#joe joaquin

[nofatclips]

I am a Transient by FERN (featuring Marie-Claire Schlameus) from the album Intersubjective Instrumental

[trulyumai]

morning is forever

pairing: Emperor Geta / wife! reader

synopsis: sure, Geta could be soft. but only in the morning, it seemed.

warnings: none, just fluff.

Enjoy!

Geta was known for his rough and callous nature. It’s what helped build his way to becoming emperor. He had the strength and capacity to do what others could not.

You knew this well. Hell, most memories you share with the man turned out to be violent. Either toward you or some other poor citizen who abused his ill found patience.

He wasn’t loving. Caring, or soft natured of any kind. That was until the morning light flowed through the balcony, to the cascading windows laying about your personal chambers.

A Light breath would fan across your face as sleep fogged its way into your eyelids.

Geta would be at your side, a hand comfortably sat across your chest— sometimes your waist.

You would be oh so close— you could smell the scent of cinnamon and grape leaf’s waft off him almost instantly after awakening.

No scowl would adorn his face— it was always calm, with a little slit between his lips showing, letting out tuffs of air within every second.

It was easily your favorite moments, it almost felt as if things were normal.

Sometimes he would press himself to you, without knowing he seemed to enjoy the warmth you gave off. And if you tried to move away? Those pale hands would grip onto your skin, tugging you closer than ever before.

His lips would meet your neck, and you painfully wished it could be like this all the time.

The moments would never last long. They were so fleeting— leaving you yearning for more.

Geta would wake up, sluggishly rubbing the sleep from his eyes before removing his presence from the bed.

Without even looking at you he would ready himself, with the help of the servants, and exit promptly.

Sometimes it feels like you dreamed it.

Those warm moments.

However, they would always happen again.

In the morning dew that crept silently through the windows, to your clinging forms.

[fyeaheddiemunson]

I. Can't. Wait.

[darknessisafriend]

I was wondering if you could write one with Joaquin's characters about how would they react to getting neck smooches from their S/O I hope you are well in these crazy times 💓

It's finally here! I finally got time to write! I hope you will enjoy anon, @galos-writing helped me a bit with Abbe ;)

Commodus:

Commodus is always a man on his guard. So, naturally his neck wouldn’t be an easy part to reach, even for his lover. 

The truth is also that his neck is very sensitive. Commodus is secretly very ticklish, and his sister and mother used to tickle his neck as they played together before bed. No one had been touching his neck in years. 

The first time you tried to, you joined Commodus in his study. He was working late at night as usual, but you missed him dearly lately. You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek first. “My love…it is getting late...” you whispered, hoping it was obvious you needed him to warm your bed up and cool your body down. 

“I have important work to do, Y/N. I have to stay a little longer.” He replied, his eyes focused on whatever he was scribbling. As always, he would work so hard, from early in the morning to late at night, more than anyone else. Thankfully you were there to make sure he would take a break and not kill himself at the service of his People. 

You pouted at first at his answer and then grinned, leaning closer to his ear “His Highness won’t regret it...” you purred in his ear, nibbling his ear lobe, kissing his jaw and then daring a plant a kiss in his neck, right on his calmly pulsing jugular.

He froze at first, not expecting a kiss there, used to a feeling of coldness due to his armor. Your lips felt soft and warm, the opposite of a cold and hard blade he could have expected.

His skin had goosebumps and he looked down, pondering how to react, if he should let down his defense like he did so many times with you before. He made his quill lightly roll between his thumb and index as he thought. The kiss had been surprising, and yet it felt nice but too quick. “Y/N, can you do that again?” he quietly asked. 

You smiled in relief, you had been holding your breath the whole time, fearing it might have triggered him badly. Surprisingly it didn’t, probably because he had a lot more trust in you than he would think. 

This time, you would place your kiss slowly, your lips tracing kisses along his jugular where you felt his pulse had increased frantically, his skin warm and soft, with a strong scent of cinnamon myrrh, his favorite and prestigious perfume. It was intoxicating, just like the rest of his being. 

This time you would feel him relax under your kisses, his eyes almost closing entirely, his quill escaping his fingers that had become weak. His posture would remain high and yet his neck tilted to give you more space as one of your hands caressed his strong chest. “If my Emperor is willing to join our bed…I shall give him plenty of those...” 

“How dare you try to imp….” But Commodus wouldn’t manage to finish his sentence that a moan escaped his lips as you sucked his skin on a particularly sensitive spot. “Run…if I catch you before you get in bed, I will be the one ravaging your body.” He said, making you giggle, he knew you were fast, and he wouldn’t manage to catch you. What he wouldn’t do to make it seem like he had control while he entirely gave it up willingly the moment he fell for you.

Arthur/Joker:

Arthur adores your neck smooches, he is ticklish too but loves it anyway, probably due to his childish spirit.

You had first tried during a tickle battle actually, both of you laughing as you threw pillows at each other and tickled each other. You ended up straddling Arthur beneath you (or rather he loved to let you win). You blocked his arms and placed your lips in his neck to tickle him, something your mom used to do. 

Arthur would let out a squeal, a loud and boyish noise before laughing heartily, a happy laugh. He was fully relaxed, and he had discovered something new about himself. You would lift your head and smile at him, giving him a tender kiss on the lips. 

“Can I try?” he would ask eagerly, his eyes shining with fondness, his fingers delicately caressing your fingers. “Of course. But on one condition…I won’t go easy on you.” You teased him, challenging him to another play of pillow. And slowly a grin would form on his face, a confident one, that you knew from Joker “Don’t complain what comes afterwards darling.” He would purr. 

One thing you had noticed is that Joker had much more raw strength than Arthur, the madness sometimes gave inhuman strength. And you would be able to resist for long, Joker would be quick, naughty and sly; managing to win rapidly. You would gasp as he sent a last pillow hit that was a little too strong, making you lose your balance to fall off the bed.

