woman's suggestion. It's almost like a type of “sub-space”, Olivia had theorised, but the position or power dynamic doesn't matter. She adores how dopey he becomes, eager to please, hyper grateful to receive, so sensitive and complacent Olivia might almost feel a heavy sense of responsibility if she didn't know Elliot as intimately as she does.
Elliot's belly droops over his waistband when he stands, but on his back it pools towards its own centre. Olivia wastes no time pulling his boxers off and getting situated on his lap, hovering over his cock. One hand presses the doughy roll of his underbelly upwards, while the other aligns his cock to her cunt.
As his tip enters, parting her lips for a silken kiss, he inhales sharply, hands taking purchase on her thighs. It's always such a heavenly experience, feeling the snug fit of Olivia’s heat envelope around him so perfectly. She's soaking wet, practically dripping down his length before he's even fully sheathed inside her. She watches him keenly as she rolls her hips teasingly, stimulating the sensitive nerves of his prick. Elliot can't help but dig his nails into her thighs harder as his head pushes back further into the fluffed pile of pillows.
One of Olivia’s favourite things about sex with Elliot is how devoted he is to being present, and making the moment a truly shared experience. It's something she too values during sex, to bask in the heat together, to get as much pleasure from giving and watching an impending climax as experiencing it herself. She'd had the misfortune of not having that yet with a man until now. Most of her ex-boyfriends or situationships wanted to get to their big moment and then speed by hers, but not Elliot. He always looked equally as desperate to make her cum as he did himself, and that made it all the more fun to drive him crazy.
Olivia takes her time enjoying the moment, the sight of him with his eyes rolled back, his mouth hanging open breathlessly. She lifts her hips to grind her clit against the slit of his cock, scoffing through a moan as their pleasure tingles together. Elliot's cock spurts precum, which Olivia can feel, like saliva to a kiss. She rocks against him a few more times before finally slipping down the full length of him, eliciting a broken whine from them both.
“Liv…you feel so…so…” His brain pauses as he searches for a word worthy of describing this feeling, the ecstasy of splitting her open and finding bliss together. Nothing feels good enough, and all he can summon is an audible gulp and a curse. “Fuck…Christ, baby—”
Olivia clenches around his cock and rolls her hips with the kind of fluidity Elliot only expects in exotic dancers. The delicate bones pressing against the skin over her pelvis define sharper, and Elliot takes hold like they're handle bars, gripping fiercely. He arches his back, pushing up against her core harder, more desperately. The movement also accentuates his belly, much to Olivia's eagerness.
She takes the bottom roll of his stomach into her palms and kneads the fat like he's dough. She lifts her hips to bottom out, leaving just his tip snug in her pussy, then drops back down, her ass slapping his groin and thighs. The extra fat covering his body jiggles with the movement. Elliot's eyes draw inward ever so slightly and he growls, gripping her harder.
Olivia is still wearing her work shirt, but it's ruffled and unkempt, the top few buttons undone to reveal her cleavage and lace bra. She pulls away groping Elliot's gut and undoes the rest of her shirt, throwing it to the side. She straightens up so Elliot can admire the grace of her sun-kissed skin, her long, slender limbs, and the mesmerising jiggle of her breasts as they bounce in her bra. His eyes practically bulge out his head enough she wonders if they'll drop out his sockets.
She grinds down on his cock with every bounce, meeting his thrusts harmoniously. She runs her hands through her hair and stretches out her neck, exposing her pulse point, teasing him with thoughts of marking her. “You're so big, Detective.” He isn't sure if she's talking about his dick or his weight; maybe she's not even sure herself. “Do you like when I'm on top?” She smiles down at him smugly and clenches around his cock as she lifts herself up, dropping hard enough to make Elliot gasp.
“Yes, baby. You feel so deep.” Elliot's hands slide round to her toned stomach, thumbs massaging the miniscule cushion between her belly button and groin. His hips pick up in pace alongside the obscene echo of his skin clapping against hers. The effort makes his body shake more, and he feels Olivia's thighs squeeze around him, pressing into the softness of his love handles. Every couple of seconds, Olivia’s grinding correlates with his belly’s bounce, and the bottom roll hits her crotch—and though at one point in time that might have made him insecure, he's almost positive that small contact drives Olivia crazy.
She throws her head back and rocks on him harder. Her hands land on his stomach for balance. Elliot can't believe he gets to gaze upon Olivia Benson in her element, glowing in the bliss of pleasure, as the stress of their career melts off her. She squeezes his belly as her hips chase her orgasm, and he fucks up into with everything he's got. Sweat beads at his forehead, dripping down his temples as he feels his own climax get closer and closer and—
“El, wait,” Olivia is suddenly panting, head rolling forward so she can meet his gaze. “Can you stop a sec?” She's breathless and airy but Elliot hears her loud and clear, and without missing a beat, stops.
