#I will eat his words and never forget their savor

[herbofgraceandpeace]

in the summer of 2023 I read Tam Lin by Pamela Dean and fell completely in love with the book and the legend. This deserves a much longer post, but I only mention it to say that I am finally reading another one of her books, The Secret Country. I finally folded and got it from my library cause Libby didn’t have it.

So far it’s been very different from Tam Lin (as expected), but holy cow, her WRITING STYLE. It’s so dramatic in an elegant and controlled way. I aspire. I expire (from the awesomeness).

BUT. The real point of this ridiculous post is that in the chapter I’ve just been reading, there was two phrases that caught my attention as sounding familiar. The first one—“this bodes some strange eruption to our state”— immediately sounded Shakespearean in every way. It’s in freaking iambic pentameter for one thing! But I simply resolved to look it up later (guessing it was probably from Lear) and moved on until I was stopped by the second quote—“a hit, a very palpable hit”—which, like, you guys. PLEASE. it’s so obviously Shakespeare!!!! (I know I’ve probably come across it in Sayers, if not in something else? I think she may have quoted it in Tam Lin as well.) So I looked up both quotes, and THEY’RE BOTH FROM HAMLET. Y’ALL.

dunno why this makes me so crazy, but I just adore recognizing Shakespeare quotes in the wild. His words are so potent in our memories.

[br0kenangel]

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𝑌𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐵𝑈𝐿𝐿𝑌 who's obsessed with your pussy ⁺¹⁸

Yandere bully who is so mean to you in public, constantly teasing and making you cry, taunting you in front of everyone, pushing your buttons just to see you break. "What's wrong, baby? Gonna cry again?" He grins, acting like the bitch he's known to be. But in private, he's on his knees, your obedient pet, begging to please you however you want.

Yandere bully who's addicted to you, desperate for your approval. He'll do anything to have you, anything to make you cum, anything to feel like he's worthy of your attention -even if it means pushing you to the brink of pleasure every chance he gets.

Yandere bully who gets you alone any chance he gets and makes you cum over and over again, his cruel exterior gone as he worships you with his mouth and hands. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me. 'Il do anything for you, baby." His fingers don't stop, even when you're shaking, his lips constantly moving over your sensitive skin, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who loves catching you off guard when you're trying to study, slipping under the table and spreading your legs without a word. His fingers slip inside you while his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. You try to concentrate, but it's impossible, and he knows it. "Come on, baby, keep studying while I make you feel good." He smirks against you, watching you fall apart as he fingers you under the desk.

Yandere bully who loves to suck on his lollipop in front of you, popping it in and out of his mouth with a teasing grin, only to push it inside your pussy without warning. "How's that feel, baby? Bet you never thought this sweet thing could fuck you, huh?" He moves it in and out, his eyes locked on your expression as he watches you struggle. And when he's done, he pulls it out, licks it clean, and goes right back to sucking on it like nothing happened, savoring your taste mixed with the candy.

Yandere bully who acts like he's in control, always smug and cruel with the things he says, but the moment you're soaking wet and he's got his mouth on you, it's like he's a different person. "Fuck, I can't get enough of this. You taste so good, baby... I need more, please."

Yandere bully who moans like he's the one getting head whenever he's between your legs, his voice breaking as he eat you out. He can't help the sounds slipping out of his mouth, so lost in the taste of you that he's grinding himself against the mattress. "Fuck, baby... you taste so fucking good. I'm gonna lose it.." The pleasure in his voice is unreal, like he's the one being pleasured.

Yandere bully who gets absolutely lost between your legs, so pussy-drunk he forgets everything else around him. His mouth is buried between your thighs, licking and kissing like he's been deprived of it for days. He's groaning into you, the wet sounds echoing as he slurps up everything you give him, completely obsessed.

Yandere bully who talks directly to your pussy like it's a person, his voice low and ragged, whispering how good it is, how perfect it feels for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet.. So good for me. God, I'm never letting you go." He kisses it like it's his lips, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

Yandere bully who gets so messy and sloppy, his face drenched with your slick, but he doesn't care. The more you give him, the more he wants, making filthy, lewd noises as he fuck you with his tongue. "Shit... I can't get enough. I need more, more of you." He's never satisfied, his fingers spreading you open just so he can see how you pulse for him.

Yandere bully who doesn't just lick, he makes love to your pussy with his mouth, slow at first, dragging his tongue in long strokes like he's savoring every taste. Then he's frantic, desperate, his lips locking around your clit, sucking so hard you can't hold back your moans, and he loves it. "Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me. Keep making those sounds, I'm fucking addicted to this."

Yandere bully who can't keep his hands off, always pinching and smacking your pussy between sloppy licks, just to watch it bounce and twitch under his touch. "God, I love seeing you like this, so swollen and needy for me." He'd smack it again, the sound so lewd it makes you blush.

Yandere bully who loves to spits on your pussy, his eyes dark with lust as he watches his saliva drip onto you before diving in with his tongue. "Look at this, baby. So fucking messy for me, just how I like it." He grins, dragging his tongue through the wetness and your slick, slurping noisily like he's savoring every second of it.

Yandere bully who bites your pussy just to see your reaction, his teeth grazing over your swollen lips, nipping at your sensitive skin. "Come on, baby, don't squirm. You know you love it when I get a little rough with you." His voice is low, teasing, as he watches your body jerk at the sensation. He alternates between soft kisses and sharp bites, pushing your limits.

Yandere bully who buries his face deeper, tongue pushing into you as far as it can go while his nose grinds against your clit. He groans with each taste, like he's drowning in pleasure just from having you on his lips. "You're so fucking perfect. I could eat this forever:" His words are so slurred and desperate, like he's too far gone to think straight anymore.

Yandere bully who tells you he loves you for the first time when you squirt into his mouth, the taste driving him so insane that the confession slips out before he can stop it. "Fuck... I love you. I fucking love you." His voice is hoarse, and he's groaning like he's the one cumming, licking up every drop you give him as his face gets soaked in your release. He's a mess, panting, eyes wide as the reality of what he just said settles in, but he doesn't take it back.

Yandere bully who gets so overwhelmed eating you out that he cums in his pants without even touching himself, his body shaking with how much he's lost in it. He's a mess, his cock twitching in his soaked boxers while he keeps his mouth on you. "Oh god.. fuck.. I'm cumming... I can't- shit-"And even after he cums, he still doesn't stop, licking up every drop of you like it's his lifeline.

Yandere bully who grinds himself against the bed, getting off just by eating you out, humping the mattress as he moans into you, obsessed with how you taste and feel. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum just like this... you're too fucking good. I can't take it..."

Yandere bully who stays between your legs even after you're spent, lazily licking and kissing, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "l'm not done... Stay still..." His voice is low, almost hoarse, as he presses one last kiss against your pussy, so utterly drunk on it that he can't stop himself.

Yandere bully who takes so many pictures of your pussy that his phone is filled with them. He's got one as his lock screen, grinning every time he unlocks his phone and sees it there. "God, you're so fucking pretty. I can't get enough." He pulls out his phone to take even more photos when you're spread out for him, snapping pictures while muttering to himself about how perfect you look. He's gross, but he doesn't care-he's obsessed with having every part of you to himself.

Yandere bully who wants to shave you himself, his hands steady as he moves the razor over your skin, but it always ends the same way-with him making you cum so hard that your pussy is swollen and puffy by the time he's done. "You look so cute like this... all swollen for me." His fingers trace over your sensitive skin, teasing you even more, knowing you're already overstimulated. He never stops until you've cum over and over again, leaving you a trembling, swollen mess.

Yandere bully who isn't satisfied until he's made you cum more times than you can count, watching you shake and scream, completely addicted to the way your body reacts. "Look at you.. all mine. No one else gets to touch you like this. Only me." He's possessive, obsessed, and so pussy-drunk that he's practically begging for more, even when you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who cries when you cum on his tongue, so overwhelmed by how sweet you taste that tears well up in his eyes. He's moaning and sobbing, his face soaked with a mixture of your wetness and his tears. "You're so fucking sweet.. so perfect... fuck, I can't take it..."He presses his face deeper into you, tongue flicking desperately, crying with how much he loves the way you feel.

Yandere bully who steals your dirty panties every chance he gets, slipping them into his pocket when you're not looking. He hides them away just so he can sniff and lick them later, getting off to your scent like a total pervert. "God, you smell so fucking good.. I can't stop thinking about İt." He presses the fabric to his nose, groaning as he grinds against the bed, cumming hard while licking your panties, completely high.

Yandere bully who can be the meanest, most disgusting version of himself, using your body for his pleasure, but you can feel the way he's addicted to you, how much he needs to please you. It's a twisted game between love and hate-he's cruel, mean, but the moment he's got his hands on you, he can't stop himself from worshipping you in the most filthy, desperate ways possible.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[marycorcaroli]

sanji & usopp as a pussy drunk boyfriends ♡

req: Those pussy drunk Zoro/Luffy blurbs were so fucking good omg!!! Could you do one with Sanj pleasei? He's PEAK character for this scenario!!

mary♡: thank you for sending me a request and thank you for the lovely words! 🍡💛 i decided to write this right away and not wait any longer, i also decided to include usopp here, hope you like it! also i apologize for my mistakes, english is not my first language 💌

sanji

sanji is so neat but too impatient when it comes to licking you. from the first time you met him he only dreamed of spreading your legs and doing everything he could to your clit, sanji imagined it night after night until the moment he could finally show you he would show you the most real orgasm with his tongue. he will start with something small, he will slowly kiss your wet folds while unbuckling his belt to touch his cock, sanji is so pathetic, you just let him lick you and he is ready to cum. when he does pull his cock out - you're dead. my boy, he grabs you firmly by the hips and literally glues you to his face, he burrows into you like he hasn't drank water in months, greedily kissing your cunnie, he starts whimpering from you and your moans, you're making him really pathetic. he tries to burrow as deep into you as he can to taste all of your flavor, his fingers rubbing your nipples as he waits for the moment of your squirt. he will speed up his tongue with every second, he won't let time just pass, sanji will make sure it's just him and his tongue in your head at the end.

"sanji, please, i-i'm-i'm coming now," blows his mind. he has waited so long for those words tears run down his cheeks, you are the most beautiful girl to him and now he is licking you. his legs start shaking and his whimpering doesn't stop until the next moment you scream "sanji!" squirting on his face. you blessed him with it, he felt like he hadn't felt yet n when thinking about it, sanji didn't notice how he was cumming all over your bed and you at the same time, you caught him in the most interesting role, without even touching him he cum from you and will do it again and again. he doesn't care how much you're trembling and your legs are woozy, he just can't get away from you, sanji swallows all your juices and smears the rest on his face and looks in the mirror to realize he's found paradise between your legs and won't leave until he faints.

usopp.

my sweet boy and my sunshine loves your cunnie so much. his tongue is so soft and nice, he will do the naughtiest things to you that you could never dream of. usopp is like a man who will dream about someone's pussy all the time, he won't hear conversations, he wants to lick you now and here. he will cry with happiness as soon as you let him get on his knees and lick you completely, he will be so happy that he will completely forget about tenderness and decency, he suddenly doesn't care, now, he only thinks about you, your moans and your already swollen clit. usopp has lost all other thoughts, he starts licking you in a second, you haven't had time to undress yet, but that's even better for him, he'll wet your panties with his drool and pornographic moans, and sniff the residue like he's sniffed something forbidden, something that will take him to the most obscene place in this universe. there is so much lust in him, usopp can't hear your moans anymore, he can hear your wet cunnie responding to him, the way your clit pulses when he touches it with his nose and the way your body twitches when he finds all your hot spots again. it's like usopp is in heat, he can't live without your juices and the opportunity to lick you anywhere, he'll get so cranky and beg you "no, please let me...i-i'll make you feel good, i beg you", it'll go on and on until you say yes and he'll stop. swallowing everything you give him and he still can't get enough, he literally wants to eat you to savor the taste of your cunt. his tongue won't stop surprising you with its skill, and his nose won't stop hitting you in the points where you need it. usopp is waiting for you to cum all over his face, the juices are running down his body and the lustful phrases keep coming out of his filthy mouth, he's covered in your cum, his body lost in the moment you cum and now he's waiting for you to get on all fours and let him eat your ass.

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 6

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut (fingering, oral, p in v) brief mention of previous parental abuse (Luke vs reader) Ruthie

A few days have passed since Rafe asked you to move in with him, wanting to build a family together. You’re slowly settling into his home, but it still feels unfamiliar—a little too pristine, too luxurious. Even the refrigerator surprises you; you’ve never had one that fully worked. The light in yours at home always flickered, and the freezer had given up back when you were fifteen.

This place doesn’t feel like your home. It’s Rafe’s. You just happen to be living in it. Still, you’re happy. You have a little family now, and seeing Rafe with V brings a warmth that surprises you. He’s matured in a way you always believed he could. Even though he still carries a quiet sadness over his dad, there’s a sense of peace about him—a contentment. You feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about how Ward’s absence has released him from a shadow. Rafe is finally free of it.

He was once the guy constantly tormenting your brother, John B. and Pope, or recklessly sniffing lines off your bare skin behind the rundown shack at beach bonfires. But he was also the one who would drop everything when you’d turn up bruised and bleeding after run-ins with Luke. Even in the middle of a party. He’d insist you stay, taking care of you in ways you’d never thought he could. Now, it feels like you’re getting the version of Rafe you always dreamed about—someone who would stand by you, no matter the differences in your social circles or his friends’ opinions. Even Topper and Kelce, his closest friends, knew better than to tease you, respecting that you were off-limits. Almost everyone seemed to get it—except for one friend who never quite did.

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Today, the three of you spent the afternoon out by the pool. Rafe ordered lunch, and later, after you finally put V down for the night, hunger crept in again. But Rafe quickly learned that you’d always fuss over V before yourself when it came to eating. You’re in his massive kitchen, cleaning up, when you feel him approach from behind. His arms wrap around your waist, and he leans in, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. You tilt your head instinctively, giving him better access, and he smiles against your skin, savoring the invitation. Heat rises in you, and you press your thighs together, feeling your body react.

“Rafe, come on,” you say with a laugh, trying to keep your composure.

“Come on, what?” he murmurs. “You know you feel good, or you wouldn’t be…” His hand slides down, slipping past the fabric of your bikini, and finds the warmth between your thighs. “…this wet, baby.”

You shiver at the sensation, moaning as he explores.

With a teasing grin, you push him back and turn to face him. He closes the space again, trapping you between his arms braced on either side of you. “I was a little annoyed at first, but I like this,” he says, looking at you with that familiar intensity. “Now I get to see your face like this.” He brings his fingers to his mouth, savoring the taste of you. “Mmm, you’ve always been the sweetest girl.”

Before you can respond, his hand finds you again, fingers slipping between your folds, sending a pulse through you that makes you forget about everything else.

Rafe’s fingers continue their soft, circular motion on your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure. He shifts slightly, teasing your entrance, and your knees threaten to give out. In one swift motion, he catches you with a strong arm and spins you around, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen island, his fingers never leaving you. You brace yourself on your elbows as he slips two fingers inside, moving them slowly while his other hand continues its steady rhythm on your clit. The only sounds escaping your lips are heavy pants and soft whimpers as your head falls back.

“Oh my god, Rafe…” you gasp.

“I know you like that,” he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. “But how about this?” His fingers begin to pump faster, the rhythm more intense. “Lift your top, baby.” You do as he asks, and he leans over, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The feeling is overwhelming, his hands and mouth working together, sending you into a daze. The pleasure builds, and you see nothing but white as your body gives in, your elbows buckling as you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

Rafe drops to his knees, replacing his hand with his mouth on your clit, sucking with an intensity that makes your eyes water. His fingers quicken inside you, pressing that sweet spot deep within, and you instinctively press a hand to your stomach, trying to ease the mounting pressure.

“Rafe, I’m gonna… oh god, I’m gonna—” Your voice trembles as the sensation builds.

“Come for me, baby. Show me what a good girl you are.” His words and touch push you over the edge, and with a loud scream, you feel the release hit you in waves, leaving your body shuddering, your back arching off the cool countertop. He keeps moving, helping you ride out the full intensity of your orgasm.

