#tw age gap

[miser-of-miscellaneous]

P4: Thank You Very Much by Itoko (Idoll_itk)

[First]

[clinquantribbons]

divorced dad!simon riley, save me.

his daughter, charlotte, more commonly known as lottie, was born in the spring of 2019, the product of an exceptionally toxic relationship between simon and some waitress who used to serve his drinks at his local pub. it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious — at the time, he cared for little else but his duty, and he considered her too immature, too needy, to handle long-term — but, when she fell pregnant, simon did what he thought was right, and married her. he didn’t want his kid growing up like he did, feeling unloved or unwanted. but it came back to bite him in the end, as she proved to be, what price called, a raging fucking cunt. she berated him and manipulated him, cheated on him, claimed that the distance was too much, that if he really gave a damn about lottie, he’d retire from the service.

so he did. and then he divorced her, took her to court and got partial custody of his baby, who was three years old at the time. he’d get her every other week, on father’s day, christmas eve, and his birthday. he would’ve preferred to never have to see his ex-wife again, of course, but wouldn’t rob lottie of a relationship with her mother unless it was absolutely necessary. he wasn’t cruel, just bitter. he lets her have the house, and the car, for their daughter’s sake, he moves out and finds a new place, a quaint two bedroom with a big yard for lottie to play in, and makes peace with his new reality. at the end of the day, he would be happy so long as he had his girl.

you move into the house next door three years after the divorce. this wide-eyed, honey-toned thing, with a dog near the size of you, and a shitbox car whose breaks squeal obnoxiously the first time you make it into the driveway. he reckons you’re fresh out of university, or close to it, you’ve still got that sweetness about you that tells a tale of hope and youth and things he’s long since lost.

simon, with a child of his own and too much time on his hands, sees you struggling to carry your boxes inside and offers to help. to him, it seems quite simple. to you, it’s this big, mean-looking man, who you imagine has every capability of ruining your life, wearing a white wife-beater that does nothing to hide his soft tummy and bulging muscle, calling you kid and offering to install a second deadbolt on your front door. you’re a goner.

over the next few weeks, juggling the new surroundings and new job, you see him occasionally. in his driveway, working on his motorcycle, listening to the same 90s rock your dad used to blast while grilling in the summertime. or he’ll be on the front porch, smoking, sometimes arguing with someone on that archaic, deteriorating cellphone. if you manage to catch his eye, he’ll offer a wave, his fingers perpetually oil stained and permanently crooked, and ask if you need anything from him. you could think of a thing or two but nothing you dare say aloud.

you’re walking your dog one day when you turn the corner, headed to your house, and find simon helping a little girl out of his truck. you’ve no doubt who she is to him, as she looks just fucking like him, blonde curls, brown eyes, and a resting scowl. you didn’t know had a kid, but seeing him, with all his tattoos and bulk and scars, cooing at this little creature does something to you that cannot be undone. lottie squeals when she spots your dog, and almost sprints down the street, asking to pet him.

simon thanks you for indulging her, inviting you to have dinner at his place, because he’s noticed how often you come home with takeout and says that you need real sustenance, you’re practically withering away. you’re not. but you accept anyways, because you’d have to be mad to turn down that offer.

simon’s house is intimidatingly clean, like one would expect of a man who spent most of his life in the military, but traces of him and lottie are everywhere. pictures of her on the walls, alongside a few of simon with a group of unfamiliar men, her drawings and report cards on the fridge, handmade toy-chests in the living room. it’s a real home, with a heart and soul of its own.

lottie shows off her impressive collection of barbie dolls and RC cars, keeping you entertained while simon cooks, and the man watches on with something both amused and curious. he admits, when she goes to wash her hands for supper, that she’s not always so open with new people, that she must like you. you beam at that praise, to his blatant humor.

when dinner is done and lottie is tucked into bed, after she made you promise to come play with her again, and to bring your dog with you, you stick around long enough for a drink. simon asks about you, why you moved here, why you’re living alone. you tell him that you went to school to be a nurse, and got a job offer from the local hospital which you couldn’t refuse. his secondary question, you shrug off with a grin that doesn’t meet your eyes. too busy to date, you say. nobody’s ever seemed worth the trouble.

