#he’s just a lonely truck | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 1 month ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - ONE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: none (angst) chapter two┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

The bass from the speakers rattled the glass in your hand as you leaned against the porch railing, eyes scanning the backyard for him—Rafe.

It had been a long month.

Longer than you thought it would be. Usually, when you and Rafe had your little “breaks,” they lasted about a week, maybe two at most. It was always something stupid, a screaming match that ended with slammed doors and his truck peeling out of your driveway. But it never lasted. It couldn’t. You’d known each other too long, been through too much, and deep down, there was this unspoken truth—he’d always come back. Or, you would.

But this time was different.

This time, he wasn’t calling or showing up at your window in the middle of the night, eyes tired and sorry, pulling you into his arms. The space between you had been growing wider since his dad died. And sure, maybe it was your fault for what you said after Ward’s death—But it was the truth.

Still, you hadn’t expected him to shut you out completely. Two months. Two months of silence. And the only thing you’d heard about him since was through Ruthie, Topper’s new girlfriend, of all people. A random comment at Mase’s place—something about how Rafe had been hanging around some pogue girl named Sofia.

You’d rolled your eyes at that. Rafe? With some Pogue? Yeah, right. You’d pretended not to care when she tossed it out like it was nothing

You weren’t stupid.

You’d always known Rafe wasn’t the easiest guy to love. He was complicated, angry, reckless—but so were you. And in some messed-up way, that’s why you two worked. Or at least, why you thought you did. You were just as stubborn, just as damaged. But now, as you sipped your drink and looked around, something felt off. Your gut was tight, and that nagging feeling that’d been growing restless under your skin since the breakup only grew stronger the longer you stood there.

You pushed yourself off the railing, discarding your drink on a table before moving through the crowd, past people you knew but didn’t bother with. Your mind was set on one thing—Rafe. You were done with the break. You had your space. It’s time to get back together. It was never even really a question. It was just the way things worked with you two.

But then there was Ruthie—blocking your path, her wide smile dripping with the kind of smugness that set your teeth on edge. She looked like she was reveling in your misery and that little giggle she let out only made it worse.

"So glad you could make it!" she sang out, her voice too sweet, too bright. Her eyes flickered over you like she was sizing you up, taking stock of every inch of your perfectly put-together outfit.

You forced a smile, “Yeah, well, wouldn’t miss a party like this,” you said, keeping your tone casual.

You weren’t in the mood for whatever game she was playing.

“Oh, I just bet,” she replied, her smile growing wider. She stepped closer, her breath reeking of cheap wine, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Ruthie always drank too much at these things.

What the hell was her problem? She always acted like she knew something you didn’t, like she held the keys to all the dirty little secrets in Kildare, and she loved dangling them in front of people just to watch them squirm.

“Ruthie, I swear to God—” you began, but she cut you off, her grin widening.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “don’t get mad at me. I’m just the messenger. You should really be talking to Rafe about this.” She took a step back, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. “He’s around, you know. You can go find him yourself. See how cozy he’s gotten with her.”

You bit your tongue, jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm. She was trying to get under your skin, like the snake she’d always been. You couldn’t believe Top was lonely and horny enough to finally fall into her claws.

“Thanks for the tip,” you gave her a tight lipped grimace, brushing past her, didn’t try and wait for her reply.

You only caught glimpses of empty rooms along the way. You hadn’t seen him since the break, and part of you didn’t want to admit how much that messed you up. How much he messed you up. Your steps slowed as you neared the hall that led to the back of the house, the sound of voices filtering through the air. You recognized some, laughed at the drunken ramblings, until one voice cut through the noise. Rafe’s.

And then you heard hers. No fucking way.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You told yourself you just needed to see him, just talk to him, tell him this break had gone on long enough, that you were done with the games. That’s when you heard it again—her laugh. It was light, flirtatious, the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn into a million different directions because you knew exactly what it meant.

She was there, with him.

You moved forward, the hallway barely lit as you reached the half-closed bathroom door. Your breath hitched, hands trembling as you peeked through the small crack, unable to stop yourself from looking.

There they were.

She was smiling, laughing softly at something he’d said, her fingers brushing through her hair as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his hands move, tying the knot in her bikini with such gentle precision like he’d done it a thousand times. The kind of softness he used to have with you. And then he said it, his voice teasing, amused like this was some kind of inside joke between them.

"God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?"

You froze.

He laughed quietly, his lips brushing against Sofia’s shoulder as he tied the last knot, and the way he touched her—like she was something to be savored—sent a rush of pure, burning humiliation straight through your chest.

You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your ears as Rafe’s words repeated over and over in your head. Landing right in my lap. What the fuck was this?

Your heart clenched, vision blurring as what you were seeing slammed right into you. You backed away, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the sob from escaping. But it didn’t help. Not even à little. The tears burned, and you turned quickly, practically running back through the house and out the door before anyone could see the humiliating mess you were becoming.

It was real. He moved on. In two fucking months.

That’s all it had taken for him to replace you. To be done with you. He was over you. Just like that.

After everything you’d been through together, after all the times you had to pull him out of his own darkness, after the nights spent in his arms when you thought you couldn’t breathe because your whole family was gone—after years of being his and him being yours—how the fuck could he move on when you’d been rotting away in self loathing for pushing him away?

Your head spun as you stumbled down the steps, out to the street where your car was parked. You couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were coming out too fast, too shallow, and your hands were shaking so hard you had to press them against your knees to hold yourself up.

What the hell was wrong with you? You hadn’t even had anything to drink.

But your stomach was rolling, twisting in knots so tight you could barely stand straight. You leaned against the side of your car, the cool metal grounding you to reality for a second before a wave of nausea hit, forcing you to double over and retch onto the pavement. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You felt dizzy, disgusted even, everything you thought you knew, everything you thought was yours, had been ripped out from under you.

Without a single warning. Not a text, not a stupid call, just pure indifference. No respect or regard for you. None of them. Everything you’d just seen replayed in your mind—Rafe, her, the way he touched her like she meant something to him.

“Look who’s still standing!” Topper’s voice. He was laughing as he strolled over, hands shoved in his pockets, that same carefree grin on his face that he always had at parties. “Jesus, what did you have to drink? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Normally, you might have had something to say back, maybe a fiery insult or a roll of your eyes. But right now, everything felt like too much. You couldn’t say a word. You could barely breathe.

Your cousin stopped beside you, his grin dropping as he finally looked at you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He leaned down, trying to catch your eyes. “You good? You look kinda—"

You cut him off, the question was heavy, like a lump lodged in your throat. “Did you know?”

He blinked, the confusion spreading across his face. “Know what?”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as you forced the words out, your voice shaking. “About Rafe and Sofia.”

You hated saying her name.

Hated that you’d been forced to know it by heart. Topper’s smile dropped, his expression changing.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, you knew him well enough to read his micro expressions. You clenched your fists, it felt like you were the only one in the island who’d been let out of the secret.

Surely, your friends, your only family would’ve told you something right? It’s not like you were on a remote island away from them. You’d spent the last month in New York, not in the fucking jungle. You visited occasionally. You were a call away.

“Did everyone fucking know?”

Topper exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we didn’t think it was serious. You know how it is with you two—you’ve done this before. Played with other people…”

Played with other people. Like you and Rafe were just some game, a revolving door of heartbreak and hookups. It didn’t make sense. You’d always known how it worked, understood how these things went—sure, you’d had your minor flings, and he’d had his, but it was never real.

You stumbled back, feeling like you might collapse. “Oh my God, I’m going to be sick again.”

He reached out, obviously concerned since he hadn’t seen you in this desperate state in years, “Hey, hey, calm down. Look, it’s not like it means anything. Rafe’s just—he’s going through a lot with his dad dying, and he… he’s just messing around. You know how he gets.”

But the words did nothing to soothe you. They only made it worse—how everyone knew. How they’d all watched Rafe move on, while you were stuck, still reeling from the breakup, thinking he’d come back like he always did. And he was just out there, with her.

With someone else. You pressed a hand to your stomach, your head hurting. The idea of Sofia, of Rafe being with someone else in ways that only you knew—ways that had always been yours—made you feel like you were being torn apart.

Topper was still talking, still trying to rationalize it, but his words were like static now, blending into the noise of the party behind you. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he was saying. “You know how it goes. You always end up back together. He’s just doing whatever to distract himself.”

That word. Distract himself. Like your entire relationship could be boiled down to that—a series of distractions until you decided to come back to each other, to pick up the pieces and pretend everything was okay.

You could still remember the night your life changed—the phone call, the horrible, gut-wrenching moment when you learned that your family’s private plane had gone down. Your parents. Your sister. Gone. Just like that. And Rafe had been the one to pull you through it. He was the one who had held you as you cried so hard you thought you were going to die, who sat with you in silence when you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, who stayed with you every single night because you were terrified to be alone in a haunted mansion that now felt like a mausoleum.

You had been seventeen, and losing them all at once had killed something inside of you. But he was there. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he knew what it was like to grieve.

He knew loss. He understood. Because you’d been there for him two years earlier, when his mom lost her battle to cancer. You could still see the look in his eyes that day—fourteen years old and already drowning in so much anger and sadness, like the world had ripped something essential out of him.

The way he cried at her funeral when he thought no one was watching, and you’d found him, sat beside him in the cold, letting him cry without saying a word. You hadn’t started dating yet, hadn’t crossed that line, but something had changed between you two in those moments.

A connection, a bond forged in shared pain, in the kind of trauma that no one else really got. Maybe that was why you were so obsessed with each other. Maybe it was fucked up, but you couldn’t imagine anyone else understanding you the way Rafe did.

How could it all come down to this? To you standing here, feeling like the world was ending while he moved on, laughing and touching someone else like nothing you had ever been through mattered?

Was that it? Did that one moment, that one argument about Ward, erase everything you’d done for him?

All the times you’d been there, the way you had comforted him when he felt like his life was spiraling? You remembered exactly what you’d said a month after the funeral, when your boyfriend blamed everyone but Ward for his own death. "He wasn’t a good person, baby. I know he was your dad, but you can’t pretend like he didn’t fuck you up."

You hadn’t even said it to hurt him, not really. It was just the truth. Ward had been a terrible father, controlling and manipulative, and you’d spent years watching Rafe try to live up to some impossible standard, chasing his father’s approval like it would ever be enough. But that didn’t make it easier for him to hear. You should have known better. You should have known how raw he was after losing his dad, how complicated his feelings were.

But instead, you’d been brutal. Honest, but brutal.

And now, two months later, here you were—staring at the empty street, wondering if you’d pushed him too far. If that one moment of honesty was enough to make him forget everything else. Now you were just the ex, the crazy one who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.

“Fuck, why did I say that?” you whispered to yourself, voice shaking. Why couldn’t you have just let it go?

But then another clarity of anger took over you, pushing away the guilt that had been building inside. So you’d been too harsh about Ward. So you’d said what everyone else had been too scared to say. It wasn’t like you’d been wrong. Ward had messed Rafe up.

Everyone knew it. He knew it, deep down.

You gritted your teeth, staring out at the dark street, the low hum of the party still buzzing faintly behind you. You were never going to get that picture out of your head. Like they hadn’t just met, like you hadn’t spent years learning how to calm Rafe when he spiraled, how to hold him together when he couldn’t hold himself.

Your chest tightened again, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder that night, years ago, when his mom passed. The silent sobs that shook his body, the way he’d held onto you. That was the real Rafe—the one he hid from everyone else. The one who was lost and broken underneath all the anger. And you’d seen him, really seen him in ways no one else ever could. Not Sofia. Not anyone.

"Look, you're emotional, okay? I get it. Maybe it's that time of the month or something. You know how you always get when your hormones go crazy."

The words got to you, but not in the way he probably thought they would. At first, it pissed you off, like it always did when people tried to downplay your emotions. Everyone always said you felt too much. That you were out of control.

But then…

You stopped moving, blinking rapidly as his words spiraled around in your brain. ‘Time of the month’, he'd said.

Your heart started doing summersaults, your stomach dropping as the idea settled in. You grabbed your phone, hands trembling like leaves as you opened the calendar app. You scrolled, trying to think, trying to remember when you’d last…fuck.

You hadn’t had your period in… so long.

Almost two months. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some kind of fucked up joke.

You felt light-headed as you reached for your car again, your body shaking so badly you could barely stand against the door. "Shit."

How could you not have noticed?

Topper noticed the change in you instantly, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his tone softening a little. "You okay?"

You couldn’t even form a sentence. Your brain was too full of what-ifs. Two months late.

You hadn't even thought about it until now—everything had taken so much space in your head that you hadn't noticed the most obvious sign. This wasn’t possible. Your hand flew to your stomach, almost instinctively. You had no idea what to do with the panic creeping up your throat.

“Shit,” You hissed, this time louder, trying to push the growing dread down. But it wouldn't go away.

He was still staring at you, “What? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

But you were already backing away, shaking your head, “I—I need to go,” You mumbled, barely hearing yourself.

Your cousin moved quickly to block your path as you tried to make your way toward the door. That kind of protective streak only made you want to shove past him even more.

"You’re not driving in this state." he warned you, voice firm, his hands up like he was trying to physically stop you.

You just glared at him, “Fucking watch me.”

He didn’t budge. "You get in that car and I'm calling Rafe," he said, sounding dead serious.

You couldn’t believe it. Your head was already spinning, and he was trying to guilt-trip you like this was some kind of helpful thing to do? You threw your hands up in frustration, voice rising, cracking. "He’s too busy fucking Sofia. Knock yourself out."

The words felt like venom in your mouth, the bitterness rolling off your tongue. You didn’t care how harsh they sounded. You didn’t care about anything anymore except getting away from this suffocating stupid place. Before he could say anything else, you made your move. You pushed past him with all your strength, chest hurting with the urge to feel something other than this suffocating mess of emotions and confusion.

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your keys. You managed to unlock the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, the cool leather biting into your skin.

You needed to think. But all you could think about was that one, terrifying realization: you might be pregnant.

Your breath hitched, terror swirling around your chest. The calendar app was still open on your phone, the dates staring back at you like a flashing red warning sign, daring you to confront the truth you’d been ignoring. Two months. Two months without a period. And you hadn’t even noticed. You pressed a hand to your stomach again, heart pounding as if it was trying to escape your chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.

You weren’t thinking clearly—shit, you weren’t thinking at all, but you couldn’t stay here. Not with Topper trying to baby you, not with him out there, living his best life like you didn’t even exist.

You turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and just as you gripped the wheel, ready to peel out of the driveway, Topper bolted in front of the car, planting himself right there like some kind of human roadblock. Fucking idiot. His arms were stretched out wide, like he could somehow stop you by sheer willpower.

“You’re not doing this, I swear to God, you’re not!” he yelled, his voice frantic, echoing off the dark street. He looked panicked, pleading even, like he was convinced you’d actually go through with it.

You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing on him through the windshield. “Top, I swear, you have three seconds before I run you over.”

“Are you serious right now?” he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief. But he didn’t move. “You think I’m letting you drive like this? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”

Your fingers gripping the wheel so hard it hurt. You weren’t bluffing. You were too wound up, too out of control. The only thing keeping you from flooring him was the fact that, deep down, you knew your cousin didn’t deserve it.

