#disco divider

[kodaswrld]

the 70’s 🪩

please give me credit & reblog if you use

[o-wyrmlight]

Disco Elysium is fascinating.

[sygneth]

hello yes, I did the art vs. artist

[animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

disco ball dividers

source▪️free to use with credit

requested by @ultragreedier

[convoloutedinjoke]

[bi-furiosity]

you can hold true in your head that the executives of ZA/UM had selfish and manipulative intentions like the filthy little capitalists they are and also that Robert Kurvitz continues to dismiss and belittle the fact that he was toxic and abusive towards the people working directly below him. you can believe both these are truths, promise you're fucking capable. at the end of the day, you should be supporting the workers. they made the project you love so much, and have been fucked over by this whole situation.

for context: gaming journalists People Make Games dropped a 2 and a half hour documentary detailing the complexities of the legal battles between disco elysium's original creators and ZA/UM shareholders/executives.

[discocholforever]

the way the moralintern rely fully on the RCM for social control and to maintain the status quo and neglect the welfare of said people to keep them miserable, poor, hopeless and divided. something something this game is a mirror etc etc

[katyspersonal]

I don't understand how there are people still supporting your content after it's clear you are an emotionally unstable narcissist. I swear some people care about their dumb fandoms more than common human decency.

First - I refuse to let my lore posts, drawings and theories be called 'content'. I protest. It is a very soulless term that reduces creativity (the very expression of the soul, mind you!) to some sort of shallow and more importantly, replaceable good. "Why you consume the content from this PROBLEMATIC :( person" in the same vein as "Why you buy your car fuel from an unethical corporation" is absolutely absurd in any way, because creations are not physical goods but something unique.

Second, you seem to be confused on what the fandom entails.

Being a fan of something, in fact, doesn't... really entail all that much? Being a fan of something doesn't, and will NEVER mean that you subscribe to certain cultural, religious, political or humanity values or opinions, it will NEVER be only for the ones the loudest people in the crowd deemed "right" and "pure" enough, and certainly it will NEVER be only for people with clear history *cough cough* or people of "proper" mental state *COUGH cough*.

The only, and only, and only, and ONLY "requirement" for being a Bloodborne fan is - to care about Bloodborne. Ironically, this is something people I tend to become antagonists with often fail at, as there is a difference between 'Bloodborne fan' and 'Mariadeline fan that knows nothing about BB lore and holds only interests in how to shame men more and what kind of fans to declare "problematic"' *COUGH COUGH* god sorry guys, got a bad cough attack during this ask fhdhgfds

But, again, I think we the people that obsess with this or that media came to the conclusion that gatekeeping leads to another extreme - the whole thing with shaming artists that draw something not accurate, and think something not 100% correct to the canon is 'dirtying' the canon. You know, the whole 'oh you are fan of X band? name 40 songs' thing. So I think gatekeeping should be avoided unless someone appears who is both completely uneducated about lore AND tries to set their own rules.

*COOOOOUGH COOOOOUGH*

But, yeah. Your confusion is likely caused by the fact that people who like Bloodborne... love to read about Bloodborne, and not about what user should be blacklisted and what character is this or that identity and what this or that character is "problematic" etc. I object the idea that certain game/movie/book/etc is only for "right" kind of people and I think we as society at this rate are capable of separating interaction with the fictional universe and personality/personal lives.

[trollbreak]

Brain full of sleepies, heart full of old guys just doing stuff

[bebegi]

OOPS! ೃ⁀➷ STEEL BALL RUN

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭! 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦!

genre: accidental confession | modern au | reader x gyro, wekapipo, sandman, disco & mountain tim.

warnings: grammar mistakes (SORRY) and a couple of threats hehe

PART I– PART II – PART III – PART IV – PART V – PART VI – PART VII – PART VIII – PART IX

notes: sbr men are either the loves of my life or the fuel of my nightmares, take a guess

© bebegi 2024. do not crop the tag or claim it as yours in any way please, do not repost in other sites without asking for permission + credit, thanks !! reblogs are highly appreciated ♡

[filth-thezine]

Divide and Dissolve, Selda Bağcan, Arthur Russell, White Town, Neneh Cherry, TR/ST, Porno For Pyros, Suburban Lawns, Disco Inferno, William Onyeabor, The B-52s, Mari Kvien Brunvoll, Ricardo Villalobos, Grace Jones, Suuns, Clouds, RP Boo

[fujimen]

Last side case, Kaito dlc and then I'm ready to start a new game

[pettybourgeoiz]

✰Bourgeoiz Music Discovery✰

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Teach Me a Lesson, Mr. Miller✨

Bfd/Brat Tamer! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: This has been in the docs for a while, and it’s all just filth. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me get that one sentence just right! This one is dedicated to all the bratty girls who love to be punished, especially @littlevenicebitch69 😈

Summary: Tonight, you planned for beer, loud music, and sloppy sex with one of your hot college classmates. Instead, you get your best friend’s dad putting you in your place.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.7k

Tags: Porn with plot, large age gap (reader is 23, Joel is 46), best friend’s dad! Joel, unprotected piv, brat tamer! Joel, fingering, oral (f/m receiving), no use y/n, pre outbreak! au, switching POVs, dirty talk, edging

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The lights flash like disco balls across the silhouette of the glass windows as Joel enters the front door of his house. His eyes blow wide, eyebrows furrowing when he sees the absolute mess in his large two-story house. 

   The wooden floors are caked in spilled beer, bottles litter the vicinity of his college infested living room. The loud music blares through the speakers, bodies cramming the now made dance floor with the leather couches pushed back out of place. Antique lamps get knocked over, footballs get thrown around by some jocks in the kitchen, chips get crunched and crumpled by careless feet over by the rustic coffee table. 

   He can’t see an end to the madness of this unwelcome house party that was obviously thrown without his knowledge, and he’s fucking pissed.

   He scoffs as a tall blonde football player rams into his shoulder, not even muttering an apology, only yelling “Watch out, old man” as be barrels through with an open beer bottle clutched in his firm hand. That makes Joel burn with hot rage, his jaw ticking as he goes searching for Sarah in a sea of college party goers. 