He doesn't realise how out of breath he also is until he's not moving. His heart hammers violently in his chest, the thunderous beating ready to blow his eardrums. He watches her curiously, a glimmer of concern at the back of his stare. Being so close to his orgasm and suddenly stopping does make his chest tighten alongside his balls, but he's more concerned with making sure everything is okay to focus on the anticlimactic ache.
“You okay, Liv?” He asks, his chest heaving as he tries catching his breath.
She nods, lifting herself off his lap and hovering over where his erection throbs pitifully.
“Needed a second.” She moves so she can lean her face down to his belly again. Elliot is almost about to question further, but then he feels her teeth nipping at his fat again, and one of her hands wrapping around his shaft, pumping him at a maddeningly slow pace. His slick tip nudges against her tits, and something about knowing that, even if he can't see it, makes him throb harder.
“Oh f–fuck…” His eyes roll back and his hips push into her grasp eagerly, but her other hand grabs his doughy hip to pin him into place against the bed. Despite his stubborn attitude at work, Elliot has no qualms doing what he's told in the bedroom. Sometimes he'll push his luck, but only when the moment calls for it. This feels like something Olivia needs to do, to give as she sees fit and only how she sees fit, and Elliot isn't about to question it.
She leaves a dozen more hickies over his belly, and the pace she jerks him off only picks up when she's decidedly finished branding him. She moves down to take a few inches of his length into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks. Elliot whines, the warm, wet flesh of her tongue lathering his sensitive cock, dancing over the veins about ready to pop. She pulls off with an exaggerated pop, and looks up at him under her lashes, saliva trailing between her swollen lips and his glistening cock.
“Holy shit,” He scoffs, and reaches out uselessly for her. “You're so hot. Please, baby…I need you.”
Olivia purses her lips and hums. She repositions herself over his cock again, realigning him to her cunt, but doesn't drop just yet.
“Why me, Detective?” She asks, a theatrical edge to her tone, as she grinds her wet folds and clit against his tip. He jerks up in response, groaning. “You've got so many choices.”
Elliot's brain isn't the sharpest when he's on the cusp of an orgasm, so the meaning to her words is lost on him. All he can think about is how soaked her pussy is, how tight she feels around him, how fantastic it is to be alive and fucking her. He paws at her thighs, pressing his fingers into the upper part of her thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from her sex, and his mouth goes dry.
“Just you, baby, no one else.” He strains his neck as he swallows down hard, breathing heavy. “God, I fucking need you.”
“Need?” Olivia's laugh is almost mocking, but before he can take offense, she drops down his length and steals the air from his lungs. His nails bite her thighs harshly, and she runs her hands over them, gripping his wrists loosely. “Need is a strong word.”
They return to their rhythm. Elliot doesn't seem to question Olivia's challenging tone, nor does he wonder why she wanted to stop in the first place. He's all too content to be fucking her again, lost in the velvety drag of her cunt squeezing around him, sucking him in deep enough he convinces himself he's in her guts. Olivia meets him thrust for thrust, until his pace begins to falter and she picks up on those telltale signs that he's close to cuming. She's rocking down on him, timing the way his panting gets heavier, and then when she thinks he's about a handful of thrusts away from finishing…
She pulls herself off him again.
His cock literally pops wetly from the snug confines of her pussy, and flops against his groin, throbbing painfully. The ache returns, more bold, as if someone has hold of his balls and are squeezing them in a vice. It makes it hard to breathe at first, and he winces. Elliot's eyes widen like dinner plates, and he glares at Olivia with incredulous confusion. She merely smirks in response.
“Wha—Liv, babe, I was close—”
“I noticed.”
Elliot's mouth hangs open in shock. The wires in his brain desperately attempt to reconnect and gather a coherent thought.
“Do you wanna change positions?”
Olivia gently sits in his lap so her pussy blankets his poor cock, and gives a lazy roll of her hips to grind against him. He inhales sharply, stuttering. She leans in over his body to lay against him and takes his face into her hands, their noses only a few inches apart.
“How many times did you get asked out today, Detective?”
Something finally clicks into place then, and Elliot’s brows shoot up. He stares at her blankly as he puts together all his findings, piecing together a response that both answers her and gets him closer to his orgasm. She watches him intensely, like he's a perp in interrogation, close to popping under the pressure, with a cheshire-smile that makes his heart skip a beat.
“I don't remember.”
Olivia clicks her tongue off the roof of her mouth and nods. “3 times, I believe. And then of course there was the EMT last week. You're very popular.”