But thankfully he would catch you in his arms, throwing his body first so he would take the hit and not you. He would laugh with a big smile, not reacting at all under the pain. “Told you I’d win.” He would say, already filling your neck in kisses, making you squirm as you started to giggle. 

His hand would instantly start to roam your body, Joker was more sexual than Arthur and winning you over a battle was even more exciting to his eyes. Even as he would make love to you afterwards, he would keep on filling your neck in kisses, making you laugh in that moment of intimacy. Arthur was still in there after all.

Bruno Weiss:

Bruno is a grumpy man and he doesn’t like to show himself vulnerable, only when drunk or very tired he does truly reveal himself.

His attitude does change after a while, once the trust builds up.

The first time you did it, was to tease him. He was annoyed by paperwork, keeping on muttering to himself while smoking his cigarette. “Is paying taxes such a headache?” you would ask in a chuckle, making him crush his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m not working hard to have our money taken away from us.” he would mutter.

“Y/N” he would protest as you sat on his lap. The thing was that he was very weak for you and when you were so close to him, he wouldn’t be able to focus, and he would hate his inability to do so. 

You would grin, you just had to do one thing for him to snap. “You just have to pay darling, or should I do it?” you retorted and quickly smooched his neck before running off, chased by an angry Bruno who would soon calm down under your sweet caresses. 

After this episode, a kiss on the neck would become a soothing gesture for Bruno, one more reminder that he didn’t have to keep his defenses in front of you, that he could be vulnerable. It would be a reminder you would always be there, that you wouldn’t abandon him like everyone else did.

Charlie:

The first time you kissed Charlie in the neck, it didn’t go well, he had the worst reaction you could have expected from him.

You were sitting by the fire with a few companions and his brother. In a moment  of tenderness you would have sat behind him to hug him, placing a kiss on his cheek then neck. However, would quickly tense up, ignoring the soft smile of his brother at the scene. “What the fuck are you doing!?” Charlie would exclaim, instantly leaving your embrace “I’m not some kind of fag!” he would storm angrily to smoke a cigarette. Everyone would turn their eyes away from you in embarrassment except Ellie, patting your shoulder reassuringly “You know he didn’t mean it.”

And indeed, despite hurting, you knew Charlie was keeping a rough mask in front of everybody and you had brushed it off without thinking.

You would leave him alone for some time to process his gesture. He would be silent, feeling awkward after his outburst, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“I’m sorry Charlie. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad” you would apologize sincerely. You knew he had a rough past and he was the little brother always acting tough to protect the ones he loved, it had cost him half of his sanity. 

“I don’t trust everyone here. I don’t want them to think…” he sighed, throwing his cigarette on the ground and crushing it with the heel of his boot.

You would approach him, wanting to hug him from behind but as you reached out your hand you wouldn’t dare to touch him.

I know. You don’t have to explain yourself. I won’t do it again.” you would offer softly, doing your best to accommodate your struggling lover.

“What are they doing? Are they looking?” he would ask after a moment of silence. You would look back “No, they went to sleep. Ellie is kissing his…scarf.” you replied, an intimate gesture his brother didn’t fear to show.

“Can you do it again?” he would ask in a mutter, you would hear his voice on the edge like a great effort he would make to let down his barriers and he would not repeat himself, fearing.

Joe:

The neck would be a triggering part for Joe, always has been as a soldier. This was part he would have to protect often during the war. But you wouldn’t be aware of this specific trigger point. 

One day, as he would be reading, you wouldn’t pay attention and would come to hug him from behind, you were light footed so he tensed up at first. But when it instantly followed with a kiss on the neck, something cool applying to his skin, triggered a past trauma. 

He would gasp and under the flash push you away strongly, making you fall heavily on the ground, pretty much hitting your head at the same time. “Joe what…” you would manage to say, blinking a few times the stars in your eyes. You would find him curled up in a corner, his arms wrapped around his head and neck as an attempt to protect himself.

Your eyes would widen at the sight, understanding he had been severely triggered. In fact, you now remembered reading some articles about it, how strangling and throat slitting was attempted on some factions of soldiers by the enemy and it was surely what had triggered him.

“Joe it’s me. I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you.” you would apologize on the verge of tears from the state he was in.

After that it would take a while for him to calm down, he would be closed into silence, feeling guilty of his own reactions to a simple kiss. But you would work things out as always, taking baby steps in trying to eliminate that trigger, his service dog helping as well, nuzzling his truffle in his neck while cuddling.

You would make sure to eliminate the effect of surprise during that gesture, coming to stand in front of him, caressing his chest and slowly tying your arms around his neck, asking for permission to kiss his neck. And it would work out well after many months of trial. You wouldn’t do it much tho cause you didn’t want to push this too fast, besides you loved kissing his lips, chest and arms much better.

With time Joe would grow to like it as well, it was much nicer to open his neck to a loving kiss rather than a cold blade. 

Max California:

- Max California loves neck kisses. He is a very physical lover so when he is with you he is rather clingly, and especially loves PDA, he is a possessive lover but not in a toxic way, he would simply be very proud of you. 

-  Very early in your relationship you would have gone onto neck kisses, at the shop as you assisted you would often lean against him hugging you from behind, placing lazy kisses from time to time as you both await clients to pick their next dirty products. Your neck was constantly filled with hickeys so the clients wouldn’t bother you. 

- However, Max himself was often subject to passion from clients and strangers, men and women desiring the dark punk boy working in a sex shop wearing a crop top. That would make you terribly annoyed and you knew an efficient way to mark your territory. Just do the same!

-  As you had gone to refill a shelf of porn magazines, you would decide to surprise him. Instead of going to insert yourself between his arms, you would hug him from behind as he chatted with a female client, filling his neck in small smooches, looking at the client in the eyes. Without surprise she would understand the message and leave promptly.