You just needed to get out of here.

“Move!” you screamed, “I’m not joking’, Topper. Get the fuck out of my way!”

His face twisted with frustration as he looked over his shoulder, something catching his attention. He started waving, yelling at someone, his voice cutting through the night, “Rafe! Dude, get over here!”

Your brain stopped. It was like everything had been sucked out of you. Your hands froze on the wheel, your entire body locking up as you looked to your right and saw him—Rafe. Right there in the yard.

And she was with him. He had his arm draped around her casually, like she belonged there.

Like he belonged there, just standing in the open, so stupidly comfortable in his new life. His head turned when he heard Topper call out, and your eyes locked for a less than a second. A moment too long. A moment that broke something inside you.

While Topper was distracted, his attention on Rafe, you made your move. You slammed your foot on the gas, tires screeching as the car lurched forward, swerving just enough to dodge Topper’s stunned figure. You heard him yell after you, but his voice faded into the background noise as you sped away.

You didn’t look back. Not at Top, not at Rafe.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else. You hated this. Hated that you were crying. Hated that you’d let yourself get to this point.

“God, what is wrong with me?” you muttered, your voice quavering as the words tumbled out. “Why the fuck am I crying over him? I shouldn’t be crying over him.” You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, angry, disgusted with yourself.

You’d told yourself you were stronger than this—that after everything you’d been through, you didn’t need him or anyone else. But here you were, falling apart like some pathetic excuse of a mess because of him. Because he had always been there, hadn’t he? After the crash, after you lost everything, he was the one constant, the one person who kept you from completely losing it. You’d relied on him so much. Too much.

“Fuck,” you hissed, tears streaming down your face. Your throat burned as the memories came flooding back, memories of all the nights you’d spent together, of him holding you while you cried yourself to sleep, of the way he’d pulled you out of the gloom when you thought you’d never get back up again. You thought he’d always be that person for you, the one who understood your broken pieces because he had his own. You’d always fit together perfectly.

You pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore, your hands still shaking as you put the car in park. The tears had dried up on the drive over, replaced by a cold determination. You didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to even think about what you were about to do.

The moment you stepped out of your car and into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the drugstore, you felt completely out of place—like a stranger in your own skin. You hadn’t even thought about how ridiculous you must’ve looked until you caught your reflection in one of the store’s glass windows. Your hair, still perfect from earlier, framed your face in soft waves, and your makeup was flawless, despite the crying. The designer dress you were wearing—sleek, red, and worth more than half the shit in this store—with its sticky floors and white lights, it made you feel like an alien. Like you didn’t belong.

You caught the eyes of a couple of people loitering outside the entrance as you walked in, their stares lingering a little too long, murmuring to each other behind smirks. You knew they were talking about you. They always did, kook queen, overdressed, out of touch, bitch, whatever they wanted to call you.

The sliding doors let out a grating beep as you entered, and the air inside was stale and heavy, reeking of floor cleaner and cheap perfume. You adjusted your grip on your purse, strutting past the aisles with your head high even though everything inside you felt like it was falling apart.

You always did this—dressed to kill, head up, like armor. But there was no real glamour in buying pregnancy tests from some random pharmacy in the middle of the night. No way to mask the deep, growing hysteria in your bones.

The girl behind the register clocked you the second you stepped up to the counter, her eyes dragging over your like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. You could almost hear her thoughts: What the hell is someone like you doing here?

You didn’t even look at her. You just wanted to pay and leave without a scene. But of course, people always found a way to make things worse. She hesitated before scanning the tests, looking like she might say something. For her own good, you prayed she didn’t.

You threw the money on the counter before she could open her mouth, two crisp hundreds on top of the total. The cash hit the counter with a sharp thwap and you gave her the bitchiest look you could muster. “Take it. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she slid the bills into the register. You didn’t care that she was young or nervous. You weren’t here to make friends. You weren’t here for anyone’s sympathy. The extra money would make sure she didn’t talk, that was all that mattered.

You walked out, your heels clicking against the linoleum, head high, even though every nerve in your body screamed for you to disappear. You slid into your truck, slamming the door shut, the silence finally hitting you. For all the designer clothes, the makeup, the money—none of it meant shit right now. You felt so small. So scared. Terribly lonely.

You sat there for what felt like forever, staring at the stupid bag in the passenger seat like it had the power to ruin your whole life—which, to be fair, it kind of did. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do. Not about any of it.

Your foot tapped nervously against the floor mat, the sound too loud in the quiet car. The bag crinkled as you glanced at it again, your stomach twisting all over again. A bunch of pregnancy tests. How had it come to this?

Rafe. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him, not to picture his face when he found out. If he found out. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? He was with Sofia now, right? So was this going to ruin his life too? Did he even deserve to know?

It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Maybe the separation anxiety had gotten to you. Maybe your body was just fucked up from all the stress. Maybe your period was just late because you’d been so all over the place lately. There could be a million reasons. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if it wasn’t nothing.

You didn’t want to cry anymore. Not after all of this. Not over Rafe. Not over your life turning into some fucking soap opera you didn’t even want to be a part of.

The second you were inside your house, the walls closed in around you. Your perfectly decorated place—the one you’d spent so much time making into a refuge, an escape—it didn’t feel like that anymore. Every designer pillow, every carefully chosen piece of art, mocking you.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, you reached for it. Of course, it was Rafe.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was but save the fucking dramatics, okay?”

The nerve. The fucking nerve of him to act like he was the center of your universe, acting like you were some inconvenience. Months of silence and this was the first thing he decided to text you? Knowing how much you despised when people called you a drama queen? Fucking piece of shit.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand different responses running through your mind. You wanted to tell him to shove something up his ass. But you did the only thing that felt right in that moment.

You blocked him. You stared at your phone, half expecting it to buzz again, half dreading that it wouldn’t. It was done. You cut him off, at least in that tiny, virtual way. You sat there for a minute, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.

This was supposed to feel empowering, right? You told yourself it would. That cutting him out would help you get back some control. But your mind wouldn’t settle. Those damn pregnancy tests were sitting in the bag next to you.

You were tired.

Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was or how emotionally spent you were. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor as you sank into the plush couch. Your house felt cold and unwelcoming tonight. Like a showroom. No comfort to be found. Not here, not in the muted tones of beige and white. Not in the sleek lines of furniture that were supposed to exude elegance and sophistication.

Maybe tomorrow you’d feel differently.

Maybe you’d wake up with a clear head, ready to take the stupid tests. Maybe you’d be strong again like you’d been so many times before.

Tonight, you were just tired. You leaned back against the cushions, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the noise in your head to quiet down. Sleep. That’s what you needed. Just a few hours to clear your mind, and in the morning, you’d deal with everything.

All of this would go away.

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2 @starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols

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lizardho · 1 month ago

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I came out to my dad as bisexual at 14 and I was PANICKED because I had a crush on a guy in my Boy Scout troop and thought I was Going To Hell Forever and he was so kind and understanding of my distress, but he had NO idea what bisexuality was. He just said “yeah but you like girls too? This is normal. Everyone is like this.” And I love my dad and trust him with my life to this day and the idea that the concept of bisexuality had not occurred to him had not occurred to me so I put it off.

By 16 though I had a crush on like THREE boys. Three entire boys in my Boy Scout troop. I felt like my sin was slowly advancing, until like an untreated cancer it had become metastatic. I remember bawling my L’il limp-wristed sissy eyes out in his big rumbly truck on the way home from a scout meeting and him telling me that it was OK, that he still loved me if I was gay, but that he knew I wasn’t gay because I still had crushes on women and that meant I was straight. I didn’t quite know how to explain that those felt *~*different*~* and that I felt like I was losing a fight to evil inside me but I again felt comforted by his reassurances and his genuine fatherly love.

At 18 I was like “hey I’m realizing all my friends are going on missions. I don’t wanna do that. Idk how to say that and I don’t have a ‘good enough’ reason to not wanna go.” So I just put it off. Again, my parents were extremely supportive of the information I gave them (I blamed it on perpetually forgetting to start the paperwork.) and one day my mom texted me that she had done the paperwork for me! And that all I needed was to get a physical! So I did that (it was awkward af tbh, my hernia check was done by a trainee doctor and she spent like 3 minutes fishing around my inguinal canals before her attending rescued me) and was sent to Mexico City where I learned that in addition to dipshit himbos with strong hands and scruffy guys with artistic hearts I was REALLY into chubby Latin men with strong personalities who bullied me a little when I lived in Mexico.

I remember my first companion got annoyed with me during an argument and said we were just gonna wrestle and whoever won the wrestling match won the argument (I stg I am dead serious this happened.) I was like…SWEATING when he tore off his tie and threw his white button-down shirt onto the ground (I won btw, don’t ask me how).

I remember one of my companions with this really intense, almost manic energy telling me that he was gonna make sure I was safe in a new area I didn’t know very well. He cooked breakfast for me and we’d go shopping together on P-Days and in the mornings before breakfast he’d jog around and do pull-ups with his shirt off and I’d do anything but look at him because my face would break out in a sweat so intense he’d think I was crying and come over to see if I was OK and somehow make it worse. He let me play D&D with myself in the evenings even though it was against mission rules because he knew how lonely and stressed I was.

I remember one of my companions was a big chubby man with a loud voice and a great sense of humor. He was kind and direct when addressing conflicts with me, and always bragged about how he knew the secrets of women’s minds and it felt like he really did since it almost always boiled down to “Treat Them Like People and Love Them a Lot. Don’t Stop Being A Person For Them. Also Eat Them Out Sloppy Style.” Our P-Day activities sometimes felt like dates, and it seemed like he was more attentive to my emotional state than I was since he was always the first to suggest we slow down our Divinely Mandated, God-Ordained, Super Sacred Work and Wonder to get a snack or check out a Pawn Shop (I love Pawn Shops).

I remember another companion who asked me to bully him every time he did something against his goal of losing weight. It was like he gave me Carte Blanche to take out my crush on him by being a nuisance and I LOVED that. I remember having a breakdown one day after we’d spent the afternoon frantically cleaning our disgusting-barely-habitable mission house to make it look less vile that it was (not our fault imo?) and I started bawling and he pulled me into a hug and he smelled good and he told me he knew it wasn’t just the house and that I was mad at him for being a Huge Dickhead for about a week (true) and that he would work on it. (He’s also a huge chaser but that’s a separate thing.)

I remember one of my companions waking up early (and our schedule is already built for sleep deprivation) to make me a “birthday cake” from knock-off Nutella and bread. He used matches for candles and woke me up, lit the ‘candles,’ pulled them out, then smashed it in my face and took a bunch of pictures while I was still madrugada and disoriented as fuck. He had the same sense of humor as one of my HS crushes and I could push his buttons pretty easily which was so fun.

I came home from my mission and started back at BYU where I became actively and aggressively suicidal. I had a stalker the year I moved up there and my dad’s solution to that was to get me a gun. I know he wouldn’t have bought me a gun if he could have read my mind, but I had a loaded pistol under my bed during a trifecta faith/sexuality/gender crisis and that was not helpful. I remember that the day I decided to kill myself I figured I’d call the BYU CAPS and see if I could get into therapy because it felt like what I was “supposed to do” so I could check my suicide boxes. My therapist was the guy who’d helped me pick a major the year before and was this drop-dead gorgeous Hawaiian man who cried when I told him how I’d been feeling.

A few weeks into therapy I met another stunning man with soft eyes and a scruffy illegal-at-BYU beard he kept pushing his luck with. He was funny, kind, patient, married, and wouldn’t give me the time of day if he knew I was crushing on him. We were in my history of psych class, which was inarguably the worst psych class I have ever had, and we studied together for every assignment and test and I realized that my feelings for him and for all the men I’d already mentioned were in direct conflict with my faith and relationship with God. My already agonizing spiritual conflict became even more wretched and as a result of this plus some other tightly-packed experiences with Mormonisms bullshit, I left the church.

After leaving the church I decided to move back to AZ and transfer to ASU. My mom helped me get a dog since I think it had started to dawn on my family that my mental health was barely getting me through the day, and she knew that we both loved dogs. Madi made my last year at BYU livable while I got my shit together and transferred. In that last year, I went on a date with quite possibly the only semi-openly-out trans person on BYU campus. It was not a great date imo, I was not doing well, but the person I spoke with was fun and fascinating and talked to me about Gender Dysphoria and it really cemented my need to go. To leave and never come back to that fucking school.

I started at ASU a month after my last semester at BYU and within a very short time frame it felt like I was coming back together, like a puzzle magically putting itself together in an environment that wasn’t slowly draining that puzzle’s will to live.

On the 4th of July, the year I started at ASU, I saw a transition timeline photo of a gorgeous happy beautiful happy radiant happy woman and her former Mormon missionary self and I realized the light that was on in her eyes was the light that was off in mine. I looked into transitioning for 3 days, sleeping about 10 hours total during that time. I started talking to other trans people on Reddit (one of whom is now my beautiful fiancée @cintailed) and after about a month of making preparations to be disowned and kicked out, something I was not sure would happen but was ready to go through to Turn On The Lights, I came out to my family and it was amazing. I started HRT a month after that. I secretly dated some dorky guys for about a year while I applied to grad schools. I got into a great grad school for me and my needs. I got FFS. I did my trainings and classes. Me and my fiancée moved in together after some LDR shenanigans. We’ve lived together now for 4 years of basically marital bliss. We have a cat named Grandmother Esmeralda Weatherwax who bites the hell out of my feet about three times a day. My bi-cycle continues to be part of my life but now it’s not as scary. Baby gays in my life have started to look to me for advice. Idk how this all happened so fast. When the years, months, weeks, days, and hours seems to crawl by so slowly now they are rushing past me so fast it’s almost bewildering. Whereas before I felt like I was living on borrowed time, past my ‘expiration date,’ now it feels like I can Fucking Breathe. I’m training myself to slow down now and it feels worth it to Live In The Moment.

Idk why I wrote this. Idk why these thoughts only seem to come up on Sundays when I’m supposed to be writing my dissertation. Idk why I’m crying rn or why I feel so happy. I’m gonna post this shit then get on with my dissertation I guess. Read more Terry Pratchett and give yourselves the time you need. Get a pet. Talk to someone. Re-examine the events that brought you here. Be gayer. Love y’all 💕

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coquettepascal · 4 months ago

Text

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying.

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes.

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones.

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does.

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you.

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to.

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job.

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together.

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point.

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there.

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats.

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute?

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel.

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable.

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing.

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird.

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone.

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars.

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice.

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath.

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes.

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer.

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him.

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself.

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years.

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing.

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this.

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks.

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock.

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him.

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?”

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either.

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers.

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering.

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay.

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you.

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough.

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.”

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out.

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #hbo!joel #neighbor!joel #tlou fanfiction #dilf!joel #reader insert #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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gutsby · 5 months ago

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My Body, His Choice

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Warnings: 18+. Come get y’all juice (consensual freeuse). Unprotected p-in-v. Praise kink. Daddy kink. She/her pussy pronouns. Perverted but ever-respectful Joel.

Note: ‘Púdrete’ means ‘rot’ or ‘fuck you’ in Spanish.

Word count: 2.9k

It wasn’t often he’d fuck you anywhere but his bed.