“smart kid.” he says to that. “men your age don’t know shit about shit—god knows i didn’t.”

then, he tells you about his retirement, and the divorce that followed, vaguely, admitting that lottie’s mother isn’t always the most gracious co-parent, but he wouldn’t change a damn thing if he could. he loves his daughter, wholly and relentlessly. you admire that, if nothing else.

after that, he becomes a more permanent fixture in your life. dinners, drawn-out conversations when you happen to be coming or going at the same time, play dates with lottie and your dog, wesley, and, once, even a ride to work when your car breaks down. by the time you came home, he had it fixed and running better than it has since you got the damned thing. your infatuation festers like an infection in an opened wound. simon notices, as there’s very little that escapes his attention.

he teases you for it, good natured but somewhat patronizing in a way that thrills you more than it should. “i’ve got tattoos older than you,” “did your mama not warn you about guys like me?” “keep it up, and you’ll end up bitin’ off more than you can chew.” unfortunately, all he manages to do is feed into it. still, you take his scolding as disinterest, and, at the risk of ruining what’s turned out to be a decent friendship, you move on with your life. or you try to, at least.

it all comes to a head when he finds you sitting in your car one night, miserable and dejected, with tears in your eyes, despite the fact that you’re in your best outfit, looking heartbreakingly lovely. you confess, when he comes and knocks on your window, that you were meant to meet a coworker for drinks, but had been stood up. he only sighs, his eyes gleaming with fury on your behalf, and says, “thought i told you men your age ain’t shit.”

you remind him that he said the same thing about older guys, and he scoffs, calling you a cheeky brat, and practically manhandles you out of your car. he wipes your tears, graceless but thoughtful, and orders you to give him ten minutes—he returns in fresh jeans and a tee shirt, corralling you towards his truck.

“you look too good to waste it your night crying over some cunt who didn’t deserve your time in the first place.”

[littlest-dark-age]

Being rabbot's controversial young gf would include

tw for age gap (duh, lol), daddy issues, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), brat taming, being called jail bait as a joke, riding, bush mention, if I missed anything please let me know ! Mdni ! Whole blog is 18+ and so is this post

Trying to balance your time between the two. The amount of scheduling alone that goes into dates with all three of you is...a lot. Catching them when they have the same day off and figuring something out that doesn't disrupt either of their sleep schedules is hard! And that's not even taking into account if they're up for it or not.

Fighting over whose card you use. They're both prideful men who have almost your life times worth of big doctor money tucked into the bank. They're not frugal but they don't splurge on themselves often. A nice place, regular upkeep, bills paid early, money tucked into a retirement fund. Nothing crazy.

Which lets you do the spending for them. Jack is always wordlessly tucking his card into your hand, pocket or purse. "You know the pin, use it, okay?" is often paired with a kiss to your temple.

Robby uses a different tactic. Direct deposits to your accounts. Looking at your carts online. Paying for your student loans and car note, setting them up to automatically come out of his account. Giving you a look when you're getting lunch with him and you reach for your purse before tapping his card on the reader.

Robby and Jack sit through the hauls after a shopping spree patiently, knowing how excited you get and that you want to explain what you got, why you got it, and what you plan to do with it. It's a part of the deal, they know this and accept it. Jack is the one to ask you more questions, encouraging you to talk about it all while Robby just tells you it's all very pretty. If you buy craft supplies or art supplies, he tells you "You know more about that stuff than I do, honey. More talent for that than me."

They're old men (affectionate) so they have old man habits. Some cannot be broken. Calling stores and things the wrong name, not understanding certain slang, telling you to get off your phone while they're trying to go to bed/talk to you.

"Put your phone down and go to bed, baby. Get some sleep and stay off tiktoks. You'll stay up all night on that thing and then you're cranky in the morning."

Jack has the light flash feature on for alarms and calls due to being a deep sleeper and being a little hard of hearing. Robby has a generic ring tone but set one for you specifically so he can know when it's you.

"Sweetheart, I've been down to one good leg longer than you've been alive."

Pet names galore. Sweetie, honey, baby, etc! All the classics. Don't get calling your partner stinky or pookie.

Robby sometimes just needs you to lay on him. Clothes off, feeling the warmth of your skin against his to ground himself in his body. It doesn't stop the thoughts in his head, no, but it does keep them from getting worse. Dragging his large, calloused palm down the length of your spine. Self soothing, is the word, he thinks.

