Chapter 1 - Cute and Wholesome

Note: So there was a lot of freedom here, I just had fun with it. Maybe too much in some places.
This ended up at around 3800 words, and it was enjoyable to write.

I will say it's been a while, I can't say much for its quality. I know it's at least enjoyable and wholesome.
I remember when this prompt first won I was kinda worried it might be offensive, uh, for a lot of reasons, but I let it in the polls back then because I can say with confidence the only thing the guy who suggested this poll had in mind was a cute work involving depression, cheering up, and love. Which, I really think a lot of us need sometimes. So I went ahead and did that. Wholesome and cute.

The gently rolling of wheels is the only sound in the house of Jade Lewis. It’s a nice place, right atop a hill with green grass, a well-kept garden, and the nicest owner anyone could ask for with such a lovely three story place. 

The second and third floors aren’t used a lot these days, there being no one who can easily access them, but they’re clean. Oh so clean…

The woman of the house, and only resident, rolls her chair around with a sigh on her lips and misery in her heart. Broken is one word to describe the feeling she has when she looks down at her legs, though it’s a poor descriptor for the mangled, shattered state of her bones. Worthless is a better description for her legs, but one she tries not to associate with herself even if she feels it might be true.

A burden, for sure. She goes out of her way not to ask for help, even if she still gets the occasional helper. The most notable her next door neighbor who drops by on the weekends to help clean and do her chores. He keeps joking about how there’s so much room here he should just move in. She wishes he wouldn’t. She’d love to have him here, but the joke reminds her that he’d never actually want that. And she’d never actually ask anyone to do that, force them to uproot their lives for her.

No, she strolls across her home completely nude, her lovely legs - useless - long and resting on her chair. Her neglected depths below on full display for a grand total of none. No one else is scheduled to be here, so why would she bother dressing up? The back of the chair provides enough support for her back anyway, it’s not like she really needs a bra to cover her burgeoning breasts. And they are burgeoning. One thing the doctor doesn’t tell you when he says you’ll get fatter from lack of exercise is that your boobs are going to explode. It kinda hurts a little, when she forgets to massage them.

She stumbles across a picture on a table, or more like sees for the thousandth time. Her ex-boyfriend’s smile pierces her heart, and not for the first time she contemplates if she should just throw it away. Probably, yeah, he’s nothing but painful for her. He had a habit of driving recklessly for fun, at the time it was something she rather enjoyed too. The feeling of the wind on her face.

The car crash that caused her paralysis was probably karma or something, though if it was the fact that he got out completely fine isn’t karma at all. But then she only has hearsay for that, she never saw him again. He heard he’d have to take care of her and that was that, not even a goodbye. He just… left.

Maybe that’s what she deserves… She’s not sure anymore. It’s been too long, the wounds both fresh and old but unhealed nonetheless. She makes the first step towards healing in this moment, she slaps the picture down so she can’t see the man in the frame, and she rolls away.

It’s not a lot, but it’s something. What, she’s not sure yet, but it has to lead somewhere.
Her lovely blonde hair that frames her face rolls down her back in locks that swirl as she races away from it. Her big house well for making distance, even if she can’t go up to the higher floors easily. Some of the golden strands rest on her breast, bobbing back and forth around her nipples with the force of her rolling. It’s not something she really cares about, even if maybe she should.

What’s the next step she wonders? A year and a half and she’s yet to figure that out, but she wants to. She wants to so much. Maybe call up one of the guys she turned down when she was desirable? Errr, no, she already tried most of those numbers. They won’t return her calls.

Saturday is here and her favorite neighbor is here to help clean her house. He’s a sturdy young man with abounding energy to him that she can’t help but admire. If she were still able she’d be trying to ensnare him but as is she can’t really see him wanting to touch her so even trying for a one-night stand is just a guaranteed way to lose her favorite person in the world.

It doesn’t help her nonexistent confidence that she’s dropped more than a few hints. Like how today she’s wearing a checker patterned skirt, and ‘forgot’ to wear panties. She holds in a sigh, putting on the smile of a benevolent, slightly older lady who’s just grateful for his help. It’s the only role she can really play these days, needing to be grateful for what she has like the beggar she is.

She gets started baking the moment he starts dusting the things too high for her to reach. It’s not a lot but it’s one of the few skills that she didn’t lose with her new disability, and that means it’s one of the few things she can still do to express her gratitude.