When you finally open your eyes, you glance down to find Rafe grinning, his face and chest soaked. You blink, realizing you’d squirted, the intensity of it surprising you both. He chuckles, “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Who knew I’d be waiting almost two years for this?”

You laugh, reaching for a dish towel to hand him.

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“You know, I was pretty satisfied just making you feel good, but after that…” He lifts you effortlessly again, pulling you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. He strides toward the front of the house, his focus solely on you, and starts heading upstairs, only for the front door to burst open. Startled, you both turn to see Topper, Ruthie, and Kelce standing in the entryway.

“Dinner and drinks are here!” Topper calls, arms loaded with paper bags.

“Topper, shut the hell up before I smack you quiet,” Rafe snaps, glancing upstairs. “My girl’s sleeping.”

“Whoa, sorry, man. Gonna take some time to get used to ‘Rafe The Dad Cameron,’” Topper teases, unable to resist. You’re reminded, for a moment, that being with Rafe also means dealing with his friends. Kelce is easy enough to tolerate, but Topper and Ruthie—with her sly remarks and his tendency toward arrogance—are another story.

You make your way back out to the patio, balancing plates and glasses as you try to push aside the hurt simmering inside. Just as you step through the door, Ruthie’s voice rings out, her words dripping with condescension.

“So, Rafe, you’re really just slumming it with another Pogue because she baby-trapped you?” She smirks, her gaze flicking to you through the glass sliding door with a pointed arrogance, as if daring you to react. Rafe lets out an annoyed sigh, his jaw clenching, but he says nothing, leaving her comment to linger in the air. A dull ache settles in your chest at his silence; you know how his friends can be, but it still stings when no one stands up for you.

Topper, sensing the tension, whispers urgently to Ruthie, “Ruthie, shut the hell up.”

She just shrugs, undeterred. “What, Top? It makes perfect sense. Why else would she be here? So she could live like this—in Rafe’s house. She’s lucky, honestly, that he’d even allow it. She probably just tricked him with the baby. It’s the only way someone like her gets this side of the island.” She laughs, a mocking lilt in her voice.

You take a steadying breath, deciding to let her words pass, at least for tonight. You stride over to the table and drop the plates with a loud thud, watching them clatter but somehow not break. Ruthie spends the next hour weaving insults into her stories, taking every opportunity to throw casual digs at you and where you’re from. The others just ignore her, and not a single person defends you. Finally, you quietly excuse yourself, slipping back inside the house to escape.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way Rafe’s anger is building. By the time you’ve left, it’s too late to hear him finally snap.

“Ruthie, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe’s voice cuts through the chatter, low and seething.

She stares at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I said, do you ever shut. the. fuck. up?” He leans forward, eyes locked on hers with a barely restrained fury. “You come into our home—our home—and you think you can talk down to her like that? You don’t know anything about us. We’ve got history, and you’ve been around for all of five minutes. If you think she’s with me for my money, you’re delusional. She never cared about any of that. She never sought out money from me, no matter what she was going through, ever. So why don’t you stop acting like the high-and-mighty spoiled brat you are? We all know the real reason you’re even with Topper, so don’t kid yourself.”

Ruthie’s face turns red as Rafe’s words land, her jaw dropping in shock.

Rafe stands up, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re gonna learn to respect her and my family if you ever want to come around here again. And I think it’s time for all of you to get the fuck out.”

Embarrassed, Topper grabs Ruthie by the arm, practically dragging her toward the door, with Kelce following closely behind, none of them daring to look back. They leave in silence, the house now calm again—but Rafe’s expression is anything but.

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Rafe quietly enters the bedroom, his heart sinking as he spots you curled up on your side of the bed, your body language shut off. He steps over and kneels down at the edge, his eyes searching your face, noticing the redness around your eyes and cheeks—clear signs that you’ve been crying.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and laced with regret. “You don’t deserve that. You’re… you’re special. Now and always.” His eyes are filled with sadness, and you can tell he’s frustrated with himself, knowing he should’ve said these things with you present.

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice steady but quiet. “What can you do? It’s just… how it is.” You pause, then reach out, cupping his face with one hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palm. “But… you stood up for me, and that’s all I care about.” He doesn’t realize that your sad tears had turned into happy ones hearing him yell at Ruthie.

He furrows his brows, looking at you with surprise. “You heard?”

You nod, gesturing toward the open patio door. “I heard everything. Thank you.” Sitting up, you move closer to him, cupping his face with both hands. “Please, don’t ever think I’d manipulate you like that. I love you, Rafe. I love being here with you.”

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His expression softens, and he reaches out, running his hands slowly up your thighs, his touch warm and grounding. “I’d never think that, not in a million years,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sincerity. His hands slide under the oversized shirt you borrowed from him, his palms warm against your skin as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. He places his chest on yours drawing you in as he kisses your neck, his lips lingering.

“How about we finish what we started, huh?” he whispers, and you feel a rush of excitement as you run your nails up his back, pressing yourself against him.

With an easy strength, he lifts you, yet again, and plops you back in the middle of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He strips off his clothes as you pull his shirt off, leaving you bare and vulnerable, yet completely secure in his presence.

Rafe’s kisses trail up your legs, each one sending tingling warmth through you until he reaches the waistband of your underwear. His fingers hook onto the fabric, pulling it down with agonizing slowness, his gaze locked onto yours the whole time. Once free, he positions himself between your legs, leaning down until your lips crash together in a deep, needy kiss. As the kiss deepens, you reach down to guide him to you, breath hitching in anticipation.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, his voice a low rumble against your mouth.

“Please… I need you… now, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice barely a plea.

His eyes flash, and with a mischievous smirk, he replies, “As you wish, angel.” He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you gasp, arching into him as the sensation overwhelms you. Unlike his usual intensity, his hips roll slowly, drawing out every pulse, every shiver, his rhythm tender and unhurried, savoring the connection.

It’s blissful, but your body craves more. “Harder, Rafe. Please,” you beg, voice breathy with need.

With a grin, he grants your request, his movements growing rougher and faster. He drives into you, hitting the perfect spot, his hips colliding against you with each thrust, his rhythm sending waves of pleasure through you. You moan, whimpers spilling from your lips as his movements intensify, his body pressing down against yours in a perfect alignment, his pelvic bone brushing deliciously over your clit with every thrust.

His hand reaches up, gently brushing the hair from your face before slipping his thumb to your lips. Instinctively, you take it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, and he groans in satisfaction, eyes darkening as he watches you.

Rafe’s eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze intense as he watches the pleasure transform your face. “You take me so well,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish I never gave you up.”

You let out a soft laugh, still breathless. “Yeah, you’re really stupid for that.” He chuckles with you, the sound warm and familiar, before leaning down to capture your lips again, both of you panting softly into each other’s mouths.

“Rafe… I’m so close, I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, your body tensing as you near the edge. You clench around him, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan in response.

“Come for me, baby. I’m right behind you,” he whispers, his voice rough and low. A few more thrusts, and you unravel beneath him, the waves of pleasure crashing over you as you moan his name. He follows a moment later, his release shuddering through him as he buries himself deep inside you, his warmth filling you completely.

With a satisfied sigh, he collapses onto you, his weight comforting as he peppers gentle kisses along your cheek, lingering as if he never wants the moment to end. You cherish it not believing you’re finally at the point you quietly and secretly always wanted to be with Rafe. In just pure happiness.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

As the two of you lay tangled together on the bed, your head resting on Rafe’s chest while he brushes his fingers through your hair, he murmurs, “I know it’s a little late, but maybe we can get ready and head out for a bit.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Are we supposed to bring Vivienne along?”

He chuckles. “No, just us. I mentioned Vivienne to Topper’s cousin—she used to babysit Wheezie. I can see if she could come by and watch her for a few hours.”

You hesitate, considering what happened with Topper earlier. “I dunno, Rafe. Maybe I could call Sarah or Cleo instead?”

“Sarah? No way. Let’s just do this,” he insists. You’ve known Topper’s cousin as long as you’ve been with Rafe. She’s the one person who hung out with you at the Kook parties when the other girls looked at you like an outsider.

“Fine. Call her. I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

An hour later, Elaina arrives just as you finish getting ready. You hand her a list of everything she’ll need for Vivienne and say your goodbyes at the door. Rafe helps you into his truck, and you shoot him a look. “I’m serious, no more than two hours.”

“You got it, pretty. Just couldn’t wait to show you off.”

You head to the Island Club for drinks. Standing by a table, you watch Rafe as he orders at the bar. A blonde woman approaches him, placing a hand on his arm and leaning in closer than necessary. You can’t hear their conversation, but your brows furrow at her familiar touch.

When Rafe finally brings your drinks, the blonde is right behind him. “Y/N, this is Hollis Robinson. Hollis, this is Y/N Maybank, my girlfriend and mother of our daughter.” His words catch you off guard; he’d never called you his girlfriend before, let alone in such a grounded way.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Hollis says, smiling. “You’re lucky to have someone like Rafe.”

“I’m the lucky one, believe me.” Rafe glances at you, and you catch the subtle pride in his eyes.

Hollis, however, keeps her gaze on him, lightly touching his arm again. “Well, you two have a good night. I’ll be seeing you, Rafe—hopefully with an answer next time.” She winks and walks away.

As you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you turn to Rafe. “So, that’s your partner, huh?”

He smirks. “What, are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“Of Miss Cougar?” He grins, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should be.”

You laugh, shoving him playfully, but he pulls you back in, planting kisses on your temple.

Later, as you sit with Rafe on the dock, watching the water shimmer under the lights of the Island Club, you can’t help but feel excited for more moments like this with him. Yet, in the back of your mind, Hollis and that mysterious deal linger.

Taglist-

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative @writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

[nanamiscocksleeve]

18 with Geto 🙏

-🎃

Pumpkin anon! I love it when I see my regular anons coming in. Hope you're liking everything so far! This is one of my favorite kinks/tropes. Suguru is around 28-ish here and reader is 18.

Age Gap

--------

You were the shy bride brought to him in hopes of forging an alliance. Sorcerers needed all the allies they can get. You had heard stories about him which sounded more like myths; of his powers, and the terrible goals he wished to achieve.

Which is why when you first met him you couldn't believe how normal he looked. Just an ordinary, albeit handsome, man. Nearly 10 years older than you. Just seeing him brought a blush on your face and you hopeed he was pleased with you.

The wedding happened without a glitch and soon you were in his bedroom, watching him lock the door. You felt very aware of your movements and nervousness kept making your stomach do flips. You'd had one lover before him and your experience was lackluster, carrying none of the passion or romance most young girls had hoped for.

Suguru removes his outer robes and hangs them over the back of a chair before sitting down on the bed and beckoning you to join him. You hesitate, then oblige, the mattress sinking under your weight, your body actely aware of the way his thigh brushed against yours. He reaches out to pull you against him and your heart hammers in your chest.

"You keep acting like something will crawl out from under the bed and eat you," he observes and you blush, shaking your head.

"Are you nervous about your first time? Are you a virgin?" Your eyes meet his keen brown ones and the truth comes tumbling out.

"No but I know what happens."

"Is it making you worry?"

"No, but I know it isn't anything special." His eyebrows raise at your comment.

"Not special?"

"Not at all. Our bodies join. Some movement happens. You release your seed and it's all over."

"My sweet wife." Suguru captures your chin in between his fingers and makes you look at him. The endearment causes your body to tingle. "Is that all you think happens?"

"I know that's all that happens. I've experienced it before."

"What sort of idiot did you waste your virginity on that you are so unenthused by the idea of sex?"

His question stuns you into silence before you mumble, "He was my classmate."

"Ah. Same age as you?" He doesn't let go of your chin. "Let me correct this impression. Your classmate is a young, inexperienced, pathetic little boy. Do you understand I'm different than that?" His thumb strokes your jaw. "I am not like your little classmate. I'm a man, your husband. I know exactly how to treat a delectable little thing like yourself. I know how to touch you."

His large hand rests on your waist, drawing patterns into your skin, making your breath catch. "I know how to kiss you." His lips move confidently, capturing yours in a passionate kiss that has your head reeling. "I know how to pleasure you and make you forget everything around you except for me. I know how to make love to you so intensely that you'll never remember what it was like before me."

His hands undress you sensually, taking his time to sip and sample every inch of you, your ear, your collarbone, your pert nipples, hardening under the soft lick of his tongue.

You moan, feeling the blood in your veins humming as he lays you back on the bed to pay attention to your drenched cunt.

"Look at that. Already so wet for me. Were you like this with your classmate?"

You shake your head no, unable to form words, aroused and feeling your clit throb with each passing second. He licks your folds, savoring the taste before finding your swollen bud and lapping at it, then running the tip of his tongue in figure 8 movements over it.

A mewl leaves you as your hips arch towards him, body quivering in ecstasy as the orgasm crashes in your being, fisting the sheets as you fall apart on his tongue.

Suguru doesn't waste a second and gently moves your legs apart, his tip probing your entrance until he surges forward, you feel your core splitting apart to accommodate him. His cock gives you the most delicious stretch and sits snugly inside you. You're weak from the pleasure of it all, unable to believe you had been blind to the pleasure of this act.

His hips thrust against yours as he moves inside and you whine your pleasure as he sets up a rhythm.

"I'm all there is. Only me. I'll fulfill all your desires. Just trust me hmm?" He nips your ear as he ruts into you. "The experience of an older man is just what you needed. Now show me how good you feel."

You throaw your head back, noises of pleasure escaping your throat before Suguru pulls you back towards him, his lips covering yours.

"Mine. My precious little doll."

His words echo sweetly in your ears as he gives all of himself to you, spilling his seed into your quivering walls.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Cravings

Summary: Spencer admires Reader while pregnant and in the depths of her cravings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warnings: Pregnancy, eating

Word count: 848

Spencer can’t pinpoint when he’s loved you the most. Hearing you groggy over the phone when he was on the jet heading home would’ve been the obvious moment, considering he blurted the three special words out in the middle of you talking about your upcoming work day. You and the team, who also witnessed it, were stunned into silence. But he still spoke to you after, whispering like he was alone the entire time.

Your wedding day would be another appropriate answer. He didn’t tear up as any groom would. No, he cried. His tears collected at the brim but took time to overflow, blurring his view of you gliding down the aisle with thoroughly-planned elegance. He had to block them to gather himself, as one would shield themselves from the sun.

But this moment tugs at his heart: when he opens the front door with the classic, “Honey, I’m home,” and you emerge from the bedroom with a swollen belly hidden under an old sweatshirt. The joy on your face is a moment he won’t forget. Granted, a portion of said joy might be thanks to the greasy bag and styrofoam cup he’s clutching desperately in one hand. Nevertheless, he savors the look and the feeling that must have felt similar to men who graced their families with bountiful hunting results.

Except in this case, the “bountiful hunting results” are chicken tenders with fries, extra honey mustard, and a large hot fudge sundae from your favorite restaurant that happens to be in the middle of nowhere and roughly 30 minutes away. But cravings are cravings, and they’ve been relentless throughout the second trimester. He’ll scope out the specific restaurants, local or corporate, if it makes you happy and appeases the baby girl (hopefully) inside you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” A kiss on the cheek sufficed as you waddled toward the kitchen. You put the sundae in the freezer for now and barely waste time getting a plate and napkins, but it’s less to clean up. And less for Spencer to double-clean later.

Before you sit down, Spencer takes the plate from you, and he swears for a minute he saw motherly instincts kick in.

“You don’t have to eat at the table," he says. “Come on,” he tilts his head toward the couch as he walks, the obvious not mentioned.

“We don’t eat on the couch.” You reply.

He’s still walking.

“You don’t like it. Crumbs, lingering nastiness, and other science-y terms you’ve used.”

He puts the plate on the coffee table. “I’m willing to make exceptions. Plus, with a baby, mess is inevitable.” He leans down, revealing the breakfast tray he bought. You clearly never saw it before. Because the way your open mouth morphed into a smile, he would've thought he unintentionally did magic. He pulled out the small legs. “I figured it’s best to adjust slowly while I still can.”