Jack likes to crawl under your shirt and rest his head against your chest. Listening to the thud...thud...thud...of your heartbeat with his own ears, not through a stethoscope like you're a patient. The fabric of your shirt stretching around him. Almost swaddling his broad shoulders. A tuft of his gray curls poking out from the neckline. Being able to breathe your scent in so deeply.

Listen, they're old(er). They don't want to dance around problems or give you the silent treatment. Preferring to tell you if there's a problem or just talk it out. Jack is usually the one to start the conversations. They understand that you're younger and that sometimes you'll have a little fit. But they let you get it out of your system before sitting down and talking.

You get looks when you go out with them. God forbid you go out with the both of them. It makes for a few awkward conversations when people make assumptions about the nature of your relationship.

One time a waitress overheard you calling Jack daddy and the next time she came over, she mentioned how it's so nice that even grown up you still make time to go out with your dad's and spend time with them. Saying how no matter how old you are, Daddy's little girl is always their special lady. Jack got hard under the table.

Robby silencing his alarm, looking at you and Jack snoring next to him with a sigh and a drag of his palm against his face. Pushing himself out of the warm cocoon that you've turned the bed into since moving in. His warm hand rubbing over your back, over the fabric of a familiar hoodie, as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple and then jacks. Despite the protest from his aging back, he lingers. Lips pressing against your skin as his eyes flutter shut while he breathes in the sleepy scent that surrounds the two of you before starting to get ready for his shift. He says it makes the day a little easier to start.

Jack isn't ashamed of his leg, he's lived with it long enough now that it's just a part of him. But it does make him feel old sometimes, and some previous people have left over it. Getting a pretty thing like you to grab his crutches for him? The tips of his ears get a little warm. All the support bars in the bathroom and the shower chair? He goes to explain before you shut him down with a soft look. He realizes you don't care about the way any of it looks, that it doesn't make him seem old or broken. The way you hand him his crutches with a kiss on the cheek, offer a steadying hand when he needs one and keep creams and compression socks by your bed for when he sleeps over proves that. He can't believe he ever thought you'd have an issue with it now.

The first time you come into the pitt to drop off lunch, a forgotten badge or what have you, the muttering is quick to start. Not to your face and not necessarily negative.....just....shocked. You're so....young. Are Robby and abbot paying you? Have they reached that point in being so lonely? Trinity calls you jail bait, it's a joke. Mostly.

Meanwhile Dana just offers you a smile as she talks to you from her spot behind the desk. She's noticed the way the two of them have seemed lighter lately. A little easier of a flow to them. Dana had also caught a glimpse of an...... enthusiastic..... conversation in the group chat the three of you have a little while ago and forced one of them to spill. There just hadn't been time for a proper introduction. She talks to you kindly, tells you to ignore whatever gossip starts to float around. While young, young enough to have gone to school with one of her daughters she realizes, you're an adult. You're a big girl, who picked Robby and Jack.

Worry warts! You text the group chat one day saying that you're getting a McDonald's coke and large fry to fix your headache and they....are less than thrilled. Asking you to rate your pain, where it's located, if you hit it etc. Telling you that they have some medicine in the cabinet, to take that instead of getting the drink and fries. That it's not a full proof method and that the carbonation won't help your head feel better.

"Give it to him, yea, that's it baby, good girl." Jack says from behind you, his hands on your hips as you ride Robby, controlling your movements. Giving the soft skin of your thighs a sharp swat when you slow down or stop.

Jack is daddy, I hate to tell you. The way he holds himself lends to it so well. Firm when you need a guiding hand but knows when to give it soft enough that you actually listen.

Robby on the other hand.....he's a bit of a brat tamer. Gives you that look when you're acting out or doing something you're not supposed to. Jack gets a bit soft and gooey on you when you blink those big Bambi eyes up at him, but it makes Robby hard when he sees tears welling up in them because of a spanking or punishment.

"I know that's not our sweet girl. Daddy's sweet girl wouldn't be doing what she knows isn't allowed, would she? Gonna bring our good, sweet baby back? Hm?"

Big big big on eye contact!!! Jack doesn't like to cum if he isn't looking into yours or Robby's eyes. "C'mon, look at me please." In that low, slightly frantic voice he gets.