   He was supposed to be away on a contracting gig all weekend, but he unexpectedly got to come home early after the clients changed the dates yet again. He was going to surprise Sarah by taking her out to dinner, but not anymore. Not after he walked into his house that’s now completely trashed by fucked up college kids. 

   He clamps down on his seething tongue and tastes blood run down the back of his throat, pushing himself through a couple making out by the kitchen entrance, cursing under his breath when almost no one even realizes he’s right there in the midst of it all. A rowdy boy shotguns a beer in the hall, all his friends hollering for him to chug. Joel grabs the aluminum can out of his hand and throws it on the ground, crushing it under his leather work boots while he scowls at the piece of shit.

   “Get out of my fuckin’ way,” he growls, pushing the college kid out of the way and into the wall, stomping down the hall back into the living room when he doesn’t see Sarah anywhere around him. 

   He barrels past a sleazy couple making out by the stairwell, hearing them yell back while he huffs and pushes past them. Fucking college kids.

   Turning and looking up the stairs is where he finds you standing there, nursing an alcoholic beverage from a red solo cup. He clenches his jaw, narrows his eyes as he stares at you, Sarah’s best friend, not even comprehending he’s right there basically at your heels. 

   He growls under his breath, hands balled in tight fists as the loud music booms through his eardrums, cursing when he sees another red solo cup fall to the floor, spilling liquid all over his newly polished floors. 

   Goddamn it.

   He assesses you carefully, flicking his eyes over your too tight little black dress, barely covering the globes of your ass. Your low cut neckline basically reveals it all, cleavage spilling from where your perky breasts tease the boys. He takes in your tanned, toned legs, your slutty outfit making all the guys drool over you. And he knows that’s what you fucking want because you love attention.

   If attention is what you’re seeking, then he’s about to smother it.

   He scoffs under his breath; a jealous anger rises deep in his chest. He equally loves and hates how attractive he finds you. Your long legs could make any grown man weak in the knees, and your pouty red lips are so plump that they drive him absolutely wild. He so badly wants to suck that pretty little bottom lip between his teeth so he can finally hear what your pleasurable cries sound like while they ring melodically through his ears.

   He should be mad, furious that you were a part of putting this party together. He knows you were; Sarah wouldn’t do this by herself. Not his little girl. No. She obviously had some convincing from you. He always knew you were a little troublemaker. 

   And you know what happens to little troublemakers? They get taught a lesson. And that’s exactly what he plans to do.

   “Isn’t this party great? You and Sarah really pulled it off. Didn’t think you could. Bravo,” Kylie congratulates you, tipping her half empty beer bottle to your red solo cup, spilling a little of the mixed alcohol over the side of your cup.

   “Yeah, well this wouldn’t have even happened if we thought her dad would show up. Kinda was hesitant to even help throw it, but guess it worked out,” you sigh with relief, a smile painting over your tinted red lips.

   You relax against the wall, taking a deep breath while the drifting music fills your ears, lulling in the alcohol that calms your racing mind. “Good thing he’s not here, right? That’d be a shit show,” you laugh. 

   After a couple of minutes, Kylie hits your arm and almost screams into your ear. “Wait. Oh no. Isn’t that… is that Sarah’s dad?”

   You stand up straight, pushing yourself off the wall frantically. As you look down the narrow staircase and gaze through the parted crowd, that’s when you see him staring up at you with a clenched jaw and fire lighted in narrowed eyes. 

   Oh shit.

   You swallow a generous gulp of the bitter alcohol, biting the tip of your tongue hard as Kylie disappears and leaves you alone with the hungry panther that’ll surely show his claws to you any moment now. He stalks towards you, climbing the stairs and pushing past party goers, his big lips twitching and glowing eyes glaring your way. 

   Fuck. He’s so angry. You’re in big trouble. 

   He points a thick finger accusingly at you, mouthing your name angrily through his gritted teeth. When he reaches you your eyes blow wide, mouth dropping open, standing speechless in your black high heels. Your red solo cup slips out of your hand, and you gulp when the cup lands on Joel’s tan work boots, spilling alcohol all over the worn leather. Shit. 

   He rakes a hand roughly down his salt-and-pepper trimmed beard, muttering curse words under his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he huffs. 

   “Sorry…” you stutter, almost falling backwards before he places a strong hand around your wrist, holding your gaze with his narrowed eyes.

   “So, you and Sarah decided it was alright to throw a fuckin’ party over the weekend I was supposed to be out of town, huh? Thought it was fine to trash my goddamn house?!” His voice is sharp, stern, filled with a deep gravelly tone that almost scares the daylights out of you. You’ve never seen Joel mad before, not like this. You’re in so much trouble.

   “No… I mean, we didn’t mean to…” you mutter quietly.

   “Didn’t mean to my ass. This was planned. Parties don’t jus’ happen. But let me ask you one thing, where is my daughter?” His amber eyes dig into you, a deep scowl forming over his lips while you try to hold your shaky breath. 

   You wouldn’t rat Sarah out, not to her dad. She was busy hooking up with Ryan by the pool, and you did not want her dad knowing that. He would probably take his meaty hands and physically kill the poor guy.

   “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a while,” you shrug, pretending like you don’t know a thing.

   He slides his tongue along his bottom teeth, his cold eyes slitting into narrow slots. Oh god, you’re done for. “Upstairs, now!” he yells. He grabs your wrist and drags you upstairs, down the narrow hall, past the occupied bathroom and down to the last room on the right. 

   His bedroom. 

   He throws you inside the room and flips on the lights, slamming the door shut with a bang and clicking the lock into place. No place to escape now. Your wide eyes scan the room, glancing past the corner with his acoustic guitar, taking in the navy blue walls, the collection of stacked albums in the little glass case, eyes flicking over the king-sized bed with clean white sheets and a dark blue blanket thrown neatly on top. 

   You don’t have time to really take in your surroundings because he’s suddenly screaming at you through clenched teeth. “Where is Sarah?” he growls, pacing in front of you with blown out angry eyes, tanned arms crossed over his broad chest.