You walk toward him, your hands resting on your belly. “But this is your couch.”

“In our apartment.” He takes a pillow and fluffs it, setting it against the arm. “Sit.”

You eventually comply. There’s still a look on your face, indicating second-guessing, like you’re somehow doing this without his knowledge. Meanwhile, the breakfast tray is in his hands, and he makes sure you’re settled. You lay across the couch.

Spencer puts down the tray, asking if you want a drink before devouring. You shake your head, eyes staring down at the fatty American dish in front of you. While you begin, he picks a vinyl from your shared collection. The one thing he won’t waver about is the classics.

As in classical music.

As in Mozart. Spencer has noticed your familiarity with the symphonies over the past six months. He loves it, regardless of whether it’s just because he’s insisted you listen to classical after you told him the news.

When the melody flows, Spencer finds a seat on the couch. You slide your feet toward you to make room. As soon as he sits down, he puts your legs in his lap, letting you stretch out again. His lips disappear into his mouth for a minute as he suppresses a giggle.

All the chicken was either swallowed or mush in your mouth and specks of salt littered your lips and hands along with honey mustard drippings. This. Spencer's in love again. As you suck the sauce off your own fingers like it’s the only sustenance you’ve had in days. The comfort he feels here, knowing the woman basically attacking her dinner will be the mother of his child. This is something even his three PhDs are unable to put into words.

“Do you want some help?” Spencer leans over, takes the napkins under the plate, and wipes the corners. You continue chewing, polite enough to keep your mouth closed and manage its volume. “There.” He puts the napkin down. And he looks at you, realizing just how much you've changed his life.

“What?” Your mouth is so full.

“Nothing.”

You swallow almost everything. “Something.”

He shrugs. “I just love you.”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Slow.

gif by @arcanefox207 , I know it’s not Joel but it’s perfect for the mood ❤️

Pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader, no context, no plot, just thoughts.

Words count: 484

Rating: NSFW, +18, MDNI.

Tags: smut, smut, smut, spit kink if you squint, no description of reader.

I don't even know what this is, it came out like a storm and I leave it here. English is not my first language but I hope it makes sense.

Thanks to anyone who will read!

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

The way you love to fuck with Joel is slow.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss any shades in his eyes, pupils dilated and brown becoming an ink dark tone of raven.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss his mouth tugging into a smile when he runs his fingers on your arm, ups to your shoulders and at the nape of your neck.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss the sound of his breath becoming heavy with desire.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss that undertone of quiet belonging when he speaks your name.

Slow, because you want to remember every single movement of his velvety lips on your skin.

Slow, because you want to kiss him like his lips are your last meal before you leave, suck his bottom one, feel his spit slide into your mouth, savor his taste on your palate.

Slow, because you want to make sure to worship every single freckle and scar on his body, running your fingers and tongue over them. 

Slow, because you love to feel his fingertips tickling you.

Slow, because you love to be gently crushed by the weight of his body on yours.

Slow, because you love his tip nudging at your entrance, sweetly stretching you every second a little more.

Slow, because you know how precious is every involuntary twitch of his hips.

Slow, because you know that he loves your nails lightly scratching his back.

Slow, because you know how wonderful is to feel the steady pace of his thumb brushing over your clit while his other hand is on your breast, twisting and pulling one of your nipples, landing on it with his mouth when he can’t hold on anymore.

Slow, because you need to catch on every single grunt he emits feeling your skin on his.

Slow, because you need to listen carefully at every change in his voice, cracking, turning into a huskier, deeper, lustier incessant rumbling.

Slow, because you need to feel every single veins on his cock meeting your walls.

Slow, because you don’t want to forget his words while he talks you through it.

Slow, because you don’t want to forget the sensation to be his and only his.

Slow, because you don’t want to forget the way he looks at you when he eats you out, his head between you thighs, his tongue lapping at you like a man starved.

Slow, because you love the feeling of him thrusting into you like he always belonged there, in your warm and drenched nest.

Slow, because you love feeling his shaft throbbing and slapping into your cervix.

Slow, because you love hearing his whimpers reverberate in your ears as you wrap your fingers in his hair and pull it.

Slow, because the feeling of his spend filling your void, long thick stripes of cum painting you like a work of art hanging in a museum, is something to cherish.

Slow, because you don’t want for this to end. Never.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (16) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: coriolanus gets to enjoy you.

word count: 1,725

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), fluff, pet name (petal) 

Coriolanus picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to his room. Your room, he decided. To hell with these separate sleeping arrangements. He was not going to let you out of his sight ever again. All of this time apart only made you more anxious, made more uncertain of his feelings for you. If he had to be attached at your side for the rest of your life just to remind you that he cared for you, he would do it. He would do anything for your love. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. You kissed him harder, as if you could taste his love if you tried hard enough. “I love you than a thorn loves its rose.”

“Are you the thorn to my rose?”

“I am whatever you wish me to be.”

Coriolanus kicked the bedroom door behind him and carried you over to the bed. He set you down on the edge, then dropped to his knees. He reached up your skirt, grabbing the edge of one stocking and pulling it down, then the other. Your hand gripped his hair, pushing him closer to where you wanted him to be. 

“Patience, petal,” he laughed as he removed your underwear. “I want to enjoy this as much as you do.”

He pushed your skirts up, leaving you fully exposed to him. He had half a mind to rip the dress right off of you, but that could wait. He truly did want to enjoy this. You had finally opened up to him, told him your worries and your fears. Coriolanus wanted to reward you for that. Wanted to show you that all would be well if you trusted him. 

You let out a whine as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up your beautiful, plush thighs. Ever since your wedding night, he had been craving your legs wrapped around his head. If you had continued to ice him out, he would have dropped to his knees and begged for your forgiveness in the only way he knew might get you to respond to him. This was better, though. For you to open yourself up to him. 

When he finally reached your core, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Coriolanus wrapped his lips around your clitoris, giving it a harsh suck. Your hips lifted off the bed, grinding down on his face. Your hand, still gripping his hair, tugged harshly on his roots. A moan escaped his lips. Oh, yes, this was exactly what Coriolanus wanted. His pretty little petal behaving so good for him, letting him worship you as if that was all he was made to do.

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around your hips, urging your legs to rest on his shoulders. He felt your ankles lock together, one of your heels digging into his back. Perfect. You were so perfect, so responsive to him. “I love you,” he said as if it were prayer before he pushed his tongue in. 

You were so fucking wet for him. He had barely done anything, and yet you were dripping. He collected your juices on his tongue, savoring the taste, committing it to memory. Though he planned to spend every night for the rest of his life between your legs, he never wanted to forget this. If he should ever lose his brilliant mind, if he should never be as intelligent as he is now, he wanted to remember what it felt like to eat your cunt like it was his favorite meal. 

“Coryo, ah—” you cried out, tugging harder on his hair. “Too much—”

No—not enough.

Your thighs trembled. You were so close. Coriolanus swiped his tongue along your clit, moaning as you closed your legs around his head, trapping him there as you chased your high. They only slackened after you came undone with a shout. He pulled away, pressing another kiss to your thigh, before sitting back, admiring the mess you had become. 

“I love you, petal,” he said.

You offered him a sleepy smile. “You keep saying that.”

“And I will keep saying it until you believe it.” Coriolanus crawled up your body. When he laid over you, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “And I will keep saying it long after.”

“I didn’t know you could be so sweet,” you confessed. 

Coriolanus huffed out a laugh, then kissed you again. “Only for you. Everyone else can think what they wish of me.”

You reached up, carding your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut. He loved how much you touched his hair. Could he make you play with it forever? What would his advisors think if he demanded you attend every meeting with him just so you could pet his hair? “You don’t mean that. You don’t become king by letting people think whatever of you.”

“No, you don’t become king like that. But when you are king…The only thing that could get you removed is doing a piss poor job. And we both know that I’m too brilliant for that.”

You giggled and pulled him down for another kiss. “So egotistical,” you tease.

“I’ve earned it. I have an intelligent, beautiful wife. I am clever. I am King. What else could a man dream of?”

You hum, sliding your hands down his chest. You pull at the end of his shirt, untucking it from his pants. Coriolanus’s brows pinch together. “I am sure you could dream of a few things.”

He says nothing, watching as you move to undo the buttons of his shirt. But when you move to push the fabric off his shoulders, he stops you. “What are you doing, petal?”

“I…Did you not do…that, because you wanted to make love?” you asked. 

Coriolanus shook his head. “I ate your cunt because I wanted to.” You looked away. He put two fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. “Were you only going to fuck me because you still think its your duty?”

You blinked up at him. “My mama said that a wife should make herself available for her husband.”

“That might be the case in her marriage, but it will not be in ours. I will only, as you say, make love to you if you want it as much as I do. I will not, I cannot, settle for anything less.”

“But, you’re a man.”

“So?”

“Aren’t men supposed to want these things?” you asked. “My mama said that men only care about their own pleasure. Why should it matter what I want?”

“Am I like other men, petal?”

“Well, no.”

“Then why should you think I would be like them in this regard?” Coriolanus paused. He sat up, resting on the backs of his legs. He took your hands, also pulling you into a sitting position. “Is this why you ran on our wedding night? Because you didn’t want me to force you?”

You looked away. He tried to chase after your gaze, but you were stubborn like an ox. “I didn’t know I could bleed from it. I thought…I thought laying with you had made me unable to discern pleasure from pain, and that terrified me.” 

“Oh, petal,” Coriolanus cooed. He pulled your head against his chest. You relaxed in his hold. “All women bleed from their first time. It has nothing to do with pain. Did I hurt you that night?”

“No.” Your voice was muffled against his chest. 

“I want you to tell me if I ever do. I only want to lay with you if you are enjoying it as much as I am. More than I am, preferably. ” Coriolanus titled your head up so that he may look into your eyes. “Do you understand? I…I will admit that I may have forced you into this marriage, to a degree, but I don’t want any part of your love, of your affection to be forced.”

Your eyes searched his. Oh, how he wished he could read your mind. He wished he could worm his way inside, figure out why you think the way you do. Had he not made his intentions with you clear? Had it not been so obvious that all Coriolanus wanted was your love? Perhaps he had spent too much time slithering his way to the top. Perhaps he forgot what it was like to show someone his hand. 

Coriolanus pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, my pretty petal. You consume me. And I hope that, one day, I can consume you in the same way.”

You were silent for a long moment, your eyes still searching his. Were you trying to read his mind like he was for you? Were you trying to peel back the layers of his brain, trying to find some hidden deception? You wouldn’t. This was the most honest Coriolanus had been in a long time. “What if I told you, you already do?”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, petal.”

“But I do mean it. You confuse my thoughts. I spend every moment trying to understand you. When I wake in the morning, I wonder how you’ll change my perception of you. When I go to bed, I let myself believe that you truly do love me. That it’s not all some façade you’ve crafted to marry a perfect Queen. When I dream, I let myself be that Queen.”

“Petal…”

“I don’t know that I can say I love you,” you admitted, “but you make me feel things I could never dream of feeling. You consume me. You say you burn for me…I don’t think I knew light until I began to know you, truly know you. If that’s love, I don’t know. But you have wormed your way inside me, and I don’t think I can ever let you out.”

Coriolanus combed his fingers through your hair. “Then don’t.”

You sucked in a breath, leaning into his hand. “I won’t, but only if you hold me.”

“Yeah?”

“I deprived you, us, of that on our wedding night. I don’t think I would like to do that again.”

“Whatever you wish for is yours.”

And as he laid back, and as you settled yourself in his arms, Coriolanus decided that this was the happiest he had ever been.

[capsicle-evans]

The Make Believe Ms Evans

Summary: A PR marriage between Y/N and Chris Evans has skyrocketed their careers but their sex lives has never been this low. Up until now.

Warnings: unprotected sex, swearing

Series Master Post

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“What are you reading?” Chris raises one eyebrow, moving his attention away from Dodger to me.

“Nothin” I blush, sitting up in a straighter position.

“Sure and that’s why you’ve been whimpering and pressing your legs for the last 5 minutes” He rolls his eyes and before I can stop him, he snatches the book right out of my hands.

“Give it back, you dick” I try to retrieve it from his hands but he is so much stronger than me so he keeps me away with just one arm.

“Let’s see” He scans the pages as a grin spreads over his lips. “Oh we haven’t done that”

“Give me that” I manage to get my book back, giving him a dirty look before settling back down on the couch. “You are such a kid sometimes”

“Why are so so ashamed?” Chris frowns. “It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked by now”

“I know” I blush as the mental picture of a naked Chris floods my mind. “It’s just… forget about it”

“Y/N” Chris’s frown deepens as he steps closer to me. “You have been eaten out, right?”

Why can the Earth just swallow me whole right now? Why must I go through this? I mean it’s not like it’s my fault, but still.

“Of course” I roll my eyes before placing the book over my face to block Chris stare. “Leave me alone”

I try to focus back on the story, the words of intimacy that lay before be sending warm waves through my body. I clench my thighs as the main character is being stimulated by her male counter part, her pussy being consumed by his mouth.

I jump a little in my spot when I feel a warm hand pushing up the hem of my dress. “What-?” I move my book away to look down where Chris lays in between my legs, his hands tugging at my underwear. I try to speak but the words get stuck at the back of my throat as my core gets exposed right on front of Chris’s face. “Chris” I try to grab his head to push him away but he shakes it off.

“Just relax” He looks up at me, his eyes turned a deep shade of stormy blue. “Read to me”

“What?” I pant as he connects his lips to my inner thigh. He points at my book with a little nod, darting his tongue out to taste the saltiness of my skin. “No, I want to-“

“Read to me or I’ll stop” He gives me a pointed look as he grabs both of my legs to drape them over his shoulders.

“Fine” I grunt before placing the book back in front of my face as Chris moves a couple of inches closer to my throbbing center. “I needed release” I start reading, feeling Chris’s breath fanning my pussy. “I needed Simon to let me reach it, but every time I got close, he’d pull away”

“I should do that with you” Chris grins against my skin before finally swiping his tongue between my folds. The new sensation pushes my legs together, smothering Chris closer to my pussy. “Keep reading, Y/N” Chris grunts against me before pulling my clit as he sucks on it.

“I can’t” I gasp as he spreads me open with his big hands. His tongue darts inside me forcing his chin to rub against me so his beard burns against my thighs. Chris looks up at me before removing his mouth from me.

“Be a fucking good girl and read” Chris bites into my thigh before reaching up to place the book back into my hands. “Or I won’t eat you, bunny”

The pet name makes me blush so I grab the book to hide my face. Smiling up, Chris moves back to his mission. This time he spreads my fold, my puss glistening and blushing under his gaze. A sudden embarrassment takes over me so I focus on the words in front of me. “His mouth is demanding and savoring my core” as I say this, Chris’s tongue tortures my clitoris, his fingers digging into my skin. I drop the book again so my hands can fly to his hair, digging in between his golden locks.

“The bo-“

“Shut up” I push his head against me, muffling his words. I can feel him grinning against me as he intensifies his swipes across my pussy, focusing on my clitoris every once in a while.

“Do you like this?” Chris’s raspy voice breaks through my moans. “God you make the best sounds”

“Chris” I moan his name as he starts fucking me with is tongue and his thumb massages my bud. “I’m so close”

“Yeah, cum over my tongue, bunny” Chris replaces his thumb with his lips and his index fingers starts fucking my pussy, thrusting hard into me. “I want to feel you clench around my finger”

I feel the pressure building, the need for release making me shudder against his touch. I pull on his hair, the waves of pleasure rising as he laps at my lips and when he adds a second finger, I’m a goner.

“Fuck fuck fuck” I pant, shaking under him as I my release rides away under his mouth. I’m trashing under him so Chris grabs my hips, pinning me down.

“God I want to be inside you” Chris holds himself up as he undoes his pants. His dick springs out, wanting to join the action.

