#obsessed!man

it's almost as if the word isn't in his vocabulary when it comes to you.

while he doesn't mean to over-do it, there's always something in him that just wants to make things happen, you know? wants to make you happy.

he blames his years of southern living. the culture and family that taught him that his woman should never have to work a day in her life. that all she should worry about is enjoying life— the life he provides for her as a labor of his love.

he watched his daddy do it; deliver his mother fresh flowers in the morning with a kiss on her head and his wallet on the table. before that, it was his grandfather and the ranch he built from scratch to appease his picky woman. even saw some of the chivalry his great grandfather showed in the little ways he still could, like with a new pearl necklace or fur coat on an occasion.

it was their duty as men to provide. especially as men smitten with their wives.

this is how you found yourself with boxes and boxes of gifts underneath the christmas tree, each one wrapped was with delicate touches and care. the gifts consisted of things you’d obsessed over once upon a time or maybe mentioned once in passing. it was all the same to him, though. you wanted it? he got it.

it was how you found yourself on your knees on a sunday, passing him tools as he installed new shelves and displays in your walk-in closet. you already had a vanity, a wardrobe, and as many dressers as one could imagine, but you’ve never been a light shopper. once your bags started collecting in neat piles along your room, he’d gotten a clue. all it took was a simple “honey, do you think you could do this for me?” and he’d clear his schedule.

it was how you tried nearly every restaurant in your fast-paced city. the high-brow, low-brow, and hole in the wall places, too. if he thought you’d like it then that’s exactly where he’d take you. he loved seeing you melt as you found a new dish you enjoyed. he loved how you always gathered some of your food and brought it to his lips in an effort to get him to try it. so what if the two of you ordered the same thing? your’s tastes a little different!

it was how he winded up with your name tattooed across his chest, the word carved into him in a way he simply relished in. you didn’t even have to ask for it, no, and he was in no rush to tell you either. but, he wears it as proudly as he does his wedding band— just another reminder of his devotion to you.

it was how, in the midst of a heated moment of passion, you saw that tattoo. how you halted your grinding on top of him with a racing mind and hooded eyes, locked in on the black, beautiful cursive your name rested in. how your left hand came to rest on it, and for a few short seconds, it met your wedding ring. how you really, truly came to believe that your man is so much more than head over heels for you.

it’s one of his sweetest dreams besides being with you.

while in the south, big, growing families were far from rare, he was always hesitant to have one of his own. with the way he worked, forty hours a week and sometimes more, it just wasn’t realistic. despite having a good role model in his pa, and a yearning mother on his back, he never knew if he could see himself that way.

well, until he met you.

while a large part of him was satisfied with taking care of you— giving you every ounce of his love— there came a time where a more primal urge began to form. an urge that desperately wanted to create life with you. that wanted to expand his family and extend his love. that wanted to be the father of your child, along with your husband.

the daydreams started slowly, but after a while they were all consuming.

watching you laze around the house in your puffy sundresses, bump just brimming underneath the fabric. laying with you at night with your swollen, worn body under his hands as he lifts the weight off your back. sweet early mornings filled with sweet tea and your bare feet resting in his lap as he squeezes away the pain.

he fantasized about painting the nursery together— desperate to please your rapidly changing visions. buying your babies little onesies and socks to wear as they grow. making little scrap books of the pictures he’d take along the way, noting how you bloomed more and more with the labor of his love.

he’d learn to cook according to your pregnancy cravings. he’d hold your hair back as you threw up from morning sickness. he’d take those silly breathing and parenting classes with you, if you agreed too. he would do anything at all to make it easier for you; that he knew more than anything.

it got so bad that the thoughts began following him to work, too.

usually, he thought of you whenever things got stressful and be was tempted to quit. thought about how his money was your money, and how each grueling, sweaty day was worth the smile on your face when he’d hand you a random few hundreds.

you were still there, of course. you never leave his mind. but now, instead of seeing your sweet, sexy stare in his mind’s eye, he saw the wet, long lashes of a baby girl with hair just like yours. he saw chubby little hands, a cute little pout, and skin a mix of your two shades. he saw his wife, his baby, and himself— his sacred little family.