- Max would grin and turn his head to meet your eyes “Do you think she had any chance with me?” he would ask, making you blush and bite his neck in protest, making him chuckle. “But keep going, I like it.” He would add, his hand coming to caress your cheek before focusing on work again. 

-You would retain a happy squeal, muffling it against his skin before kissing it. Max wouldn’t be too sensitive on the neck so at first, he wouldn’t get aroused. He would simply be very happy of your attention, that you took the lead. He was a feminist after all so he would encourage such things in public and also loved to be under your control. 

-One day, after a weekend apart Max would even surprise you with a tattoo, red lips modeled on the lipstick you often left in his neck. He would wear a proud grin on his face. “What’d you think?” he asked, very pleased with himself and to show he was a marked territory already.

- “I think I still need to add a little bit more purple to it, you know, to make it livelier.” You grinned back, opening your arms and wrapping them around his neck as you would passionately make out.

Abbe:

As the composed and religious man of God he is, the Abbé has never experienced an intimate touch from no one. 

This has given him incredible awkwardness when he started feeling carnal desires for you besides romantic feelings, his religious trauma and brainwash made him believe he was a sinner and regret his own nature of man. Your love for him made you feel bad for his condition, so of course you tried to help him.

You already knew he would go crazy in the worst way possible if you had taken the lead without psychologically telling him, so you planned to slowly introduce him to physical affection. So you invited him for tea to ‘innocently chitchat’.

During the talk, he seemed still pretty nervous about the topic, but less than usual. It felt like a good sign for you, but you didn’t expect his next request.

The Abbé was actively avoiding your gaze as he parted his lips to speak, his cheeks turned a bright red. “Might I… dare to kiss you?” He asked in almost a whisper, making you blush and then scoff; his excessive politeness was adorable to you. You nodded, and approached, ready for a quick peck. You didn’t expect him to grab your shoulders and capture your lips for a goofy yet extremely heated kiss. 

You could hear him let out little noises already despite you weren’t touching him either. So, when the kiss was over, you smirked, licking your lips, delighted by that kiss, and leaned closer, brushing your lips against his neck. You could hear a gasp escape his lips, which lowkey turned you on. 

So you started by giving his neck a first soft kiss, noticing his chest moving up and down faster and his heartbeat louder. He swallowed down, trying to reluctantly pull back, it was obvious he was loving those kisses yet he thought it was wrong. “Y/N…”, he whimpered, letting out soft moans for every kiss you gave him. Every moan of his was one more shiver of excitement running through your spine. 

You suddenly felt your clothes being grabbed by his fists, his noises became a bit louder and his hips were starting to slightly jerk forward. Unfortunately that thick pitch black cassock was leaving no room for imagination, but you knew underneath he was fighting against a massive boner.

Suddenly, after you gently nibbled a spot on his throat, he let out a high pitched whimper, obviously choking other noises in his throat and trembling a bit, his mouth was agape. You stepped back, thinking you hurt him, but after some seconds, he was heavily painting and squeezing his legs together: he came just with your neck kisses. 

You would have lied if you said you weren’t proud of yourself. Especially after he looked at you dead in the eye and said: “There’s no turning back after this, right…?”. He seemed defeated, yet somehow relieved when you shook your head, hopeful to get further with him. Finally.

Merill

Merill is a lover of PDA and of neck kisses as well. Which means that naturally he would give them to you.

He is a protective man and possessive. In public he would especially love to stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist to place a tender kiss on your neck.

Naturally you would return the favor. Merill wouldn't be surprised or taken aback, he would let you do and even lean into your touch.

For Merill, neck smooches would represent letting himself get vulnerable willingly for the one he loves.

It was something he was proud of. Merill was known across town for his strong character, his stubbornness, and impulsivity. And many thought that he wasn’t an easy man to handle, that despite attracting many girls with his look, when they got to know him they would run away. 

It wasn’t the truth actually, ladies loved how he knew what he wanted and his passion, his love for his family. And you were the lucky one, the only one he ever allowed neck kisses from, encouraging you to mark him with hickeys, show who he belonged to. 

You would especially enjoy tickling him with your lips during a baseball match, distracting him when he was getting too agitated by the bad talent of some. It would work wonderfully, to the point he would melt in your touch, his attention drifting away more and more from the match to focus on you. During the final match you would end up making out and more in the lockers room where no one would come to find you.

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @galos-writing @sparklygardenerlove

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Scar Tissue

Summary: Joe wouldn't reach as far to give himself a parent of the year award, he wasn't even a parent to begin with, but he'd say that he did well by giving you your space, never invading only following when invited.

Pairing: Joe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Content Warnings: Mentions Of PTSD, Night Terrors, Trauma-Induced Tics, Emotional Constipation, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions Of Self-Inflicted Harm And Depression, Explicit Sexual Imagination 18+!, Angst, Oh The Yearning

A/N: “But, Tam! You can't just shamelessly sexualize a character murdering in cold blood in a 90-minute film about SA and PTSD!” Hush, child, and watch me.

Tagging: @somepallings @queer-crusader

you can’t win ‘em all

who knows how much longer

i’ll lay on the floor

touch me til i vomit

i’m not scared of god

i’m scared he was gone all along

- Inbred By Ethel Cain

Thick fabric ruffled in a pitch-black bedroom. Calm yet shallow breaths accompanied the quiet ordeal of a fuzzy blanket moving as you slipped underneath its warm cover and felt the cold coming from the inside slowly fading from your chest.

You shimmied back until the curve of your spine was flush against Joe's front - you knew he was awake just as much as you were; actual, real sleep being a sparse blessing.

“Night terrors?” It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last for you to leave your sweat-soaked sheets behind to find shelter with him.

“You?” You answered his question without really answering.