“Please, Chris” I grab his white shirt, pulling him down to me. “Fuck me”

“Your wish is my command” He plants a quick kiss before plunging inside of me. “Damn, you feel so good around me. So tight and wet”

“You stretch me so good, Daddy” I moan out and suddenly Chris goes stiff over me. My hands fly to my mouth, realizing the words that just came out of me. “Shit sorry”

Chris eyes are almost black, his chest heaving and the vein on his neck pulsing. “Say it again”

Fuck. I grab his neck so our foreheads are touching. “Make me cum again, Daddy” I whine against his lips as his hand wraps around my neck, gripping just enough.

“You like that?” Chris starts entering me faster and harder, pressing down on my neck to gain stability. “Open up, baby girl”

His thumb tugs at my lips so I make an O shape with my mouth. Pulling me closer by the neck, Chris spits in my mouth. I lick my lips close and guide his face to the crook of my neck. “I’m so close, so close”

Chris bites into my collarbone as his hips roll faster before becoming sloppy and erratic. “I’m cummin, fuck” Chris moans hard as I feel him spilling inside of me.

His orgasm and moans send me over the edge once again. My nails ding into his back as the waves of pleasure consume my every senses.

Sex was always okay with my exes, my vibrator achieving more than they ever did. Until Chris. He fucks me up so good, I always end up wrecked, exhausted and destroyed.

Chris pulls out from inside of me but makes no intention of getting off me, his cum dripping along my thighs. “Move” I laugh as he rests his head over my boobs.

“Give me a minute, woman” He sasses me. “If I move, I might pass out”

“Ugh fine” I roll my eyes, throwing my arm over my face.

I can feel his chest rising and falling over mine, his shallow breaths colliding with my covered nipple. Too focused on his heaving chest, my eyes begin to drift off, my eyelids getting too heavy to keep them open. And the last thing I can remember is a sigh that passes through Chris’s lips.

***

My dry mouth slowly wakes me up, the urge for a glass of water strong in the back of my throat. My eyes flutter open and it takes me a couple of seconds to adjust to the darkness. I rub my eyes to remove the sleep that still holds on, the clock on the wall flashing 2:00 am. Fuck, last time I remember, it was 8:47 pm, right after Chris and I had dinner. Chris.

My head snaps to my chest as a golden mane rests peacefully over my chest. Chris is still deep into his sleep so I try not to wake him up but I need to get out of here. As a small woman, a very tall man laying over me is not really good for my blood flow. I can tell my legs are almost numb from being under him. I try to push him softly on his side so that I can roll away and leave him sleeping here.

“Mm” Chris purrs against my skin, his ocean eyes blinking open slowly.

“Sorry” I whisper, placing my hand over his shoulder blade. “I just need some water”

“Yeah sure” Chris straightens up and I can feel the stickiness he left behind over.

“Okay, and a shower as well” I laugh as I move towards the kitchen, Chris following close behind.

“And is there room for me?” He gives me puppy eyes as I fill my glass up with water.

“Hm that depends” I pretend to think as I bring the glass up to my lips. “Are you going to behave?”

Chris walks to stand behind me, his hands immediately reaching for my hips. He dips his head down to nuzzle my neck. “No, I won’t”

Chris pushes my hips back against his erection as his free hand takes purchase of my nipple. “You know what drives me crazy?”

“What?” I barely speak as his tongue savors the skin behind my ear.

“The way you look right after I’ve fucked you” His other hand hides under the hem of my shorts, softly massaging my entrance over my panties. “Your face right after your orgasm is so fucking hot, your mouth all swollen up and red and so so tempting”

“Chris” I gasp, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as Chris’ index finger dips inside of me.

“Yes, how you moan my name also makes my pants explote” He adds a second finger in, forcing my head to fall back against his chest. “I also love it when you were sun dresses and you bend down and I get to look at your perfect ass”

With that, Chris slaps my butt cheek, sending shivers straight to my core. “You know how many times I touched myself with that imagine in my mind? How I pictured you riding me reverse cowgirl, your ass slamming against my skin?”

“I need you Chris” I manage to speak, my eyes closed as my hips follow the rhythm of his hand.

“Come here” Chris spins me around to pick me up. “Wrap your legs around me, bunny”

With me in his arms, Chris walks us to the shower in his bathroom. I take my time to ravage his neck with my mouth, earning moans and praises when I dig my teeth softly in his skin

“If you don’t stop, we are not gonna make it to the shower”

Chris puts me down so he can turn the water on and let if warm up to us. “Off with those clothes”

“So impatient” I grin, pulling down my shorts, revealing my damp red panties.

“You are so fucking hot” Chris admires me as I remove the rest of my clothes. “Really why didn’t we start this sooner?”

“Don’t know, but now we have all the time in the world” I pull him down by the neck to meet my lips. I grab the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. His pants come off soon after and he guides me into the shower, the hot water steaming up the entire room.

“Come here” Chris hugs my waist and pulls me under the shower head, water splashing us.

“Last time I saw you here” I grin, gripping his arm muscles. “You were pleasuring yourself”

“Really?” He grins, blush straining his cheeks. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about?”

“What?” I bite my bottom lip.

“You in that pink night gown” Chris presses his hip against me, his tip tickling my belly. “And how much I wanted to take it off and fuck you so hard”

“Chris” I breath out, my pussy clenching at his words. “Show me”

***

“What the fuck?” A loud shrink wakes me up, making me jump on my spot. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

I look at the door when Polly and Claire have their mouths wide open and staring back at me.

“Can you two shut up?” I groan, letting by head fall back into the pillow.

“Please” Chris whines behind me and that’s when I realize what is happening.

I fell asleep on Chris’ bed. After sex. He is naked. I’m naked. Claire and Polly are here. Fuck.

“Like Hell” Claire replies to me. “Can you guys fucking explain?”

“Do you want me to explain to you how I fucked my wife?” Chris rolls his eyes as he pulls away from me, still holding on to the bed spread.

“I think I’m having a fucking seizure” Polly brings her hand up to her head. “I’m about to have an aneurysm”

“Stop being so dramatic” I roll my eyes, reaching for a towel thats on the floor near my side of the bed. “You guys should be delighted”

“With the two of you, we never know” Claire shakes her head before tossing Chris his pants from the floor. “Get ready. You’ll explain later. Your stylists are here to get you ready for the event”

Agh of course, the fundraiser for the Children’s Hospital.

“Fine, be down in five” I wave them off as I move pass them towards my room.

“No funny business” Polly points at the two of us.

“As if I last 5 minutes” I hear Chris reply and then a loud thud. Probably some shoe aimed towards Chris.

And the rest of the morning is spent with people running around doing my hair and makeup, Chris trying on different suits and Polly and Claire staring at us like we grew a second head.

I can tell they want to grill us with questions but every time they try to approach the subject, someone else walks into the room and they have to turn their attention to something else. It’s not until we are all seated at out assigned table at the event that Polly finally breaks the silence.

“So how long?” She asks us, her voice un almost a whisper to not gain any attention.

“The day after the premiere” Chris replies, bringing his whiskey up to his lips.

“Ok not that long then” Claire nods. “Should we be concern?”

“Because I’m having sex with my wife?” Chris asks and I almost choke on a piece of cheese. “No, I don’t think so”

“You guys hated each other less than two weeks ago” Claire places her hands on the table, leaning forward so that only us can hear. “If this goes wrong I can only imagine how hard it’s gonna be for us”

“Relax” I roll my eyes, leaning back into my chair. “We are adults, we know what we are doing”

“That does nothing to calm me” Polly shakes her head. “But if there’s one thing I know about you two is that you never make our jobs any easier”

“Can we please just drop it?” Chris sounds more irritated now. “We are married, as you have made emphasis on for the last four months, we are getting along. Leave it alone”

“Fine” Polly slumps back down on her chair. “I just don’t even have the energy for this”

“Great” Chris nods before turning to me. “I’m gonna go say hi to some friends, do you want to come?”

“No, it’s okay” I wave him off. “I actually wanna see the garden so I’ll go for a walk”

“I can join you if you want” Chris offers but I know he hasn’t seen his friends in a while.

“No, it’s okay” I smile at him. “I saw Ana de Armas a couple of minutes ago, I’ll ask her to keep me company” Ana and I became really good friends on set whenever I had to pay a visit to my beloved husband.

“Kay” Chris stands before placing a kiss on my cheek. “See ya in a bit”

I follow him until he disappears from my view and my eyes fall back to the two ladies in front of me. “Stop fucking staring”

“It’s just so fucking weird honestly” Polly shakes her head before bringing her glass of wine up to her lips. “I’m gonna need more of this honestly”

“Fine whatever, I’m gonna go for a walk” I grab my clutch and walk away from the table.

I look around the beautiful garden to decide what to do. I spot Ana deep in a conversation with someone so I decide better not to step into their conversation. I decide to check out the paintings that are being displayed for the fundraiser. Most of them are floral themed and filled with pastel colors and soft drawings.

“Do you like it?” A deep voice startles me as I’m gazing closely up at a painting. “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you”

“It’s okay” I wave him off before turning my attention back to the painting. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous”

“Good, cuz I painted it” He beams at me proudly. “Jaques, nice to meet you”

“Y/N, like wise” I extend my hand to shake it but he grabs it and brings it up to his lips. I pull it back quickly as I feel my cheeks go warm “You must be proud of your work”

“Very much so” He steps a bit closer to me. “And tell me Y/N, do you paint?”

“No no” I chuckle, grasping my glass of wine with both of my hands. “I always wanted to but never got around to doing something about it”

“What a shame” He gives me a side smile. “I’m pretty sure someone as beautiful as you would only creat art just as beautiful”

I feel myself physically cringing but I try not to be rude so I just smile.

“I could give you some lessons” He steps closer, his hand reaching for my elbow to pull me closer. “We could meet and I could show you everything you need”

Before I can open my mouth or step away from him, I feel a big hand wrap around my waist and pull me away hard until I’m pushed into someone’s chest. I look up to find Chris with his eyes set hard over Jaques. “Chris?” My voice comes out squeezed as he presses me against his side. Chris manages to peel his eyes away from Jaques to look down at me.

“Hi, Bunny” He winks down at me before leaning down to connect our lips in a kiss that anyone would consider inappropriate in public. He finally pulls away to look back to Jaques. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, I was just telling Y/N that I could give her some painting le-”

“Ms. Evans” Chris interrupts Jaques and I feel my cheeks burning but my pussy as well. Fuck who knew possessive Chris was such a turn on.

“What?” Jaques almost stumbles with his words.

“She is Ms. Evans to you” Chris makes emphasis on this by showing up his ring. “And about those painting classes, I don’t think they’ll be necessary. If she wants to we can get her another teacher. Now if you excuse us, my wife and I have somewhere to be”

Chris doesn’t even let Jaques form a reply before he is turning us away. “There was no need to be rude” I try to glare at Chris but his eyes look so stormed up that my words come out in breaths.

“There was no need for him to touch you” Chris guides me towards some stairs that lead to the foyer of the mansion where event is being held.

“Where are we going?” I frown when I notice Chris is moving us towards a hallway.

“To teach you some lessons, not painting ones” He pushes me into a room before locking the door behind us. “But a lesson nonetheless”

I moan as he pushes himself against me and his mouth takes over mine. “Chris, someone could hear us”

“Better, then”

***

“Look, our first sex scandal” I grin as I show Chris the pictures someone manage to snap of us going inside the manor and then walking back out with my hair a little undone and Chris’ shirt poorly button up.

“Claire and Polly must be thrilled” He grins as I flop down next to him on his bed.

“I think they actually were” I laugh as I show them the text that they sent me. “Everyone is talking about us and all those rumors of divorce seem to be a thing of the past”

“Good” Chris smiles down at me before looking down through my night gown at the hickey he left right over my left boob. “Sorry about that”

“It’s nothing” I wave him off. “I’m just wearing turtle necks until next week I guess”

“Uh, it’s a shame no one is going to see my work of art” He grins, pulling me by the waist so that I’m pressing up against him.

“Oh no mister” I laugh, pressing my hands against his chest to push back away from him but his grip is tighter. “I’m all sore, you need to let me rest”

“Fine” He rolls his eyes but he doesn’t let ho of me.

His blue eyes stare down into mine and suddenly I feel my throat dry up. His eyes flicker between mine and my lips before he leans in to touch my forehead with his.

“Chris” I breath out, my heart going a haywire as he nuzzles my nose with his. “I should probably go to my room”

“Y/N” Chris covers my neck softly with his hand to connect our lips for a brief kiss. “Stay”

“I have my room” I reach for his hand with mine but don’t pull away. “We have separate rooms for a reason”

“I don’t think I remember that reason anymore” He grins against my lips before moving his lips down to my neck. I expect him to tease me there but he just stays there and pulls me hard against his chest. “Stay”

“Okay”

***************************************************

Hi i know it’s been forever but I kinda got stuck. I have proofread it so sorry for the mistakes

@talesofadragon @patzammit @rainyhort10-blog @cutedisneygrl @creae7881 @edtomh @8crazy-freak8 @weirdpeoplecoolpeople @sarahdonald87 @mrsevans90

[party-hearses]

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 3

do i get callous, or do i stay tender

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: joel x ofc!reader, ex!tommy x ofc!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 8k

chapter summary: the boundaries of your new relationship with joel are explored.

chapter warnings/tags: no outbreak AU, soft!joel, age gap, alcohol, language, characters eating food, alfred hitchcock, allusions to verbal/mental abuse (not joel), dry humping (i guess?). let me know if I’m forgetting anything!

a/n: this feels very ‘slice of life’, but it’s important to me, dammit! I love each and every one of you (yes, you!) who read, comment, and reblog. this fic is my baby, and every interaction means the world to me. @nostalxgic beta’d for me, because she’s the best human in the world and I love her to pieces.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! support your creators!

There was, Joel knows, a depth to the things you had shared with him. He just doesn’t know how to piece them together.

You had led him, a proverbial blindfold over his eyes, to the darkest recesses of your psyche. Allowed him to graze those things with his fingers. Not to grasp, never to grasp, but to ghost the ridges of his rough digits against the truths they contained. Visceral and unrefined, flexing without giving, beneath his prodding touch. A reluctant invitation.

He had wanted to claw his way in. He had wanted to rip you apart, to gorge himself on your suffering. To lick your velvet bones and make his home inside your ribcage. Half heaven, half hell.

Instead, he finds himself turning your words over in his head again and again, whiskey a thick smoke on his tongue. The television is still on in the background, the light flickering across the angles of the room, casting everything in jagged shadow.

Frustration curls tight in the pit of his stomach. Understanding feels just out of reach — as if the words you had spoken had been in secret tongues. If only he could decode it.

It will take time, he knows, to learn your language. To speak the complexities, to articulate the syntax. To appreciate the nuances from the inside, wrap his tongue around the letters. It will be an exercise in patience, he is sure, but one that he will commit himself to. He hungers to be fluent in reading and speaking you, to savor the delicate flavors of your dialect.

You, the unknowable creature asleep just down the hallway. That his hands had been on; that had made his cock twitch and ache; that had looked at him with those wet, pleading eyes, desperate to be known.

He rolls the wrist that holds his whiskey glass in a circular motion, eyeing the contents intently.

Asking you to stay in his home was a calculated risk. It had been when he’d first done it, and it remains to be the longer you stay. Tommy’s involvement — even in the capacity of ‘ex boyfriend’ — makes things complicated, and Joel knows that those things will border on volatile once he finds out where you are.

Not if, but when.

And truly, Joel doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. He hasn’t thought that far ahead, his vision too clouded with you, you, you.

He had known, since the first time you stood in his kitchen, a case of Shiner in your small hands, that the hot knife of devotion he felt when your eyes met his would eventually destroy him. Inevitability twisting its hands into his gut, whispering in his ear to prepare for his own eventual decimation. Lamb, meet slaughter, it said.

He’d let Tommy beat the shit out of him, he thinks, if it keeps you in his proximity.

The acute awareness of it had caught him off guard. Mutual, useless damage — two unfillable voids recognizing one another from across the room. A collision of fire and the ocean floor.

You, in a little black tank top and jean shorts, the tender flesh of your thigh peeking out just below the hem. Shoulders bare, warmed from the afternoon sunlight, skin aglow. It took strength he didn’t know he possessed to not sink his teeth into you right then and there. Lick up the slender column of your neck. Feast.