   You push all your fears aside and decide to turn on the charm, hoping you can flirt your way out of this one. “I dunno, Joel. Where do you think she is?” you giggle, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers, giving him your best innocent look as you bat your eyelashes up at him, trying your hardest to not turn your best friend in. 

   Something snaps hard in him then. He crowds your space, pinning you against the navy colored wall, his meaty hands grazing against your hips roughly. “It’s Mr. Miller to you. Now look, I ain’t repeatin’ myself again. Now where is she?” He snarls, showing his incisors as his nostrils flare, making his chocolate eyes grow into big black holes. Oh god, he’s furious. 

   “Like I said, I don’t know.” You smile, shrugging your shoulders like you don’t have a clue in the world. He obviously knows you’re lying, and he won’t stand for that.

   “I’m not fuckin’ playin’ around, little girl. Tell me where my daughter is or so help me.” He clenches his jaw, a repressed growl held in the back of his throat. 

   “Little girl, huh? You think a twenty-three-year-old is a little girl?” You scoff, pursing your lips annoyed. 

   “Shut up, will ya? Christ. Jus’ tell me where the fuck my daughter is,” he growls, pinning his broad chest against yours.

   You smirk his way, challenging him with an ounce of liquid courage in your system. “Make me.”

   He digs into the sides of your hips with his thick fingers, making you gasp at the nervous butterflies that flit through your stomach. He gnashes his teeth together, dark eyes blowing wide as he ghosts dangerously close to your lips. “Better be careful there, sweetheart. You’re walkin’ on mighty thin ice,” he warns with the flash of black eyes. 

   “Am I?” you challenge, giggling with a gleam in your eye. He curses under his breath, ready to give you just what you deserve. “I see the way you look at me when Sarah’s not around. The way your eyes peel over me, especially when I was wearing my little pink bikini by the pool. Couldn’t stop staring, could you?” you smirk.

   He clenches his teeth together, groaning curse words as he scowls your way, fighting every ounce of control he has left in him, but he has none. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?” he spits your way, eyes lit like smoldering flames. 

   “Only a brat for you,” you wink.

   “Jesus Christ,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers until he’s looking back up at you with danger written all over his handsome face. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

   “Mhm,” you nod, grabbing onto the front of his green flannel, your fingers curling ever so slowly over the soft material. “So, what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Miller?” you ask all flirtatiously, pulling him up against your chest while his big hands hover over the soft fabric of your tight dress.

   He carves his hand over the middle of your cleavage, running a calloused finger dangerously close to your breasts, anger still coursing through those dark eyes of his. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You’re actin’ rather bold, little girl.” His index finger grazes the underside of your breasts, and you hold in a surprised gasp.

   “I’ve had a couple sips, but I’m not drunk,” you promise, watching his eyes flick back and forth from your vision to your spilling breasts that scream to be freed from the suffocating dress.

   He assesses your face, scanning your flustered features while he ticks his jaw, analyzing if you’re really drunk or not. Once he’s satisfied with your answer, he lets out a gruff sound from the back of his throat. “Okay then. You’re not drunk, but you’re jus’ choosin’ not to tell me where Sarah is, and you’re givin’ me a damn headache with the way you’re actin’ like a little brat,” he snarls with gritted teeth. “What’s it gonna take to get you to answer me, brat?” 

   The nickname brat makes a wave of slick form in the gusset of your pretty lace and your insides quiver with need. You know exactly what you have to do now. 

   You take your nails and run them slowly through his greying scruff, watching him clench his jaw and growl through his teeth. He grabs your wrist and peels it off his face, pinning it high above your head while he takes a step forward and leans all his weight into you.

   “Don’t think for one fuckin’ moment you have control, sweetheart. I’m in control here. Now, are you gonna tell me where my daughter is or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?” His eyes blow wide, black pupils taking over your vision as his hardening cock digs into the middle of your thigh. Oh fuck. He’s big.

   You smirk up at him and raise your eyebrows. “Think I can tell you where she is. After you fuck me first, Mr. Miller.”

   He snarls your way and grabs your wrists, pulling you from the wall and throwing you in the direction of his king-sized bed. Before you can even make a move, he's right behind you, spreading your legs and pushing your chest against the soft mattress, slowly hiking your dress above your hips.

   “If you’re gonna act like a brat then I’m gonna fuck you like a brat, fuckin’ tease,” he growls.

   You feel the cool air against your center before you can even comprehend what’s happening. He rips your lace panties in half, shredding the material and spreading you wider while he spits on his large hand and starts dividing your folds, calloused fingers gliding through the slick of your wet pussy. He pushes on your buzzing clit, already overstimulated by his meaty fingers pressing against you, and you can’t help but pull a low groan from your glossy lips.

   “You like that, huh? Dirty little thing, jus’ wait till I get my mouth on you,” he smirks devilish. 

   “Oh, god,” you groan loudly as he curls one thick finger inside your dripping hole, quickly slipping another in to make a delicious burning sensation light your core on fire.

   The room starts spinning as he languidly fucks his fingers in and out, making sharp, deep movements as they scissor inside you over and over again. It’s like he’s kissing the back of your cervix, reaching impossibly deep inside your soul, and his deft fingers are so fucking experienced that you think you see god himself when he curls at just the right spot and presses into the spongy spot that has you seeing twinkling stars before your wide eyes.

   The heel of his palm presses firmly against your clit, and you can’t help the obscene noises that squeak out of you, just like the wet, squelching noises your pussy is making every single time he fucks into you nice and deep. The way he’s finger fucking you is unforgiving and relentless, and you can tell he’s thouroughly pissed that you kept taunting him. He’s trying to teach you a lesson, but it feels so fucking good that maybe you should tease him more often. Maybe he’ll keep being rough with you because you like this more than you should. 

   You buck your hips up, pressing your clit against his rough palm as you reach for that friction you so desperately crave. You’re right on the verge of coming, and you need to feed that burning sensation that almost snaps like a twig inside your core.

   “Greedy fuckin’ brat, ain’t ya? Who said you could come already, huh?” he growls with bared teeth. He releases his drenched fingers from your core, and you feel complete loss when those damn thick fingers stop you from getting your sweet release.