“One should think that shit's gonna leave you alone at some point. Can't understand why the old noggin is having a jerkfest over it every other night.” Joe muttered quietly yet not any less disgruntled, the prolonged lack of proper rest only feeding into the rougher parts of his character.

“Do you still smell it, too? It's the sweat and stale cigarette smoke for me. Sometimes hints of piss.” The memory rippled through your body in an uncomfortable jolt, causing that little tic to go off from the nape of your neck straight up into your head as it flinched to the side for a split second.

“Hey…”, Joe immediately jumped on it, the inherent need to soothe what you had been burdened with dragging his tired body into motion, “I'm here…showered and smoke-free.”

To prove his somewhat humorously annotated attempt to shush the still lingering nightmares right back to where they came from, he wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close enough for the gentle wafts of laundry detergent to softly engulf you.

“Don't give them your time, they're not worth it. So many brighter things to think about.”, Joe practically wrapped himself around you, shielding you from everything he possibly could, his chin carefully resting against the crown of your head, “What do you wanna eat tomorrow? What's the next movie you want to go and see? What's up with your friend Rose? Didn't she wanna throw a party or something?”

The onslaught of rapid-fire questions sought to flush your synapses like a cold rinse through a soap-clouded bathtub circling the drain before eventually trickling into the sewers.

“I want pasta. The current cinema program is garbage and Rose already cancelled her own gig because she's sick. Next question.” It spilt from your lips with sharp precision, making Joe behind you laugh out briefly.

“Oh-kay…let's stick with the pasta then. What pasta? I'm good enough to manage a halfway decent sandwich, help me out here.” It was a bit stupid, perhaps a bit weird as well to talk about pasta in the middle of the night after having been terrorised by haunting nightmares yet again.

However, the silliness of it all was what got you through it eventually, what helped you to work your face enough to allow that ghost of a grin to tug at the corners of your lips and for distraught thoughts to narrow down on something entirely else.

“Hm..”, You pondered over possible culinary desires for a moment whilst your body gradually settled down, sinking into the mattress and against Joe as uptight tension left your muscles, “Some with tuna, tomatoes and shittons of garlic…and chili.”

You pictured the plate laden with spaghetti and sauce in your mind, an empty stomach switching gears as the thought turned a bit too tangible.

“I go to the store and cook and you see if you can fix my camera, deal?” The words blubbering from your mouth turned slightly slurry, audible enough for Joe to know that he’d sufficiently bothered you trivialities to the point your thought had stopped grasping at the buzzing livewire that was trauma.

“Sure, deal.” He reciprocated, listening to your breaths turn more steady and drawn-out.

He didn’t dare to move just the slightest bit until gentle snores trickled from your lips and hummed against the the thick duvet. It was every other day he had to actively remind himself that you weren’t just made out of porcelain - you’d long grown into your one person and ever so often the passage of time rapidly caught up to him.

Joe had helped you through high school and college, your intellect very much not being the issue at hand but rehabilitating you back into society had taken its time and its toll. However, by now, he simply felt at ease, as much as a man with his history could, and even allowed himself a little moment of pride. The ex-marine was proud of you for shouldering the weight of your memories every day anew and he was proud of himself because you - the coffee-stained, beige file that had been the case of you on his desk - finally felt like he’d been able to make a dent, a change, just something in a world that swallowed whole and only spat out bones sucked dry off all their marrow.

The tip of his nose hovered right above the top of your head. his lips almost touching the strands of hair flowing down as he inhaled the apple-scented shampoo. Washed, fed, cared for - all things you’d been in severe lack of as he’d stormed this “establishment”, fueled by the rage of a thousand suns that had come crashing down upon seeing you cowering at the side of a ruffled bed, an oversized Care Bear t-shirt hanging like a wet towel from trembling shoulders as you’d stared right back at him, frightened and dragged into a corner enough to be ready to kill or severely mutilate at the very least.

No one should be familiar with that exact expression on someone's face but especially not a hardly 14-year-old teenager, laden with experiences enough to fill about three lives to the brim.

There'd been this wicked, silent understanding as you'd looked at the blood dripping from his hands, the blood of your tormentors. You'd imprinted on Joe in that very moment, stuck to him like a duckling for more than you just the way out of the front door, until he'd come to terms with the fact that you'd stay with him - fake birth certificate, fake ID, fake CPS documents in abundance; there was hardly anything he couldn’t get his calloused hands on through shady contacts and knowing someone who knew someone who knew someone.

It had taken you all the time that had been necessary to get you accustomed to having privacy again, your own room with an adjoined bathroom. Some days, Joe hadn't seen you at all - the only thing he'd ask for was an occasional text message stating that you were okay or in need of something.

The requests had changed from a bag of potato chips and bottles of diet coke to pads, tampons, a razor and nail polish, resulting in a big, burly man finding himself between feminine hygiene products and make-up.

Had it been uncomfortable and ridiculous? Yeah, a thousand times yes, but he'd give any amount of awkwardness to see you chipper, a happy swing to your steps as you walked down the stairs to grab some breakfast, eyes beaming as you quietly presented freshly painted nails wrapped around a spoon shoved into a cereal bowl.

There'd been on-and-off times with your mutism, just like with anything else. Some weeks you spent your days basking in the sun in the yard and then again others hiding away, only emerging to eat and wave your hand at him to let him know that you were doing the best you could right now.

Joe wouldn't ever reach as far to give himself a parent of the year award, he wasn't even a parent to begin with, but he'd say that he did well by giving you your space, never invading only following when invited.

Later on, there had been episodes that turned much darker, nights where you'd woken him from light sleep, tears streaming down your face and pooling at a clenched jawline as you confessed about having lost control.