At fifty-two, Joel was still old fashioned like that.

No matter how hard you tugged on the front of his shirt, begged him gently, baby, please take me right here on the kitchen table—on your desk—in your truck—really anyplace, Joel would shake his head and tote you away to his room. Then he’d blow your back out on a plush and cushy king-sized bed exactly how a gentleman should.

“Wasn’t raised to treat a lady any different,” he’d always say, sucking a breath through his teeth as he plunged his cock inside you from the comfort and quiet of his sheets.

‘Whatever you say, old man’ was your habitual response.

It was one that more often than not ended with you walking funny for the next couple days, thanks to that twenty-something stamina Joel was still able to boast.

So, with sore legs and a warm load leaking out of your cunt every night, you shut up. You didn’t mind being confined to his bed if it meant getting fucked like that. But you would let him know, every now and again or as often as you happened to be ovulating, that there was a freestanding offer for him to just…take, if he ever felt so inclined. The first time you’d said the real word for it, Joel had just smiled and kissed you on the top of your head.

“I’ll sure keep that in mind, sweet pea,” he’d chuckled.

Or, in boomer-speak: ‘No way in hell am I doing that.’

You’d made your peace with it. You’d quit wearing open-gusset undies in the hopes of getting bent over the sink while doing the dishes on a random Tuesday afternoon. You’d put all thoughts of freeuse out of your head and now just waited patiently under the covers at night if you wanted some action on the go. That was more than okay.

And when Joel thundered through the door an hour late one night, you just offered up a smile and a sleepy wave.

“Hi, handsome.”

You were splayed out comfortably on the sofa, and your favorite show was playing in a dim, muted glow on TV. Joel toed off his boots and ducked his head in the closet.

“I said he-llo, you big hunk.”

You regularly alternated between handsome, hunk, and some form of baby or beefcake if he appeared extra large that day. You hadn’t gotten a good look at his form coming in, but you figured you’d give it a stab, shoveling more popcorn in your mouth before returning to Narcos.

Somewhat garbled: “Well hello to you too, babycakes.”

It was either going to piss him off or earn you a big, wet kiss on the cheek—or both, if you were lucky. The words had scarcely hung in the air for more than a second or two, and your popcorn was going down in one slow, crowded gulp, when something fell heavy at your feet.

Your legs were stretched as far as they would go to the end of the couch, and Joel had just dropped his weight right next to them. Then he was leaning back, gingerly.

Carefully.

Joel groaned.

“God, he looks stupid,” he said, staring straight ahead.

You coughed. You winced at a sharp, lone kernel that had snagged your throat going down, and when it passed, you sat up and glanced over to where Joel was looking.

All you saw was a sexy, if not slightly anachronistically-mustached man with tight pants and a slutty stance onscreen.

“Javier Peña?” you asked him.

The man’s nostrils flared in response.

“With that stupid fuckin’ Members Only jacket— dumbass aviators, too, he looks like the biggest dou—”

“Joel!”

You blinked at your boyfriend in disbelief. He knew better than to abuse your favorite DEA agent right to your face. At last, Joel met your gaze, and his cheeks tinged pink.

“What? You wanna fuck him or something?” he snapped.

You turned back to the TV and pretended to consider.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, would Agent Peña come home an hour late with no explanation and then start griping about another man’s clothes when I try talking to him?”

“Yeah. And he’d probably backtalk you, too. In Spanish.”

“Púdrete.”

Joel scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Fuck me?”

You raised both brows as if to say, ‘Yeah, dude, fuck you.’

Maybe there was a smile behind your eyes as you said it.

You didn’t mean to give in, or let him off so easy, but there was just no grappling with a man in blue jeans and a sweaty, dirt-sodden shirt giving you a look like that.

His eyes smiled back.

You didn’t protest when Joel muscled his way over across the couch and pushed you back on your side. Yanking your hips to lay flush with his front, taking up most of all usable real estate on the sofa just to lie behind you and curl his bicep around your belly. He nosed against you and inhaled deeply. He hummed.

You spooned and watched Narcos in silence.

“Bad day?” you murmured at length.

“Bad don’t even begin to cover it.”

Joel let out a breath, and you felt it migrate through your skull. The whole weight of the world, or, more likely than not, some dipshits at work who’d cost their team a bid or delayed a project by a week, ten, or twenty, was hanging somewhere close over his shoulders and depressing his whole demeanor. His grip on you tightened even more.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

Joel’s fingers seared a string of small crescents in your skin through the fabric of your nightie. Realizing he was pressing in too much, he eased back. Flexed his hand.

“Ain’t no need to be—it’s on me.”

You felt a kiss land on your shoulder. Your eyelids fluttered as a scene of chaos broke out onscreen with some ill-fated raid or other, and Joel’s hand traveled up your side. It cupped one of your breasts through the sky-blue satin material, and just as fingers began to knead—

“I don’t actually wanna fuck Javi,” you sputtered, dumb.

Joel kissed the space between your shoulder and neck.

“I figured.”

Then his index and thumb found your hardening bud and pinched it between them, rolling the skin in soft, languid strokes. That, paired with the movement of lips up the length of your neck, had your head lolling back gently and your eyes struggling to focus on any of the mayhem unfolding in time. You wanted to turn away from it all—meet Joel’s mouth with a feverish kiss of your own—but when your torso jerked the slightest bit, trying to move, the arm around your front kept you pinned to the spot. Joel’s grey, stubbled chin tickled the shell of your ear.

“Keep watching, darlin’,” he mumbled.

A low whine sounded in your throat, a noise Joel was no stranger to. It bubbled up, almost reflexively, and then was swallowed back as by force when his left hand shifted from toying with your nipple to joining the hem of your dress. Your breath hitched when you felt the pads of three fingers make an easy, careless sort of petting motion between your legs. Stroking you gently there.

“‘M’sorry I was late comin’ home,” Joel continued in the same attritional vein, gliding his middle finger between where he felt the seam of your folds through your dress, “Makin’ you wait up, wasn’t too kind of me, huh, baby?”

“D-Don’t mind,” you shuddered, just as the tip of his pointer finger found your clit and made a circle around it with the other two—a torturous loop that lacked just enough pressure to make it feel really good, and teased.

You would’ve liked to press on, were it not for him, again:

“Aw, hell, honey.”

Your eyes snapped open, and fear seized you momentarily. Had something gone wrong?

Instead, when you glanced between your legs, you saw a stain—a crude Rorschach-looking splotch in its place. With all rational thought currently suspended and your brain in a primal fog of just wanting to fuck, you groaned.

“Joel, please.”

You know what to do. You know what you’re doing.

Joel continued to carry on as though he hadn’t heard you. He rubbed the wet spot even harder with his middle finger and let out the faintest trace of condescension with his breath, fanning warmly across your cheek. It was as though you could feel his big, stupid mouth forming a grin behind your head that made you purse your lips together and force back a whimper when he pressed.

“Left a real mess missin’ me here,” he chided, voice low, “Poor thing hasn’t been fucked in…what, twelve hours?”

You imagined the spot growing larger, gaining warmth and wetness and slick from the timbre of Joel’s voice alone. Nevermind the fact he was practically smearing it all through your panties, through your dress; you’d be soaking his hand in a puddle if he didn’t let up soon.

“Then fuck it again,” you gritted, hips stirring.

“But you’re so busy watchin’ your new man, I—”

At the last, you bucked pathetically against Joel’s hand.

“Don’t want him, Joel,” you moaned, “I need you.”

With what little strength you had left, you tried to turn your body to face the man behind you. He didn’t let you.

In fact, his hold constricted all the more unforgiving, and his right arm curled around your front from underneath you while his left hand took the plunge beneath your dress, finally. It was as torturous as it was fused with any pleasure, though, as his fingers made a pass through your panties, between your folds, and into your heat with little warning at all. Just a kiss to your cheek and then two thick fingers working inside your cunt all at once. You writhed at the stretch, and Joel nosed you again.

“I said you’re busy, baby,” he shushed, “Keep watchin’.”

Keep watching.

Like that wasn’t the most nonsensical instruction he’d ever given you, with his arm twisted over your front and his face in your hair and his fingers pumping in and out.

In and out.

“Don’t care about the fuckin’ show, Joel,” you keened.

He brushed the heel of his palm against your clit, and you could’ve cried from the sheer influx of pleasure.

“Sure you do, sweet pea, you’ve just been so—”

Joel pressed another kiss to your cheek and kept going.

“—busy, lately, it’s only fair I get to have my way, hm?”

Oh.

You hadn’t heard his belt come undone. You were so focused on your own pleasure, and getting it fast, that you hadn’t stopped to consider for a moment whether Joel might be testing his ‘free pass’ after all this time.

And, as if to dispel any doubts, Joel kissed your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby, let me use this pussy how I need to.”

He couldn’t have made your body any more pliant and willing than if your limbs had been made of wax.

It was all happening like a dream, almost too good to be a real, flesh and bones man with his hand in your panties, your man, pulling the fabric aside and making you lie on your side while he tapped the head of himself right there.

The hand that had once been toying with your clit was now lifting your knee, parting your legs to make space for him behind you, just outside of you—sliding his dick back and forth at first while he left trails of kisses down your skin. You could cum from the friction of that alone, the little squelches of his skin on yours and the fact that you weren’t in a bed, for once, and he was doing it now. He was making use of your body and cherishing it whole.

In spite of that gaping chasm between you in strength and size, he was obeisant, in a way. Painstakingly slow.

“This okay, baby? Can daddy fuck you right here?”

Joel pressed the head of his cock right against the weeping ring of muscles, felt it pulse against him, and groaned. He let just the cusp of your folds suck him in, forming the slightest, shallowest ‘o,’ only for him to retreat, moving his dick back up and down your slit.

You’d already cried and told him, yes, yes, you can fuck me there, daddy, please—but Joel was too busy tilting your head back up to the screen. Making you open your eyes and watch the show, loath as you were to focus on anything else but the soft, steady brush of his member.

“Remember, hon, you gotta stay focused,” he said, too sweet, “Chin up and keep those legs spread for daddy.”

They were. You were. Your head was up, just barely, and your eyes were nearly brimming with tears from just how badly you needed him inside you. You whined when he kissed the side of your mouth, but loved it all the same because it made you feel safe where you were. At ease.

Joel held you open for him, the shelf of his belly nudging at the small of your back and only pressing harder as he sank in deeper. It was a sensation that felt almost foreign, the first inches he’d breached, as he filled you from a new angle and held you close, you whimpered.

“Fuck, that pussy stretches out so nice for me,” Joel let out in a groan, “Feels like she’s made just for me, huh?”

At that, you felt a hand pinch both of your cheeks, forcing your mouth in a little pout as you nodded fiercely.

“Y-Yes, daddy, she’s made for you, all for you.”

One inch retreating, three more pushing in. Joel’s breath was hot on your ear again, and you could feel the soft grey tufts of hair on his tummy fold into themselves against your back as he pushed even deeper. His cock parted the insides of your walls and fucked you open like it was nothing at all. Your eyes stayed fastened on the television screen, but, frankly there wasn’t a thing on the LED display that was registering more than a passing thought. You felt the hand on your face squeeze even tighter, then release. Then your head was tilting sideways of its own volition, and your body was not—being moved by Joel’s gentle thrusts now—and your lips somehow met his in a kiss. One of his moans bled into your mouth.

“Look so. damn. pretty. when you’re like this,” he panted, “Never look better than when you’re fucked out on this cock, don’t ya, sweet pea? Nod your head and tell me.”

You nodded. You told him. Or whimpered it, anyway.

It was exactly the same and somehow nothing like you’d felt with him before: a new place, a new position, but then just the way you were letting him have you was a territory left entirely uncharted for you both. He could take, and take, and take, keep fucking you until his old joints gave out, and you were a vessel for that pleasure. Your body was limp; Joel’s frame was imposing and always holding you up, milking from your cunt what he needed and always praising you for how good it felt.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, words like syrup. Then, each new one punctuated with a thrust as he sped up, “Gonna let daddy cum inside this tight little pussy?”

And, to his shock and yours, the hole he’d been using all this time grew wetter, more slick, then was pulsing with arousal as an influx of pleasure washed over your body—your brain had barely registered his words before the rest of you was making an even bigger mess of it, welcoming Joel deeper each time as your cunt spasmed over again.

Pressed into the sofa with your hips tilted down, now, you didn’t need to supply a verbal answer, just pulling Joel closer and pleading in broken moans to paint you white inside. He, like you, probably couldn’t have kept it from coming out if he tried. His hands were gripping your body, pushing you down with the weight of his grasp and his thrusts and feeling too fucked out to even know how much of himself he was pouring inside you as he came.

But it filled you to the hilt, all the way down his length.

In fact, there was a moment Joel feared he might’ve stuffed you more full of cum than you could take. You’d just barely come down, still moaning and shaking and dripping with more nectar than you’d ever felt before.

Joel tried to wipe the pussydrunk look from his eyes—terrible and greedy and wanting to see what he’d left—and he was just about to pull out to make sure you were alright, when he felt something grip him. On him and around him, pinching his wrist and squeezing his length inside you, you couldn’t help but turn back to face him.

Your eyes were smiling again.

One hand had just started to inch up his arm, kneading the flesh like you needed something from him then too. Only now your gaze was drifting down to the place where your body and his were still joined, and from that look, Joel sensed there had to be a lot of him there—which is why he was shocked when next you said sweetly, softly,

“Can I have a little more, daddy?”

#UNFORTUNATELY...................I’M INTO THIS 😔#LIKE DISGUSTINGLY SO #AND I’M SORRY IF YOU’RE NOT BUT I NEED TO BE WEIRD FOR A SECOND #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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yuujispinkhair · 2 months ago

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Cowboy Sukuna (Part 1)

Sukuna became a cowboy so he wouldn't have to let anyone tell him what to do. And because he wanted to put some distance between himself and his little brother so Sukuna wouldn't drag him into his mess. Sukuna is made for the lonesome cowboy life. He doesn't need anyone by his side. He isn't looking for love. At least that's what he thinks until he meets you, a pretty girl in a flowery dress and cowboy boots who somehow knows how to tear Sukuna's walls down.

Cowboy!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Cowboy AU, fluff + smut Word Count: 7.5k Playlist: Cowboy Sukuna Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol, fistfights, blood. Minors don't interact. This story is inspired by @sweetlandspos fanart of Cowboy Sukuna (also this is the selfie he sends Reader). I saw him and fell in love, and I just HAD to write a story about this sexy cowboy. Divider @/benkeibear. The art in the header was used with permission from @/sweetlandspos

Sukuna grew up thinking he belonged nowhere. He can't even remember his dad and his mama didn't want him either. He was raised by his grandpa, but Sukuna was a wild one, a rebel and troublemaker, famous in his small town but for all the wrong reasons. He got all those tattoos when he was far too young, got into all those fistfights, broke all those hearts, and even got into trouble with the cops once. His gramps told Sukuna he was a bad influence on his little brother, so when Sukuna was old enough, he left it all behind and bought this old ranch in the middle of nowhere.