that just about does it for him. any doubts he had before have practically melted, replaced by sheer hope.

he’s careful in the way he approaches you about, timid and shy about the broad new chapter. he knows that he’d provide well for both the baby and you. he knows that his loves would never want for anything— never go without. he knows it all, but he’s still so…nervous.

he’s done so much. so, so much.

more than you know— more than can be forgiven. that, he knows.

sure, it’s a sweet dream. one of the sweetest there could be. but, deep down he knows that he’s not deserving.

so, he keeps it to himself. lets it float through his mind and occupy the spaces you don’t fill. lets the temptation of locking you down torment him, hoping that maybe one day, he’ll forgive himself enough to make it a reality.

sweet, sweet blue collar man.

hello, everyone! this was requested as a domestic moment for our beloved blue-collar!husband. of course, i couldn’t resist throwing a little wrench in that plan, though. expect to see more of our guy soon. you guys have been asking some really good questions ;)

warnings/inclusions: heavy smut, mentions of poor body image, stomach/body worship, unequal power dynamics

how, despite his intuition screaming at him to turn around, he still drove over to your house when you called.

how his hands shook the entire way there, silence filling his car to the brim as he wrestled with himself. no spotify playlist, no podcast— not even the old voice memos you left him that he usually replayed. just pure, uninterrupted silence.

you hadn’t talked to him in months. hadn’t returned his calls, read his texts, or even listened to his voicemails. as far as he knew, but could never accept, you had moved on far and fast without a chance to look back.

but now, after so long, you pulled him by the tight leash you kept him on once again. you had him by the ear— called him back like the stray dog only you could turn him into, just like he hoped you would. just like he knew you would, because ultimately, nobody could fuck you like him.

at first you tried to deny it— tried to deny that power he had over your body. the way every crook and curve seemed to melt perfectly into yours. he was just a man. nothing more than a pair of pretty eyes and some nice, sweet attention. that’s it, that’s all.

but each time another man would warm your bed, you were forced to face the fact that that just wasn’t true.

you’d find yourself reminiscing about the way he’d rut into you at just the right angle, dick pushing against every sweet spot imaginable. how he’d place sweet kisses against your temple as he took you from behind. how he’d whisper how much he loved you against your ear as he pushed in deeper— all examples of how he was made for you. how he naturally did all the things you needed him too.

compared to your ex, no other guy could compete. no matter how much you hyped yourself up to be in the moment, tried to get them to touch or fuck you— it was never enough. you always found yourself craving what you knew, nearly fiendish for his gentle touch and his sweet praise.

this night was only different because you had the guts to give in.

he hadn’t even been through the door for five minutes before you were up against him. conversation had always been needless to you, but as you pulled and prodded at his clothes, he was coming to realize how much he needed it.

your voice was the sweetest melody, sifting through his head in quiet moments like taunts of better days. after being deprived of it for so long he found himself hoping for any of it. anything. small quips about how he was doing or what he’d been up to, short little insights into what you were doing yourself— hell, anything other than the meager greeting you gave him at the door.

all you seemed to care about was pulling his belt loose, though.

okay.

he didn’t realize that he wasn’t breathing correctly until he was inside of you.

the feeling reverberated throughout his body in nearly euphoric tingles, pulling him deeper into your warmth, much to his content. shallow, nearly anxious pants turned into deep sighs of relief in an instant.

he wasn’t the only one to feel that relief either, that he could tell.

your head flung back in an instant and though he held them like a vice at his waist, your thighs still shook a bit at the pressure. he loved seeing you like this— ripping apart at the seams you so neatly threaded together.

“fuck,” you whined out, voice pitching in that way only he was familiar with.

he took a few seconds before he moved again, careful not to overwhelm you with his size. though he was only a good five or six inches altogether, he always managed to curve just against your sweet spot— something he used to his advantage.

once he was sure that you’d adjusted to the feeling, he pulled himself back a few inches before plummeting in once again, setting a moderate pace with his hips. he always started like this— wanting to spend a good amount of time working you up before things picked up anymore.

almost like an instinct, his head dipped down to catch one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue rounding the mound in soft, round circles. he sucked at them for a few seconds before pulling away to kiss at the skin surrounding it, desperate to savor the shape and taste of you.