Thinking about it - Joe slowly splayed his hand over your stomach, a thin, skin-warm layer of cloth separating his palm from welts of now pale scar tissue. He could've never been angry at you for this. Actually, he could understand it just fine, hating your own body so much because of what sick people had done with and to it. Getting swallowed by the need to mutilate the skin that remained stained no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself red underneath a steaming shower - none of that a stranger to Joe.

For now, those things had settled down. During college it really felt like you'd come into your own fully, making friends, going out and coming back home somewhat tipsy on weekends. You had graduated, entertained a part-time job at the local library you enjoyed working, yet, some nights, Joe wondered what would be next.

You'd never come home with someone else besides your iron-tight circle of close friends. You also didn't exactly appear to entertain the idea of moving out anytime soon and, by all means, Joe would never push you to any of those things, however, he found himself wondering, caring about your future in a way that left an uncomfortable aftertaste on his tongue.

The ex-marine had spent years building a trigger-free environment for him, but most importantly for you - open and clean rooms, a locked front- and backdoor, he'd quit smoking - an environment not sterile but again, trigger-free… the only monster hiding in his closet.

Joe had started feeling it rearing its ugly head about a year ago. It must’ve been there a little longer than that but had kept itself well hidden away from prying eyes on nights spent with excruciatingly meticulous introspection and whenever Joe started thinking about it for a bit too long, it started pulling and tugging at him with long slender fingers, causing thoughts to drift into a twilight zone between dreaming and vivid fantasy.

Thought about being with you in a different way clawed their way up his spine to bite him into the neck that he felt the need to hang low in shame and silent atonement the days after. No matter how hard he tried to keep the images at bay, they came back swapping over, wrecking through him in gradually more grotesque variations until he either took care of it himself or decided to stand beneath an ice-cold shower until his muscles hurt.

Against better judgement, tonight was no different: The very moment Joe’s hypervigilant senses started drifting off into calmer waters, his body took over, shamelessly doubling down on letting him sense the warmth emitting from your body next to his, the apple-scented shampoo getting infiltrated by hints of sweat and that unique smell that clung to you and only you, that smell by which he could differentiate you between hundreds of people with his eyes blindfolded if he ever had to.

His teeth drilled themselves into the sensitive tissue on the inside of his cheek as you inched closer, getting comfortable in your sleep. He wanted to, everything within yearned and yelled at him to, but there was no way he’d allow himself to just pull you against him. It always started off innocent, the tantalizing idea of placing a few tender kisses into the crook of your neck slithering into his mind to get a foot into the door for what was about to follow.

Just tiny little bits of affection that carried a different flavour to test the waters and see if you’d like it, if you’d shove yourself closer in a nonverbal plea for more. A tainted rush of inevitable arousal gathered at the pit of his stomach, disgust and shame turning it to twist in every possible direction at the very same time. The hand he held resting against your front threatened to twitch as the touch, separated by soft fabric, turned to feel like his entire palm was set on fire. It was nonsense, yet Joe was genuinely afraid of burning you with the flames that were eating away at him again.

He’d do whatever you wanted him to - tear the whole city down and leave nothing but scorched earth and dying embers - just to know you with him until the end of days, however, simultaneously, this closed-off and eternally muzzled part of him wanted nothing more than to ravage you in every way possible, eat you alive and swallow whole.

Joe could very well see it play out behind closed eyes, the wretched fantasy of him letting fingers dip down south, maybe letting them slip past the loose waistband of your pyjama shorts or perhaps just sneaking along the curves of your things along the fuzzy cloth; intricacies he usually switched and played with when he found himself alone in the dark and not with your shoulders flush to his chest that was struggling to keep his hammering heart contained.

His body betrayed him and for a brief moment he caught himself begging to gods he didn’t believe in that you were sleeping soundly enough that all of this went straight past you; not even the embarrassment crushing through him like a tide enough to kill the throbbing erection straining against his sweatpants. Maybe he should just castrate himself to make it all stop, to be able to be with you without being that looming black shadow you weren’t even aware of.

You were too good for this, too good for someone with such a crippled soul. No, you should go out there and meet someone your age, fall in love, have silly coffee shop and cinema dates instead of spending every damn day in the nimbus of memories in a house that must reek of past trauma no matter how hard the both of you tried to brush it under the rug.

Perhaps it was time for Joe to suggest looking for a flat, a place you could fully call your own. He doubled down on the thought to punish himself for being just another man.

[thewaythisis]

Todays Pedro pics

📸 - Mirachai, Oshianna Castillo, Mandy Flippo, sylvia medina photography

[fxrvernxw]

[seal-writes-stuff]

Dating Headcanons – Joe (“YWNRH”)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mental health struggles (PTSD)

Summary: All in the title

A/N: Hey guys! Wanted to write some general headcanons while I’m working on a longer fic. Because God, I love Joe so much it’s crazy, he deserves everything. Hope you enjoy!

Your relationship starts out slowly, and I mean slowly. Truth is, Joe knew that he'd be in love with you since the moment you've met and it terrifies him. For the longest time, it's been one of Joe's many deep-seated beliefs that he's completely unlovable. Or that even if he somehow isn't, that it's too much of a liability to love him anyway. It's always on his mind: suffocating, ever present.

He can't save anybody. He can't stop anybody from being hurt. Worse, he can't even let anyone in, can't share this burden that's been there all his life - it's something he has to carry on his own.

So when you get into the picture, Joe gets... Cautious. You're such a warm presence in his life, so lovely, so... Fragile. What if something happened to you? What if something happened to you because of him? Joe would never be able to forgive himself, so he keeps his distance at first. He's quiet and reserved, he doesn't talk much, he barely touches you when you go out at first; it gets to the point where you start to question if he even likes you. But at the end of the day you know he does, because Joe always comes back to you no matter what, over and over again.

You stay. You stay right there with him, and when Joe finally confesses to all of the feelings that are eating at him, you're devastated and horrified - but you still stay. You tell him how you're okay with that, how the pain would be worth it if it meant knowing him. It's the kind of strong, healthy love Joe isn't used to, and that's exactly what makes him realize he wants to be by your side, always.