Elliot brings his hands up to stroke her back, though he more so pulls her against him harder, as if there's any space left. “Liv, please—”
“You like the attention, don't you?” She pushes herself to sit up straight and slides against his cock, grinding her hips painstakingly slowly. “Pretty girls throwing themselves at you, all so eager to see you like this.” She pushes down on him with more force, and blushes warmly when Elliot whines in response. “Can't say I blame them. Bet they think you're stern, too, all too eager to take out your frustrations on a rebound.”
Elliot pathetically ruts against her like a dog, overwhelmed by an intense need for an explosive release. He's far too riled up to try play her at her own game, and frankly he isn't sure he'd want to. She really is hot when she's jealous, and here she is, using and abusing him to entertain herself. She's right, too, he does like the attention, and maybe that means he's deserving of punishment.
Maybe if this were any other woman, Elliot would easily be able to take back control. He'd have no problem restating his dominance, returning the teasing like retribution, and bringing them both to an easy finish. Anyone else…but not Olivia. She's not like any other woman, and things have never been easy with her.
He wants her to take everything she needs. He'd let her rip his chest open and rearrange his ribcage if she so desired. If Olivia feels he is deserving of torture, then Elliot trusts her judgement.
Though that doesn't mean he isn't above begging her to end his suffering.
“Baby, please, I'm dying.” The growl in his voice doesn't fully cancel out the needy whine like he'd hoped, but he continues anyway, hands rubbish her thighs. “I don't want any of those women. I don't care about anyone else. I just want you.”
He knows he sounds dangerously too earnest for what is a friend's-with-benefits situation, but his brain is fried, and the pressure of her slick cunt gliding over his desperate cock does nothing to aid in rationality. His hands grab her hips and he uselessly pulls, as if it'll somehow be the thing that convinces her to take pity.
Olivia rolls her eyes but smiles warmly. “Dying is a bit of an over exaggeration.”
“No, really, I'm dying. You're so beautiful, and you feel so good, I might drop dead.”
To that she let out a loud laugh. “Well that makes it sound like you'll die if we continue.”
Elliot tenses his neck and he moans through a laugh. His cock is pulsating beneath her, it's beginning to hurt with how aroused he feels. The way she looks down at him, her brunette hair feathering around her face, the fringe that's started growing out covering her right eye slightly, she's stunning. How can a woman even be so stunning, he thinks to himself.
“Please let me cum. I'll do anything for you. You can ride my face after and I'll lick you clean. You can put me in your bras and panties and call me a pretty girl, for all I care! Anything, I'll do anything you want, just please let me cum…”
Olivia lets the silence drag for a few torturous seconds, eyes dragging up and down his body, before finally she takes pity. She rises above his crotch and for the final time, realigns his length to her pussy. The blunt head of his cock once again nudges open her entrance, and she sinks down on him, chewing her bottom lip as he cries out in pleasure. She plants her hands on his belly so she can leverage herself to bounce on him. As she begins, wasting no time to pick up speed, she digs her nails into his plush fat, leaving behind half-moon crescents.
Elliot feels something spiritual about the moment all of a sudden, as if every nerve ending in his body lights up. He fucks her vigorously, grunting with every thrust, and she rides him for everything he's worth, moaning openly toward the ceiling, losing herself to the delicious stretch of his thick cock filling her over and over again.
Elliot had been on his back this whole time so far, but in the heat of the moment, watching her features contort as her orgasm begins to approach, he sits himself up. He pulls her legs around his waist and holds her close to his body—her slim, toned figure pressed against the plush fat of his. She gasps, wrapping her hands around his neck, and he snakes one hand between them so he can toy with her clit. Olivia can't help the high whine that leaves her mouth, or the way she bucks into his calloused fingers like a mad woman desperate for her fix.
“You close, baby?” He asks through a breathless growl, and she nods frantically, gripping his shoulders as if she needs something to keep her tethered to reality.
“Yeah. You gonna join me?” She nuzzles against his temple, kissing his sweaty skin messily. Elliot laughs, circling her clit faster as his hips pick up simultaneously.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Olivia moans out a laugh. The slapping of their skin echos louder as their shared climax draws closer, both chasing one another's ecstasy as much as their own. Elliot's gruff growls melt into eager whines, and Olivia's moans turn high and airy, like she's running out of oxygen. Elliot nestles his face in the crevice of her breasts, trying to kiss the bare skin but more so just slobbers over her skin messily, lips dragging uselessly as he loses himself to pleasure. He cums first, a feral grunt ripping through his chest. His hips stutter as he pushes up, his cock chasing the impossible, needing more and more and more and more—
And that feeling, the sticky, grim, maddening sensation of his ejaculation spilling inside her fast and hot, it tips her over the edge. She clenches around him and grinds down harder. One hand rips the skin of his shoulder blade, the other burying into the stubby tufts of his hair, pressing his face impossibly closer to her chest for more.