He renovated the old farmhouse all by himself and built his own life out here. A life he could be proud of. It's a lonely life. No wife, no kids, not even a girlfriend. Just Sukuna and his dog and horse and the cows. And lots of hard work. But it's what Sukuna tells himself he wants. The bad boy cowboy never even considered getting married. He doesn't think he is made for love. He isn't even sure he deserves it or is capable of it. Sukuna enjoys life out here in the middle of nowhere and tells himself he doesn't need anyone by his side, anyway.

If he wants to fuck, he can drive to town and flirt his way into some pretty girl's bed. It's never anything serious. Just a few hours of fun and then Sukuna is gone again. No goodbye kiss, no exchange of phone numbers. The only thing he leaves behind are some muddy bootprints on her front porch, and some cigarette ash flicked out of his car window.

Sukuna doesn't expect to ever find love or even want to find it. And he certainly doesn't think that he will meet his future wife on a random Tuesday morning in the shabby old hardware store he has been frequenting for years.

He got into his pickup truck at sunrise, driving several hours to the small town to buy some things in the hardware store, and that's where he runs into you, a sweet little thing in a flowery dress and pretty cowboy boots, wringing your hands nervously when Sukuna has some questions regarding the pond supplies he wants to buy.

He grins at you, taking his cowboy hat off and nodding at you respectfully, all polite because contrary to what he looks like with all his tattoos and the intimidating height and muscular build, he can be a gentleman if he wants to, and you seem like such a sweetheart, Sukuna thinks you deserve his best charming self.

You tell him it's your first day working here and you have to check with your boss. You apologize profusely to Sukuna, and he can't stop the smirk from spreading over his tattooed face because you are so damn cute.

He tells you, "It's okay, ma'am, I have time.", and watches you get all flustered before you hurry to the back of the store.

You return a few minutes later with a warm smile on your face and answer Sukuna's questions, showing him around and also helping him pick some other things he says he needs (which he doesn't, but he likes the way you smile at him and the way your sweet flowery perfume fills his nose anytime you move).

You even insist on helping him load the items into his pickup truck,

"See it as compensation for my earlier lack of fishing pond knowledge."

And Sukuna laughs and thanks you,

"There is nothing you have to compensate for. I am very pleased with your service."

He eyes the nameplate attached to your dress and addresses you by your name, letting it roll off his tongue in his low, velvety voice that he knows girls find sexy. Sukuna can see that you are affected by his charm, and he grins broadly at you when he tips his cowboy hat in a farewell. And you smile so sweetly at him, and Sukuna is pretty sure you really mean it when you tell him to come back again soon.

Sukuna is back in town only a week later, picking up a new saddle he ordered at the local saddler, but he drives past the hardware store on his way back, and something makes him slow down, makes him take one last deep drag from his cigarette and then flick the cigarette butt out the open window before Sukuna pulls into the small parking lot.

Sukuna tells himself it's a good idea to have a little look around when he already made the long drive into town anyway. He could use a new toolbox. The old one is still functioning, but this new one comes with a sweet girl in a cute little skirt and those shiny cowboy boots. Sukuna spends thirty minutes in the little shop until he finally sees you coming out from the back.

Your gaze meets his, and he sees the way your eyes widen just as Sukuna grins at you, tipping his cowboy hat in greeting and casually strolling over to you.

You smile brightly at him, remembering him (Of course you do. Sukuna knows he always leaves an impression), greeting him by his name, and asking him how you can be of help.

Sukuna cocks his head, a lazy smirk spreading over his handsome, tattooed face, letting his gaze travel over your pretty face and cute curves, thinking that he definitely knows some things you could help him with. He is pretty sure he could have you in his truck in no time at all, his calloused hands slipping under your cute little skirt while your pretty mouth moans his name. But something makes him hold back.

It's untypical for Sukuna. He drove all the way to town and will only be here for a few hours. Usually, he makes good use of that time to get his fill of some sweet pussy wrapped around his cock to keep him satisfied for the long lonely nights to come once he is back home again, riding over the plains, herding his cows.

But Sukuna looks at your sweet smile and your genuine kindness, and it doesn't feel right to only fuck you and then leave again to never see you again.

And so Sukuna doesn't try to get under your skirt but instead leans down to grin at you and ask you to help him pick a nice new toolbox.

He walks out of the store an hour later, not just with a new toolbox but also a new BBQ grill, some lawn chairs, and a saddle bag he could have gotten in much better quality at the saddler he just came from. But it's okay because it meant that he could spend a whole hour with you in the shitty little hardware store, letting you show him around, talking to him in your sweet voice with the thick accent, while Sukuna watched your little skirt sway around your knees.

You accompany him to his truck again, and Sukuna smirks at you like the devil that he is, asking in a teasing voice,

"Is this some new service your store offers? Helping every customer load their stuff into their cars? Or is this a special service just for me?"

His smirk grows bigger when he sees how flustered you get once again, and he adds,

"No need to get all shy on me, sweetheart. I like being your favorite customer."

You giggle nervously but smile that bright smile at him again and quickly ask him where he lives and what he's doing for a living. And Sukuna laughs and points at his cowboy hat,

"This is what I'm doing. The hat isn't just a sexy accessory."

"Oh? So you're really a cowboy?"

"Yeah, as real as you can meet one. I have my own ranch a few hours from here. Just me and my animals."

You smile at him, getting a slightly dreamy look in your eyes, telling him,

"That sounds nice."

Sukuna doesn't know why his chest feels so fluttery and warm the whole drive home. He even catches himself humming along softly to one of those stupid, catchy lovesongs playing on the country station on his shitty old car radio.

Cowboy Sukuna doesn't know what it is, but lately, he keeps coming to town more often than usual. It's Friday night, and he's sitting in the small bar with the roses on the wooden sign above the old-fashioned saloon doors.

Sukuna is drinking whiskey with some rancher who wants to buy several cows from him, when Sukuna suddenly sees you. All pretty and sexy without knowing it, in your blue jeans and the cropped blouse, laughing unrestrainedly with your girls after a long work day.

Sukuna can't take his eyes off you. He watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, feeling that strange warmth in his chest again. He's about to put his glass down and walk over to you when he sees a guy bump into you.

The asshole is acting as if it was by accident, but he is far too handsy for Sukuna's taste. Standing much too close to you, his shoulders brushing against yours, his mouth at your ear, saying something to you.

Sukuna grits his teeth.

You smile politely at the guy, laughing awkwardly, not at all like when you laugh with Sukuna. You are uncomfortable. That much is clear to see, but Sukuna can tell you are a good girl who was taught to always be nice and polite, even to that guy with the grabby hands. That pathetic worm puts a hand on your hip, and Sukuna sees red.

He slams his whiskey glass down on the table and crosses the small bar in a few large steps, grabbing that handsy guy and pulling him off you with an angry growl. Sukuna slams him into the wall, glaring at him, his voice low and dangerous,

"Get your dirty hands off her, or I'll fucking kill you!"

Your wide, surprised eyes stare at Sukuna, and that nameless guy screams and tries to punch him, but Sukuna just laughs about the pathetic attempt and drags him further away from you, grabbing him by the collar as Sukuna's right fist connects with the asshole's face.

Sukuna has always been good at fistfights. He is a rough guy, a dirty fighter, sadistic when someone pisses him off. He tried to stay out of trouble those last few years, but tonight, he is not restraining his anger, not when it comes to protecting you.

He smirks devilishly at the guy when that asshole manages to land a hit on Sukuna's face. It just manages to rile Sukuna up even more. He laughs and taunts that loser for hitting like a little boy before Sukuna attacks again and sends the guy tumbling to the floor with the next hard punch.

It's then that your small, soft hands wrap around Sukuna's tattooed biceps, and your sweet voice says his name with so much worry that it makes Sukuna stop going after that guy on the floor. He just jerks his head at the guy, telling him to get lost,

"If you know what's good for you, you better stay a mile away from that sweet lady in the future. Now apologize to her."

And the guy scrambles to his feet, mumbling a sorry before he flees from the bar and from Sukuna.

Sukuna slowly turns around, running a tattooed hand through his pink hair. He wipes his split lip on his sleeve, gives you a lopsided grin, and asks if you are okay.

And you stare at him with big, worried eyes, taking in the blood on his tattooed face, but a small smile plays around your lips as you tell Sukuna,

"Thank you for getting him away from me. I am fine... but what about you? Your lip... let me fix that, please."

You take Sukuna's large hand in your smaller one, tugging gently on it, and Sukuna follows you out of the bar.

You lead him down the road to your small house, inviting him in, not to have sex with him, but to patch him up, and somehow it feels a lot more intimate than all the times combined that Sukuna went home with another girl.

You are so sweet to him, scolding him for getting into a fight and getting himself hurt, but your fingers are so gentle when you wipe the blood off Sukuna's face and put a band-aid on his split lip. You smile softly as you trace the tattoos on Sukuna's jaw with your fingers and whisper a thank you to him.

"Thank you for protecting me from that guy and teaching him a lesson. You're a good guy."

And Sukuna laughs roughly, grinning at you and shaking his head,

"That's a first. Usually, I get called the opposite."

And you laugh with him, your soft fingers still cupping his chin and touching his tattoos oh so gently, insisting that even though he looks like a bad boy, Sukuna seems really nice.

Sukuna is so close to just pulling you on his lap and kissing you, but he refrains from doing it. Because he knows where it would lead, and for once in his life, Sukuna doesn't want a one-night stand. He doesn't want to fuck you and then drive back to his life out on the ranch to never see you again.

He doesn't want that with you. He wants to see you again, and he wants to take things slow. He wants to court you in an old-fashioned way.

Sukuna eats the homemade pie you bring him and drinks the coffee you insist he should drink before he drives back home. He thanks you politely for playing nurse for him and for feeding him, looking at you with the most charming smile he can give you with his split lip. And you tell him he is welcome and that he knows now where to find you if he ever needs someone to patch him up again.

Sukuna returns a week later to the hardware store, not because he needs to buy anything, but for you. He sees you smile when you spot him leaning casually against a wooden fence display, twirling his cowboy hat in his fingers and smirking that lazy grin at you.

You only have eyes for him, forgetting what you want to say to the customers you are serving. Looking at them in confusion and stuttering an excuse before your gaze wanders back to Sukuna. And Sukuna's smirk grows bigger.

He didn't even dress nice. He is just wearing his typical black jeans and cowboy boots, and one of the flannel shirts he always wears on the ranch. But he knows he looks good anyway. Sukuna knows the ladies love his handsome face and his tall and strong body with all those well-defined muscles from all the hard work. And his pink hair and tattoos are very popular with the country girls, too. They all get weak in the knees for a bad boy like Sukuna.

But somehow, he doesn't want to be a bad boy when it comes to you. A strange warmth spreads through Sukuna's chest when you leave the other customers standing and come over to him with that big smile on your pretty face, greeting him and telling him that it's nice to see him again.

No, Sukuna doesn't want to be an asshole or a bad boy when it comes to you. He wants to be a good man for you. He is polite to you, sweet, and respectful. A true cowboy and gentleman.

He grins his boyish grin at you, cocking his head and drawls,

"I thought I should stop by to check on you. Make sure there aren't any weird guys I have to fistfight for you."

Sukuna flirts with you and makes you laugh and giggle until your boss gives you side eyes and informs you that you shouldn't pester customers. But Sukuna turns to the man, towering over him,

"She is just helping me decide which products to buy. You shouldn't berate her but rather give her a raise. This sweet lady is the best thing about this shitty store. The only reason I keep coming back."

You burst out laughing the moment your boss has left and Sukuna thinks his stomach has never felt so fluttery. He asks you when your shift is over and if he can take you out for dinner. He is delighted when you say yes.

Sukuna waits until your shift is over and then leads you to his old pickup truck, holding open the door for you, giving you a hand, and helping you climb into it. His hand rests a bit longer than necessary on the small of your back, but you don't seem to mind.

He takes you to a cozy little restaurant that he has been to several times before. Always alone because Sukuna never went on dates in the past. But the elderly lady who owns the restaurant always tells Sukuna that she knows the type of cowboy Sukuna is from the time when she was still a young girl.

"Oh, I have had several boys like you in my life. Y'all are such handsome devils, but always breaking hearts everywhere you go because you are always running from something, and you don't even know from what. I wish for you to find the right girl one day. And if you do, bring her here."

And now Sukuna is here with you, walking into the restaurant with his arm wrapped lightly around you, catching the knowing gaze of the old lady behind the counter. She leads the two of you to a table on the patio, all romantic with wildflowers in a mason jar and fairy lights overhead.

Sukuna has never been on a real date, but he likes this. He likes to be here with you, chat with you, laugh with you, and hold your hand on the table, watching his long tattooed fingers interlace with your smaller ones, which feel so soft.

The hours slip by without either of you noticing how late it is.

When it is time to bring you home, Sukuna drives you to your house, parks the truck in front of it, and turns to you to say the typical flirty stuff that he usually says to girls, but he stops when he sees your smile, and somehow anything he usually says seems so hollow and fake, and it wouldn't be right to say it to you.

Sukuna closes his mouth again, gulping hard, the bad boy cowboy at a loss for words for the first time in his life.

This feeling is new to Sukuna. All of this is new to him. This warmth in his chest and the fluttery feeling in his stomach. And how he is so damn scared to fuck things up and lose you before you even are his.

How can Sukuna even say anything at all to you when everything he wants to tell you is so fucking raw and loaded with feelings he has never felt before? When it all makes him feel so fucking vulnerable?

Like the fact that Sukuna really enjoys spending time with you and that he wants to see you again. Or that he is pretty sure he gets butterflies when hearing your laugh. Or that he never believed in love, but he thinks he is starting to do it now.

He can't say those things, can he?

In the end, it doesn't need any words from him. You smile at him and thank him for the lovely evening, adding a bit shyly that you aren't used to going on dates, and then stutter because you realize what you said and you are worried that it wasn't really a date and you made a fool of yourself by assuming it was one.

And Sukuna can't help but grin and then do the one thing that will shut you up and hopefully ease your worries:

He kisses you right there in his truck. Cups your chin with his calloused hand and brushes his lips softly over yours. Careful, gentle. Something Sukuna usually isn't, but you bring out some part of him that was dormant until now.

Sukuna wants this kiss to be special. He wants to be gentle with you because you are gentle with him, too. You are sweet and kind. You treat him as if he is deserving of tenderness.

You make a cute, surprised sound, but don't pull away. Instead, your hand lands on Sukuna's neck, caressing the short stubble of his undercut, pulling him closer as your lips begin to move against his, too, and Sukuna can't help but smile into the sweetest kiss he ever had.

When the two of you pull apart again, Sukuna smiles at you, a genuine, soft smile, and tells you,

"It was absolutely a date. And I had a lovely evening, too, princess. Let me take you out to dinner again soon."

Sukuna watches you get out of his truck and walk to your front door. He lifts a hand to give you a little wave when you turn around in the open doorway to smile at him once again, whisper-shouting to him that you wish him a safe drive home.

Sukuna stays in his truck outside your house until the light in your living room goes on, and he knows you are safe and sound before he finally pulls out of your driveway and makes his long way home, his thoughts filled with your smile and the taste of your sweet lips and tongue in his mouth.

Sukuna stays true to the promise he made to himself and really takes things slow with you. He has to work anyway, look after his ranch, fix some fences, and ride across the plains, where he meets no other human being for several days. But you are on his mind the whole time.