Joe rarely talks about his past, or his present, for that matter – he opens up very slowly. Deep down, although he has trouble verbalizing it, he still thinks that he somehow deserved all of the abuse and tragedy that happened in his life. He also has a vague understanding of how irrational it is, how horrifying it would sound said out loud, so he keeps quiet. You're ready to listen no matter how much or little he reveals; you always, always insist that he's a good person and none of it was his fault. Joe tries his hardest to believe it.

It takes lot of time, trust and deep late night conversations before Joe tells you what he does for a living. He knows how much you love him and that’s exactly what makes him hold back: the thought of you getting scared or seeing him differently once you know the truth. But, despite every reason he can think of, you simply don’t. You’re worried for him, as a lover would be, but that’s it. Joe doesn’t know what he did right in life to deserve you; you know he’s never had to deserve you in the first place.  

Joe doesn’t expect you to wait for him when he comes back from his jobs, but he feels incredibly loved when you do. You sacrifice your sleep simply because you want to see him? It’s so wonderful and so unfamiliar to him. It’s a promise of a better future.

His main form of love? Definitely acts of service. You need something fixed in the house? He's on it. Hard day at work? He's already running you a bath so you can relax. You need a ride for any reason? He’s going to pick you up, no questions asked. It makes Joe feel nice, knowing that he makes your life a little better. If only he knew how much.

He’s a great listener. Had a shitty day at work? He's here to comfort you. Saw a new movie that's absolutely great and Joe just has to see it? He's here to hear you gush about it. Joe isn’t much of a talker by nature and he deeply appreciates when you share these things with him. After all, they’re what makes you, well, you.

He loves when you steal his clothes. The first time it happened on accident - you've decided to spend the night at his place and hey, you weren’t going to stay in your work outfit all night, right? But later on it happens again and again, and Joe can’t find it in himself to stop you. Even if it’s just clothes, it’s one of the little ways he can share his life with you, can imagine you thinking about him when you wear it. The thought alone feels very comforting.

This man yearns for physical contact so much it's insane, even the lightest of your touches are everything to him. A quick brush of your fingertips against his upper arm, sweet kisses you press to the top of his head just because you feel like it, gentle hugs from behind while he's washing the dishes... After a lifetime of cruelty, all of this feels so sweet and intimate to him. Still, he can’t bring himself to outright ask you for it sometimes; as much as Joe craves this affection, this love you grant him so generously and without a second thought, the shame and fear of rejection are simply too strong. It's a good thing he doesn't need to ask.

Joe has never given his body much thought before, so seeing you so openly, unashamedly in love with it is new for him, in the best way possible. How you steal warm, lovesick glances every time you can, how you trace his scars absentmindedly when you cuddle, how you trail quick, desperate kisses down his neck and onto his collarbone... Joe didn’t think anything could ever make him blush this hard, yet here you are. He can't get enough of you.

Of course, there are still bad days. Days when Joe can't be present, no matter how much he tries. The flashbacks get too real, the negative feelings get too strong and everything just seems... Hopeless. He fully expects you to go, he wouldn't hold it against you - and yet you never do. You’re always right there: talking to him, comforting him to the best of your abilities or just quietly staying by his side, fully content to go through this pain with him. Joe can’t say why you're doing that to yourself. He knows that you love him, it’s the one thing he never doubts, but he sure doesn’t feel like he deserves this much effort. He’d never take it for granted either.

Your home is the only place where he feels truly at peace: Joe can't help but be on high alert whenever the two of you are out, always fearing something might happen, whatever that "something" might be. If it was up to him, Joe would spend the rest of his life cuddling with you in bed. His favorite pastime is doing something together or simply existing side by side while the both of you are busy with your own thing.  

You're the only person Joe feels safe enough to joke around and laugh with. He doesn't even notice how it happens: there's simply a day when he's finally happy, in a way he hasn't been in years. All of the pain he went through suddenly seems worth it if that’s what’s lead him to this, to you.

Like with most of his feelings, Joe keeps his jealousy to himself, even if it’s eating him up inside. He knows you wouldn't betray him like that, never - but even then, Joe has to all but physically restrict the part of his brain that keeps him in a horrible loop of overthinking. Because of course you would leave. It's weird that you didn't leave already. What's keeping you here anyway? It must be impossibly hard to deal with him, he would know. Breaking this pattern is a long and hard process, but Joe tries.

Speaking of trying, Joe takes his first steps at healing with you. A while ago he's made a sort of twisted peace with himself, accepting that there's no hope for him - that he's broken and there's no fixing it. Yet knowing how much you care makes Joe feel like getting help is at least worth a try. Convincing himself to do it for him is hard and exhausting, near impossible at times. Convincing himself to do it for you is easy and natural as taking a breath.

At the end of the day, Joe may seem gruff and intimidating on the outside, but he loves you more than anything. You're his reason to keep going. Joe has spent so much of his life seeing the worst of humanity, but knowing you, being with you makes him feel… Hopeful. It makes him feel like he can have a future, a future that seemed like an unreachable dream before. As long as you’re by his side, life is worth it – and as long as he’s by your side, life is wonderful and sweet.

[imperfectdiary]

L'Uomo Vogue April 2001

Joaquin Phoenix by Steven Klein

Styled by Joe McKenna

[freersounds]

Sacred Rhythm Music Playlist

Sacred Rhythm Music rose from the ashes of Spiritual Life Music. This was against a background of a music industry in turmoil, as listeners went online and physical music sales decreased immensely. Claussell stuck to his principles when launching SRM in 2005, running a label focusing on physical media. With his background in vinyl retail and experience from running SLM, Claussell understood how to keep making vinyl desirable. This meant limited edition remixes, coloured vinyl and releasing different versions of the same record in different formats. He had done this previously with the Spiritual Life Music promo series, but he took things to the next level with Sacred Rhythm Music.