He’s come over every weekend, like clockwork he arrives. Ever since he found out about the accident. A year and a half of visits and in that time it’s become a habit of sorts to make him something to take home. Maybe it’s a naive wish to make him think of her while he’s relaxing, maybe it’s just a desire to make him smile. She’s not sure, but she’s always trying a new recipe and improving in her craft for him.

Besides, he lives alone. It’s not like anyone else is making him cookies and cakes. She has to imagine he likes them too, given he takes everything she makes him, even when she goes overboard and makes enough for a whole family.

She’s unsure whether he actually eats it all, and his metabolism is insane, or if he gives most of it to his friends, or whether he’s just taking it to be polite and throwing it away once he gets through his door.

She really hopes it’s not that last one. The thought makes her blood run cold every time, the idea that maybe she did lose some of her skill somehow, that she’s just prying for some form of false, impossible normalcy like an idiot and he’s humoring her. Her other fear is of course that she was never a good baker, and people lied, and now that she’s crippled no one’s willing to say anything even now that she’s doing a lot more baking.

They’re both absurd thoughts, ones she shakes away from her mind quickly. Still, they’re terrifying, that cold kind of terrifying too. Not the terror which makes one’s heart race, like the one she experienced when she woke up and her ex wasn’t there at her side. The more absurd, cold grip that makes it hard to breathe and her heart twist.

Focus on the brownies, she decides. She just has to focus on the brownies and it’ll be fine. At least this way he knows she appreciates him, and he’ll keep coming.

Oh how she needs him to keep coming.

He has to hide his flushing cheeks with the gentle caress of the brownie on his tongue. Pretending to be hot from helping her clean only works for so long, so he’s glad she always has baked goods to love instead of just being a blushy mess for no reason. She’s a smart woman, she’d see through that.

Helping her clean is fun, kind of. Helping the neighbor with her chores makes him feel good and useful in a way he doesn’t quite get from anything else in his life. There’s dozens of reasons he does it, but it’s a really nice touch that he’s sure would be the hook and sinker for someone better than himself. Chocolate melts on his tongue, the chips used to make the brownie even meltier causing him to idly shiver. The little pleasures are definitely another of his reasons for being here.

If he had to isolate the biggest reason he does it would be the woman herself. Sure he might help some rude woman a little bit, but making it a part of his weekly schedule to come into her home and do enough chores to consider himself a house husband for the weekend? No, that’d be insane. It’s her adorable attitude that attracts him, the way she smiles despite the world crumbling around her. She’s nice, unbelievably nice, he’s had to take to working out on some of his days off just because he can’t say no to the treats she makes him every week. 

She’s not chopped liver to look at either, Before her accident her legs used to tease him whenever she went out to get the mail wearing those booty shorts. He was convinced she wore them just to show off her perfectly round ass, which stole the show anytime he saw her.

Despite that she didn’t really lose any of her charm from the accident. Losing control of her legs did cause them to atrophy, and her ass, once plump and ripe needs to be regularly worked out to maintain its shape, but the loss simply isn’t as big as he’d once imagined it was. Being unable to run around has caused her to put on a little weight. Not a lot of weight, for he’s sure if she really noticed the gain she’d make him put her through some kind of crazy work out, but enough to make her once-neglected bosom flourish. 

Like a flower awakening to the sun for the first time, she outgrew her bras and much to his pleasure she decided it would be cheaper to just not bother. The chair apparently provides enough back support, and that’s all the explanation he needed to stop worrying and start stealing eyefuls.

Her hair, a shining blonde that glows under the simplest of lights, once short and tied back has been allowed to grow down her back. It flows behind her, attracting his eyes in ways her previous look simply never could have.

Now that he’s not staring at her legs he’s staring at her soft cheeks, admiring the way her skin roses whenever she catches his eyes. 

Jade is a beauty named for the pure color in her eyes. They shine and sparkle as if the polished rock in just the right way to catch his eye no matter what angle or lighting they happen to be at. As far as he’s concerned she’s as much of a catch as the prime of her health. In fact, in some ways, she’s even better. 

Come to think of it, “when was the last time we did your leg exercises?”

“Hua?” Her face says it all. Too long.


Did he say her legs lost their charm? If he did he was losing his mind. Even without their previous muscle and shape her useless limbs seem to go on forever when she’s laying down like this, her back against the cushioned mattress and her colorful green eyes watching him with appreciation.