He sends you pictures from his rides when he is lucky and gets a signal. Selfies of him on horseback, grinning at you with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. And some pics of some of his cows, smiling when you ask for their names.

"They don't have names. I just numbered them. But you can give them names if you like, sweetheart."

And you do. You send Sukuna the stupidest names you can think of, and he can't stop grinning,

"I sure hope you won't be in charge of naming any kids."

"Well, I will let their daddy help choose the names if he has such a problem with my name-giving skills."

And Sukuna's head spins at the implication. You're a tease in such a sweet way, and it drives him completely insane.

But Sukuna knows he drives you crazy for him, too. He knows that as much as you like the normal pictures he sends you, you also love the thirst traps he blesses you with.

The pictures where he is shirtless, all his tattoos and defined muscles on display for you, sweat glistening on his strong body, his faded, ripped jeans sitting low on his hips and doing nothing to hide the massive bulge throbbing in them.

You send him pictures, too, not as shameless as the thirst traps Sukuna sends you, but enough to drive him crazy. He has never held himself back so long, but damn, he thinks you are worth all the hard-ons he has and only his own hand to take care of them. Sure, Sukuna could drive to the next bar and find a random girl to ease that pressure, but he doesn't want it. There is only one girl he wants.

Sukuna can wait. He knows you are worth it.

And as much as he wants to have you under him, leaving scratches on his back and squealing his name in pleasure, he also wants to just talk to you or maybe take you on a little ride on his horse.

He calls you every night just to hear your voice and ask about your day, laughing about all the rude customers at the hardware store. Sukuna asks you what you had for dinner and listens to all the latest gossip your mama told you. Sometimes, he falls asleep while listening to your sweet voice and sees a text from you in the morning telling him that he sounds cute when he snores.

Maybe that's ruining the bad-boy reputation that Sukuna has all over your small town, but he doesn't give a fuck. You can see this other side of him. You are the exception, and he finds that he likes that.

Sukuna visits the town as often as his ranch duties allow so he can take you on dates. Sometimes, he drives his old pickup truck, but sometimes, he takes his motorcycle, grinning at you when he parks it in front of your house and takes off his helmet, running a hand through his ruffled hair to smooth it down again, and telling you to come hop on so he can take you on a ride. And you raise an eyebrow jokingly,

"When you said you are a cowboy, I pictured a guy on a real horse..."

And there is this happy sparkle in your eyes, and that sweet laugh falling from your lips. And fuck, Sukuna knows he is a lost man.

He grins back at you, leaning down to greet you with a slow, deep kiss before he holds out his helmet to you,

"This cowboy will let you ride his horse soon, too, but for now, let me show you a bit more horsepower."

Sukuna loves the feeling of your body snuggling against his back, your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, your hands caressing his chest and his abs through his shirt, and your loud, excited laugh when Sukuna accelerates his bike and speeds down the dirt road leading to nowhere, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt behind.

Sukuna parks his motorcycle at a pretty pond and spreads out a picnic blanket in the grass. The two of you sit down to eat something, but it only takes a few minutes before the snacks are forgotten, and Sukuna rolls on top of you and kisses you until he feels dizzy, and you sigh into his mouth.

When you look up at him and touch his face, trace his tattoos with your fingertips, and smile at him, Sukuna knows that he has never been this genuinely happy in his life. But at the same time, it scares him. It terrifies him to feel so much.

He strolls down to the pond, smoking a cigarette while looking over the smooth surface of the water, trying to calm down and stop his fears from swallowing him. Trying to stop that voice in his head that whispers to him that this cowboy should do what he is best at and just run and isolate himself and live his life in solitude.

But your sweet laugh carries to Sukuna's ears as you run towards him, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. Your small hand wraps around his tattooed biceps, and you lean against his side,

"Hey cowboy, come back. I have some homemade lemonade and cake in my bag."

Sukuna turns his head to look at you, at the way you tilt your head to smile up at him, eyes full of affection. How could he walk away from this? Yeah, he is scared out of his mind of all those feelings, but he would regret it even more if he ran.

He blows out his cigarette smoke slowly as a lazy grin spreads over his face, and he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead.

"Homemade lemonade? You sure know the way to my heart, huh, princess?"

He lets you take his hand and pull him back to the picnic blanket, sipping your lemonade and letting you climb in his lap and feed him the cake you baked for him, and Sukuna wraps his arms around your waist, capturing your lips in a sweet, sexy kiss, hoping you can understand the silent promises his tongue writes against yours.

All the words he doesn't dare say out loud because they scare him. But Sukuna knows it's you for him. He knows that he wants by his side. He knows you are his girl and hopes he is your boy, too. He hopes he is a man who is deserving of you and your sweetness. Sukuna promises you silently that he will work damn hard to be that man.

It takes weeks before the two of you have sex.

Sukuna takes you on another date with his old truck this time, driving far out to watch the stars with you and lying in the bed of his truck with you in his arms.

He brought you flowers. The wild ones which grow on his ranch because he feels like you enjoy them more than the ones from the flower shops, and it makes him happy to see you with something from his life.

You thanked him with a sweet kiss and put some of the flowers in your hair, laughing when they fell out again, and Sukuna picked them up again and tucked them behind your ear.

And now those flowers are already out of your hair again, strewn all over the truck bed because the two of you are so lost in your deep tongue kisses and the feeling of your bodies grinding against each other.

The flowers are forgotten, just like the stars above. The only thing you know is each other's mouths and hands that tug on each other's clothes, craving more, needing skin-on-skin contact.

Sukuna's shirt has been long gone, and yours too, leaving you only in your lacey bra and the little skirt, driving Sukuna crazy. Your hands explore the naked skin of his broad back and his biceps, and your lips trail sweet kisses down Sukuna's neck, leaving your lipstick marks on him.

And Sukuna licks and kisses the swell of your breasts above your bra, finally pulling the pretty lacey thing down to reveal your even prettier tits. He sucks one nipple into his warm mouth as he looks up at your face, grinning when he sees your eyelashes flutter and hears the cute little noises you make for him.

You straddle Sukuna's lap, smiling at him with desire burning in your eyes while your small hands wander a bit shyly over his tattooed chest, and Sukuna thinks he will lose his mind if he doesn't finally take you.

He flips you over on your back, pushes his head under your skirt, and eats you out until your legs are shaking and your hands tug on his pink hair, and you cry out his name into the night.

You look up at Sukuna with parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes as you unbutton his jeans and get his achingly hard cock out, stroking him lovingly while you tell him to please make you his girl.

Sukuna has held back for so long but cannot do it anymore. Not when you look at him like that and stroke his cock like that and ask him to claim you. He pushes you down on the truck bed, his arms on each side of your head, his heavy body on top of yours, his lips claiming yours in a possessive, hungry kiss at the same time as his cock claims your sweet, warm pussy.

He takes you with hard, rough thrusts, fucking you almost feverishly once he feels your warm pussy around his cock. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna apologizes for the way he fucks. For his roughness, for his strength. But you cling to him and moan his name and tell him it's okay and that you want him exactly like this.

You leave scratches on Sukuna's back, and he fucks his seed into you over and over again. The two of you can't get enough of each other that night, making out and fucking in various positions until the sky becomes pink with the approaching sunrise, and both of you are sated and exhausted, and you slump against Sukuna's body, hugging him, pressing your tits firmly against his tattooed chest as his spent cock softens gradually inside you.

Sukuna lets his head fall back on the truck bed, his large hands lazily caressing your back, and he looks up at the sky that brings a new morning, thinking that it feels like it's a whole new life that is beginning today.

He drives you back to town an hour later, stealing glances at you the whole drive long, one tattooed hand resting on your naked thigh under your skirt, and your small hand lands on top of Sukuna's, caressing the back of his hand while you sing along to the country songs on the radio. Sukuna can't stop grinning the whole time.

But even after you start to have sex with each other, you still take time to get to know each other even better. It's fun and sexy but also deep and meaningful, and Sukuna catches himself being more open with you than he ever was with anyone before.

He tells you the truth when you ask about his family, tells you that it's messy, that he can't even remember his dad, and that his mama didn't want him either. He tells you about his little brother, who he hasn't seen in many years because Sukuna ran from home the moment he was 18. He confesses all the shit he did. All the stupid things a rebellious teenage Sukuna got involved in. All the trouble and pain he caused his family. All the regrets he has, when he looks back at his former life now.

And you take his large hand into both of yours and hold it so gently, and smile that sweet smile at him, telling him that sometimes families simply are like that. A mess.

You tell him that you like him the way he is, with all his rough edges, and that you wish Sukuna had more love in his life when he needed it the most as a child.

"But you have me now, Kuna. And I will make sure you don't feel alone."

You tear down his walls so easily, break him in the most beautiful way, and build him up again, even stronger than before, because now Sukuna knows what it feels like to be loved.

And Sukuna says those famous three words for the first time in his life.

He pulls you to him, holds you in his arms, and rests his chin on your head, swaying you softly from side to side as he murmurs those words into your hair, words he never thought he would say,

"I love you. And I want to be with you. I know it's hard to love a man like me, but I want this to work. I want you. I want us. And I will work hard for it."

He thinks he will melt when you tell him you love him too and that there is nothing hard about loving him at all.

For the first time in his life, Sukuna stays in someone's bed the whole night.

The two of you kiss at your front door, and you gently pull him inside. You kiss and laugh and playfully tease each other all the way to your bedroom, undressing each other on the way, leaving behind a trail of clothes on your floor.

You call him baby, and Sukuna thinks he will go crazy. He picks you up and carries you the rest of the way until he lays you down on your bed, his lips never leaving yours.

You don't fuck that night but make love, nice and slow. You look so beautiful lying under Sukuna, your face so close to his, your small hands caressing his biceps and his muscular back while Sukuna takes you with slow, deep thrusts, unable to tear his gaze away from you and the love in your eyes when you whisper his name.

Sukuna tells you he loves you again when he is about to cum, and it feels more intense than anything else he has ever experienced. Especially when he feels you cum on his cock, too, sobbing his name and returning the "I love you" several times while you shudder in pleasure beneath him.

Sukuna doesn't let go of you the whole night. He lets you use his chest as your pillow, wraps you in his strong arms, and holds you. The wild, freedom-loving cowboy who usually runs, suddenly all tame.

Sukuna thinks he is right where he should be. He wants to stay forever in your bed and in your arms, holding the girl he loves.

Of course, a cowboy like Sukuna has to leave again in the morning. His ranch needs him. There are miles and miles of fences to fix, horses to train, and cattle to herd. But Sukuna promises to call you every night.

"And if I don't have a signal, I want you to know that I will still think of you, okay princess? Let's make a deal. Every night at ten pm, I want you to look at the sky. And I'll do the same, wherever I am, and imagine you are by my side."

And he laughs softly and hugs you to his strong body, adding,

"I will think about you every second of the day anyway. And I am damn sure you can't get me out of your mind either, huh?"

He winks at you and grins his boyish grin, and you chuckle and get on your tiptoes to kiss his grin off him.

Before Sukuna drives off, you give him a leather cord with a small charm in the form of a horseshoe, telling him you saw it on the farmers market last weekend and thought of him.

"I want to give it to you because I hope it will bring you luck and keep you safe out there on all those lonely nights and long rides."

And Sukuna leaves his bandana at your place,

"So you have something to remind you of me while I am away, princess. Wear it around your pretty throat to keep the chilly winds away and to think of your favorite cowboy."

Sukuna calls you every day just like he promised.

But out here on the plains, where Sukuna is on horseback, with only his dog running along beside him, his life still feels lonely. This solitude used to be something Sukuna chose willingly for himself. Something he thought was the only life that was right for a man like him.

But now Sukuna feels this longing inside his chest, and the questions keep filling his mind. Does a cowboy really have to be alone? Does Sukuna really have to be alone?

His ranch and his life out here are the last parts of him, which Sukuna hasn't opened to you yet. It seemed too risky to bring you here, too intimate. This is the place, after all, where Sukuna fled to so he wouldn't hurt his little brother anymore. A place he used to see as some kind of fortress that kept other people safe from Sukuna and also kept him safe from feeling too much. A place where he was free from all the complications of human interactions.

But things have changed, haven't they?

Sukuna visits you as often as he can, and he catches himself telling you more about his everyday life as a cowboy while watching you closely for your reactions. He tells you what he loves about his life on the ranch, tells you that it is a lot of hard work and that it can be tough at times, but that it is also peaceful, and that he likes that he is free out there.

"I like that I am my own boss because I really don't do well with people trying to tell me what to do."

And you laugh and roll your eyes, and Sukuna grins at you with a wink and adds,

"Well, you are the exception, baby."

And as teasing and light-hearted as it sounds, Sukuna knows that he is telling the truth. He doesn't mind if you tell him what to do. He doesn't mind if he has to take responsibility for his actions. Not when it comes to you.

You beam at him and kiss his tattooed cheek and ask in that sweet voice,

"Will you finally show me your ranch, Sukuna?"

And he knows what you are really asking is for Sukuna to finally let you in. To let this last wall tumble to the ground and allow you into his life in every way.

Sukuna feels strangely nervous when driving you to his ranch. But not because he is scared of losing his last refuge. He is nervous because he is worried you won't like the life out here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but endless miles of uninhabited land around you and only Sukuna and his animals to keep you company.

Sukuna hopes you will like it. Because there is this small voice in his mind that whispers to him, "I want her to stay."

Sukuna watches you carefully while he shows you around his small ranch, showing you the old farmhouse he renovated, the barn he built with his own hands, and the stables he gave a new paint and a modern interior.

Relief floods Sukuna's chest when he sees the genuine smile on your pretty face and the joy when you pet his favorite horse. You turn to him, telling him that you love his ranch and praising him for turning an old abandoned farm into this pretty place.

"You are so passionate about the things you want, Sukuna, and you work hard for them. That's an admirable trait. This place is beautiful."

Sukuna smirks proudly at you, feeling this warmth in his chest again. He wraps a strong, tattooed arm around your waist and pulls you against him. And he knows exactly what he wants.

"This place is even more beautiful with you here. You remember what I said about enjoying my freedom out here? I feel free with you by my side, too. It doesn't feel like I am giving anything up when I am with you. It feels like I am gaining something."

There are happy tears shining in your eyes when you look up at him, and you smile and put a small hand on Sukuna's defined chest, right where his heart is beating strong and fast,

"I would love to live here with you, cowboy. I could help you with the crops and make sure you always have something warm to eat when you come home in the evening. I could even help with the horses and the cows, I think. And I can keep you company out here and keep you warm at night."

Sukuna doesn't believe in a God, but he thinks some kind of higher power or fate or whatever must have finally blessed him. Must have finally allowed a fallen angel like him some sort of heaven, too.

Sukuna smiles at you, a gentle, genuine smile that he never gives to anyone else, and he takes his cowboy hat off and puts it carefully onto your head,

"Then welcome to your new home, cowgirl."

SIGHHHHH, this cowboy makes me swoon 😭😭💗💗 I didn't expect this story to become so long, but I just couldn't stop writing. It was one of those moments where Sukuna took things into his hands and made me tell the whole story, and of course I do what my man wants ;)

I hope you enjoyed falling in love with Cowboy!Sukuna, too 💗

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

There will be a Part 2 in which we see our life on Sukuna's ranch.