[nofatclips]

Exnomination by FERN (featuring SHRVL) from the album Intersubjective

[kosmic-apothecary]

[strapazzolli]

Playlist for July, 2024.

[darknessisafriend]

Time for NSFW alphabet request! you can request any Joaquin's character ! any letter, several or all of them!

(starting to wrok on Commodus already 🤫🤫)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? Romantic or rough/dirty.)

J = Jack off (Do they masturbate and how often)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Like to try new things etc.)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Scar Tissue III

Summary: Home, that place didn’t exist anymore, for he so generously had trashed it all by giving in to something he should’ve never admitted.

Pairing: Joe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~4.3k

Content Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Angst, Very Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Ideation, Trauma Flashbacks, Explicit Mentions Of Self-Harming Behaviour, The Amount Of Heartbreak In Here…, Mental Instability, Self-Loathing, Eventual Smut, Unprotected Intercourse, Face Sitting, Tongue Fucking, Cum Eating, Sprinkles Of Masochism <3

A/N: Made myself cry a few times writing this. Well, this and horny.

Tagging: @crimsonkingart @asmo-d3us @somepallings

Find Part 1 and Part 2 here!

I want to roll the numbers

I want to feel my stars align again

Even if the earth breaks like burnt skin

And the heavens just won't open up for me

Would you invite me in again?

Won't you pay for your arrogance?

Won't you show me your weakness?

- Blood Sport By Sleep Token

Icy cold water splashed around Joe’s ankles in little waves, the krass contrast of temperature, however, not helping in the attempt to ground him. His dry eyes stared off into the distance as his head was heavy with endless convolution. He’d stopped blinking about 5 minutes ago, and his lower lashline had begun burning and stinging. Joe didn’t care - couldn't bring himself to do so because every time he closed his eyes for just the most minuscule of moments all he saw was you, halfway naked in front of him, blue and purple spots on your thigh that his fingers had left. It didn’t matter how many times Joe told himself that there had been no ill intent behind it, all he could do was suffocate on his own shame of having lost himself like that.

He’d soiled you, tainted you with the darkness inside of him he had tried to keep you away from at all costs. He had failed. That’s all Joe was right now - a failure.

You’d insist that he didn’t hurt you, he could already hear the words falling from your lips to calm him but Joe knew that it would’ve been all lies, manufactured to coddle him in his wrong-doings. He held his breath, his chest rising but not falling as he imagined a plastic bag around his head. He’d done it so many times that the feeling of tape around his neck came to him like the phantom pain of a missing limb.

His lungs started burning just like everything else within, the prolonged lack of oxygen turning him dizzy and light-headed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes before the instinct of self-preservation kicked in eventually, forcing him to exhale and gasp for air.

“Can’t even kill yourself.” He spat the snide remark at himself, the hatred of his father oozing from every syllable spoken.

“Fucking tool. Ruin everything you touch.” The ex-marine raised his hand, the entire palm landing right on his cheek as he slapped himself, dull eyes still focused on a far-off point somewhere along the waterline.

“You can’t manage to drown yourself. You fail at suffocation. Next time you better tie a boulder to yourself just to make sure.” Another harsh smack followed suit, his skin starting to redden with the impact.

Joe’s phone started buzzing in the pocket of his washed-out jeans, the sudden vibrating sensation briefly snapping him out of it and he felt his stomach dropping. He didn’t need to look to know that it was you calling for the 7th time now - he’d picked up none of your attempts to contact him. Joe simply couldn’t even bear the thought of hearing your voice just now, being gentle with him, loving him, telling him to come home.

Home, that place didn’t exist anymore for he so generously had trashed it all by giving in to something he should’ve never admitted. He could’ve loved you quietly, from afar. He had been meant to be your protector and not just another predator.

You tossed your phone back onto the mattress, teeth grinding down onto your bottom lip as your other hand pressed a pillow against your stomach trying to comfort yourself somehow. A violent amalgamation of hurt, worry and nagging embarrassment dragged you down with every heartbeat pumping the cocktail of adrenaline and hormones through your system; it was as if you could actually feel every nerve ending vibrating and contorting when a new wave of shame hit you and knocked the air from your lungs.

What the fuck had you been thinking? Calling him Daddy whilst he’d fucked you. You bent over and bit into your fist to survive the brutal pang of embarrassment erupting in your chest.

How did that even happen? An inside thought having slipped out into the open and now wreaking havoc throughout every room, trickling down the wallpaper and seeping into the cracks. There was nothing to ever make it unsaid and unheard again. This was something that had happened and you felt like tearing your tongue out simply for the sake of it never happening again.

The anxiety enraptured your every movement as you fought to get up from your bed, hellbent on getting yourself a glass of water or just something that would help you pretend to be a normal, put-together person right now.

The stairs beneath your feet creaked with each step downward, the noise echoing through the hallway - no Joe peeking around the corner or sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The entire house was dead silent and hardly anything had been moved. The two glasses still filled with remnants of amber-coloured Tequila, the tablecloth still all crumpled, half of it hanging from the table and yesterday’s newspaper on the floor.

The little bunch of paper caught your attention as you stepped into the kitchen and you picked it up, sifting through the pages until your eyes darted right down and what Joe had been circling so adamantly with highlighter over the last breakfast you had shared, smiling and laughing with each other before you had ripped the floor from underneath not only your but also Joe’s feet as well.

Your face dropped as the realisation started to settle. He'd been circling listings...flat listings for small apartments, perfectly suitable to house an adult but not exactly more than that.

Before you even knew what was happening to you, heavy tears trickled over the curve of your cheeks and down onto the paper soaking a dark stain into it.