“these are still as pretty as i remember,” he lamented, pulling a soft whimper from you at his praise.

his hand lowered towards your stomach next, moving your arms from the valley in which they found purchase. he always found it so enthralling, watching the way your soft skin would bounce slightly in response to his thrusts.

“here too,” he smiled up at you, rubbing his hand over it.

he knew how self conscious you’d been about your stomach in the past. how you hated the way that, despite countless hours in the gym, the little pudge never seemed to go away. he remembered how you’d try your best to cover it up as he took you, diverting his hands from the area whenever he’d take grip there. how you’d nearly look embarrassed when he’d ghost his kisses past it.

if only you knew how fucking beautiful he found your little love handles. how he fantasized about the view of you under him, just like this, time and time again once you’d split. how he adored the extra cushion you carried there.

his hands snaked to your back after awhile, pulling your waist into his arms as he began to increase his speed a bit. this new position, with your legs wrapped around his hips and his face buried in your neck, all but overtook you. it felt almost as if, with each thrust, he was molding himself deeper into you, leaving his print behind each time he’d pull away.

where with anyone else, your mind would’ve been far away, you had no choice but to feel and take all of what he was giving you. every sensation, thrust, moan— it all coursed through your body like air, pulling the most guttural moans from your lips.

“i’ve missed all of this so fucking much,” he whispered into your ear, words broken by his own sharp movements.

all you could muster was a cry at that, head falling back as he seemed to increase his pace again.

“you try to act like you don’t,” he continued, moving his head to plant hard, rough kisses against your neck, “like what we had meant nothing.”

his voice was gruff and chiding, similar to that of a parent scolding a child. though there were remnants of it before, you could practically feel his frustration with you now.

your entire body was hot under his touch, sensitive to every little thing now. he wasn’t being the gentle, sweet boy he normally was with you, no. this man was one filled with hurt and anger— all of which you were responsible for. that you knew.

“but i know you, sweet girl,” he continued, moving his hand down to press against your stomach, “i know that despite everything you’ve put me through— all that shit you said…”

his movements began to slow as he continued, his grip on your body loosening just the slightest bit as he pulled back.

“i know that you still love me.”

his eyes bore holes through yours, intimidating every lie you could’ve possibly told from your mind. where in any other situation, you might’ve had the mind to look away— to push him back and demand he leave— you just couldn’t. not when he was so close, and he was holding you the way he was, and he was telling the truth you were far too afraid to tell.

though you didn’t say much, he could see the truth plastered across your face. it was evident in the way sucked you bottom lip between your teeth, just as you did when he would catch you in a lie. it was in the way your eyes watered as he began to fuck into you once again. it in the way that this time, you held onto him with a grip much tighter than before, and you melted into him completely.

“i just need you to say it to me, baby,” he whispered once more, almost like he was telling a secret only the two of you could know.

“i need you to tell me i’m not wrong.”

the weight of his hands against your stomach felt blissfully heavy as you neared your finish, whines and moans pouring from you like adlibs to the most lustful music. you could sense how close he was too, evident in his heavy breathing and nearly uncontrollable pleas.

mixes of “come on’s” and “i just need to hear it’s” filled your ear like a symphony, bringing you closer and closer to release the way he knew it would. you always loved to hear him beg.

with one final snap of his hips, you felt the fog close around your mind and the bliss over take your body. against your defenses, you let the words fall from your mouth like a chant.

“i still love you.”

“i still love you.”

“i still fucking love you.”

it’s almost as if you’d flipped a switch, pulling every last drop of resolve from his body. his orgasm crashed into him like a tidal wave, rendering him speechless except for the moans he released.

you watched in awe as his face contorted into one of pure, sweet euphoria. all of his stress and tenseness melted away, now replaced by the soft shakes and jolts coursing through his body at the feeling.

you pulled him down into you, allowing his body to splay over yours as the remaining sensations of your climaxes passed. he was silent for the most part, his breathing evening out eventually as you held him.

you weren’t sure who said it, him or you, but nonetheless, you were glad to hear it.