They're not as young as they once were but keep in general shape to be able to run around the ER all day and night. Their stamina isn't completely shot but they need a little bit longer between rounds than you do. Which is when taking turns with you comes in handy. Being able to keep you satisfied until one of them can go again, until they have your brain in clumps in your noggin.

"Gonna keep us young with a cunt like that, huh baby?"

They can be a little mean. Slightly condescending. Cooing at you from behind as one of them holds your legs, the other's hips drilling into you. A laugh against your ear when you whine that it's too much, too fast, too big.

They've both walked in on the other ruining you as they get home from their shift in the morning or evening. Robby just raises a brow and asks "It's 7:30, shouldn't we be feeding her about now?" While you moan and gasp from under Jack. On the other hand, Jack chuckles and watches Robby move on top of you before commenting "You're a dirty old man, before 8 in the morning? Poor thing is gonna be sore the rest of the day."

Robby who begs to eat it whenever he can. From behind, while he's on his soft belly, sitting on his face, he doesn't care. He wants to eat it. Sometimes you think it's more for him than it is you, with the way his eyes flutter shut as his mouth wraps around your clit and he groans against you. Rutting that gorgeous nose on you as his tongue plunges into your walls. It's not uncommon for Jack to walk into the living room to you sprawled out on the couch, eyes on the TV as you try to hold your moans in while Robby works between your legs. Head moving as he tries to get you to break, one of his favorite games.

Few things will make Jack chub up faster than being called a dirty old man (affectionate) by you. It makes him get that little grin and makes him raise a brow at you as if to say 'oh, really?' before starting to pepper you with kisses, nipping at your neck. "S'that what I am? Your dirty old man? Yea, sounds about right."

Bush enjoyers. They won't ask you not to shave but they might drop a few comments if you say something about going to get a wax or buy a new shaver. Saying things like back in their day, that kind of thing was incredibly sexy. That you know they don't care what you look like down there. One day, Jack flat out tells you he wants to bury his face in it. Says a little hair isn't gonna stop him.

Sensitive Robby ! Scalp, thighs and hips, neck. All over. His eyes flutter shut when you lightly drag your nails over his scalp and down his neck, shivers running through him at the sensation. Leaning into it like a dog getting scratched behind the ears. He might as well be a mutt for you anyways.

Jack is a biter. You, Robby, any skin is free game. Clamps his jaw down on your shoulder when he's rutting into you from behind and he feels himself getting close. Loves to see the indent of his teeth on the both of you. Makes him grin a little before nipping at your skin once more.

Taking them both can be so overwhelming but in the best way. Stretched beyond what you thought you could handle, the feeling of their warmth pressed against either side of you, hands roaming all over you to the point you lose track of who is where. It's almost biblical, really. In greed, in lust.

It's more than just sex at that point. It's a full blown experience. Mind melting heat that radiates off of all of you. Skin slick with sweat. Hot breaths ghosting over the back of your neck with every movement. Your own pleasure star forming in your bedroom. Right where it will live for the rest of time between the three of you. Robby thrusting deep enough to touch your soul. Jack holding you tight enough to keep you in your corporeal form.

hope you enjoy ! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ

[rintareo]

nanami’s never experienced having a young girlfriend before. he used to shame others who hit on women significantly younger than them. big age differences always seems iffy to him. plus the idea of dating someone younger only made him feel old.

yet he became such a hypocrite when he started dating you. his young girlfriend in her early twenties. practically a ten year gap.

he wanted to be disgusted with himself sometimes. it felt shameful but he couldn’t resist. all those thoughts were thrown out the window the moment he’d sink himself into the welcoming young pussy of yours.

so cute and eager to please him. screaming for him to fuck you, praising him for how well he filled you up. you were just an ego boost for him and you didn’t even know it.

he’s never felt more alive than when he comes home to you ready to leave his stress. either with your warm mouth or tight pussy. always something new with you. you know how to keep him on his toes.

[corrosivecalamity]

imagine abbot being absolutely enamored with you, a new resident starting a rotation at the Pitt. 

you fit in perfectly with the others (with him) , always ready with an answer to the question. eager to learn, you remind abbot of, well, him. maybe that’s why he wants to get closer, to learn more. 

it’s not a crush. and if it is, well. it’s not like you need to know. 