His fingers trail over her bare legs, almost hesitant to touch her delicate skin before he remembers with a flush that she can’t feel it no matter how hard he touches. With a shake of his head, he gets to the muscle massage they demand, feeling along their length and taking no small amount of guilty pleasure in her body. 

He doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s smiling, that dedicated smile not daring to fall for even a second, lest he somehow get the idea that she doesn’t appreciate everything he does. It’s preposterous, but then she’s preposterous. She dedicated her life to seeing everything, and yet here she is, a trip to the supermarket an adventure of sorts and she’s not the least bit bitter. At least, not in front of his eyes.

She takes that trip to the market with vigor, savoring every time they rearrange something and she has to hunt it down as a small adventure of its own. Sometimes they go to a different market than normal, when he helps her shop so that he can watch her smile and dart down aisles on the hunt for whatever she’s in the mood for at that very moment.

Traveling up her legs he kneads and works her joints, making sure they still ‘function,’ it’s more ritualistic than useful, but it’s something he enjoys doing so he doesn’t slack even on the ritual parts of the event. 

His fingers slip up, overshooting her thighs and landing on her bare hips. He’s about to pull his fingers back and apologize when something catches his attention, a certain feeling that shouldn’t be. Or, perhaps it’s a feeling that should be that’s not there. Slipping his palm around in a circle he idly ponders what it could be. 

Lost muscle mass from last time? No, he’s pretty sure she’s actually a little sturdier somehow. A loss of some fat? No, well, maybe a little she’s always fluctuating a little bit, but it’s certainly not it. The mystery is solved for him when his palm slips against something wet, and he hears it. “Au-” her hands clasp over her mouth a moment too late, his eyes are already darting to her kissable lips, and taking in the tomato shading of her cheeks. 

Pushing up her checkered skirt he confirms what he suspects with gusto, the bare slit before him is practically dripping with need. 

“You can feel that?” He asks. Slipping his fingers around her pussy lips, sliding his hand across the moist heat and watching her cheeks twitch and her nose contort. “You can, can’t you?”

Her slow, shuddery nod is all he needs to realize something dreadful. Throughout the past year and a half since the accident he hasn’t once heard about a man or a woman he’s not one to judge, he hasn’t heard her moaning under the ministrations of another from across the street or seen her glow with the beauty of a woman fresh from an orgasm. 

He’s seen celibacy, absolute celibacy. He assumed she couldn’t feel it, like it would be a waste for her to even try, a miserable loss from her accident but just another part of her day she could make up for with smiles and adventure. He was wrong, she can feel his every little touch, he sees her whimper with need when he teases her entrance, and cry out when his index finger delves inside her neglected inner walls. “Hah-nn-” she tries to shake her head, stop him from doing something they both know she’s begging for out of embarrassment or shame, he has none of it. His middle finger joins his index in playing the one instrument in this world that can sound kinda like jello.

It’s a pointless endeavor, she’s so soaked he could probably slip his own throbbing need into her in one go if she’d let him, but then that’s a bit of a jump from pleasuring her. “Jade, have you been neglecting yourself?” His scowl is real, bitter and tinted with a primal rage at the very idea.

Her nod is all he really needs to redouble his efforts. “Why?”

“So I-haah-wouldn’t-mm-want what I can’t have any-aah!”

“What can’t you have?” His words are only calm on the surface, a boiling pot of evil simmering inside him, greedy snakes lashing out at his every side.

“S-sex! There's no one who would want to have sex with me?” A pathetic pout is the only glance of her disheartened features he allows himself before he’s abandoned her depths, slipped his fingers underneath her legs and lifted her up. “Ah-don’t, don’t just leave me hanging.” She whines in a way that would bother his ears if he wasn’t so focused.

Within less than a minute of her latching onto him he’s slipping her back onto her chair, and ignoring the pout she gives him. A few lashes of his hand drops his pants to the floor, and his boxers go next, showing off his strong legs and thick needy mast.

Her eyes widen at the sight, shock overtaking them in a similar manner to spaghetti at an Italian restaurant overwhelming a plate. It’s the last sight she gets of it before he’s picked her legs back up, slipped them around his waist and locked them behind his bare ass. His length touches against her glistening cavern, and he gives her a bold smirk. “This is something I’ve wanted to do for over a year.” He says.

“Over a-aahh!” Her question is interrupted by the splitting of her nether lips, a wet squelch of juices overlapping his tip while the infernal flames of her greedily gripping folds melt him away and pull him deeper.