They moan in harmony and ride the wave together. It's desperate, it's messy, it's passionate. It's them.
They stay connected for several minutes after, holding onto one another as if too afraid to let go. Olivia can feel the grotesque dribbling of his cum slowly slipping between them. She can feel the throbbing of his spent cock as it softens, still sensitive and aroused, but tired. She can feel his hot breath pour over her breasts as he pants heavily, well and truly wrecked.
Eventually she pulls his head back, holding it carefully in her hands like he's a prized possession; her most beloved possession that she couldn't bear to live without. She strokes his cheek lovingly and leans in to kiss him. She wants to surround herself with him, to bury herself in his desire and become the toilsome blossom of that which they don't speak. She chases his lips like she chased her orgasm, like she chases him every day. She gives him everything she can muster and hopes he knows, deep down in his fragile heart, that she'll always be here for him, no matter what…
~ 🚔🧁 ~
Elliot collapses on one of the locker room benches with a strained groan. He stayed late to lift weights, and now his arms are throbbing with pain. It's a good kind of pain, the type that warms his bones, that let's his brain reset and remember he's alive. The thick muscles in his biceps bulge against his porcelain skin, defining even through the layers of fat that have softened him.
His phone chirps and he pulls it from his gym shorts, smiling when he sees Olivia's name.
LIV: Hope you bring your appetite to mine, because I've definitely made way too much pasta. You want to shower here?
EL🍑: I was going to have a quick shower here. Unless you want to dine with a sweaty pig?
LIV: Sounds kind of hot if I'm honest.
Elliot scoffs. Before he can type out another response, the locker room door swings open and Fin walks in, a little startled to see anyone else still at the precinct.
“Thought you'd gone home hours ago?”
Elliot shrugs and pushes himself up, groaning as his joints protest. He moves to his locker and starts gathering his things. “I keep forgetting to hit the gym in the mornings so I figured I'd get in a few rounds while I'm free. Why are you here so late?”
Fin sighs. “One’a my cases got me strung out. Feels like I'm chasing ghosts.”He yawns, running a hand down his face. “But I can't run on coffee alone no more so I'm turning in.”
Elliot nods, understanding exactly the stress that haunts them all in this line of work. It's hard not to lose oneself in the devastation of hunting down justice, and if it weren't for his kids, Elliot might not be as strong as he is to keep pushing on. A family doesn't mean he's impenetrable, and where they provide him his strength, his anger carries the burden of repairing his sanity. Although, these days he finds it more manageable to keep his rage at bay. Lust and familiarity sedates that edge, relaxes him the way nicotine might a smoker. Olivia's body gives him relief, the same way his body does hers.
He reaches up to the highest shelf in his locker to grab the spare clothes he keeps forgetting to take home. “Good call. You want some help tomorrow with what evidence you've got?”
“Actually, that might be a shout. Maybe fresh eyes will see something I'm…” Fin trails off as his eyes are summoned to Elliot's abdomen. More specifically, the sliver of belly poking from under his tank top where it rides up.
To say Elliot's stomach has been marked would be an understatement. Across the smooth plane of his belly’s skin are a consolation of love bites, bruises blooming like midnight flowers, deep violets and muted reds unfurling into one another in lazy, intimate patterns. They overlap and wander, bleeding into one another like watercolor left out in the rain. His body bears the aftermath of something intense and unguarded, like he’s the canvas holding an artist’s vision, a portrait of feral desires and obsessive lust. The indents of teeth marks hold onto his skin possessively, faded red but still prominent enough to make it known: Elliot Stabler is owned.
“I'm starting in the afternoon tomorrow, so I can look over whatever you got before I start any of my cases.” When Elliot turns to look at Fin, he's met with a mischievous grin. He frowns, confused. “What?”
Fin doesn't speak. His eyes simply dart down to where his belly pokes out. When Elliot follows his line of sight and realises what Fin’s seen, he pulls down the cotton of his top and slams his locker door shut. He feels his face immediately light up like a Christmas tree. He slings his bag over his shoulder and walks toward the exit.
“Okay but which girl was it?” Fin calls after him, holding back a smug laugh that makes Elliot feel about ready to explode. “Was it the coffee shop one? Looks like she’s got it real bad for you, Stabler!”
As Elliot speed walks out the room, heading for the elevator, his mind wanders to thoughts of that night, and how amazing her lips felt against his soft skin. Damn be the woman that is Olivia Benson…
I'm a bottom Jack truther but I bet his favourite way to "top" is when he's flat on his back with Rhys riding him. Even better after he's had a big meal and Rhys goes super slow while rubbing his belly 😏