Tommy, grinning and oblivious as all fuck to the cosmic shift taking place two feet away from him.

Joel wanting to slug the smugness off his younger brother’s face. He knows Tommy — knows him always as a collector of people, of experiences. Not handling things — beautiful, fragile things — with the care they ought to be handled with. Leapfrogging from one thing to the next, nothing but ruin in his wake.

And oh, how Joel wanted to ruin you — but not in the way he knew Tommy would.

Your words to him tonight make his skin itch with that same recognition. That same inevitability. Asking you to stay meant there was no going back — that you would either let him swallow you whole, or he’d die trying to.

Throwing his head back to drain the glass, he savors the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat before flipping the television off and rising from the couch. Retracing his footsteps past your room, a dull throb settles again between his thighs at the thought of your body pressed against his.

It wouldn’t be difficult, he thinks, to open your door and take. He knows you because he knows himself, and what little restraint he has left is stretched thin.

But he will be patient, because it is you. Because he knows how this ends. Because he wants you to want it, too. To need it like he does. To reveal yourself to him in your own time, fragment by fragment. To recognize the inevitability.

And so he closes the door to his bedroom, himself on the wrong side of it, knowing that that is what a better man would do. And like a better man should, he falls asleep to images of your supple skin rippling beneath him, your mouth open and wanting.

You are unknowable, but you have never been a stranger.

You’re still in your dress when you wake up the next morning.

The hem is bunched up around your waist, your panties on display for the four walls of the empty bedroom. The slippery material clings to you, flesh slick with sweat, in a significantly less flattering way than it did last night.

Everything about you is less flattering than it was last night — the shimmer and sugar of it all worn off in the sweltering light of midmorning.

With a groan, you roll onto your back, the hard edges of your phone cutting into the flesh of your hip beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to look at it, to relive the previous twelve hours of…well, everything. Hands and drinks and tongues and flesh and desire and Joel’s voice.

Something else shifts into focus from behind the hazy veil — Joel carrying you to bed. Half-asleep and just on the other side of drunk, drippingly saturnine and pathetic. The recollection of it makes your chest pinch; the most recent admission into the museum of your naiveté.

You scrub your hand across your eyes, thick black flakes of mascara crumbling off your lashes and landing on your cheeks, chalky streaks of it painted across your knuckles. A strange laugh bubbles up in your throat — you can’t even imagine how wrecked you look.

Sharp hesitancy crests your lungs, tempts you to curl up further into the blazing bedsheets, to avoid. To shrink back into yourself. You raise a hand to your still-swollen lips, delicately pressing your fingertips into their fullness, the memory of Peter’s mouth slotted over yours replaying behind your eyelids.

You wish you had been drunk enough to forget that part of the night — but only that part.

Ava’s fingers interlocked with your own, the holographic sheen of her love wrapping around you, the way all of your pain had spilled out into her waiting hands on the dancefloor. Her magic had dug its tendrils into the soft muscle of your heart, her dreamy voice in your ear an incantation: I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel.

It was those things that you never wanted to forget.

And Joel — Joel. The way he had angled his body towards you, had been so attuned to your words. The consideration in his face as he absorbed them all, brows knitted in concentration. The restless twitch of his fingers.

Him sliding his hands beneath your body, pulling you close to his chest.

Everything had poured out of you so naturally, without any of the apprehension or anxiety you’d come to call companion. The sutures you had sewn years and years ago had been neatly, delicately, untied by Joel’s nimble fingers, in a way that you don’t even think he understood. And it took almost nothing.

Like something magic.

Fire crawls across your already heated skin, not so much a realization but a possibility.

It’s the only reason you get up, and peel your dress off of your sticky body, and let the cold water of the shower chill you. Your lungs open up, the buzzing of your nerves quieting under the stream.

Joel hears the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood before he sees you. The beating of his heart matches the measured pace of your steps, both quickening as the distance between you closes.

He glances sideways, pulse hammering when you finally enter his line of vision. The wet ropes of your hair cling to your neck, dripping down the fabric of your threadbare t-shirt. There’s something so cozy about it, a significant intimacy that comes with knowing you’re just out of the shower.

It’s vulnerable in a way that he’s all too cognizant of.

“Hey.”

Your voice is sweet, if not apprehensive. Testing the waters. You gently pop a hip into the lip of the kitchen counter, next to the full, still-steaming coffee pot. Joel is situated at the stove, pan of something resembling food in front of him, his own mug clutched in his left hand.

“How ya feelin’, champ?” There’s a crooked smile on his face, one that disappears behind the curve of his mug as he brings it to his mouth.

You laugh, a gentle sigh of a laugh — a laugh that invigorates his blood more than the coffee does.

“I’m actually okay. Y’know, considering.” You tip your head to the side, watching as he stirs whatever it is in the pan. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, seeing him cook. It’s endearing, being allowed a peek into his life.

The way his cheeks round out tell you that he’s still got the same small smile painted on his face, despite the way it’s hidden.

“Mind if I have some?” You gesture with a flick of your chin to his coffee, clocking the way his face immediately falls, eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Y’already know the answer t’that.”

Gaze darting back to the stove, he’s quick to set his coffee to the side, muttering a curse under his breath as he lowers the flame burning under the pan. You twist your body to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with the blazing hot liquid, crossing the kitchen to settle at the table.

The subsequent silence is companionable, and you let the coffee rouse the parts of your brain that haven’t quite caught up with you, yet. You watch the strong muscles of Joel’s back, rippling and pulling under his shirt, as he extends his arm to pull a plate down from a different cupboard.

It’s mesmerizing, the agile way he moves, so it catches you off guard when he slides the plate and a fork in front of you, steam rolling off the scrambled eggs and slices of toast.

You hadn’t even noticed him using the toaster.

“Oh,” you squeak, blinking away the surprise you know is written all over your face. “You shouldn’t h-”

“Wanted to.” It’s kind, but matter-of-fact. A stern statement to dissuade you from arguing back.

As he lowers himself into the chair across from you, tossing his own full plate onto the table, you can’t help but remember his hands on your jaw the last time the two of you had been here together.

Together.

He immediately digs into his food, shoveling it into his mouth and slurping his coffee. You drop your gaze to the plate in front of you, picking up the fork and gingerly shuffling the contents of it around.

Something close to guilt needles at your stomach, and all too suddenly the words are hot on your tongue.

“I lied to you last night.”

Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up at you — just keeps chewing and swallowing.

“Yeah?” Another bite, more chewing, swallowing again.

“I…I kissed someone. At the club.”

The confession hangs between you, though he remains as taciturn as you’ve ever seen him. It’s only when he draws his mug up to his mouth that he even meets your eyes, subtle amusement dancing in the liquid amber of them.

It’s candy Pop Rocks compared to what would have been Tommy’s dynamite.

Joel hasn’t stilled at all, continuing to drink his coffee and scoop his eggs on top of his toast.

“You…asked if I met anyone. And I lied to you.”

Toast halfway to his mouth, the small pile of eggs perched atop it dangerously close to slipping off, he pauses. His brows pull together in a question that you can’t quite read. An epiphany that you’re not privy to.

Lowering his arm, your eyes follow the eggs as they fall to his plate with a muted plop.

“Y’don’t owe me anythin’, Peach.”

Liar.

“But I-”

He shakes his head, and whatever it was that you wanted to say dies in your throat. “Y’had a reason to not tell me. And that reason belongs to you and you alone.”

You scrunch your brows together, an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. He watches as it happens, his own chest pulling tight at the recognition of your uncertainty, of the doubt in your eyes. He’s quick to lean over the table, over the momentarily forgotten plates of food, to soothe your skin with a knowing drag of his thumb. The fork in your hand falls, clattering against the ceramic.

“Hey. Soften up, darlin’. Just don’t want you to think y’have t’tell me anythin’ y’don’t want to.” His voice is low, eyes intently searching yours. “Doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re tellin’ me.”

There’s something so tender about the way he tells you this, the way he touches you, that you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust. Nothing has ever belonged to you — and only you — before. Not even your thoughts have ever been your own, the space reserved and velvet-roped for the ghosts of your shortcomings.

And you know that though Joel doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of what he’s saying, the words are bubblegum and champagne to you. Exactly, perfectly right.

“You’re good. It’s okay.” He gently brushes a still-damp tangle of your hair back over your ear, and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is pounding. “Y’don’t always have to be so…hard on yourself.”

You’re good.

“Say it, Peach.”

Like he can read your mind. Like he can reach directly inside you, all those ties he’d undone, to extract the most vulnerable parts. Soften them. Shield them. Nurture them.

As though he can taste the desperation surging off your skin.

“I’m good.” Your own voice is so small, you hardly recognize it. The words taste bitter, grapefruit with the sugar dusted off. Unearned.

“You’re good, sweetheart,” he repeats, the rough tips of his fingers sliding along your jaw as he pulls his hand back, dropping it to retrieve his abandoned toast. “Now please eat. It’ll help.”

Hesitantly picking up your fork again, you mirror him — biting and chewing thoughtfully, humming as the toast settles in your stomach. Sipping your coffee. It’s almost easy.

Joel makes it easy.

Every now and again he flicks his eyes up to watch you, to make sure you’re actually eating, silently pleased as the amount on your plate slowly diminishes. He finishes before you do, shoving his plate forward and tipping back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his mug comfortably.

Moving the last bits of egg around the perimeter of your plate, you take the opening as Joel’s shoulders relax against the slatted wood.

“I, um, didn’t think you’d be…like this.”

It catches him off guard, a warm laugh betraying his usual stoicism. The levity of it curls around your limbs, climbs the length of your spine. “Oh yeah? ‘N what’d you think I’d be like?”

Avoidant. Brooding. Grumpy.

“Much less…pleasant?” You crinkle your nose at the word, not satisfied with it. “Or, like, you’re kind of…nice?”

This time he laughs out loud, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide. The sound of it lights you up from the inside, sparkly and hot.

“I mean…oh my god, that’s so stupid. I just mean…like, I think being here…will be good for me.”

You’re babbling now, skirting around the fact that you think being around him will be good for you. But something deep in your stomach tells you that he already knows. That he’s always known.

Dropping his head to his chest, you think you see a light sprinkle of pink break out across his tanned cheeks and nose. He clears his throat, mouth obscured by his coffee mug.

“I’m nice t’you, sweetheart.”

The remainder of the day is spent zeroed in on your work laptop, still at the kitchen table, legs stretched across the chair Joel had occupied that morning.

He had slipped out after breakfast to run errands — a few work related, a few personal — asking if you’d wanted to come. The invitation had made your heart swell, the feeling of being wanted stirring in your veins. It was hard to resist, the promise of more time with him so incredibly alluring, but you’d declined, work hanging over your head like a raincloud.

“It’s Saturday, Peach,” he’d murmured, eyeing you as you’d flipped open the slender screen of the device.

“Good thing I don’t have any plans, then,” you’d replied, clicking the trackpad to open your multiple files — budgets and spreadsheets and invoices stacking one on top of the other — thoughts turning to how much you’d rather be climbing into Joel’s truck beside him.

But he’d backed off, dropping a quick squeeze to your shoulder before leaving.

It’s not until he’d been gone for some time that it strikes you how different the interaction was with Joel than it ever had been with Tommy — no exasperation, no stomping out of the house, no argument. And you can’t compare them, you know, because he’s not Tommy, and he’s not your boyfriend —but it’s stable, sustainable. A quiet admission of knowing what you need. Of some kind of trust passing between the two of you.

A disruptive ringing snaps you back to reality, your fingers still resting on the keyboard of the laptop. The screen has gone black, an indication of the amount of time passed.

With a slight shake of your head, your eyes track to the smaller screen, your sister’s name and picture lit up. Uneasiness rolls through you, as it always does when she calls.

“Hey, Kit.” You drop your head back onto the curved wood of the chair, exhaling shallowly through your nose.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

You can hear the shrieking of children in the background, the clatter of pots and pans and running water.

“Are you doing the dishes?” It’s in your best interest to sidestep the question, her giving you the perfect opportunity to do so.

“I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

The fingers of your other hand find the bridge of your nose, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been…busy. Work has been a lot.”

Liar sits just below your diaphragm, pendulous and dark.

“And how has living with Joel been?”

You should have known that she’d cut straight to the point. Like she always does.

“It’s fine, Kit. It’s been going really well, actually.” You can’t help but snap, the tranquil feeling of Joel’s confidence in you waning into annoyance at being treated like a child by your sister.

Beyond that, a significant part of you is determined to protect the strange, placid thing between you and Joel, whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t.

Kit sighs, but it’s soft. “I’m just calling to say hey. We haven’t talked in so long.”

“You’re calling to check up on me.”

“Is there something so wrong with that? I’m your sister.”

“Not my mother.”

You regret the words as soon as they pass your lips. You can feel her hurt seeping through the phone, from thousands of miles away. It cuts to your core.

“Kit, I didn’t-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom. But you could at least be fucking kind to me, because I am all you’ve got.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Kit rarely — if ever — curses, and it hits you like a punch in the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears immediately swimming in your line of vision. “You just, remind me of her so much sometimes, and…and I…”

“Have a lot of unresolved bullshit with her.”

“Yeah.”

She’s never said the words aloud before; it’s a subject the two of you had always avoided into adulthood. The crevasse between you, wide and gaping. Hearing her say it, acknowledge it, feels like sucking fresh air into your lungs after holding your breath underwater for too long.

“Daniel! Stop hitting your sister!” She suddenly calls out, and the moment crashes down at your feet.

“Look, um, I’m working. Let’s talk later this week, okay?” You sniffle, salty tears threatening to spill over. “Love you.”

You click to end the call before she can protest.

Rubbing your hands down your face, you wish you hadn’t even answered. Talking about her is never easy, but talking about her with Kit is something you’d danced around for years.

The phone begins to vibrate again, and you almost swipe to ignore it, assuming it’s Kit angrily calling back. But it’s Joel’s name splashed across the screen, and your heart thrums with familiarity. With relief.

“Hey, darlin’.” He says when you answer, the warm timbre of his voice washing everything else out of your head — Tommy and Kit and work included. “I’m thinkin’ about orderin’ pizza, that sound okay t’you?”

“Please, that sounds great.” And it does. Easy. Low maintenance. Comfortable. Exactly what you need. “But only if we can have beers, too.”

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Read my mind, Peach.”

“You’re in the same exact place you were when I left,” Joel exclaims as he walks through the door, a rack of beer on his hip.

“Money never sleeps,” you reply, closing the laptop with finality and stifling a yawn.

“Maybe not, but you need to.”

“Mmm, pizza and beer first,” you hum, pushing yourself up from the table and joining him at the counter, his hands already tearing at the cardboard.

“Anythin’ excitin’ happen while I was out?” He holds a bottle out to you, fingers grazing yours as you take it. A thrill shoots down your spine, settling between your legs.

You lean back against the sink, drawing in a deep breath before tipping the beer back into your mouth. “Nothing I’d love to revisit at this moment.”

The only thing you’d love in this moment is to bask in Joel’s magic — let it wash over you, head to toe. Erase the terrible things you’d said to Kit. Be good again.

He quirks a brow at you, but doesn’t press. Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a pizza app pulled up. You shake your head, pushing it away.

“I will eat literally whatever you order.”

Shrugging, he drops his gaze to the screen, thumb flicking up to scroll through the menu slowly. “Hope y’actually mean that. Might try to order a gross pizza just to call y’on your bluff.”

45 minutes later, you’re both on the couch, beer and pizza in hand, an old movie playing in the background. One of your favorites — a sprawling mansion on the English coast, a haunted marriage, the shadow of a mysterious ex-wife, Rebecca. One of Hitchcock’s best, in your opinion.

Joel is happy to oblige, love a good black ‘n white slipping out of his otherwise full mouth.

As much as you love the film, you’re preoccupied with the way the evening sun casts the room in a golden glow, and how it seems to accentuate Joel’s innate softness. A softness you feel privileged to see, to have lavished on you. You want to drown in it — let his kindness corrupt you, let him untangle you.

Selfish fizzes at your fingertips, creeps up the span of your arms.