And once again: Thank you Émilie @sweetlandspos for drawing your beautiful and sexy Cowboy!Sukuna, who inspired me to write this AU!! I hope you find joy in this story!!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n

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activesplooger · 3 months ago

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𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: FINALLY LMFAO. sorry for the wait i got a wee bit busy and took a break so yeah! here you go. btw i suck at smut! enjoy :]

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your boyfriend enters his season! He's constantly in heat and stubbornly won't give in to his desires. As his season ends, you enter estrus, causing a hot sticky mess for the both of you!

𝐂𝐖: breeding kink behavior, possessive behavior, p in v sex, no protection, rough sex, idfk horny-ness 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3,617 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈!

It was no secret that your boyfriend is in his heat season. This became apparent when you were woken by the screeching sound of antlers rutting against the bark of a tree. You look around, the bluriness of the room fading as you wake up a bit more. Lifting your hands to your face, you rub your eyes and groggily turn towards the noise. Your eyes flicker to the bayou section of Alastor's room. Immediately, your previously groggy state disappears, eyes widening at the sight before you. "KRRRRRRRRK KRRRRRRRK KRRRRK KRRR-" "Alastor!" The scraping comes to a sudden halt as you speak. Alastor still had his back facing you hunched over beside the tree, antlers just barely inches away from the torn bark. Nearly every tree in the bayou was scraped bare of its bark, how long had he been doing this for..? Realization hits you like a truck, "Ooohhhh you're in-" "Not a word. I can control it", The Deer demon curtly states, "Go back to bed." You knew he didn't mean to be dismissive, but that didn't prevent the pang of sadness that tugged your lips downward. "Aren't you gonna come back to bed?" Alastor sighs and turns to face you, his hungry eyes boaring into yours. "Go back to bed, I'll join you later.".

Without a word, you lay back down and sigh, trying to go back to sleep without the embrace of your partner. Alastor’s expression softens, he needed some time to work through his season, he never meant to distance himself in the process.

“Goodnight, darling. I love you.”.

A smile spreads across your face, those three little words were all you needed, “I love you too, sweet dreams.”

—

Despite what the demon said, he was anything but in control of it. Alastor desperately tried to remain celibate the next few weeks of his heat season. Which, confused you because it’s not like you hadn’t had sex before or anything. And while it happens sporadically, this seemed like a good occasion to do it. All he’d have to do to get rid of his pestering urges is to fuck you, yet he remained stubborn. What’s holding him back?

When you asked him, he rambled about something along the lines of wanting his desires to be on “his terms”. In other words, he just wanted control. You rolled your eyes at this. All this trouble because of reluctance to give in to an easy-to-fix solution? ‘Whatever, it’s just a few more weeks of this…’ you thought to yourself. He hated how much he needed release, how much he craved and yearned for it. Alastor needed to be the one to decide when and where he’d want to have sex. However, with his current irresistible urges, he needed sex everywhere, all the time. As a result of this, Alastor decided it would be best if he slept in a different room for the time being. Which, again, didn't make any sense. Why couldn't he just fuck you and get it done with? But, nooo he had to be in control 24/7, leaving you lonely in the large desolate bed. You never complained, of course, despite how much you wanted to. It was frustrating sure, but, you know what it's like to be in your season so you kept your mouth shut. It had put some strain on your relationship, however, you knew it would only make things worse if you argued with him. He's tense enough already. Besides, it's only a few months out of the year! You can argue for the rest of eternity after said period. --

As time passed, the deer’s strained behavior only worsened. His animalistic instincts were kicking in and intensified. Let’s be honest, Alastor’s hygiene wasn’t the greatest (especially when it comes to dental hygiene). But, it got exponentially worse when he started smearing mud on himself to 'enhance his scent'. You knew it was all typical heat season behavior, but still, gross.

Possessiveness was another unfortunate symptom of the season. If Alastor saw another male just simply looking at you, he’d take it as a challenge. Large black tentacles would stretch out and slam whoever you were with into the nearest wall. And while, yes, it was nice to have a protective boyfriend, it certainly wasn't nice to have a daily hospital visit and apology card to whoever Alastor felt threatened by. Luckily, the season was almost over! No more hiding from Alastor when talking to another guy and having a smelly boyfriend! Yay! Everything seemed to be clearing up on its own... that was until you entered estrus.

—

“No no… Nonono…”. You mutter as you pace around the room. Just as the season was about over, you just had to enter estrus. Great. Now, not only did Alastor have to suppress his urges, you did too. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t want to tempt Alastor anymore than he already was.

Facing a large full body mirror, you try to to cover up any possible signs that your in your season. Your tail lays flat against your backside, and while that wasn’t the most obvious trait, you knew Alastor would figure you out easily. Pheromones were being released in heavy doses, a scent that could attract a buck from miles away. Luckily for you, Alastor’s taking a visit to the doomsday district to “Blow off some steam.” Phew.

Frantically rummaging through the closet, you look for something, anything that could hide this for him. You didn’t really have anything large enough to hide your tail, and if you did, the imprint of your tail would stick out of the fabric from the back and make it obvious. Crap.

A spare of Alastor’s coat hangs teasingly against on the other side of your shared closet. Temptation sweeps over you, making you realize just how horny you were. Hesitant hands reach out to grab the soft fabric and lift it up to your nose. ‘Fuck… Am I a pervert? Oh well.’ you think to yourself as you inhale Alastor’s scent through the fabric. Bourbon and vanilla scent hits your nose, sending shivers down your spine.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head. You slip your arms into the coat and walk towards the mirror. The coat perfectly hid your tail and Alastor’s lingering musk on the fabric masked the scent of your pheromones. For once in your life, being kind of a pervert paid off! __

Currently, you’re sitting at the bar nursing a drink, trying to ignore how badly you want to be fucked so hard your organs rearrange. As far as hiding your physical symptoms went, it was pretty easy. But the internal turmoil was eating you alive, and not in a sexy way. Every position, sound, scenario, and feeling was being conjured in your mind as you sit there “calmly” on the barstool. Your mind was so preoccupied that you didn’t notice Alastor approaching you.

“You know darling, if you liked my clothes so much you could’ve just said so.” The deer jests.

The sudden noise startles you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “AH!” you practically jump out of your seat before realizing it’s just Alastor, “Oh! Hello love. How was the doomsday district?” His shoulders bob up and down, a soft grin on his lips, "It was fine. Very effective. Perhaps I'll be able to join you in bed tonight.". Fuck. If he slept in your room tonight, the coat will have to come off and all will be revealed. "O-Oh! Are you sure? I don't wanna pressure y-" "Nonsense, dear!" The deer interrupted with a smile, "I've had quite enough time away. I'm sure I'll be fine for a night!" "Yes, but, honey... What if your instincts take over?". You hesitantly try to put the thought of not sleeping together in his head. Alastor waves a dismissive hand, "Nonsense, dear! I'll be alright." "Honey, I don't think this is a good idea-" You stated firmly. His smile strains as his eyebrows furrow, "Why? Is there something you're hiding from me?". "No I-" "Have you grown accustomed to sleeping without me?" he accused. "No, no... Al," you reluctantly begin, "I'd love to sleep beside you again... I just wanted to be sure you were okay with it.". Lies. Well, partly. You did want to cuddle with your partner just... not with the current 'circumstances'. But now you had no choice but to find some way to hide your growing urges and instincts. -- The door shuts behind you as you walk into your room. You feel your heartbeat pick up as your palms start to moisten. 'Deep breaths, Y/N," you think to yourself, 'he won't find out... Just stay calm and act normal.'

The two of you get ready for bed: brushing your teeth (well, you are at least), washing your face, and are currently putting on PJs. You changed in the closet, away from Alastor, which he thankfully paid no mind to. After putting on a lacy nightgown, you hastily throw the coat back over your shoulders. In hindsight, this was definitely a dead giveaway that you were hiding something. But, what choice did you have? Putting on a tranquil facade, you enter the bedroom. Alastor's sitting at the edge of the bed when you walk in, finishing buttoning up his nightshirt. 'Damn, even in pajamas he's still hot as fuck' you think. You ogle at your boyfriend for a moment, heat rising in your chest. "Ah ah, dear, don't look at me like that" He playfully reminds you. His words snap you back into reality, you smile softly at him. "Sorry, sorry!" you stammer. Walking to your side of the bed, you stare directly at the floor as to not get distracted by your growing arousal. 'Keep it together Y/N!'. Alastor's eyebrows furrow, "Darling?". "Yes?" you respond. A sharp red claw gestures to the coat, "Why are you still wearing that?". "Oh!" beads of sweat form on your forehead as you clammer to find some sort of excuse "I justtttt.... get a little chilly at night! Yep, just a case of uh cold-ness... yeah...". 'God damn it... Am I fucking stupid? "Cold-ness" isn't even a word!' you mentally berate yourself. Your boyfriend turns to fully face you on the bed, "And why does it have to be my coat, hm? Can't you use one of yours?". Fidgeting with your hands nervously, you reply, "Well I just like yours! It's nice, it reminds me of you.". "Pray tell, my dear," he begins, "Why must you be reminded of me when I'm right beside you in bed?". You take a deep breath, "Well, in your... 'condition'-". "Watch it, Darling," he warns. "Right right," you sit up straighter as you become more confident in your convoluted excuse, "I just figured you wouldn't be able to handle cuddling me. In fact, you’ll probably just stay on your side of the bed all night. Hence why I wanted the coat". You feel a little prideful at your on-the-spot reasoning… until you see your boyfriend’s expression. Yeahhh, he looked pissed. Alastor's wide grin twitches, "Excuse you, Darling! I am perfectly capable of controlling myself for one night!”. “Well, then why didn’t you sleep in here for a month?!” you retort, immediately regretting it. You weren’t actually mad, just defensive. Oh well, no going back now. "That's it!" He reaches for the sleeve of your coat, pulling on it roughly. "Hey!" you exclaim. Trying (and failing) to yank the sleeve back, the coat flings off your shoulders and into Alastor's tight grip. He discards it on the floor beside the bed. Luckily, he wasn't in a position to notice your tail, however, that didn't affect your boyfriend's sense of smell... Holding his nose high in the air, he takes small quick sniffs near you, his ears twitching at the smell of your pheromones. His pupils dilate to the size of quarters, any restraint he had before was now completely gone, "My dear," He crawls toward you on all fours, making his way across the bed, "I've spent the past few months aching for release, but I've restrained myself...". You inch backward away from him, "Alastor... Be rational... You've tried so hard, I don't want you to regret this.". As soon as you finish speaking, you inch too far off the bed and suddenly fall back, eliciting a yelp. A slender arm reaches out to grab yours, lifting you up and saving you from the fall. Alastor pulls on your arm, lifting you up so that your faces were inches apart. He takes a deep breath in, the scent of pheromones filling his nose. His eyes bore into you with a hungry, desperate, gaze, lips slightly parted as his breath grows heavier. “My dear… I would never regret making love to you… If I did have any regrets, it would be that I didn’t do this sooner…”.

Half lidded eyes meet his lustful gaze, “Your sure about this?”. Alastor’s eyes linger on your lips as he speaks, his voice low and raspy, “I’ve restrained myself for far too long… I would hate to you holding back as well. This has been a long time coming, darling, and now…”. Reaching over, his lips teasingly brush against your ear as he whispers,”I’m taking whats mine.”.

You cradle his face in your hands, thumb brushing over his flushed cheeks. Suddenly, he captures your lips in a firm kiss. The tender kisses turn sloppier, his tongue swiping past your lips asking for entry. As soon as your lips part, his long slender tongue slides against yours. You moan against his lips at the feeling which only fuels his desire more. Intertwining your tongue with his, his hand cards through your hair at the back of your head, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, drawing out a stifled moan from Alastor. You position yourself so you’re straddling his lap, his boner poking against your thigh.

As the two of you make out, you slowly roll your clothed core against the tent in his pants. Alastor pulls back from the kiss, his head jerking down into the crook of your neck. “Darling,” his large hands grip your hips, keeping them from moving, "I have a better idea...". He lifts his head back up and instantly closes the distance between the two of you. Your tongues intertwine and sloppily kiss one another, your lips lubricated with his saliva.

He moves his hands to the straps of your nightgown. The thin silky straps gently pull off your shoulders. Alastor places his palm under your elbow and pushes up gently, a silent way of asking you to put your arms up. You oblige and lift your arms followed by Alastor briefly breaking the kiss and slipping the nightgown over your head. His eyes rake over your almost naked body. One of his large hands reaches out to cup your breast. The sudden contact sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the bud hardening at his cold touch. Meanwhile, his other hand travels down your body and hooks his finger under the lacy thong. Stretching the lace strap, a soft hum escapes his lips. Your breath quickens as you eagerly await his next move, needing his touch and release.

Unhooking his finger, he moves his hand to the damp spot on the underside of your thong. A breathy moan escapes your lips, "Fuck, Alastor... Don't tease.". Removing his hands, he holds them up in a gesture of surrender, "Can't handle a bit of foreplay, darling?". "Hush" you reply, your hands working to unbutton his nightshirt. Once unbuttoned, you toss the shirt off to the side and gaze at his toned torso. "See something you like?" he jests. You playfully roll your eyes and get to work on sliding off his pajama pants. Once his pants are off, his aching member frees the confines of the fabric, his tail twitching in anticipation. Alastor shudders at the cold air hitting his throbbing, erect cock. Your gaze tears away from his dick and meets his face. His eyes are half-lidded with a deep shade of pink dusting his cheeks, mouth slightly agape as he pants heavily. "What? Can't handle a bit of foreplay?" you tease.

Alastor's eyebrows furrow, a tight-lipped grin forming on his face, "You know what? No, I can't.". In a swift motion, he grabs you by the waist and tosses you on the bed. As your stomach hits the cold dark red comforter, you make a small "oof!" sound. Alastor's hands slither to both sides of your waist and lift you gently, propping you up on your hands and knees. A slender finger slides against the drenched folds of your pussy, a single digit dipping into your tight center. You let out a soft pleasured gasp at the feeling. As much as you enjoyed this, it only made you crave more. He tantalizingly pulls out his finger and brings it to his lips, sucking your juices off it. Pulling the finger out with a satisfying 'pop', he leans over your body. His chest presses against your back as he whispers in a husky low tone, "My my, little doe... You taste divine.". A needy whimper escapes your throat as your dripping cunt aches to be filled.

He kisses his way down your back, leaving a final kiss at the base of your perked-up tail before lifting his head back up. Alastor gently spreads the beads of pre-cum around his dick for extra lubrication, not that you needed, it of course. Large hands clutch the sides of your hips, claws dimpling your supple skin. Pre-cum and saliva from his hands spreads onto your skin, the moist texture making your stomach flutter. -- Alastor aligns his shaft with your opening, gradually penetrating you. A choked gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you out, filling your needy cunt. After a bit of getting used to his length, he slowly thrusts into you. "That's it, little doe," he coos, "taking me so well... You'll look great as a mother".