“where are you planning to work?” he asks you one day. it’s casual, easygoing. his hand trails over your hip, lingering, and like always, you let him. you don’t look up, focused on charting, but you do answer.

“probably pediatrics. or surgical, if i study more for it.” you answer absentmindedly, waving a hand around and almost brushing over his thigh. abbot bites back the noise he wants to make and leans in closer, a sense of satisfaction washing over him when your eyes finally meet his.

“do you think you’ll stay here?” you smile, voice taking on a fonder tone. abbot wishes it was for him. “yeah. i just want to be closer to my dad for the first few years.”

“yeah?” abbot encourages, wondering who he might have to talk to, to get to know better so he can get on your good side. “do i know him?”

“Michael Robinavitch. don’t you work together?” 

and oh, abbot is fucked. he’s been flirting with you. his best friend’s kid.

[popepout]

being lena’s babysitter and having to deal with baz wanting you terribly. like, it’s half of the reason why he hired you in the first place. you’re a college girl trying to scrape up some cash and help out a struggling dad, it would be a perfect deal if he wasn’t a skirt chaser— you’re always rejecting his advances and saying “oh, no thank you. i have a class in the morning, mr.blackwell” when he tries to get you to stay later after he gets home and lena has been tucked in.

except one night he doesn’t come home until way after your agreed time. he’s nowhere to be found, and your eyebrows furrow the later it gets. the clock strikes twelve and you can’t help but wonder if this bastard really fled on his kid or if you’re just being paranoid. but then he comes through the door with another man in tow, ranting and raving about god knows what and reeking of whiskey. you scrunch your nose up as you stand, looking between them until you’re stopped—

“you must be the babysitter lena’s always talking about… i’m andrew, her uncle.” the man drawls, eyeing you as baz storms into the kitchen.

all of your rage settles for a brief moment, and although his gaze is intense, you don’t shy away from it. not even when he steps the slightest bit closer and you can see the freckles on his face, you can smell the cologne lingering on his jacket— your lips part to speak but you’re stopped by the sound of baz’s voice, obviously catching on to the tension between you and his brother from the kitchen counter.

“she should be headin’ out around now,” he grits out as if you aren’t right there, “i don’t want to have to pay her for another hour.”

at that andrew’s gaze finally budges, shaking his head at baz and his not so subtle jealousy because why should he have to back off? it’s not like baz ever had a chance with you, anyway— doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not impressed or charmed by him.

“get home safe,” andrew offers at the very least in a much lighter tone, turning back to watch you gather your things and walk out.

and of course you’re trying your hardest not to think about how your absolute favorite amongst all of the kids you babysit has a hot uncle on your way back to your apartment.

[marion-ettes]

Focus, Andrea.

Finished version of this sketch

[ysaefinn]

Paring: Dilf!suguru x Afab!reader || 18+

Cw: yandere themes, age gap (20's/40's), humiliation, forced dom/sub dynamics, unreciprocated (?TT) daddy kink, public pussy inspection, mentions of spankings/punishment, infantilization, petplay undertones, use of "good girl".

Suguru wanted to take you out for a walk today.

That was the end of the promise. Your little reward for going along with whatever he's been trying to make of this relationship for the past however many weeks. The plan was to follow the usual routine: Tail behind him for a little while, tolerate the excessive cheek pinching, the cooing, the sweat forming at the palm of your hand from his weirdly firm grip on it, and get through the patronizing yet somehow casual comments he makes about you during small talk with blurry faced strangers. Maybe you'll even get a treat by the end of it.

It sounds more like a chore than anything, you don't understand why you let it happen either, it can't be that hard to say no to him, his approval can't be that intoxicating. Surely not.

Apparently it can, judging from the wetness between your thighs, your reddening face, the inability to look him the eye is particularly fierce today too, the butterflies are restless. Truth be told, you're very conflicted about this change, it feels dreadful sometimes, frustrating and suffocating. But –God, for the life of you, you can't help but perk up like an eager little puppy at the attention, all those gently delivered orders, the way he showers you in praise. . . . Who would've thought you liked being told what to do this much? From a man who fills a certain void no less. The writing on the wall with this one.

God, this is beyond embarrassing, you're not too happy about all you've discovering about yourself, or all that's been changing within you lately.