   You whine as he throws you on the silky sheets flat on your back, his large body climbing over yours while he pins his muscular legs against your thighs, spreading you wide to be on full display for him. You gasp and try to break free of his strong hold, but he’s much larger than you are, and his body is as taut as a brick wall. No way you can knock him off.

   You lick your bottom lip in frustration and pout because your clit burns, and you need to get relief before you combust into uncontrollable flames. “Please, Mr. Miller,” you beg, tears pooling in the backs of your glossy eyes.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” he asks, his large stature toppling over your body as his smoldering eyes incinerate the flames a thousand degrees hotter. 

   “Maybe after you make me come.” You puff your bottom lip out and smile through the burn of your core. He’s not going to budge, so you might as well push him to the edge. 

   “You think a little brat like you deserves to come?” he snarls, his eyes blowing wide as they trail like fire down your writhing body.

   He spots your wet center and smirks, ghosting his fingers right over your bundle of nerves, exactly where you need him most. Your voice box dies as you watch his thick fingers skate across your middle region, and you grow mute as a blinding pleasure of need crashes through your bloodstream.

   “I asked you a question, little brat. I expect an answer,” he growls with clenched teeth.

   “Please,” is all you seem to be able to whisper out as the heel of his palm brushes against your over sensitive clit. “I… I need it,” you whine, feeling the bottomless pit your stomach seems to plummet into.

   “You need it?” he chuckles darkly, dipping his head down between your legs slowly. “This pretty pink pussy wants to come?” he smirks as his lips brush dangerously close to your throbbing mound.

   “Mhm,” you whine, panting excessively when his hot breath fans over your clit, sending your carnal need spiraling while his large hands push your thighs further into the slick white sheets. 

   He lets a string of saliva pool inside his mouth, and then he slowly lets it drip down like a waterfall onto your already drenched pussy. “Can never be too wet, little brat,” he grins wickedly. “But look at you, already soppin’ for me,” he chuckles darkly.

   The tip of his thumb slides against your slit, covering drool and slick up to your puffy mound as he meticulously circles over that sweet spot that makes you pant his name uncontrollably. You buck your hips up, begging for more, but he just settles nicely between your legs and lets his eyes lust over with black pits that threaten to eat you alive.

   “Mr. Miller,” you beg like a desperate bitch in heat. You need him, want him, and it’s so fucked up that you want your best friend’s dad. But he’s just so enticing that you can’t resist, like a prized possession you just can’t lose.

   “Now, let me taste jus’ how wet you are, little brat. Maybe you’ll stop runnin’ that smart alec mouth of yours for a minute,” he smirks cruelly. 

   You take a breath, about to spout off a flirty response to mock him, but then his mouth fuses to your pussy, and there’s suddenly no air left in your lungs. He languidly licks a long stripe up your glistening folds, making a shocked gasp escape your mouth while he peels his carnal eyes up at you and fucking smirks while his tongue slowly envelops your buzzing mound.

   Fuck. He’s even better with his tongue than you imagined. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan breathily, mouth agape with drool nearly sliding down your chin. His tongue makes your pussy clench up over nothing, but then he slips two experienced fingers inside your dripping hole and curls up up up until he hits that spot that makes you lose your fucking mind. 

   Another flick of his long tongue and you’re nearly choking on dry air. You try to speak, but his skillful fingers and lapping tongue make you forget every single thought that’s ever plagued your mind.

   “Look at you, all choked up like you don’t know any words. What’s the matter, little brat? Cat got your tongue?” His menacing words cut through the thick air, and his piercing black eyes flash with mischief when his tongue slides along your puffy clit.

   “Y—yes,” you choke, words getting jumbled on the tip of your tongue the minute he plunges his thick fingers deeper inside you. “Oh my god,” you moan, feeling his thick beard brush against your inner thigh, his tongue dancing impossibly fast around your bundle of nerves. “More,” you beg, “please.”

   Joel’s tongue snaps back in his mouth, and one of his large hands tugs you closer, possessively pressing into your thigh like he fucking owns you. “Beggin’ for me now, s’that right?”

   All you can do is nod in response. “Mhm.”

   He chuckles and shakes his head, still skillfully curling his magical fingers up inside you, almost making your vision turn to black. “You gonna behave if I make you come, pretty little slut?” he asks with a snide smirk, fanning his hot breath along your sticky center, right where he’s ruined you most. 

   “Mhm. I’ll be good, promise,” you squeak out, bucking your hips to try to get his warm mouth back on you, but he only digs deeper into your thigh, right to the point of both pleasure and pain mixed together. 

   “Attagirl,” he smiles wickedly, his dark eyes turning back into big black pits.

   In the next second his mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and teasing his tongue along your wet folds, his curved nose inhaling deeply in your curls above your mound, and then his mouth takes your needy clit and sucks. Hard. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, reveling in the feel of his smooth tongue, moaning with every curl of his thick digits that he gives you, relishing the sick, pleasurable feeling of knowing that you finally teased him enough that he gave in. And it’s honestly better than any fake fantasy that you conjured up in your twisted brain. This right here is something you’d be on your knees for every second you could get Joel fucking Miller alone with you.

   Another lick to your center and your fingers fall and twist around his dark greying tousled locks. That elicits a groan deep from within his throat, and he has you panting even heavier the more he ravishes your sticky center. 

   The coil sharply snaps in your belly, and you feel molten lava run down your spine, slipping down your center, your walls clenching tightly around his calloused fingers. “Fuck,” he groans, his tongue lapping up the spilling slick that runs down your thighs messily. 

   Even coming down from your orgasm, the man still sets your core on fire. “You taste so fuckin’ good, little brat. Like fuckin’ cake on my lips,” he hums, licking off your glistening slick that sticks to his plush lips.

   Once you’re coherent enough to form a full sentence, you breathe out raggedly. “Need you, Joel,” you whine, reaching for his flannel collar until he pushes your hand away.

   “Mr. Miller,” he snaps. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mocks, his tongue darting across his bottom lip while he takes his time pulling the top of your dress down. “You want this cock?” he asks smirking, his big hands toying with your now revealed breasts, pinching the pebbled nipples between his fingers, humming happily when a moan slips off your tongue. 