“can we stay like this?”

introducing a new boy to the roster. i’ve got such a soft spot for this baby. let me know what y’all thought about him!

“you know…” he started, trailing off ever so slightly. his eyebrows were tightly-knitted, showcasing his frustration more than his tone did, “i think you like pissing me off.”

you couldn’t hold back your scoff at that. of course that was his role— the brutish man ever provoked by his promiscuous lover.

the way you turned in your heels was every bit of disrespectful, red pumps courting the ground in rapid, powerful steps. he followed closely behind, pulling at his tie that was nearly choking him now.

“oh, please,” you retorted, bitterness lacing your tone, “take some fucking responsibility for yourself.”

you rarely ever swore at him, but tonight was the exception. he had pushed just a little too far.

“watch your tone,” he warned from behind you, voice just a tad bit more menacing and much closer than it had been before.

normally, you would’ve heeded his warning…given into the silence and allowed yourself to calm down. but you just couldn’t. not after the scene he had caused.

“just stop fucking talking to me.”

before you could take your next step, his hand was around your neck, pulling you flush into him. the material of his silk suit cascaded over the exposed skin of your back, outlining every ridge and crook of his body against your’s. he was ripe and hot with anger, his pale skin scorching as much as the obsidian ring that was digging into your jugular.

his other arm snaked to rest across your stomach, limb holding you so firm that even an exhale was a bit difficult. his hair had come undone, failing to his shoulders in unkempt waves that brushed against your’s face and tickled. it would’ve been endearing— this position— had it not been for the his nearly primal snarling.

“let me remind you of something, my love.”

his face dropped towards your neck, nose breathing in your scent first, followed by the linings of his fangs next. your body spasmed in response— a mix of terror and excitement all the same.

“you are an extension of me,” his words were slow and pointed, chaste kisses accompanying them, “i created you with the sheer power of my soul.”

“i have gifted you a strong mind,” a pause, and then a series of small, surface level bites followed suit, “a youthful body, and a bountiful heart.”

his breathing was intense now, ragged and heavy as if the sheer fact that he had to assert himself this way was pissing him off.

“i have given you a life others dream of-“

“i never asked for it-“

“and yet, it’s your’s. that’s all that matters.”

his grip around your neck grew tighter. his presence was all but consuming you like this, weakening every fight you tried to put together under it’s sheer weight.

“you are mine,” he continued, drawing his tongue around a particularly subtle valley on your neck.

“despite all the freedom i afford you, you must not forget this— till the day the world ends— till the day the heavens forgive this curse we’ve been bestowed— i own you…”

he was silent for the next few moments, relishing in how your once stagnant blood began to pulse under the pressure he applied. his other hand slipped from it’s place at your stomach to rest between your thighs, the material of your dress resting over his wrist all the while.

you recoiled instinctively, to no avail, falling further into him in spite of your efforts to get away.

“…and you will not speak to me that way.”

and with that, he finally dug in, teeth accosting your skin like the sharpest of daggers.

you weren’t sure how long it was before the pain morphed to pleasure, but by the time he was finished with you, all that you could remember was the taste of yourself on his tongue. that, and the sentiment he had so readily asserted: you are his.

how, despite all the heartache and turmoil you’ve put him through, he’s still there.

how you discarded him in a haste, eager to break free of his love and experience it from another.

how he watched for months as you went through your phases, one wrong match after the next.

how he came when you called, his heart beating through his chest at the sound of your voice.

how he held your shaking body in his hands, finally feeling the weight lift from his chest that only you had put there.

how you looked at him through tears after he made love to you and asked the question you’d always wanted answered: “how could you still love me?”

how his eyes watered as he heard the cracks in your voice and as he brought a kiss to your lips— his initial act of reassurance.

how he whispered to you, with a smile only you could earn: “because love is patient and kind— and because i love you.”