Alastor pants heavily as he continues to rut into you, his pace picking up as he reaches closer and closer to a climax. Sparks of pleasure hit your core and he enters you at a rough tempo. "Mmph~ Al... That's it- D-Don't stop." you whimper. "Stop?" he begins, sliding into you at a more rigorous pace, "Wouldn't dream of it... After all, I couldn't leave my precious doe without filling her properly couldn't I?". Pleasure clouds your mind, all you can respond with is a cry of satisfaction. "Ah ah ah, use your words dear. Tell me how much you crave my seed.". "Need you to fill me... Need it so bad... Please..." you mumble, focused more on your approaching climax. Your words encourage Alastor further, thrusting into you deeper and hitting spots you didn't even know could be reached. His pelvis slams against your clit, sending sparks through your already trembling pussy. He speaks through strangled grunts and pants, "That's right, my doe, I'm gonna fill you over and over until you're filled with my fawns...". His large hands travel from your hips up to your chest, cupping your breasts in his hands. Mewling at the added pleasure, his thumb and index finger rolled the sensitive buds in his hands. "These would look so nice and pretty when they're swelled with milk, don't you think?". His dick slams into you at a ruthless pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin along with moans and grunts of pleasure filled the air. Alastor takes a deep breath in, inhaling the scent of pheromones. His pupils widened further, his primal instincts kicking in. Releasing your tender breasts, he lifts your thigh up over his shoulder to get a new angle. His cock drills into you at a ruthless tempo, "Gotta - Nnnph~ make sure my seed's deep inside you... Gonna- load my fawns into you...". You feel your stomach tighten as you reach your release, "Al- M'gonna-". As your orgasm washes over you, hot loads of cum fill your greedy pussy. Your cunt clenches around his drenched cock as he rides out your orgasm. His pace gradually declines as the pleasure begins to fade. Alastors upper body goes limp from his climax, torso resting against your back. The two of you take a moment to catch your breath, panting heavily as he remains buried inside of you. After taking a beat, he pulls out of you. Cum spills of your cunt, loads of semen dripping down your folds and onto the bedding below. "You've made quite the mess my dear." he jests breathlessly, plunging a finger into your pussy to keep the seed from spilling, "Though, we can't let this go to waste, hm? I wasn't joking when I said you'd make a lovely mother.". You chuckle wearily and plop onto the mattress.

Rolling over onto your back, Alastor grabs the discarded clothes and helps you put your pajamas back on. He slips the silk gown back on you and presses a kiss to your forehead, "You did so well, my beautiful doe...". A smile stretches across your face at the praise. Returning the favor, you help him dress as well - buttoning up his night shirt and sliding his pants back on.

His arms wrap around your stomach as he pulls you into a loving embrace. Alastor bundles the two of you in the dark red comforter, spooning you and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "I love you, Alastor" you whisper. "I love you too, darling. Sweet dreams.". With a final kiss pressed onto your cheek, you both drift off to a pleasant slumber.

—

YAYAYAYYA i tried rlly hard so if u dont like it then FUCK U (jk). but yeah i hope u like ittt. pls leave feedback guys :,) good or bad idfc but i rlly wanna improve and feedback is important for that!!! i hope u liked it :) i meant for the smut to be longer tbh, sorry if it wasnt as long as u were hoping. im still new at this so I tried to keep it short and sweet. I felt as if i kept it too long the quality would decline and that sucks so :/ hope u liked ittt!!!!! also i didnt edit this bc im tired lol but if u see a mistake point it out

𝐁𝐔𝐓: 𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓, 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐓, 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐎…. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍??? 𝐋𝐌𝐊

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @l3rittany, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @ratsematary, @reath-solia, (if i missed anyone I'm so sorry)

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floral-hex · 2 years ago

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First appointment today with the audiologist and it went.. baaaaad. Not a good start. Basically said my ears look fine inside, made me feel stupid, told me I was rambling, just… blegh. I’m sure My memories about it are more negative than the actual event, but it really felt bad. So my hearing is just fucked. And I made ANOTHER appointment with my hearing aid doc, for May, but I’m not hopeful. Just going to hear more nothing advice. Depressing. So it’s almost 1am now. I’m incredibly depressed still. Still feeling hopeless and anxious and hard to focus. I didn’t want to be awake at night again, but I had to sleep today (benadryls and no sleep the night before will do that to you). I’m gonna do dishes and then probably go out for another drive later. Last nights drive was nice, and while I really don’t have the funds to keep buying myself little treats and wasting gas, I think needing to get through this period right now is more important. I have an appointment for my mental health in the afternoon where I’ll beg for some Xanax or something fast working to help while whatever new antidepressant I get on works its way into me. It’ll be okay. I mean, I want to disappear. I feel like a ghost living on a dead planet, but it’ll be okay. The sun doesn’t stop existing just because you can’t see it at night, so I just have to believe and hold on until it comes out again… or whatever. Something profound like that. Pretend I’m hopeful.

Anyway, here’s Oreo, who always wants attention. He’s napping next to me now, but was nice enough to raise his head for this pic when I poked him.

#Hey!#how bout all these text posts?#I added a cat pic because I feel bad choking your timeline without something worthwhile interjected #I’M! SO! ALONE!#hey… this is desperate and stupid and cringey… but…#if you live in central arkansas and want to send me a message just saying ‘hey I live here too!’ that’d be cool #I mean I probably wouldn’t really talk but there is something comforting knowing that there are actually people living nearby #I need to stop being awake at night while everyone is asleep #it doesn’t help the loneliness when no one else is out and about #I miss 24hr stores or gyms I could hang out in at late at night and feel like I’m actually in a living world #are you real? are you alive?#anyway the doctor today made me fill like shit #it’s all just basically ‘who fucking knows. get used to it.’#first off: DEPRESSING. second: what if I need to get on disability if I can’t work a job? Third: VERY DEPRESSING!#I’ve been seeing doctors about this for what a couple of years now? and he makes it seem like I’ve barely done anything.#fuckiiiiiing…. dude…. not nice #maybe I can be a truck driver. that’d be cool. just sit in a truck all day. i like driving. that’d be very lonely tho #I need to reiterate that I CAN still hear. on good days my hearing is rad. I’ve just been having really bad days where everything is BAD!#my hearing actually cleared up a bit today and I can hear decently. but this persistent tinnitus is driving me crazy #my mom corrected me today and said ‘you’re not crazy… it’s DRIVING you crazy but you’re not crazy.’#I thought that was funny. but it’s nice to know an actual other person can see how this is affecting me #anyway. it’s 1am. it’s too quiet which is never really quiet for me. I have the tv up. I drank coffee. I need to distract myself now.#okay I love you #you can ignore this #text

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phantomrose96 · 1 year ago

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What the hell happens in the pikmin game?? Those little colourful bitches have been around for ages, but i never bothered looking them up, i just figured they were cute little mascots of some game. But your posts are making me question everything. Is it a horror game? (I know i could just google it, but asking you is funnier)

Yeah you're right asking me is much funnier :)

Pikmin is a fun and relaxing game! You play as a little astronaut man who gets to spend his days growing Pikmin, who are sweet and peaceful little plant creatures with leaves, buds, or flowers on their heads. You can corral them around with a little trumpet, like a bouquet of flowers following you through the pretty and whimsical landscapes of planet PNF-404 :)

Wait did I say fun and relaxing?

Sorry, typo.

It's a brutal skill-based survival game (❁´◡`❁)

So then maybe you're wondering, what's up with the Pikmin? What was that about growing a bunch of little flower guys? Well growing the Pikmin is super important!

It's super duper important mainly because you need to replace the Pikmin who die in the carnage of battle for you!

Battle against what?

Everything.

See on PNF-404, Pikmin are the bottom of the food chain. Just about every living breathing creature on this planet is orders of magnitude larger than the Pikmin and munch Pikmin by the hundreds for breakfast. Predators will do this instinctively. They will do this unprompted. They will do this while you're not looking. They will do this endlessly until every last Pikmin is dead.

So... what good are the Pikmin? What chance do they stand?

Really easy. Pikmin are the most violent creatures in the entire game 🥰🥰🥰.

How else do you survive when you're small and fragile other than incredible violence? Pikmin can exist out and about in swarms of up to 100. And the only way to survive predators as small little leaf creatures is to beat those predators to death with incredible mob violence before they can kill all of you.

Pikmin don't die like plants. They die like warriors.

And sometimes, this is the hardest mechanic to handle. Left to their own devices Pikmin will seek to shed blood. It's up to you to call them away from orchestrating their own demise, their own pursuit of the glory of Valhalla. It's in their nature. It's in their plant-blood.

And they go down hard. They shriek when snapped up in the jaws of predators. They glub and wail when drowning in water. They trill out screams when on fire. They choke and cough in poison. They die instantly to electricity. And you'll know a Pikmin is well and truly dead once it lets out a final whimper, and a ghost drifts away from where it once stood. This can happen by the dozens. This can happen to all 100 at once.

So wait, wait I've gotten far ahead of myself. Why the violence? Why the death? Why the fighting? What was that about a little astronaut man?

Well your astronaut man is Olimar, an honest and simple family man who's a freight ship captain from his home planet of Hocotate. He's a truck driver! He's just a guy taking his first vacation in years.

And a meteorite strikes his ship, tearing it to pieces as it crash-lands on a completely uncharted planet. Welcome to PNF-404...

And so you're Olimar. A truck driver. A nice dad. A victim of capitalism with the world's worst boss. Out on vacation.

Your ship is destroyed. No one is coming for you. No one will save you.

The oxygen on PNF-404 is poisonous.

You have 30 days before your life support system runs out.

You have 30 days until you die a brutal and lonely death.

Your only hope is to find every scattered missing piece of your ship--30 of them--strewn across the planet, return them to your ship, and repair it, before your 30 days are up.

But this is simply impossible. You're one tiny little man. You wouldn't be able to lift a single piece of your ship, let alone 30 of them, let alone doing so while fending off the wildlife hellbent on killing you.

But the Pikmin seem to like you...

So all that death? All the carnage and destruction? It's all in the effort to repair Olimar's ship before he suffocates. You pave a path of destruction decorated with the bodies of any creature that stands before you and your missing ship pieces.

The Pikmin do it. The Pikmin trust you. The Pikmin follow your command and die by your command. After all, you're growing their species. Oh did I forget to explain that part? The "how" of how growing Pikmin works?

Simple. Pikmin are grown from the corpses of the creatures they kill :).

If you kill something, the Pikmin take it back to their base and process it for pieces, and grow new Pikmin from it. That's how you get all the nice little flower creatures following you around. :)

Is it good enough? Can you sleep at night knowing that 50 creatures who trusted you implicitly were slaughtered under your misdirection? All to retrieve a hunk of metal which is 1/30 of the hope of getting you home alive? 100 slaughtered? 200? Day 30 is approaching. Things are looking bleak.

You're Olimar. Day 30 has arrived, and you haven't fully reconstructed your ship. You have no option to stay. Your life support has run out. You watch the Pikmin you've left behind, as you attempt to start up your ship which has not been safely repaired.

You try to take off, and try to make it home.

It does not go well.

But at least the Pikmin have another corpse to carry.

#pikmin #and maybe. if youre me. you are 6 years old the first time you get Olimar killed #because your sweet and well-meaning aunt bought the colorful little creature game for you for christmas #for your family's new game cube #chrissy talks pikmin

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misctf · 3 months ago

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Country Living

When he stopped to help you on the side of this lonely country road, you couldn’t have been more grateful. You didn’t expect your car to breakdown on these desolate backroads. Nor did you expect a lack of cell service. Your years studying in college didn’t exactly give you the knowledge on how to diagnose and fix cars. But based on all the smoke, you figured something was wrong.

“Aw, don't you worry none, I'm right happy to help y'all out.” He removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his short brown hair, “Name’s Bucky. What brings y'all to this neck of the woods?”

He was certainly taller and more muscular than you- not to mention ripe with the smell of a hard day’s work. And you could tell he was looking you over, the juxtaposition couldn’t have been clearer. Country vs city boy, manual laborer vs keyboard warrior, dropped out of high school vs college educated. The list could go on. But despite the bias you held towards these country folks, you were happy he was helping. And so you introduced yourself and expressed your sincere gratitude. Bucky smiled and gave you a bone crushing handshake.

“Ain't no trouble at all, I'm just glad to help out.” He smiled warmly, his dark eyes, while lacking intelligence, were filled with kindness and just a bit of mischief.

He winks at you and you felt your heart flutter for just a moment. Maybe it was the way his stubble framed his tanned face. Or the way the sweat dripped from his muscular arms as he worked on your car. Or perhaps it was the occasional glances he gave you and the sly smirk that told you he knew you were checking him out.

“I reckon I know what's wrong. Just need to grab a tool from my garage.” He said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “You care to join me? Looks like you could use a sip of somethin’.”

It was true. In the sweltering heat, you were certainly thirsty. And while part of you wanted to stay with your car, you felt beckoned to go with him. And so you did. You climbed into his pick-up truck and watched as he revved the engine. And before long, you were cruising down the old country road with your car disappearing from sight.

“Well, dang if this ain't my favorite tune!” Bucky said, turning up the volume, “You figure you into this kinda music?”

It was some country song. One about cars, beer, and living on a farm. Not something you’d listen to voluntarily. But as Bucky sang in his southern twang, you found your foot tapping along. Soon you were mouthing the words, almost as if you knew the song by heart. And a moment later you joined in with him, the two of you putting your hearts into every lyric. You barely noticed the southern twang that garnished your voice.

“Well, I'll be darned! Can’t believe you like these kinda tunes. No offense intended, but you don't quite fit the mold, do ya?” He says with a chuckle.

Bucky gives your arm a playful punch and you look down at the exposed, tanned skin of your bicep. Your muscles were contracting and seemingly getting larger, highlighted nicely by the wifebeater that clung tightly to your skin. You look up at Bucky and he gives you a wink. Again, you feel comforted by his kind smile and playful dark eyes. You turn away and absentmindedly run a hand over your growing biceps. So firm and tight, the skin somewhat weathered. But deep down you know something isn’t right. Its nagging at you, begging for you to say something. To at least find out what’s happening to you. You want to tell Bucky, but he’s just pulled up to his garage.

“Mind givin’ me a hand findin’ my toolkit?” Bucky asks. You nod quickly- your anxiety being pushed deep into your subconsciousness. And as Bucky enters the garage, he pulls off his sweaty wifebeater, “Don't pay me no mind, it sure gets mighty hot 'round these parts. You’re welcome to do the same.”

And you follow his example. As you do, you catch a whiff of your pits. The musk that invades your nostrils is a far cry from the vegan deodorant you applied this morning. Moreso, your usually well-trimmed pit hair is now a curly damp bush of dark brown hairs that poke out when you lower your arms. The smell makes you dizzy and you feel like you might fall over, but Bucky lends you a hand.

“Don’t go faintin’ on me now.” He says with a grin, “We got a lotta work to do.”

“Don't you worry 'bout me none, I got this here handled.” You say- the words leaving your mouth without much input from your brain. Bucky’s eyes light up and he grins.

“I shoulda known that.” His laugh fills your ears and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve heard. He notices you admiring him, “Gotta find those tools now.”

You nod and start rummaging through his garage and workbench. You pick up a wrench and place it down. Then another and another. You never really needed to learn basic mechanic stuff, let alone the names of wrenches. You were more focused on your degree. Your degree in... In...? You stare at the composite wrench in your hand and your eyes narrow. You were studying something at that univer... uni... book-learnin’ place of yours, right? Your thoughts are distracted when some oil spills on your hands.