   “Yes, please,” you beg, hoping he’ll give in to your sweet voice that nearly sings each time his warm body brushes against yours. You’re desperate because now you really want him. You want to know what it’s like to be fucked by Joel Miller in the flesh.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” He leans in and brushes his soft lips against the shell of your ear, gently biting until pain turns into raw pleasure.

   “Yes,” you say shakily. “After you fuck me.”

   His chocolate brown eyes turn carnal, black pits taking over once again as a deep smirk flicks across that warm mouth of his. “If you wanna be fucked like a slut then so fuckin’ be it,” he growls viciously. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

   He yanks the leather belt from the loops of his denim jeans, throwing it quickly over the side of the bed as it falls with a clatter onto the floor. He wastes no time and unzips his metal zipper, ripping his jeans down his legs, his black boxer briefs following quickly after. Your eyes widen when you see just how massive he is, his thick cock hard and pressing firmly against his soft tummy, precum spilling messily over his red, swollen tip that’s begging to be stuffed inside you.

   Your jaw drops, and searing pleasure tears through your core the way his cock twitches when he looks down at just how soaked you are again. You’re like a fucking water fountain with no end of flow in sight. You’ve got it so bad for him, but now all you want is to be fucked by this beast of a man.

   “Jesus Christ. Already wet for me again? Little slut wants to be stuffed full of my cock, s’that right? Well, congratulations because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but me splitting you in two,” he growls cunningly.

   His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, and then he’s driving his cock straight through your damp folds. The breath gets knocked from your body the moment he plunges inside you, his large width literally splitting you in two until all you can feel is him penetrating your tight walls. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as his arms come down around your shoulders, caging you in as he drives in harder, bottoming out each time his hips snap up against yours, making you feel so satiated but also starving for more. You love his cock, and you don’t think you’ll ever have anyone else that can measure up to the god of a man he truly is.

   “Yeah, takin’ my cock like such a good girl,” he purrs, slapping his hips over and over as your mind starts to become numb from the thrusts of his massive cock. 

   “M–Mr. M… Miller,” you garble out, eyes rolling into the backs of your lids, reveling in the pleasure of the way he slides in and out of you, hitting that spongy spot that makes your fingers curl into the now dampened sheets. 

   “‘S’right, sweetheart. Say my name. Look at you all cock drunk. Givin’ you jus’ what you deserve, like the little slut you are,” he chuckles darkly as his tongue darts out and licks ravenously at the nape of your neck. “Lettin’ your best friend’s daddy fuck this tight pussy? You’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he chuckles.

   You don’t know why, but the nickname slut makes your insides tremble and has more slick running down his cock with each brush he gives your center. You’re such a bad friend, but you don’t care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and now you have him. You don’t intend to stop now.

   He bends your knees toward you, folding them until you’re in the shape of a pancake, his cock spearing into you at just the right angle that makes your moans louder and desperate as he drives you to your quickening second orgasm of the night. 

   The head of his cock kisses your cervix, drawing shallow breaths from your lungs until the room is enveloped in amber flames. You’re burning for him, and he fucking knows it, too. “Come on, pretty girl. You know you wanna come on my cock,” he taunts, eyes lit with pure mischief that threatens to swallow your cries whole.

   “Yes, fuck. I’m right there… I’m right–” Your voice is cut off by the deep growl that comes from his throat the moment your walls clench tightly around his cock, and you feel those walls inside you starting to crumble like every single thing around you does. 

   “That’s it, little brat. Take it. Spill for me,” he commands with a deep, intoxicating tone that has you coming just seconds after he speaks. You arch your back and moan his name, your ragged breaths scratchy and dry as you come hard on his cock.

   “Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ messy girl, goddamn,” he growls as he fucks you relentlessly through the high. 

   Just when you think he might come too, he pulls out and leaves you crying from the emptiness that makes you hollow from the inside out. You lay there panting, your center ruined from your dripping cum. He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe; he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you off the bed, pushing you down until you’re settled between his thighs.

   When you look up from under your long lashes, you see his hard cock shiny with your slick, and his eyes are lustful black pits. “Why don’t you be a good girl and open that pretty mouth, sweetheart. Wanna fuck it. Knock some sense into ya,” he growls.

   Your eyes widen and you try to turn, but he grabs the crown of your head and forces your mouth open with the tip of his thumb. “Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.” It’s not a question but a demand. And god, you willingly do as he says without a fuss.

   Your hands wrap around the base of him obediently, and then your tongue laps at the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging veins that spread like vines down his shaft. Licking across the swollen tip of him, your tongue whisps against his slit, feeling the hot, salty precum envelop your throat as you hum around him. 

   “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, your tongue is so… fuck,” he moans once your lips are fully wrapped around him, taking him deep inside your throat until he’s bottoming out, making you gag. 

   You pull your lips from his cock, catching your breath as a bead of drool connects from your bottom lip to the tip of him, like a spider web spinning its web slowly and maliciously. He looks down at you with a glint in his mischievous eyes, and it’s so smoldering that it catches you on fire. 

   The pad of his thumb traces gently on your bottom lip, and for a moment you see a glimmer of softness in those dark irises. It’s quickly masked the second he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs hard, pulling you to the edge of his messy cock. “You wanted to be fucked so badly, so let me teach you another lesson, little brat. Wanna shut you up with something else other than my hand.”

   He tugs you forward, and his cock plunges deep into your throat, languidly sliding it in and out, harder and faster with each stroke of his cock. Your eyes water as tears stream down your face, mascara trailing down your lash line with every thrust of his cock. Your cheeks hollow out, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how he humiliates you and ruins you by fucking your mouth repeatedly.

   The chilly air hits the back of your bare ass, and the room fills with obscene gagging and choking noises the more your mouth drowns in him. Drool coats your chin and runs down his thick length, but he doesn’t stop, he just keeps plunging deep into the back of your throat like it’s life or death. 

   “Finally learned how to shut you up,” he teases, ragged breaths growling from his throat the closer he gets to his climax. 

   You can’t talk, only the washed out sounds of drowning on his all-consuming length fill the void. He practically rips your hair out of the base of your skull, tugging forcefully, snapping his hips aggressively until you feel his tip swell and almost combust. A guttural groan leaves his mouth, and with one more snap of his hips he’s finished.