Unlike the massage earlier it’s not a ceremony, he doesn’t slowly shift into her while she presses her back against the chair, he walks forward into her and rolls her back against the wall, and when there’s no more room for the chair to roll her away his next step props him over her and drives him as deeply into her as he can go.

The entrance to her womb is clear to him, and a question scratches at his mind. “Can you still get pregnant?”

“U-uh, y-yeah, probably.” She nods. “You should probably stop, you wouldn’t wanna have children with someone like-gy-eeh!”

He doesn’t allow her to keep up with that, interrupting her personal disparagement and belittling with her own cry of pleasure. “We’ll see if you still think that’s true when you’re full of cum.” He teases her, gripping her ass with his hands and leaning in to steal her lovely, kiss deprived lips.

She gives in instantly, begging for more of his touch. Begging for him to never let her go. He doesn’t, wouldn’t, he treats her like an amusement park ride that never ends. Thrusting into her at speeds that would win him a relay race. She’s gone too long for gentle, and he can tell by the glaze to her eyes that she agrees.

Her body gives in to his assault, her arms wrapping around him, her face nestling itself at the side of his neck the moment their kiss is parted. Her nose digs into his collar, taking in his scent, memorizing it and relishing the primal feelings surging through them.

He stirs her insides, slapping their hips together and feeling the tingle in his balls that comes with the impending seed he plans to be leaving somewhere very important very soon. The back of the chair provides just enough cushion that she’s not hurt by the rapid knocking of her chair against the wall, though it does create quite the loud exchange between them. She squeezes him tightly against her chest, wet hot gasps escaping her lips and flooding the small area between them and his skin with a fine mist. The heat from their exchange confusing the air in a visible way that permeates the room. 

The wall cracks a little, as his thickness thickens into a thick girthy width bloated with desire to flood her depths with life-changing cream. No more doubts, no more hidden self-loathing. Undeniable proof of concept pushing to the forefront of their connection and expanding her chamber with every second in a game of chicken neither of which players announced the rules. “Gonna-haah-”

“But-bu-”

“Still doubting me?” He asks. Potent sperm dancing inside him at the ready. 

“I just don’t get it, I-are you really-” her doubts swirl around her much the same as his seed, their emotional wavelengths connecting and intermixing. Ice floods her veins while heat melts her heart. Desire for warmth overtakes her mind and joy replaces her lips. Nerves become emotion, simulated in a half love, one that needs an additional ingredient to fully awaken.

“-Please don’t pull out!” She begs, a final decision made. One he was waiting for with a greedy sense of purpose.

“Never planned to!” With one last hearty thrust into her, the tip of his snake kisses her nest and his splooge fills her heat-sensitive womb faster than two darting cars blazing down a desert road in a street race. His needy dick expulses blast after blast of searing magma into her, melting her defenses and turning the beautiful woman in his arms into something she’s never been before. Gifting her a new adventure to savor, that of a pregnant woman.

Walking her down the aisle was always the dream for her father, but rolling her down it isn’t too much worse. In fact, he’d go ahead and say it might actually be better. Whereas before he would have gotten to see the brilliant high heels for her actually used, now her dress is completely unruffled, her golden hair hasn’t been swept aside or changed at all by running around on nerves, she’s looking up at her father as he rolls her towards her new husband to be, and that’s it.

Her depression is one that bothered him but unlike most brides, she gets to experience her special day without the slightest doubt, no sneaking away to lose her gut like her mother had, or being talked into staying by her maid of honor. She’s just, happy, and that’s all any father can ask.

The fact that if he wanted to he could scoop her out and run away with her is also a plus he wouldn’t have had if her legs worked. It’s not something he plans to do, or even would do, but having the power to just say no if he didn’t approve in such a literal fashion has calmed his nerves too. “Are you ready munchkin?”

“Does an acorn fall from trees?” She asks. He nods at that, confidence brimming and synergizing between both of them. He scoots her to the altar, standing by her side as prideful as he could be.

Watching the two of them go through their oaths is heartwarming, their ‘I do’s moving the world and stopping his heart just to witness.

The true beauty is in when he’s told to kiss her. His daughter’s husband doesn’t lean down, or crouch, or try to sit on her, he moves to her side. He slips his arms under her legs and back, and he lifts her up into his chest and above his head, just a little. So that their first kiss as husband and wife is her kissing down on him.