You shift your focus to the ropey muscles and tendons of Joel’s neck, gaze climbing up his strong jaw, covered in a smattering of salt and pepper scruff, to the long line of his aquiline nose. He balances his half-empty beer bottle on his knee, fingers wrapped around the neck of it.

And if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, you don’t want to think about anything else. You don’t want to consider what it all means, yet. You want to just exist, here, with him. Watching the way he watches the movie, the way he gulps his beer down.

Hidden from the rest of the world.

Tucking your legs up underneath your body, you let your head loll on the cushion of the couch. You’d hide forever, if you could.

You stretch your arms above you, a sleepy, dopey grin splayed across your mouth — secure glowing fluorescent at the apex of your thighs. The movem ent draws his attention, as though he’d heard your pulse cry his name.

“Tired?” His voice thick, eyes tracing the soft shape of your arms as they reach skyward.

“Mhm. But I wanna finish the movie.”

A coy, sideways smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to place his pizza plate on the coffee table.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he drawls lowly, sloping back to slide his hand across your shoulders and wrap his fingers gently around your bicep to tug you closer. Turning, you meet him with wide eyes, glittering in the dark, your heart a trembling magic eight ball — are you sure this is okay?

And without words, he lets you know that it is. Lets you know that he wants you to.

Guided by his large open palm, you carefully curl into his side, dropping your head to his lap. You pull your legs up to your chest, both hands nestling narrowly under his thigh. His hand hovers over the soft curve of your hip, a barely-there touch that makes you ache.

You draw in a deliberate breath, holding it deep until he finally lets his hand drop to the exposed flesh between the band of your shorts and raised hem of your t-shirt.

A million sparks of light burst over your skin, fireworks exploding across the creamy silk of it. Your eyes flutter closed, hyper-aware of every tense of his fingers. The movie continues to play, but the whole world has fluctuated to both start and end in the exact place that he touches you.

As though there is no before this moment in time, only after.

Inevitable.

His hand slides up the length of your body, over the notches of your ribs, and higher still so that his fingers skim the delicate line of your neck. You can feel him relax further into the cushions of the couch, broad body molding to its shape, and you wonder if he’s concentrating on you as hard as you are on him.

In an answer to your unspoken question, he begins to tenderly stroke the spread of your hair, fanned down your shoulders and pooled in his lap.

“Y’know,” he mumbles, eyes still cast to the television, “we had breakfast and dinner together today.”

“We did,” you agree, a slight simper at your lips.

“‘N the world didn’t end, did it, Peach?” He angles his chin down to look at you at the same time you tilt your head to look up at him. He hasn’t stopped caressing the silky locks of your hair, and when you meet his eyes, he grasps a fistful of it gently. The pleasurepain of it makes your blood hot.

“No,” you whisper, “it didn’t.”

He leans closer by just a fraction, and you can’t help but be entranced by the shape of his mouth as his plush lips form the words that cross them.

“Want it to be like that everyday.”

He’s looking at you like there’s a peephole into your soul — a pinpoint view of the feral thing inside of you, on display for him. He’s looking at you like it excites him.

“Me too, Joel,” you breathe, the possibility a white static between you.

Not a single thing outside of the two of you exists in this moment. He prefers it that way, having you all to himself.

“Like you bein’ here, sweetheart.” There’s not a trace of hesitancy in his voice, but he says it like it’s a secret. “Like you workin’ at my kitchen table, and havin’ pizza and beer, and watchin’ old movies with you. Like wakin’ up knowin’ you’re here.”

He moves to trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, and you’re suddenly looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing stilted.

Closing the distance between you, he noses along the soft cut of your jaw, burying his face in your hair. He wants to drink down the way you gasp when he does; the sound burned into his brain, knowing it will come back to him when he’s stroking himself off later.

The elastic compulsion of his need so prominent, so inescapable, that the next words out of his mouth surprise even him.

“Go to sleep, Peach.” His mouth is on your ear, goosebumps rising in the wake of his breath over your skin. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

Taking one last deep breath of you in, he pulls back, resuming running his hand up and down the hills and valleys of your body.

The most that he’ll allow himself.

“I said some fucked up things to Kit today. She called while you were gone.”

The words fall out of your mouth, buried shame and anger spilling out with them. A confession.

Joel hums, hand still roaming, almost absentmindedly. It’s reassuring, a reminder of his words — you’re good.

“Siblings are…hard,” he suggests, emphasizing his point with a quick press of his fingers into your hip. “They get your best ‘n your worst, and don’t have a choice. It’s…safe to put the hard things on ‘em.”

“And bein’ the older one is…is…” he continues, pausing to clear his throat, voice tinged with something you can’t name, “a lot of responsibility. ‘N y’always wanna do right by them, y’know? Protect ‘em. But sometimes y’can’t. Hafta let ‘em figure it out on their own. Fuck up on their own.”

The silence that hangs in the air is charged with unsaid words. Unasked questions. Realities and consequences that neither of you are ready to explore the depths of. Guilt.

“Do you think I’m fucking up?”

“No, sweetheart. But I can’t say the same for other people.”

He squeezes your side again, letting his fingers linger just a touch longer than he had before. Dizziness snakes up your vertebrae, cloudy and disorienting. Desire. Want.

It’s a torrid kind of want, one that burrows under your skin and makes itself known. You think Joel can feel it, too, the way his touch roves over you — can feel it burn ing hot at the intersection of your skin and his.

But your brain pulls your body back, settles it to a low simmer. Reminds you to think instead of act.

And eventually, you fall asleep doing exactly that.

When you wake up later, sleep-drunk and unsure of the time, a too-bright infomercial in place of the movie, Joel is still there, just like he’d promised, head dropped to the flat of the couch, softly snoring. Chest steadily rising and falling, fingers curled into your flesh, firmly clasped just below your ribcage.

You don’t move an inch, afraid to wake him, and fall back asleep to the sound of his breathing.

A week passes. Then two weeks. And before you know it, summer winds into autumn, and the two of you slip into an easy routine — somewhat delicate, somewhat hesitant, but comfortable. And you feel silly, now, considering how naturally effortless it is. As though it could have always been this way.

And truly, that’s the hardest part to navigate. Drawing the line between what is, and what you want it to be.

Neither of you has brought up that night, at least to one another. But after you’ve gone to bed each night, you replay it in your mind, the feeling of his hands on you the image at the forefront of it; his name a whimper on your lips as your own fingers crawl beneath your panties.

Each night, wishing they were his.

It’s far too easy to overthink, second guess, dissect the way Joel’s fingers brush yours as you hand him his coffee, or the way his lips quirk up while he watches you struggle to assemble a bookshelf.

“Peach, please let me help. Promise it’ll be so much faster.”

Your indignant scowl, arms twisted over your chest in defiance. His soft laugh, deft hands picking up where yours had left off, piecing the cheap wood together without a hitch. Sitting back on his haunches, massive fingers tugging at your forearms to untangle them. The sticky warmth in his eyes when you let him.

“See? Coulda just asked me.”

Ensuring a soft landing, in every sense of the word.

The routine you’ve created is grounding, satisfying. Something to focus on aside from your intensely confusing feelings about Joel, something that pushes everything else to the back of your mind. Something to lose yourself in.

It’s not much — no caviar and lingerie and nightcaps, but it’s yours. An ardent, fulfilling thing that makes you feel steady on your feet. That makes the sharp, prodding fingers of your thoughts dissolve into a gleaming mist. Even the edges of the words in your head, the angry curvatures of your mother’s voice, bleed into nothing in the safety net of him.

The magic of it lies in its simplicity: taking turns cooking, laundry on Sundays, greetings with warm smiles even when you have to work late or spend entire evenings parked in front of your laptop. Some evenings he’ll go to the local dive with friends, some nights you’ll bury yourself in a book in your bed. The divine act of surviving.

The foundation of something, being constructed slowly from the ground up. Methodically. Each brick a meaningful gesture, word, moment.

You, being rebuilt from the ground up, at the skilled hands of Joel Miller.

A way back to yourself.

And it’s not like you don’t catch him watching you while you work, or let him drag your legs over his lap while your laptop perches precariously on your thighs on the couch. His hands are on you in some way or another more often than not, and you like it. You want it.

If only it were that easy.

If only it could be so uncomplicated — some semblance of normal.

But it’s not. And you know it never will be. So you take what you can get — reveling in the hours spent watching movies together, the errands run together, the shared jokes and spilled chinese takeout. Your own brand of normal.

And he tells you, often, how much he prefers this kind of normal — the one with you in it.

“You ‘n me, Peach, remember?”

The line a continuous, hazy blur — what is, and what you want it to be.

“Hi babe! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, so we should go out tonight? Thoughts? No, wait — don’t think about it, we should just driiiink about it! Love you!”

Ava’s chocolate-box trill fills the cabin of your car. Rain drizzles lazily down the windows as you click to replay the voicemail, the familiarity of her elongated words and upward inflection making your heart ache. It’s not the first time she’s invited you out since what you’ve come to refer to as the incident, but it’s the first time you’ve felt genuine remorse at turning her down.

But you will do so without hesitating, the grocery bags in the trunk of your car being the only thing on your agenda for the dreary Friday evening.

Typing out a quick text to Ava (sorry babe! raincheck!), your thumb lingers over the thread just below hers. Clicking it open again, the words on the screen send a languid fire rolling through your veins.

You: I’m cooking tonight

Joel Miller: whatever you want, peach

Whatever you want.

The possibility licks hot at every inch of you.

The kitchen has become your favorite place in the house. The heart of it, the life of it. You’ve memorized every nook and cranny, each knot and split of the woodwork. The contents of all drawers and cabinets, the haphazard organization of it all.

You move around the room fluidly, exuding a sense of belonging that’s not lost on Joel. Body propped against the doorframe, he watches as you pour and stir and salt — as comfortable, as confident, as he’s ever seen you.

A bittersweet conception stirs in him, the edges of it coming into soft-focus. Before it can fully form on the screen of his mind, grow roots in the cavern of his heart, he clears his throat to get your attention.

“Peach.”

“Hmm?” You twist just enough to catch his gaze, clocking the expectant look in his eyes. Immediately laying the spoon in your hand on the counter, you face your entire body to his, matching the open expression.

“Close your eyes.”

You obey without question, squeezing them shut and unfolding your hands in front of you like a prayer. There’s the sound of his feet and a quick hiss as Joel opens and closes the refrigerator, placing something cold and dewy in your open palms. Your fingers automatically close around the curves of it.

A wine bottle.

Dragging your bottom lip with your teeth, the corners of your mouth quirk up. Your lashes flutter open, gaze sweeping over the intricate label — a golden goddess, surrounded by ribbons of different shades of pink and blue, dotted with tiny golden star details. The shiny, beveled type spells out Prophecy just below the image.

“This is my favorite.” There’s awe in your voice. Reverence. It shines in your irises as you look up at Joel, who is posted up against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Was on sale.”

He breaks into a smirk, cheeks flushing as your sweet laugh fills the space between the two of you.

“Either way,” you respond, humor bleeding into the edges of your voice, eyes rolling fondly, “mind opening it up while I finish everything else?”

Raising his hand to retrieve the bottle, he’s quick to wrap his fingers around the arches of yours. He tugs once, firmly, pulling both you and the bottle close to his chest.

It rattles the air in your lungs, the tiniest oh fanning the base of his throat. He dips his head to meet your gaze, breath punching warm across the bridge of your nose and cheekbones. It’s dizzying, the closeness.

“How’d you know?”

You’re asking about the wine. There’s two inches of space separating you, and you’re asking about the wine.

He leans down further, the slope of his nose pulling across your cheek to graze the shell of your ear. His breathing is deep, measured, in control.

“You brought’t over for dinner once. Said the same thing — was your favorite. I just remembered, that’s all.” He says it casually, as if discussing the weather. As if knowing your favorite wine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “Wanted to get you somethin’ special.”

Whatever you want, Peach.

Your fingers draw swirls against the bottle, the heat from his leeching overtop of them. His grip tightens, words ringing in your ears. You can smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. The spicy warmth of it is mesmerizing — it infiltrates your senses, knocks you off balance.

The rest of the world feels a million miles away.

“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, wrenching your hands away and spinning to remove the saucepan from the flame. “I don’t want it to scorch.”

Joel hums amusedly, hands scrambling so the bottle doesn’t slip and shatter. You then hear him begin to drag open and slam closed multiple drawers, the clang and clatter of various utensils nearly drowning out the swearing under his breath.

“Where’s the damn—”

“Here.” Using your hand not balancing the saucepan, you stretch to retrieve the corkscrew buried in the drawer closest to you, watching through your lashes as he meets your extended grasp to take it.

His gaze lingers on you a split second, corners of his mouth downturned, brows drawn low. Analyzing. Memorizing. It doesn’t last long, him turning on his heel to retreat to the kitchen table.

Something about the way he does it pulls at you, a tangle that you can’t quite find the end of. It’s kindling to the fire smoldering low in your belly, the one you’re desperate to keep at bay — the one that roars back to life as Joel carefully pours your favorite wine into two plastic solo cups.

You can’t help but watch, the repetitive glug glug glug of the liquid into the cup matching the beat of the nearly-boiling blood in your veins. A sheepish smile overtakes his stoic facade, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

“Don’t have any wine glasses.” He nods to the plastic cups, a gentle laugh at the very edge of his words.

“Wouldn’t want one anyway,” you reply, mirroring the way his cheeks round out in a grin.

You’re just spooning the pasta and sauce onto plates when he materializes at your elbow, making a grab for both dishes.

“Uh! I don’t think so!” You click your tongue against your teeth teasingly, blocking his body with yours. “You go sit. I’ll bring them over.”

“You cooked,” he protests, smooth palm grazing your ribs in another attempt to bypass you.

“So you can clean, if you’re worried about it.” Flashing another brilliant sideways grin at him, you pick up a plate in each hand and nudge him backwards with your hip.

“Yes ma’am.” It’s a capitulation, a willingness to step back and let you lead him.

The notion strikes hot against you, nestles in the aching space between your thighs. It scales your stomach, gains speed in the span of your arms, makes your fingers tremble as you set the plates on the table.

“Cheers,” you mumble, scrabbling to pick up the flimsy cup, tipping it just so in his direction before taking a sizable gulp.

As he parallels your action in bringing the wine to his mouth, you wonder if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t trigger the roiling heat in your veins.

Then again, you think, maybe you want him to stoke that in you — always.

Fingers delicate around the body of your just-refilled red solo, you make your way from the kitchen to the couch, where Joel is slouched back, legs parted. It’s impossible not to drag your eyes across the muscled heft of his thighs, to not linger on the way his jeans stretch to accommodate him. His heavy hands rest on the bulk of them, fingers spread languidly.

While you watch him, he’s watching you. You can tell by the way his digits flex and relax, callused pads pulling patterned lines over denim. Keeping his composure, despite the way the wine ignites him. Despite the way you ignite him.

The lights in the room are low, the comforting drum of fat raindrops on the glass panes of the window constant. Your limbs feel loose, a combination of Joel and the wine. There’s a record on low in the background, but you don’t know who. You’d settled on the cushions while he’d taken the shiny disc out of the dust jacket gently, dropped the needle softly, with the most care you’d ever seen, and let the smooth rhythm of it fill the room.

“You gonna cook like that more often?” It’s casual, airy. As if the walls of the room aren’t closing in on the two of you, pushing you nearer and nearer to him.

Inescapable.

You giggle — you fucking giggle — stepping over him to curl back into your place on the couch.

“If you’ll let me.”

He scoffs, turning his body to face you. “Let you?”

You smile dreamily, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s close enough that you can climb over him, bracket his thighs with yours, take his hands and drag them up the length of your body.

There’s no voice in the back of your head telling you not to, for once. No whispers admonishing you, reminding you that you’re wicked and worthless and unlovable.

So when he repeats himself, asking “let you?” in a thick voice, you do.

Your body moves before your brain has time to react — you throw one leg over his lap, hands grasping for purchase on the back of the couch for balance, situating your thighs on the outside of his. It’s a snug fit, one that opens your hips wide, the stinging stretch of it pushing you forward. You relax your core over his, the zipper of his jeans biting into the ice-cream flesh of your inner thigh.