   “Swallow,” he commands. And then he’s spilling his hot seed down your throat. The salty taste makes you moan around him, and a unique taste that can only trademark as his own serenades you, claiming you as his own prized possession.

   He ruts once more inside you and then slowly slides out, collapsing on his back while you fall to the floor with a thud, gasping for breath as you choke on thick air. Your nails dig into the soft carpet, piercing through the thick material as you get a hold of yourself. Carefully tugging your dress up and down over your ass, you push yourself up after a few minutes of trying to decipher all that just went down.

   Joel lays with a large hand shielding his eyes, groaning to himself and mumbling nonsense under his breath. He’s probably regretting this entire night now, but you know you’re not. And you’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

   After a moment of standing there staring, Joel lifts himself up and leans his elbows against his knees, his eyes flicking over your panting form carefully. His stare isn’t kind but condescending, until it melts into something a little softer that you just can’t place your finger on.

   Is he… growing soft on you?

   His eyes flick to yours, his jaw slack and irises golden brown, no more lusting black pits. Something snaps in you, tugging at the pit of your gut that feels a lot like longing, yearning. And you shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend’s forty-six-year-old father, but you do. And nothing could convince you to stay away from him anymore. One taste and you were hooked. 

   You rock on the back of your heels, almost speechless by the aching feeling in your gut that screams from the loss of his hands on your body, his cock twitching inside you, and for a moment you feel sadness that completely shatters your fragile heart. Finding an ounce of courage buried deep in your throat, you fight to find your now meek voice again. “Are we going to make this a habit, Mr. Miller?”

   “Don’t count on it,” he mutters under his breath. “‘S’not a good idea,” he sighs.

   A wave of disappointment comes out of nowhere and just about knocks you on your ass, but you stand tall, your chin high in the air. “Fine. I learned my lesson, Mr. Miller. Guess I’ll go find another man to teach me another,” you mewl, letting the cold chill in your spine settle your agitation long enough to turn away from his clenched jaw and deep eyes that try to glue you to the dark carpet of his room.

   You give him a mocking smile and flip your hair across your shoulder while you sway your hips toward the closed door. Fine, if he doesn’t want you then you’ll just have to find someone else who can fill you as good as Joel did.

   A deep groan falls from his lips, and then you hear him pushing himself off the bed like his life depends on catching you. Joel snatches your waist and spins you around, pinning your back to the wall, just like the position you were in when you first got dragged to this room tonight.

   “I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he spits out, onyx eyes flaring with a hint of jealousy and possession, and then his lips fuse to yours, consuming every fiber of your body as his own.

   His plush mouth molds to yours like clay, his warm breath fanning across your swollen lips, and you swear you’ve never craved a man like this, not when his mouth is feasting on you. Parting your lips pliantly, you allow him access inside, his tongue slotting between your teeth and then dancing against your tongue. He tastes like whiskey and smells like sandpaper. He’s intoxicating.  

   Heat bursts through the room as his tongue invades your mouth, making you dizzy and incredibly needy the moment his hands cup the sides of your face, your fingers scraping gently against the back of his neck. He groans in response, deeping the kiss as he swallows you whole. You don’t hear the blaring music down the hall, you only hear his breath mixing with your own, your moans colliding in sync as a symphony fills the room. 

   The kiss ends moments later, and you’re standing there panting raggedly, trying to cool off from that heated moment. Joel steps back and rakes a hand heavily down his greying beard, his eyes in a far off place as he thinks and thinks about the actions he made in this musky, dark bedroom of his. Licking his bottom lip slowly, his chocolate eyes finally flick up to meet yours again. “Think you should go on now, sweetheart. We had our fun.” His eyes are heavy, his lids closing momentarily as another long sigh fills the void.

   “Can I… can I see you again?” you ask nervously, your heels digging deep into the carpet while you wait with bated breath.

   “‘S’not a good idea,” he warns, his nostrils flaring just the tiniest bit until he relaxes his tight shoulders. 

   “I don’t care,” you whisper.

   He looks at you a beat, his gaze trailing over your body, slowly nodding to the door, your cue to leave. You give him a small smile and make your way out, only stopping in the doorway when the door is inched open and loud music fills the room. You turn and give him some words for him to mewl over. “Ummm… thank you, Mr. Miller. For making me feel alive,” you blush. 

   “Jus’ Joel, sweetheart. Jus’ Joel.”

   “Right…” you smile, knowing you won him over. “Oh, and Sarah’s out back by the pool. See you around, I guess. Joel…” Without giving him a chance to say anything else, you turn down the hall, your chin held high knowing you just charmed Joel fucking Miller.

   He’s everything you ever wanted and everything you couldn’t have. But this wouldn’t be the only time you saw Joel Miller. No, you’d see him again.

   Joel topples onto the bed, letting the scent of your vanilla perfume permeate his ruined sheets. He fucking smells you everywhere, and now he can’t get the sight of your pretty, glistening eyes out of his smothered head. He groans, letting the heel of his palms dig deep into the sockets of his eyes. Maybe if he couldn’t see your shredded panties on the floor he wouldn’t be so wound up about you, but he still is, even with his eyes locked shut

   This is so fucked. You’re his daughter’s best friend, and he’s way too fucking old to be playing games with a twenty-three-year-old. But yet he wants to play, wants to teether you to his body until you can’t move, can’t escape from his strong hold on you. He’s got it so bad that he can’t even think straight. All he sees is you. And he doesn’t think he can stay away for long, so he won't. No. He’ll have you again and when he does, he won’t let you leave so quickly.

   He clenches the sheets in his fists and sighs, letting his eyes close as his body relaxes, tuning out the booming music that floats through his door. He lets your sweet scent carry him off into a light sleep, and the last thing he hears is your beautiful voice float through his ears as you call him Mr. Miller before sleep takes him down.

   And when he dreams, all he sees is how fucking wrecked you looked in between his ruined sheets.

   He’s not done with you. No. Not even close.