“Gosh darnit.” You mutter, wiping the oil on your work jeans. Work jeans that were stained and torn from years of laboring.

You turn towards Bucky to say something, but instead find yourself gawking. His perfect stubble across his face, the sweat gleaming on his firm and toned muscles, and the way his chest hairs frame his pecs. Your dick gets hard and you quickly start to massage your bulge. And when you see how well his work jeans fit tightly around his juicy ass, you can’t but help let out a whistle.

“You say somethin’?” He asks, turning to face you, “Yeehaw! Look at you!” He says, clearly gawking.

You turn to catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror and your eyes widen. You bounce your juicy pecs, appreciating the light dusting of hairs that decorate them. You raise your thick, meaty arm and flex, causing your muscles to bulge. And then you look at your face. It had squared out a bit, giving it a masculine edge and your cheeks now sported stubble. You felt powerful, and you couldn’t help but continue to flex.

“Hey there big fella.” You let out a masculine moan as Bucky comes from behind you, his arm reaching around, and his hand grabbing a fistful of your muscle tit, “You’re bigger’n a bull in springtime!” You just nod, unable to produce words as pleasure courses through you from his teasing hand, “It sure does get lonesome out here in these parts. Reckon I wouldn’t mind some company, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

He spins you around, your bodies pressing up against one another. His hand moves down your abs and then down your work jeans. He’s staring deep into your eyes now, a primal lust replacing the prior warmth from earlier. And for the first time, you feel lost. Scared even. As though you’re going down a path you wouldn’t be able to back away from. The end of one chapter of your life and the start of another you weren’t sure you wanted.

“Wait a minute... somethin’ don’t feel right. I... this ain’t who I am.” You say, unable to talk like you used to.

“Now, don’t go overthinkin’ it. Just keep your eyes on me.” Bucky whispered, his hands working to undo the buckle on your jeans.

You watch as he pulls down your pants and slowly gets down on his knees. Your enlarged, throbbing dick continues to grow, adding inch after inch. Bucky is nearly salivating as he comes face to face with your monster, and without another word, his tongue traces along the shaft. You moan as his mouth expertly works your cock. He bobs up and down, taking its entirety into his mouth. You feel as his hands wrap around your waist and he grabs a fistful of your muscular ass, causing you to let out another deep, masculine moan. You can feel your dick throbbing, your balls growing heavy with your seed. And as he expertly works the head of your cock, you can feel it. You’re getting close... so close. And then it stops. You’re breathing heavy now, and you look down at him. A sheen of sweat covers your body, dampening your body hair and filling the air with your country musk.

“Wh... why’d ya stop?” You breath out.

Bucky smirks, “You sure 'bout this, darlin’? Leavin’ behind all that city livin’ and book-learnin’? Just you and me, livin’ simple out here?” He licks along your shaft again, “Once you say yes, that’s it. No turnin’ back, no second thoughts. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Was this what he wanted? To bring you so close? To send you into a horny frenzy? To make it so that in this moment, all you’d be able to say was yes? With a smirk and a wink, he went back to sucking your cock. And as he did, you could feel it. You could feel your brain shrinking. Your memories growing up in suburbia vanished. As were your memories of going to college in the city. Nerdy interests like videogames and comic books vanished from your brain, and you felt terror as you forgot about your friends and family. Everything that made you you was vanishing from your mind. Instead, you could feel new interests: farming, hunting, woodworking, lifting weights, and drinking beer with your husband after a long day. Your fashion sense simplified: wifebeaters and work jeans, and honestly going shirtless was preferred. And as your eyes dimmed to reflect your lack of intelligence, and Bucky bobbed up and down on your dick, you finally came, releasing all of who you used to be. And as you filled your husband’s eager throat, you blacked out.

If someone told you who you used to be in your past life, I’m not sure you would go back. When the police came by a few days after your transformation with a missing persons poster of some kid, you had no idea who they were talking about. You quickly forgot all about that encounter. You had more important things like fixing the truck. But before you did that, you should check on Bucky. It’s been a few days, and your balls were mighty full.

#male tf #male transformation #mental change #redneck tf #dumber tf

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daintcas · 8 months ago

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breaking up with rafe cameron (it lasts a day) !

your phone was blowing up furiously with notifications you didn't have to look at to know who it was. another text from your recently self-proclaimed ex-boyfriend pinged again.

'Where are you'

'Answer me.'

'I'm coming to your house'

'We're going to talk about this'

swiping off the messages from your lock screen and angrily flipping over your phone, you sat up in bed where you'd been sulking and threw off the covers.

he'd really hurt your feelings this time, off and gone doing god knows what (selling w barry) for days, usually without a single text. when you did finally get to see him, he had the audacity to be tense and mean towards you.

everyone knows about rafe's short temper, but you're the one who had to deal with it. after so much of letting him take it out on you - especially recently - and not having a spare second to love on your boyfriend, you'd had enough and stopped hanging around his house. shortly after, ending it through a single text.

the sound of his truck swerving into your driveway had you furrowing your brows and pouting, stomping down the stairs to lock the front door. as you reach out the twist the knob, it swings open and you're left stumbling back.

his mere presence towering over you wipes your confidence to say anything. forcing himself inside, he shuts the door behind him and inches closer to you - like a predator to their prey.

"you gonna explain, or what?" he asks, tauntingly slow as he looks down at you and your glossy eyes, trying to contain his anger.

"we're done, rafe. that's what," you push out, though admittedly failing at trying to stand your ground. with him here in front of you, what could you possibly have been so upset about? your memory fails you the longer you keep his intense gaze.

he scoffs and shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose to physically release his rage - though his jaw is still firmly clenched. "that's fuckin' rich."

"i'm serious. you're— you're never here. i'm all by myself at your house all the time. i just.. it's so lonely." after finally finding your words and letting them out, the both of you seem to relax a bit.

"baby, i— listen, i'm workin' a business now, okay? i got my own money, i'm.. providing. for you." he explains in a hurry, trying to hide how desperately he needs you back.

"i don't need any of that, rafe. i just want to be around you." your voice starts to trail off towards the end, partly because of the vulnerability but mostly because of his possible reaction.

as he runs his hands over his face to ease the tension between his brows, he lets out a sigh and stays silent for a moment.

"don't fucking scare me like that. you can just tell me this shit, don't have to go starting a bunch of nonsense." the words are followed by his hands dropping to his side, looking down at you more hurt than mad.

it has your heart melting and your head nodding before looking down, letting out a bold but harmless mumble. "still mad at you though.."

the arm hooking around the back of your neck tugs you into his chest, free hand messily working through your hair to pull you firmer against him. his lips plant possessively on the crown of your head before murmuring, "jesus christ."

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron prompt

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ja3hwa · 2 months ago

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♡ 𝐅𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐅𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 | 𝐒𝐌𝐆 ♡

Day Six - Cock warming

【Synopsis】 : Mingi finds his little mouse trying to do her exams. Too bad he needs her right now.

『Word count』 : 2.69k

-> Genre: Collage au. Smut.

Pairing: FratBoy!Mingi x Choi!Reader

[Warnings] : Teasing. Swearing. Fingering. Dirty talk. Pet names. Mentions of Seonghwa (yes, that's a warning)

Note: This is a little part two of Prove It, hehe. Keep a look for more content with these three ♡♡

Network: @cromernet @illusionnet @atzhouse @wonderlandnet @k-vanity

Also, thank you to those who asked for a part two for this story. ♡ Part three with Seonghwa and part four with both boys will also be posted soon, hehe ♡

Special tags : @fxlling13 @angelsaway @stolasisyourparent @voicesinmyhead-rc @hotteokhatyu @choisanboobenthusiast @asleepyhuman @therealcuppicake @vantediary @mingisprincesss @kelsxxyawn @kissofthespring @eunseosilver @mingisdimple @mingismoralloyalty

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Ever since the night Mingi and Seonghwa had successfully proved how skilled they were, days following have become only described as cat and mouse. Every chance they got, one of them had their hands on you. Whether it was Mingi holding your hips for too long while waiting in line at the food truck one night. Or Seonghwa, placing his hand innocently on your thigh under the table at a restaurant. No, ever since that night, it became one big game of desperation. Lonely nights spent fucking yourself at the mere thought of them while Mingi had to go to Seonghwa a couple of times when he couldn’t sleep, needing some sort of relief to make him breathe for a moment. But nothing helped. They were both hooked on you. And you on them.

It was a normal afternoon, you were in your room finishing up on some homework before you had to inevitably had to continue packing. You weren't super sad to move out, but you had doubts, not knowing if living on your own without your brother was a good idea yet. But you were old enough and you always had wanted to live closer to campus. But it was still scary. You could hear the last of the loud men leave the apartment, heading off to classes or work, finally leaving you in peace for at least a few hours… “What you up to dollface?”

Scratch that last statement.

“Nothing much. I’m just writing up my exam sheets and then I’ll continue packing.” You shot Mingi a quick smile before turning back to your paper, you didn’t want to look at the extremely hot man. Not after he had just got his hair cut. You needed to focus on your work. But you hear him start to wander around your room, your eyes can't seem to move off the one sentence you have almost read over five times. You sighed, pushing against your desk so you could swivel your chair until you were completely facing the tall beefcake of a man. “Do you need something Min?”

“It’s kinda… hard to concentrate when you are walking around my room.” You stutter slightly, feeling your ears already start to heat up. his tongue wet his lips as his smile grew more. His eyes wandered down your figure, you were wearing an old hoodie from one of the boys and sleep shorts. The same sleep shorts you wore when he made you squirt.

“Hmm, no. I’m good. Don’t mind me. You continue working…” He gave you a soft smile. asshole…

“I’m sorry doll, here let me fix that.” He cut the space between you so face you could barely notice what was happening until it happened. He lifted you off your chair before sitting down and placing you on his lip. His long legs manoeuvred the chair until he was sitting back in front of the desk, suddenly making you very confused. “There you go. Now go on with your work. While I relax.”

“Mingi…I can't just keep working while sitting on your lap.” You said flustered.

“Sure you can. And if you write over 100 words I’ll reward you.” He whispered that last part in your ear before lightly leaving kisses down your neck. Your head automatically tilted to the side, letting him have more access to your skin. “Come on baby. I don’t hear you typing.”

“Fuck you.” You growled, slightly annoyed.

“Don’t tempt me.” He chuckled making you freeze. Your hands flew to the keyboard trying their best to make up some words. But your brain had gone south for the winter and you had no more brain cells left to function.

“M-mingi…” You whispered, his lips successfully distracting you. He pulled away.

“Okay, baby. I want you to write some words outs. And every time you write at least ten words, I’ll continue. Deal?” He knew he had you trapped when he suggested this sinful game. And you were of course going to agree. So you read the next question out of your sheet, seeing it was a super easy question, your brain, with a lot of inner self yelling, you managed to write a proper sentence and over ten words like Mingi had wanted. His chuckle made you shiver as you felt his hand begin to wander down your body until it stopped right above your closed legs. “Good girl, now you get a reward. Take off these cute shots baby.”

He picked up the hem of your shorts and panties, pulling them taught before letting it go, making the band snap against your soft skin. This caused you to let out a shaky whimper, wiggling your hips until the fabric slipped off. You didn’t even bother trying to stand, using Mingi’s body as a support, you finally threw your panties and shorts somewhere in the messy room, leaving your bottom half completely exposed for him. “What is my reward…”

You had asked with mostly curiosity but there was a lingering of blunt lust, not really even caring for the kind of reward. No, all you wanted was for him to touch you. In any way, he seemed fit. “Oh, baby. Do you remember the last time we were in this position…” His deep grunt tickled your ear as he threw your left leg over the armchair, opening yourself for him. “Do you remember how thrilling it was for me to touch you, while Hwa ate you out like a starved bitch.”

You couldn’t help but moan, hands gripping tight onto the desk in front of you. His fingers danced along your plump thighs, slowly creeping their way towards your soaked core. He had to chuckle at every shaky breath you took and shiver that spilled down your spine. “You were such a good girl. Listening so well. Can you do that for me again? Hmm?” His fingers pressed firmly on your clit, feeling just out sensitive you’ve become.

“Yes please Mingi. Anything. I want to be good for you.” In other situations, you would have felt embarrassed to say such words, but Mingi knew how to draw this side out of you. A side that lives and breathes to please him. Mingi rubbed your clit slowly in a circle, smearing all your slick around, the sounds were filthy, but you no longer cared. His fingers slowly snaked down until one dipped inside your belief, making you gasp in anticipation.

“Stand up and lean over your desk, dollface.” You quickly did as you were told, standing on your jelly legs but not before you threw your hoodie off, only leaving you in a lace bra. “Fuck…” Mingi licks his lip as he watched you obey him. Your ass wiggled perfectly in his view, fuck what he would give just to stare at you all day. He would die happy. But no, for now, he needed the chase. The tease. He wanted to see how far you could go. Before he breaks you. You could hear the sound of a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes. Your heart started to ring loudly in your ears as you waited nervously for what might happen. “You Ready, love?”

The nickname caught you off guard, making your heart do laps. Love. A name you most certainly need to hear him say again. “Yes, Mingi…”

His large hands gripped your hips slowly pulling you back. He was standing behind you, the tip of his cock only just brushing against your wet folds. You bit your lip hard, trying to stop the pathetic noises that were trying to escape. Just as you feel him inch inside, you couldn’t help but let out a yelp before rolling your eyes back, “Fuck you’re big.” you had no idea why you thought he wasn’t but he was definitely bigger than any guy you had been with prior.

“And you fucking tight princess. I can barely fit.” His grunts were music to your ears and it was only when he completely bottomed out, you both let out relieving sighs. “Come on Doll, sit down.”

He guided you to the seat once more, taking a seat with you now snuggly on top of him. His cock sunk deeper at the angle, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. “Now…let’s continue.” He gestured towards the computer in front of you.

“W-what.” Your brain was so fuzzy from being so filled, you had completely forgotten about the work in front of you. Looking over your shoulder you spotted Mingi’s dark eyes. He was going serious. “B-but I thoug—You thought what? What, you answered one question and that would mean I fuck the life outta you. Hmm?” He cut you off with a dominant tone, causing you to clench around him.

“Answer a few more questions and we can see where it’ll lead.” He was stern, causing your whole body to shudder. You’ve never heard him speak like this, especially towards you. But you let out a sigh, shifting a little bit only to get…Comfortable, before looking back at your work. The first five minutes that passed were hell, every nerve on fire while every bump, shift, and tug made you very aware that Mingi’s cock was still very much inside you. But after another ten, it started to become bearable, you were able to focus more on the questions in front of you. Even asking Mingi for some assistance if needed. You both became content funny enough.

He hadn't felt this relaxed ever in his life while you were getting work done you were merely dreading prior. And by the end of the hour, Mingi was soundly napping on the chair while you were finishing up with your exam sheet. A sense of pride filled you as you typed out the last answer. You almost fell back to wake up Mingi from his peaceful slumber but even though he promised, you decided to give this moment of peace to shut your own eyes, letting sleep take a hold of you.

—

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

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