But he's the exact same.

Patronizing as ever, smothering as ever. Sharp as ever.

It was meant to just be a walk, he wasn't supposed to notice, certainly not supposed to drag you to an empty alley way and humiliate you like this.

"Bend over, hands on your knees." Suguru presses down on your lower back. And of course, you do just that, –you listen so well–. "Good girl. . ." he whispers, ( –and your brain melts.) sounding awfully fond, maybe even a tad bit proud –this is all his hard work finally paying off, after all.– Beyond patronizing– "My poor baby ..." he coos, sliding his large hand over your arch, "we're needy today, aren't we?" He traces the outline of your puffy cunt over the thin fabric of the panties, sending you squeaking, his fingers pinch at the edges to adjust the sides.

"Suguru-" You whine, and all motion stops, the stinging and soreness intensifies. "D-daddy! Daddy..! I'm sorry!" You frantically correct yourself, stumbling on each word. –Pathetic and whiny– And for good reason too. You would be way out of line.

'You know better than that.'

Suguru places his hand over the curve of your ass, tracing the cute, delicate lace detailing of the panties he picked out that morning with the side of his thumb, before giving the still sore cheek a firm pat. –Just a little reminder–. "There we go." he purrs, sounding satisfied; infatuated. His thumb runs along the split before settling on the large wet patch over your hot, pulsing lips.

"Take it off".

You reach your trembling hands back and slowly peel the soaked fabric off. –There's not much you can do, when the way he tells you to do things leaves no room for debate. (It's really not on you. . .) .

"Silly thing" Suguru chuckles, gently brushing his knuckles against your throbbing core, "You should've told me a lot sooner" he whispers, seemingly more to himself, –thinking outloud, maybe? – he spreads the wetness of your folds over your lips. Slow gentle circular motions, occasionally dipping his index finger just deep enough to graze your needy clit, and tuts and coos at any reaction you give him.

"P-please. . . can—" "Please, what?" Suguru interrupts, and he doesn't sound as soft as he did a moment ago. "Please daddy!" You squeak back, and it's taking everything in you not to grind your ass on his now still hand, or to reach over and take care of it yourself. Both of which he wouldn't let slide.

"Just like that, so well behaved." Suguru coos, back on his lovesick haze, he moves his fingers again, spreading your sticky folds open and crooning at the way you clench around nothing. "Want daddy to take care of you, hm?" "Yes! Yes!" You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes, and Suguru's heart skips a beat.

He doesn't think you've looked any cuter than you do now. Face completely flushed red, tears welled up in your eyes, anxiously biting down on your jittering bottom lip, bent over like this for him simply because daddy told you to, because he said so.

You're just so fucking precious. You're so cute.

He wants nothing more than to reach over and tend to you, wipe your tears, pull the poor abused flesh away from the sharpness and chastise you about it. But most of all,–

He wants to fuck you unconscious.

And he will.

'Smack-!!' Suguru snaps your drenched panties back on, leaving your poor swollen pussy completely needy and disappointed. The rest of your bottom clothes follow closely after.

"H-huh?!" Your face drops.

He will, just not on your terms.

"There–" he pulls you up straight, manhandling your warm body back to face him. He brings you closer by the hips until you're chest to chest with him, until he towers over you, –Suffocatingly close. . .– . "Perfect." Suguru whispers before wiping the loose hair strands off your sweaty face. He places a long, hard, patronizing kiss on your still damp forehead.

"Once we're home." he whispers against your skin, –not helping with the festering heat one bit– he slides his hands down your sides to smooth down your clothes, squeezing and grabbing at whatever he can. He settles over your ass, giving the plump, sore flesh a gentle pat then a firm squeeze. Smiling fondly when you jolt forward into his chest.

"Once we're home, daddy will tend to you, sweetie." Suguru kisses you one last time on the cheek, and places his hands over either side of your face, squishing your cheeks in the process.

"Okay?"

You nod frantically, –because daddy wants an answer– .

(It's really, really not your fault that he makes you behave this way. . .)

He smiles earnestly, sweetly, so proud of his pretty, obedient little thing.

(. . . So what? No shame in wanting to be taken care of, nothing's free in life.)

"Good baby." he exhales, moving his large, heavy hand to pat you on the head.

"Now, would you like a treat?"

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