[isvsworld]

you say that people are out there only engaging with surface level shipping content for disco elysium and like idk its kinda weird youre so bothered by it. like sure they arent expressing their thoughts abt the actual major themes in the game, and maybe they dont even have any, but fandom blogs on tumblr dot com dont exist to satisfy your desire for analysis. theres plenty of that on tumblr anyways, just follow those people and leave the shipping people to their cave shadows.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Una Noche En Medellín | Javier Pena x f!Reader

summary: a long day playing pretend at a wedding leads to... exactly what you'd expect.

pairing: javier pena x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. javi smoking, mention of a fictional pregnancy, ONE motherfucking BED BABY! mention of previous p in v, fingering, brief f!oral. this is pretty tame, y'all. reader has hair.

wc: 2.4k

an: this is my entry for the summer lovin' challenge thought up by the wonderful @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i can literally only apologise for this being so late. i scheduled it in the wee hours and got my dates SO wrong.

my brief was a wedding, javi, and the moodboard you can see in the header. this was so much fun, and my first time posting for our fav dea agent - i hope you enjoy!

divider from @saradika-graphics

The fabric of your dress clings uncomfortably to your skin, sweat glistening under the warm lights of the hotel as you step into the elevator. Hair damp at the nape of your neck, thighs chafing a little as you shift on aching feet, you turn from your tired reflection in the mirror back to the closing doors. 

You watch, drowsy, as Javi presses the button to the tenth floor, one thick finger lighting up the numbers. The same hands that have been on you all evening, long into the night. Squeezing, holding, twirling. He stands with his back to you now, shoulders tense and squared. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you’d pissed him off.

You slump a little against the mirror behind you as the elevator swoops and glides upwards, watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Neither of you had thought it’d be easy. But neither had you thought it would be so exhausting. 

Exhausting to remember the details of your cover, to explain that the reason you weren’t drinking was because you’d recently discovered you were expecting your first child. Exhausting to navigate the knowing looks and slaps on the back, the hands on your non-existent bump, trying to make it look convincing. Following Javier around the room, his hand in yours; whispers pressed into the conch of your ear, your hairline - intel exchanged, wrapped in the pretence of humour and affection. Bodies pressed together in a way that should have been unprofessional, but not in a way that was unfamiliar.

The mission had been a success. 

Under fairy lights and between bubbles of champagne, blanketed by the heady heat of Medellín, you’d wound your web. Dancing and talking, sharing cooing compliments with the other guests, letting people watch and believe as you’d kept each other close, the proximity of Javi coming so easy with the thump of bass and threat of danger. Recognising the faces taped and pinned to corkboards in the office, matching voices to crackled radio frequencies, red string to red crosses.

Never standing in one place for too long, never speaking English, never looking surprised, always looking so in love. Draped across his lap with one hand on your hip and the other splayed against the small of your back. Your face tucked into his neck as you relayed information against his jawbone. His kisses to your shoulder as he told you Steve and Carillo were already on their way to the targets’ addresses. Not out of each other’s sight for more than a minute. 

It had been so easy it was almost laughable.

The cartel’s informant would be on his way to his hotel, and his impending arrest, now. The rest of the guests, the family and friends, would soon catch wind and begin to disappear, to turn on each other. And it would be like you and Javi were never there. Blending with the disco lights, melting into the shadows. 

For now, all you need is some rest.

The elevator bell dings for the tenth floor, and you watch as the doors slide open with a quiet hum. Javi turns his face, barely, to make sure you’re still with him, hand twitching at his side as though he wishes to reach for yours. 

It’s hard to turn the performance off. 

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, wedding band glinting in the light, as he steps out into the hallway. You follow, reaching into your purse for the key card, watching the slump of his broad shoulders stride up the hall, the sweat-curled hair at the nape of his neck. You’d been running your fingers through it twenty minutes ago, cooing something about wanting to take him to bed that had only been a half-lie. He’s been warm and firm against you all night, always within reach. There’s not a scrap of your dress or an inch of your skin that doesn’t smell like his aftershave. And you’re not too proud to admit how much that turns you on.

He leans against the doorframe with one arm when you reach your room, lips lifting in a smirk.

You pull a face at him as you swipe the key card and open the door.

‘What?’

He shrugs as he watches you step into the darkness, waiting only a moment before following and flicking on the light.

‘Just - didn’t think you had it in you, cariño. Never thought you could dance like that.’

You scoff at him as he closes the door, leaning against the coolness of the wall to unclasp and take off your heels.

‘Surprises are part of the job, Peña,’ you grin, ‘Didn’t think you’d be so good at pretending to enjoy a wedding reception.��

‘I’ve had practice.’ He quips, unbuttoning another two of his shirt buttons, white linen against the gold of his skin, sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat. Something burns in your chest - wanton and willing.

He flips on another light as you throw your heels to the side, pausing in the mouth of the room before it opens to the sleeping quarters. You press a palm to his warm back, trying to urge him forwards before he speaks.

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’

You step from behind him to stand at his side.

Illuminated, glowing in the bedside light before its backdrop of glimmering city lights, is a single, king-size bed; crisp white sheets neatly tucked beneath the mattress.

You bite your cheek, looking at Javi. His stormy brow, his clenched jaw. 

‘This was supposed to be a suite.’ You murmur.

You want to be angry. Want this to be the thing that ruins an otherwise successful day. But you’re so warm, so tired. You only want a shower and a place to sleep. And you’ve had many worse places than this to do exactly that. 

‘We could call the front desk,’ Javi says, as a yawn pulls at your jaw, ‘See if they can switch us to a room with two beds.’

You shake your head, and he glances at you, surprised.

‘It’s late, and bad for our cover. We can share.’ A small frown teases between his dark eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘We’re fake married, remember?’

You step past him, smoothing the sheets with your hand. Cool. Soft. You could lie down now and die happy.

There’s the distinctive shnick-whoosh of a lighter behind you, and when you turn, Javi’s face is lit by the soft glow of a cigarette.

‘How could I forget,’ he says, breathing out a rush of blue smoke, ‘When mi esposa has been the life of the party all evening.’

You purse your lips playfully.

‘I thought you enjoyed being my husband, Alejandro.’

A sultry smile softens his features.

‘Sure, cariño.’