And when your brain finally does catch up, all you can feel are his big palms cupped around the backs of your thighs, kneading the exposed flesh there. His fingertips barely graze beneath the hems of your sleep shorts, and you’re all too-aware of how close they are to your center.

There’s a satisfied hum on his lips, a knowing growl in his throat. A silent admission of how long he’s waited for you. A confession of a different kind of hunger, a kind with legs and buoyancy.

His eyes burn into yours — no traces of hesitancy, surprise, guilt woven into the golden gleam of them.

Twin masks slipping at the same time. Resolve stretched to snapping, satisfaction within tasting distance as you grind down into him — just once, desperation sliding down your spine.

“You can have whatever you want, Peach.” His voice is low, a wanton whisper that punches somewhere near your throat.

Those words again.

Whatever you want.

You’re looking down at him, his irises shining with earnestness, and you can’t help but raise your hand from the couch to card through his thick waves. But he catches your wrist before you can, bringing it down to the heat of his mouth to press his lips to your open palm without breaking his searing gaze.

You moan. At least, you think you do, though it’s a quiet, broken thing. A whine. A plea.

His thumb swipes back and forth over your wrist, your hand small in his grip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lowers it to the crotch of his jeans, your breath catching in the cavern of your chest as you feel him for the first time.

It’s somewhat surreal — the thickness of his hard cock in your palm, separated only by the material of his pants. Every fantasy you’ve harbored about him unwrapped at the tips of your fingers, his hand pressing yours into him, unforgiving and firm.

His other hand swallows the curve of your thigh, chases up your side to grasp at your hip, dragging your cunt over him. He drops his head back, repeating the action, the ropes of muscle in his neck pulled taut as he bites back a groan.

Your head is swimming — Joel’s heady scent and bruising touch combined with the wine makes everything feel soft-focus and shimmery, like a dream. You cant your hips again, focusing on the way his jaw ticks when you do, lost in watching the way his body responds to yours.

The reality of it sits heavy between the place his skin meets yours — breaths mingling as a cry of finally, finally, finally. It consumes you both in such a way that neither of you hear a key turning in the lock, the door slamming open, or heavy boots in the entryway.

It’s not until he speaks that both you and Joel snap your heads in his direction, chests heaving, hands climbing. Caught.

“Guess it’s true, huh? Y’really are enjoyin’ my sloppy seconds.”

[niki-phoria]

jihoon my beloved <33

pairing: kdrama!sieun x gn!reader (implied masc reader; no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 635

includes: established relationship, affectionate reader, awkward sieun, maybe ooc siuen ?? he deserves a hug

a/n: been obsessed with him lately so i wrote this lol maybe i'll continue this/start taking reqs if ppl want it ?? I'VE NEVER WATCHED THE DRAMA BEFORE PLS DONT HATE ME IF THIS IS REALLY BAD LDSNDSKL

“sieun,” you smile, gently knocking your shoulder into his as a form of greeting. 

“y/n,” he greets curtly in response as you continue to follow him through the somewhat crowded hallway. sieun glances down momentarily when your hand brushes against his. an unfamiliar feeling of love and warmth crawls through him at the simple gesture despite affection only becoming more commonplace the longer your relationship continues on.

the heavy doors of byeoksan high school slam shut behind you as you continue to follow behind sieun. despite his seeming apathy, you know he appreciates the company. 

your footsteps remain in sync as sieun silently passes an earbud to you before a familiar melody reaches your ears. “your place?”

his only response comes in the form of a short hum in agreement. trees shade the path ahead as you make your way to the bus stop; waiting in silence together for a few minutes. you softly smile when sieun reaches over, intertwining your fingers together.

the duration of the bus ride and subsequent walk up to his apartment is spent in a comforting silence; besides the quiet music playing from sieun’s earbud still securely resting in your ear. his hand doesn’t leave yours until he reaches up to unlock the door. 

you slip off your shoes as soon as you walk inside, following the same routine you’ve had since sieun first agreed to begin studying with you: slip on your designated pair of slides, study with sieun for a few hours, eventually grow tired enough to force him to eat something, and end the day by falling asleep together curled up on the couch; savoring each moment of peace before you’re forced to get up again and repeat the process the next day.

you join sieun at his dining room table as he takes a textbook out of his bag. you slide into the chair across from him, pulling out your own work before handing the earbud back to him. 

the next hour is spent in a comfortable silence; the only sounds audible in sieun’s small apartment are the occasional frustrated sigh that escapes your lips and the rhythmic noise of his pencil scribbling against his notebook paper. 

you find yourself occasionally losing interest in your homework, instead passing the time by admiring your adoring boyfriend. it isn’t long before your staring catches sieun’s attention. his eyes widen and a small blush spreads up his neck to the tips of his ears, making you chuckle.

“sieun,” you smile. 

“y/n.” he refuses to glance up at you in fear of more teasing, though his efforts do little to prevent you from abandoning your assignment in favor of your boyfriend. you set your pencil aside as you reach over, brushing a stray strand of his fringe back into place. sieun’s blush deepens, now spreading across his cheeks to dust his face a light pink. wide eyes meet yours for a few more seconds before he looks back down at the open textbook in front of him. “you should get back to work.”

you stand up, walking around to sieun’s side of the table. he watches with wide eyes as you gently push his chair back before settling yourself in his lap. your knees rest on either side of his hips as your arms reach around his neck. “i could,” you murmur, leaning in closer to him. “but this is way more fun.”

you can nearly feel the heat radiating from sieun’s cheeks as you pull him into a sweet kiss. he hesitantly moves a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of your face before it finally settles on your cheek. you smile against his lips as sieun lets himself momentarily forget about his work; instead pulling you in for another, and another, and another.

[caribenakizu]

SUB DAN HENG PART TWO

Sub! Dan Heng x Fem! Reader (yes, I plan male version as well, but honestly, looking how long it took me to write and public this version, I don't know if it will work out [but I'll try])

WARNINGS: nsfw, sub! Dan Heng, slight mommy kink, oral sex (fem! Reader received), praise kink, cumming without touching and that's all I think? Hope I didn't forget about anything

God, you would never assumed that boy who spend so much time in the Archives would be so good with his tongue. Dan Heng was licking your pussy clean, moaning and whimpering, making so many cute sound... Yet he refused to let you go, holding you tight by your thigs, eating you like a starved man. His whole body was shaking, he didn't even knew, but he was bucking his hips aganist your bed.

"Mmmm" you almost purr, stroking and caressing his hair "That's a good boy" you praised him with a smirk on your face, knowing how your words would affect him.

He let out such a loud moan, oh god. Good thing that the wall of the Express were thick. You felt a bit pity for your co-passangers, but only for a minute. Dan Heng was too good, too cute, and too needy for you to ignore him.

"Mo-Mommy..." he whimpered as an answer to your praise, making you chuckle and caress his hair a bit.

"Hmm, I'm your Mommy now?" you chuckled, and Wrapped your legs around his head, locking him up between your thighs before he get a chance to move away "It's okay, I can be your Mommy. Just keep working with that tongue of yours... Mhm, just like that" sight lovely, arching your back "That's a good boy, Mommy's good little boy. Keep going baby, don't be shy. "

He let out such a loud moan, still giving you a sloppy cunnilingus, humping your sheets even faster. He squeezed your thighs, not stopping pleasuring you for even a minute, and the noises that were escaping his mouth were louder and louder. He was bucking his hips against your sheet so hard, that the entire bed was trembling, movements of his tongue became even more desperate and sloppy, if that was even possible.

He cummed. Just from eating you out and humping your bed. He loses control and his horns showed up as well as his pretty dragonish, blue tail.

"Good boy" you praise him again, caressing gently his hair "That's a goo-...Ah!" You let out quiet groan when his tongue started working on you again.

His tongue, god, his tongue. It changed as well, it was way more slimmer right now, but longer, and god, it felt so good...!

You couldn't help, but climax yourself not long after. He licked your pussy clean, savoring the taste of you, but his moves were visibly more calm and delicate now. You groaned a bit, grabbing his hair, his tongue was making you a bit overstimulated, but you just couldn't tell him to get off. Finally, he on his own decided that this is enough for one night, panting heavily he moved his head to your face to kiss you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but honestly? You didn't cared.

"Now" you mumbled softly, when he break off the kiss and started nuzzling his face in your neck, breathing your scent in "We're going to clean ourselves. This time for real"

[angelsnkisses]

thinking about kappa with a particularly sensitive reader <3

600 followers in such a short amount of time is insane, thank you so much!! this is sort of random, but i also think it fits kappa pretty well, and i had sm fun writing it :3. not yet proofread 🫶

💟 nsfw - mdni 💟

warnings: dom!kappa, sub!fem!reader, slapping, rough sex, mocking, degrading (slut, "hole", whore), dacryphilia, oral (fem receiving).

• sensitivity was never a recurring concern for kappa, so when he finds out you're more fragile than he is.. lord, you'll never catch a break. he loves how you twitch and jerk away at any unannounced touches, how you wince at the lightest of pinches or squeezes, how he can literally feel your skin threaten to give every time he sinks his teeth into your thighs, everything. it's such an incredibly insignificant detail about you, but it turns into his biggest ally when he needs to overpower you.

"what, did that hurt? seriously?"

• he would absolutely use it to his advantage, taking his time to carefully manipulate your keen sense of touch. he'd run his rough fingers across your skin while cooing harmless taunts at you, his lips tugging up at every delicate noise that falls from your bee-stung lips.

"already squirmin' around? i've barely touched you, sugar."

"be good for me, yeah? 'm gonna take care of you.."

• he'd tease you so much, putting you on the verge of tears without even touching you properly. he'd trace his fingers across your ribs, your waist, the curve of your thigh, right along where you need him most.. but never giving you any stimulation. at least, not until you earn it.

"such a greedy little whore, hm?"

"what do you want? use your words, darling."

• he's honestly so mean to you, always mocking or degrading you effortlessly. he's real rough with you, too, knowing damn well you like it even more than he does, even if you won't admit it. he savors every single noise that you make under him, cherishing how whiny and pathetic you sound. don't be surprised if he lands a heavy slap to the side of your face before taunting or scolding you cruelly.

"answer me like a good slut.. aw, none of that, i barely touched you."

"shh, i know what you need."

• you started crying? good, he loves it. he'll kiss away your pained tears to somewhat distract you from him stuffing his cock in your unprepared cunt, ignoring your pained groan. unless you say your safe word, he won't grant you any leniency. he'll fuck you mercilessly, all but using you to chase his own pleasure. he'll grab your jaw so tight (even leaving small marks at times) while he pounds into you, tilting his head just a bit while taking in your disheveled state.

"just a hole f'me, aren't you?"

"quit your whining, you can take it."

• if you catch him in a good mood, he'll utilize your sensitivity in different ways. some nights he'll do nothing but eat you out for hours, taking his time to make you feel so good. that doesn't mean he's not still unfair, because trust me, he is. he'll coax you to your first orgasm or two with faux graciousness, letting you think he'll go easy on you. as soon as you start to feel overstimulated, he'll force your thighs open and go down on you like a man starved, his nose bumping and pressing against your clit while he tongue-fucks you eagerly. he'll push you over the edge over and over until you're sobbing, and won't stop until he's pretty much drunk on your desire. he doesn't care how much you beg, unless that safeword is used you will not catch a break.

"stay still for me, i'm almost done."

"one more, i promise.."

• he'll let up eventually, and don't worry, he doesn't forget to take care of you afterwards. he'll get you whatever you need, do anything you ask, praise you and your performance.. pretty standard aftercare. if you look just a bit past his rough exterior, you'll quickly find that he also loves receiving aftercare. being told he felt good, that you knew he didn't truly mean his aggressive comments, general reassurance, that sort of thing. he especially loves letting you lay on his chest to play with his hair while he lazily rubs his hands up and down your bare back, eventually drifting off to take a nap with you.

***

A/N: me 🤝 abrupt endings

[tallulah477]

Please, Mommy?

Kinktober Day 1: Handjob

Pairing: Lo’ak x Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo'ak, Mommy kink, Lo’ak is in rut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Whiny Lo’ak, Dom Reader, Sub Lo’ak, Bondage/Restraints, Orgasm delay, Knot squeezing, Tongue licking (is that a warning? Idk, it's here just in case), Hand gag (covering someone’s mouth to keep them from talking)

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This is my first work I've ever posted so I'm super nervous, but super excited! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Ruts can make even the most controlled of Alphas unstable. They can be possessive and dominant and territorial. But not Lo’ak. Lo’ak will go down, but only for you. Only for his Mommy.

Lo’ak’s pathetic whine makes you want to give up on this whole idea and just toss him on the ground and fuck him through the floor. 

But you’ve done that already. A lot. 

It’s been almost a full 24 hours since he’s been hit by his rut, turning him into a sad little horny mess who’s putting off pheromones that smell so good, it makes you want to eat him alive. Your pussy throbs at his smell, at the sight of him sweating and panting and begging ‘Please, Mommy! Please, please, please,” - and you want nothing more than to push him down, straddle his hips, and slide his beautiful, thick, perfect cock back inside you where it belongs. You want to ride him until he’s screaming, yanking against his restraints, desperate to get free and touch you.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Focus. This is about Lo’ak, not you.

Besides, you’ve fucked him so many times already since his rut began that your cunt is already sore. Poor girl’s been beaten and pounded so much by your gorgeous mate that she deserves a little break. Plus, you want to savor this.

It’s rare to have two Alphas become a mated pair. They’re territorial, possessive of their things and the people they’ve decided are theirs. They’re dominant and demanding, always needing to be in charge - to be the leader, particularly when it comes to their romantic relationships. Too much of the same energy can clash, causing fights and all out brawls which is not ideal for a mated pair.

It’s not impossible, obviously. You and Lo’ak are a perfect example of that. Two Alphas: both headstrong and stubborn in what you believe to be right, ready to lay down your lives for your loved ones and for each other. And you both just work. You’re territorial of the things you share, possessive of each other in a way that lights both your souls on fire thinking “this person’s mine. Only mine”. Somehow, in most matters, your shared headstrong and demanding attitudes don’t frustrate each other too much. Your communication is swift and direct, firm yet kind, and you find that you agree on most matters anyway, which helps avoid any potential heated arguments.

You let him lead when he feels like he needs to, and you stand beside him, fierce and proud to defend him at all times.

And when it comes to sex: the compatibility is something you never thought possible. You play with each other so well. Submitting to each other when the other wants to dominate, switching your roles so seamlessly in the moment that you almost forget your instincts are supposed to be led by your second gender. You and Lo’ak just fit with one another, two puzzle pieces coming together to make each other whole.

And during his rut, when he should be at his most controlling and unstable, he goes down for you instead. Hard.

“F-fuuuuuck,” He groans, deep and guttural as he tosses his head back against your shoulder.

You smirk, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple. “What’s up, baby? Something wrong?”

You have him pinned to you, his back against your front with your arm wrapped tightly across his chest to keep him against you. His arms are tied securely behind his back, unable to move or get free. Unable to touch you like he really wants to, but he loves it all the same. Loves you being in control right now, loves that you love him like this. This other part about him that anyone else might find strange or disgusting if they knew about it, like some people do with his more human features or ‘demon blood’ - but you love it, love it so much - love him so much, love pleasuring him . . . tormenting him.

And wow, is he beautiful when he suffers.

His cock is hard and warm in your palm, an excessive amount of precum and your own spit coating both his length and your hand as you work him slowly. “I asked you a question, Lo’ak,”

He whimpers when you squeeze the tip, head tipping forward to watch as you force more precum to flow out of the swollen and reddened head. You scoop it up, finger circling the tip teasingly before dragging your hand back down to wrap tightly around the base.

“Faster,” Lo’ak moans, head leaning back again against your shoulder as he pants against your neck. “Wanna cum,”

You click your tongue in disappointment. It’s too soon for him to cum. If he cums now, he’ll be ready to go again in a matter of minutes - and the goal right now is to give him some reprieve, allow him to sleep or relax for a while before the next wave hits him. 