You wink at him as he brushes past you, linen against silk. He smells so good. Clean and masculine, something so Javi cutting through it that you can feel that burning move from your chest to pool between your legs.

He breezes through the curtains shrouding the balcony, and you turn into the bathroom, inspecting the array of toiletries, and the towels, fresh and white, waiting for you. You turn the shower on, setting the water to cool before reaching for the zip at the back of your dress. You twist fruitlessly for minutes, but the heat, the dampness of your skin makes the fabric hard to adjust, the zip impossible to catch. A well of frustration rises up your throat, and you clench your jaw.

Hands pressed against the porcelain of the sink, you look into your own eyes in the mirror. Tired, hot. Not too proud to ask for help.

Javi is stood on the balcony, forearms resting against the railing, smoke curling around his strong silhouette. He turns at the sound of the curtains moving behind you, and you smile as he leans back to watch you approach.

His appraising look is appreciative. Sexy.

You turn your back to him, to those eyes.

‘Unzip me?’

You wait for what feels like an eternity. Rocking slightly where you stand, breath catching in your lungs. Every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation.

Goosebumps break out over the small of your back as his fingers trace the line of the zip, up, up to your shoulders. They skim the fabric there, catching your bare skin before settling at the slider. He pulls, slowly. So close you can feel his breath on your neck. Pulls it all the way down so that the dress falls loose at your chest, so it would take only the smallest movement for the garment to drop to the floor. 

His palms slip beneath the silk, curving around your waist. On instinct, yours follow, catching and holding them in place as you sigh at the feeling of his nose tracing your neck. His thumbs stroke the contours of your back.

‘Que linda, bebita.’ He breathes, and you fight the moan surging up from your belly. You hum, leaning into him even as you whisper,

‘I didn’t say undress me.’

A short burst of air at your shoulder, a barely noticeable kiss against your hot skin to disguise his amusement.

‘Wasn’t going to.’

It’s your turn to huff a laugh.

‘We can be professional for a night.’

‘We can.’ He murmurs, and the heat of his body behind yours is lost almost immediately. You sway a little, a smile on your lips as you step back towards the bathroom. You know Javi is watching.

He always is.

He told you. That night in Bogotá, bodies pressed against, pressed into each other. Your legs wrapped around his waist, claw marks red-raw up his back as you’d moaned and cried for him. The wet squelch of your cunt as he worked you open, as he fucked you, as he crooned into your mouth how you’d been all he’d thought about since you stepped into the bullpen. So fucking smart, so capable, so sexy. How you’d been driving him crazy - lips crushed against your temple as you clenched around his cock.

That whole night, how good it had been, how heady. No one had ever made you come like that.

You’d not called the next day, having slunk out of Javi’s room some time in the early hours of the next morning. He’d never asked you why you hadn’t stayed. You’d never spoken of it again.

It was stress relief. Never anything more than two people blowing off steam. Never anything more than two people giving into an obvious attraction.

But that night doesn’t seem so far away as you wash away the sweat and soap from your body, as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. Doesn't erase how you feel him watching, how close he feels, even separated by the door.

And though the shower is cool, your blood still runs hot. Pumping and burning with want in your veins, arousal so strong it makes you giddy as you wrap a towel around yourself, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Javi is sat on the edge of the bed, naked save only for his boxers. The sight of him takes your breath away.

He's so broad, hard and soft in all the places he needs to be. And he's so pretty. Perfect little pouty mouth, deep, dangerous eyes. There’s no cigarette dangling from his lips, nothing in his hands as he clasps them between his spread knees. You think about sinking down between them, pressing your cheek against the bulge outlined below the smattering of hair at his navel.

You step towards him, and he watches with blown, hungry eyes.

You stop in front of him, still wrapped in the towel. He reads your mind like he always does. In the bullpen, the offices, the field. With a gun or a cigarette or a pen in his hand, Javier Peña knows what you need. He parts the towel, sliding his palms across your naked hips, holding you before him. You can’t breathe, can’t speak. It’s too hot in the room, in your body. You can feel slick sliding against the tops of your thighs, spread right up to your clit. So wet it should be criminal. 

Javi clicks his tongue, moving his hands so he can spread you open with his thumbs. He pouts at you, small tilt of his head. 

‘Pobrecita.’

You'd roll your eyes if it were any less true, if he weren't swiping one thumb through your wetness, over your clit. You suck a breath in before moaning brokenly. He grins, wolfish, up at you. 

‘What were you thinking about in that shower, cariño?’

You smile down at him, eyes half-closed. 

‘You.’

He hums, moving his thumb again. You shudder, knees giving a little. His hand at your hip tightens. 

‘Good girl.’ He coos. 

Your hand flies to his shoulder with a garbled cry as he presses tighter, moving the digit faster. He knows how to work you, knew before he'd even touched you. You're on fire, pussy tightening as your hand travels up his neck, before tangling with the curls at his nape.

That's it.

You can hear how wet you are. The only sounds in the room are the buzz of the city below, your fast breathing, and the movement of Javi’s fingers. He’s building you up to it, astoundingly fast. The sight of him, sat on the edge of the bed, spellbound by what he’s doing to you, the noises you’re making, the sight of you bared to him. Makes you want to touch him, too.

Does that feel good, bebita?

So good, Javi.

But just as it seems so close, as you can feel yourself start to clench and pulse and twitch, he slows. Slows the rhythm of his thumb right down to deep, languid circles, keeping you right on the edge as he loosens the towel and lets it drop to the floor, as he leans forward to reverently press his forehead to your belly. He breathes in deeply, and you flex your hips towards him. He nips at your skin, and you whine as he laughs.

‘I think about it,’ he breathes, voice deep and thick, nuzzling into the crease of your thigh, ‘That night in Bogotá. Tell me you think about it, too.’

You hiccup, nodding. Fisting his short hair.

‘All the time,’ you gasp, ‘All the time, Javi.’

He groans, moving to lick a hot, wet stripe through your folds, right up to your clit. It’s like fire, electricity. Your body jolts against him, every nerve ending bending towards him, flinching into this sweet torture.

His lips are shining with your arousal when he pulls away to look you in your eyes.

‘Let me have it. One more night, in Medellín. Let me have you.’