And besides, he knows the rules. “Hm, doesn’t really sound like you do. Where’s your manners?”

Lo’ak whines when he feels you loosen your grip around his cock, hips rocking desperately to try to get back the friction. He leans in to press a sweet kiss against your jaw. “Sorry. Sorry, Mommy. Please? Please can I cum?”

The hand wrapped around his chest reaches up to grip at his braids, and you pull his head back slightly to press a passionate kiss against his lips. Your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, biting down and pulling enough to make him groan in pleasure before soothing it with your tongue.

“Good boy,” You mutter against his mouth, and Lo’ak preens at the praise, a pleased noise escaping from the back of his throat. Your hand tightens again around his cock, and you stroke him faster than before, but only slightly, working him up towards another orgasm even as you say, “But no. Not yet, baby. Mommy’s not done with you yet,”

“P-please,” He begs, lips brushing against yours. His eyes are heavily hooded, dazed and hazy from the intensity of his rut. “Please, Mommy. Need to c-cum. Need to--”

He cuts himself off at the brush of your tongue against the seam of his lips, breath shaking as his own tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleading. 

“What, baby?” You ask, teasingly. “You want to taste Mommy? Taste my tongue on yours, huh?”

Lo’ak nods frantically, dilated pupils swallowing up his eyes underneath his hooded eyelids as he stares at your mouth. Your hand strokes his cock faster, wet noises echoing through your shared hut as your fingers slide over his heated skin. You can feel his knot beginning to swell each time your fist slides over the base of his cock, and you know he’s close. But he’s such a good boy for you, and his head stays where you want it: turned towards you and tongue staying out, waiting for you to grace him with your own. 

So you do. You press a gentle kiss to the flat, wet surface before sliding your own against it, letting the taste of his spit, sweet like the yovo fruit he managed to eat before his current wave of rut hit him, explode on your tastebuds.

“You taste so good, Lo,” You tell him, licking across the appendage again greedily. You squeeze his knot roughly and you can practically feel the vibrations of his vocal cords from his cry through his tongue. “Like a delicious little treat all for me,”

“P-please!” He wails. Your hand leaves his knot to cup at his swollen balls and he jumps, thighs shaking from where they’re hooked underneath yours. “I’ve been good. Your good boy, Mommy. I need it. Need to cum. Need it so bad. Fuck, fuck! Please can I please, please, please, please,”

Your hand clamps tightly over his rambling mouth, silencing his pleas to mere moans and grunts. Your lips trace along the point of his ear, softly kissing the sensitive skin and laughing when his eyes squeeze shut and his ears twitch and press tightly against his head. 

“Look how swollen you are down here,” You whisper against his folded ear, gently rolling his balls in your hand and rubbing against the tight skin with your thumb. “So big and heavy. Just filled up so much, huh? Ready to burst any second now. And all for me, right?”

He groans against your palm and tries to arch his back against you, tries to get you to move your hand back to his cock. But instead, you go lower. 

Your fingers trail down to the strip of thin skin between his balls and hole, and rub against it firmly. You know the sensation drives Lo’ak insane, and he whimpers desperately against your hand, feet digging into the ground as he tries to close his shaking legs around your hand. But your legs that are hooked around his have his own trapped, and you delight in spreading your thighs more just to drag his own wider with them. 

“Nuh uh,” You giggle, fangs pressing into his skin as you smile against his cheek. “Good boys don’t run from Mommy’s touch.” Your wet fingers press harder into the skin and you’re just barely able to keep your hand over his mouth when he tosses his head back and forth in ecstasy. “ I know it’s overwhelming, baby. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

He shakes and cries against your hand, amber eyes wide and clouded with overwhelming pleasure, staring at the ceiling even though you’re sure he’s not actually seeing it, as you continue to torture the sensitive nerves along the strip of skin. 

His cock is dripping like crazy, a steady stream dribbling onto his belly and leaving a small puddle. You have to bite your lip when you stare at it, torn between wanting to push him on his back and greedily licking it all up, and leaving it there to enhance the beautiful vision of your mate all tied up and helpless with his cock drooling with want. 

In the end, there’s really no option. So you leave it there, letting the puddle grow and grow as your fingers rub against his sensitive spots.  

When his moans and whimpers are a constant force against your restraining hand, you pull your fingers away from his fun little strip and scoop up his precum from his belly. 

“Alright, Lo. I think you’ve had enough for now,” You say, removing your hand from his mouth and placing your other one directly under his chin. “Let’s finish this. Spit,”

He’s panting, chest heaving from the desperate need to cum and he’s mumbling so incoherently you can’t understand a word he’s saying. He’s long gone, so far away from his own body that he can’t even focus. You can tell by the dazed, faraway look in his eyes, and you nudge your face against his to call him back. 

“I said spit, Lo’ak,” You demand and watch as he shakes his head slightly, as if trying to clear it. 

His mouth has to work for a bit before he’s actually able to spit in your palm. With a satisfied grin, you place one hand on his cheek to guide his face towards yours for a lazy kiss, while the other moves down to wrap around his cock, smearing the combination of precum and spit onto the purple head and down the throbbing shaft. It twitches in your fist as you stroke him roughly, hand sliding down over his swollen knot with each pass. 

“You can cum whenever you're ready, baby,” You tell him, and almost instantly he’s gasping against your mouth, cock pulsing in your hand as the first spurts of his release shoot against his stomach and down the outside of your fist. 

You swallow his cries eagerly, fist pumping his length, working him through his orgasm, before you're closing your hand around his thick knot and squeezing it relentlessly. 

He howls, hips bucking frantically into your hand, and his head falls back as he screams in pleasure. You take the opportunity to latch your teeth onto his neck, scraping them against his pounding pulse point and marking him as yours - the dark mark finding a home next to the others that you’ve littered all over his throat since his rut started. 

When he’s given you all he can, he slumps down against you, head resting in the crook of your neck as he tries to calm his breathing. You let go of his knot and slide the flat of your palm lightly up his still twitching cock, loving how he jumps in your hold and moans desperately against your shoulder. 

“Look at you,” You praise, pressing gentle kisses along his hairline. “So pretty for Mommy when you’re all fucked out like this. You did so well for me, yawne,”

You pull your hand from his now softening length and tug his lax upper body up just enough to be able to undo the restraints on his arms. There’s bright red marks and indents along his skin when the rope falls away, and you lightly massage the skin, helping to bring back some feeling into the limbs.

He falls back against you as soon as you let him, and you both lay on the floor of your hut, cuddling up to one another and intent on enjoying the moment of respite between waves, however short it may be. His eyes close and almost immediately his breathing evens out, fast asleep.

“No, wake up,” You say, nudging his shoulder. “You have to eat something first.” Silence. “Lo’ak,”

But he’s dead to the world. You sigh and place your head on his chest, making a mental note to make sure he eats something the moment he wakes up.

Even if that means he has to choke down his food while you choke on him.

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

[lunarw0rks]

TF 141 as Hozier songs

A/N: I love hozier so much. genuinely listen to his songs for inspo while writing quite often. here's some of the sounds that remind me of the 141 boys. I seen others doing this w/ their fav artists/songs, so here's my version. Warning(s): nsfw + sfw, established relationship, trauma mention, fluff/smut/angst, basically. // Word Count: 1.5k

☆ MAIN MASTERLIST ☆ 141 MASTERLIST ☆ ASK BOX

『 PRICE 』

As It Was: And tell me if somehow Some of it remained How long would you wait for me? How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now You're shaping the doorway Make your good love known to me Just tell me about your day

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A relationship with Price is anything but triumphant. His lovers spend more time waiting for him than with him, yet you've stuck around long enough to savor every waiting moment.

The putter of your heart and foot against the floor as you wait for that door to open. Finally greeted with the rugged man after several months, in various battered states every time.

But there aren't powerful conversations paired with physical leaps of joy; all he wants is someone to wait for him. To love him, despite the state he's in when he comes home. It's the little things.

Eat Your Young: I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to somethin' Let me wrap my teeth around the world Start carvin', darlin', I want to smell the dinner cookin' I want to feel the edges start to burn Honey, I want to race you to the table If you hesitate, the gettin' is gone

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ All of Price's restraint is out the window once he comes home to you; finding you in your natural stated. Relaxed and waiting for him to arrive.

Forget the filling meal — his hunger is much deeper than any entrée on the stove.

It's become a game of sorts, the race to the finish with every step. To peel your dressings, to fumble through his with haste, to wrap his lips around your warm body and feast.

Movement: When you move I can recall something that's gone from me When you move Honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free So move me, baby Shake like the bough of a willow tree You do it naturally

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Nothing is more natural to him than his love and need to observe. All your flaws, all your frustrations, every little bit of you in his sights — they're savored.

Whether it be your quirks, your qualms for the day, or the way you've come undone from his famished hands.

There's nothing more cherished, either a mundane act or a carnal one. They matter most to him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SIMON 』

To Be Alone: Honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes I feel like a person for a moment of my life You don't know what hell you put me through To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He had to get used to being loved, being touched by another person who didn't want to make him bleed.

The sensations of being human, being present rather than lost in his void of memories — it's foreign.

You've made him feel resuscitated as if the blood finally pumped through his veins once again. Now, he's forced to cope with being a person again, plunged headfirst into the agonizing act of loving another soul unconditionally.

Arsonist's Lullabye: When I was a child I'd sit for hours Staring into open flame Something in it had a power Could barely tear my eyes away // Don't you ever Tame your demon But always keep 'em on a leash

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Spent hours in his childhood disassociating, finding mindless ways to pass his miserable time. Especially as an adolescent, any time away from home was desirable, even if it meant being troublesome.

The military was his only escape, yet the phantoms of his past never left him.

Simon wasn't sure he wanted them to, either. They're such a vibrant portion of his whole being, and he despises it. But he keeps them around to be the soldier he needs to be.

In The Woods Somewhere: I raised myself My legs were weak I prayed my mind be good to me An awful noise filled the air I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Simon's flashbacks were always vivid and as agonizing as the moment in time he endured them. The worst of them all, the most suffocating — the day he was buried alive.

Every ounce of his strength to get out of that box, his muscles burning and exhausted.

The screams he's heard haunt him; civilians, hostiles, his family that had been slaughtered. They taunt his ears as if he's suffocating alone all over again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SOAP 』

Work Song: When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ When Soap is with someone he's whipped.

That's what makes leaving you so hard, especially when there's no guarantee he'll be home by the end of the run. His letters, his tags, and the cherished memories might be all you have left.

But even in death, he's with you; no matter how hard the journey it will be when that inevitable day comes.

Dinner & Diatribes: Honey I laugh when it sinks in A pillar I am of pride Scarcely can speak for my thinking What you'd do to me tonight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He's an arrogant lover, oozing pride and vigor with every move he makes on you. Oh, how he loves to have you at his mercy — but how he loves being at yours.

Keep him in the dark, surprise him; let mounds of restraint double the reward, and he's yours. Wrapped around your finger and ravenous for the coquetting you indulge in together — and more.

Moments Silence (Common Tongue): Who views the deed as power's creed, as pure authority This moment's silence when my baby puts the mouth on me // Like a heathen clung to the homily Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me So summon on the pearl rosary Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His carnal need for you is never satiated, it's ever-lasting and as ferocious as his mouth. Soap's wicked tongue, either occupied on you or tight against the roof of his mouth when he clenches his jaw.

There's no act lovesome enough, not in comparison to your wicked tongue devouring him in all ways.

Whether spouting back and clashing with his pride or silencing him with lascivious ecstasy in the most biblical form — it's your choice.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 GAZ 』

NFWMB: 'Cause the rest of you, the best of you Honey, belongs to me // Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby // If I was born a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ If there's one sure trait of Gaz, it's covetousness. However, only where you're concerned. Though you aren't a possession, nor a warm body to be claimed, and never viewed as one — you're his.

It better be clear, too, and not from your side. It's his job to keep the envious eyes and acquisitive palms far from you.

There's no doubt in his mind that you're devoted, either. It's the sick world around him he lacks trust with — stemming from the depravity he's witness to each day.

Talk: Imagine being loved by me I won't deny I've got in my mind now All the thing I would do // How I'm imaginin' you I'd be the last shred of truth In the lost myth of true love I'd be the sweet feeling of release

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His hands; calloused and ever-useful to you. The scars that litter them are a patent voucher of all they've been through — all they've done to keep the world clean.

Through his walls, and the subconscious armor that he uses as his protection, he's a whole new man. You seemingly materialized into his life, intertwining yourself with every bit of him — in every way. Your body knew it, too, as did his.

He'll have you yearning for his touch — the sweet release it gives you. It's the least he can do, considering all he asks in return is loyalty, and that's what he's gotten.

Sunlight: Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight // Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Few people see the tenderness deep within his rigid exterior, and for good reason. It's intentional, who does or doesn't get a glimpse of his most merciful portion.

You, devoted and accepting of his demanding lifestyle, have earned that right. No matter how far he is, you know you're both watching the same burning star in the sky.

Kyle was in deep; like all his foes, you become the forefront of his psyche, his reason for getting home — the face he sees when looking at the sunlight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Thanks for reading this far! <3

`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · divider cred. - cafekitsune

[artdcnaldson]

ok…….. thinking about when the summer is like. full of tension. when nothing happens until months after u get to stanford. but like. thinking like patrick’s parents r going on vacation. his siblings aren’t there (idk he gives middle child. maybe his younger sister is at like. horse camp. or vacationing in sweden with her friends. his brother has a fiance and they’ve fucked off to boston or somewhere idk). the staff at his estate don’t gaf what you guys do tbh. so you guys get like a week to yourselves playing house. the boys making you dinner. raiding the wine cellar and getting drunk. dancing around. sigh…………

also like. his mom isn’t there to be suspicious of you three (his dad doesn’t pay attention.) and the staff doesn’t care enough to snitch when the parents aren’t there. so you guys all share a bed like every night they’re gone. wine drunk in bed the boys getting handsy with each other…… with you…. it’s fine you guys won’t remember in the morning!!!! skinny dipping with them…………… patrick throwing parties………………. etc…. sigh….

sorry this is just one big brain dump. please match my freak please please i’m begging pl

-🩰

AURRRRRR im stuck on the wine drunk part.

Popping open bottles older than you are and drinking them like water. Respectable people would put it in a glass, smell them, comment on the notes, swirl the glass, taste and savor. They’re worth more than a semester at school, after all.

But instead you’re just chugging straight from the bottle, letting them spill down your chins and stain your clothes. They leave your skin sticky. One bottle in and you’re already handsy and giggly. You’re in Art’s lap basically, playing with his hair, twisting his curls around your fingertips.

“You’re so pretty, Art,” you say, nuzzling against his jaw. “So, so, so pretty.” He’s flushed so red, from the wine, because of you, everything. Patrick pulls you backwards, so you’re sitting in Art’s lap but laying in his, peering up at him. He puts the wine bottle to your mouth and pours a swallow in and you grin.

“What about me?” He asks. His thumb grazes your bottom lip, wipes away the excess that spilled from your pretty, pretty mouth. He brings it to his lips and sucks the wine from it.

You blink, half-lidded and dizzy with the wine and with them. “Very pretty, Patrick.”

And maybe by the second bottle you’ve all got wandering hands— Fourth of July all over again. Art’s hands up your shirt, Patrick’s hands slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to rub and tease at your clit. You moan into Patrick’s mouth. He’s not kissing you, he’s just. His mouth is just on yours.

Art mouths at your throat, tugs at your nipples and you buck against Patrick’s fingers. They’re good— they’re so good. You feel so dizzy with them, so overwhelmed. Patrick’s finger slips inside of you so easy— you’re soaked and filled with need.

Art pulls up your shirt, mouths at your tits, sucks your nipple into his mouth and moans hot against your chest. Your fingers twist into his curls and you cum so easy for them— like they didn’t even have to try.

You don’t forget in the morning, none of you. But what’s there to say? What’s there to do, with his mom’s words still bouncing around your brain.

“I want to have a party,” patrick says as you eat contraband cereal his parents never would’ve allowed— sugary and gross in the best way. “Tonight.”

What Patrick wants, Patrick gets.