Had Joe been meaning to get you out of here? To gently let you down and tell you that it was time?

You crushed the dampening paper in your fist and tossed it to the side, the suddenly boiling-up anger overpowering everything else, helping you decide that Joe could get fucked if he wasn’t picking your calls and apparently collecting flat listings to let you go and lead your own life - something you already very much did, just with him in it.

However, what you didn’t anticipate was for the silence to grow into an all-consuming quiet, even after Joe eventually returned home, the fabric of his pants soaked up to his knees that afternoon, the ever-lingering aura of shame so heavy that it pulled his gaze to fall to the floor the second you stood in front of each other. Joe wouldn’t dare look at you, talk to you or acknowledge your presence in whatever way shape or form not only for one painful afternoon but entire days.

At first, you still tried to get him to interact with you, tried stringing up a conversation and for there to be more than the bare necessities of “Food is ready.” and “What do we need from the grocery store?” but with time, you turned into the ghost living in his house and the worry turned into a bottomless pit of hurt that you kept tumbling down from the moment you opened your eyes.

The night terrors you had to soothe yourself now - you had tried knocking more than once but Joe went as far as plainly locking the door now. He shut himself off and away from you, sometimes it was painfully obvious in the form of a locked door and other times it was a sticky note proclaiming that he’s already eaten and the rest was on the stove.

With every day that passed and eventually grew into a whole week, the pressure grew and rendered the atmosphere tense, waiting for a single spark to fly and blow it all up like a gas leak. You couldn’t grasp it, none of it. How Joe had been able to go from proclaiming his love for you to butchering it out in the open for you to spectate on how he slaughtered and severed every tie little by little. There was nothing you could do against it, you could only watch as Joe turned more reclusive by the day. You’d never seen Joe like this, so apathetic and cold, and you could tell by the growing darkness around his eyes that he wasn’t well. Something within him was going so horrifically sideways that a part of you stopped feeling safe around him, causing you to avoid him as he avoided you.

Joe appeared to be drenched in misery, dragging a trail after himself wherever he went. He seemed erratic, itching over something you couldn’t put your finger on, yet, you hid yourself away, not wanting to be in the same room with him when he’d trip and explode eventually.

Nevertheless, not the hiding and no amount of pillows pressed over your ears could save you from hearing it happening in the dead of the night. Doors were slammed, something got thrown and broke, Joe roared through the kitchen and just the soundscape alone had you whimpering by the time you’d managed to lock your door and crawl underneath your bed frame, a trembling body wrapped around your stuffed teddy bear.

The cacophony of terror raged on for what appeared to be forever and you forced yourself not to imagine how things looked downstairs. After the noise had calmed down the silence was almost deafening to your ringing ears.

Wooden doorsteps remained quiet, not telling about Joe slowly stepping up, arms hanging from his body like something that didn’t belong to him anymore, the skin around his forearms irritated and throbbing with dull pain from having hit himself against everything hard enough to not immediately collapse on impact, bruises already forming rapidly.

You flinched at the sound of him knocking, cowering under your bed like a threatened animal.

“Can we talk?” His voice was coarse and rough yet quiet.

“Please, I know...I- I am sorry.” Judging from the dull sound, Joe leaned his forehead against your door and one half of you was ready to rush to the door whilst the other remained frozen in your spot, blood thundering through your ears with every quickened heartbeat.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you, but please let me talk to you.” The desperation and hurt in his tone caused your chest to constrict and ache, the sensation coaxing you out from underneath the bed.

The clicking of the little key inside the lock made your jaws clench, your stomach feeling like it dropped endlessly until you finally wrapped a shaky hand around the knob and pulled the door open.

“Joe…” You managed to work out of yourself before your mouth dropped agape and every other exclamation died right with it.

He’d worn himself out like a rabid animal, eyes circled with obvious sleep deprivation and the sleeves of his hoodie partially spotted with darker dots where blood had soaked into the thick fabric.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Exhaustion oozed out of his every pore and you couldn’t help but lean in and wrap yourself around him in a painfully overdue embrace.

“What the fuck is going on here?” The words were nearly inaudible because of the way you shoved your face into his chest, fingers clawing and pulling at the soft cloth that engulfed you in his smell.

“First you fuck me then you pretend like I was never really here, nothing but a shadow in your closet, and what were those fucking apartment listings?!” Everything just bubbled out of you after it had been boiling and soaking for a whole week.

“The listings? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry.” Joe didn't resist against you pawing and pulling at him and he wasn't oblivious to the desperation in your motions either - he'd messed you up not once but twice.

“What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!” The way you raised your breaking voice so suddenly, had him flinching briefly.

He looked down, his tired gaze meeting your widened eyes, the expression in them overflowing with questions yet to be uttered.

He was on the brink of shrugging it off, discarding the rampant self-mutilation just like he always did because he had unlearned to actually care about himself a long time ago.

“Joe…” You pushed, hands working their way underneath the hoodie to search for themselves, the pads of your fingertips ghosting over heated spots, blood flowing to the violated parts to initiate a healing process that would take weeks.

For a very faint moment, you pondered pressing down onto it, to hear Joe groan out in pain because something inside of you craved him to be in equal amounts of pain that he'd put you into but the thought flitted away as fast as it had popped up and you certainly didn't bother to chase after it.

“I'm sorry.” The vulnerability in his tone squeezed the breath from your lungs and the fact that he couldn’t help but to repeat himself over and over tore you apart - anger crumbling into quickly dying embers as the screeching helplessness opened up a whole new pit to drown in.

“I don't know. You deserve better than this.” Joe blinked slowly, eyes glazing over with a watery sheen.

“Have you ever, just for a moment, considered that I simply don't want anything else than this?” Your hands settled at his sides, arms gently wrapped around him and unwilling to let go anytime soon.

“How can you want that?” The last word unmistakably aimed at himself, a quick little act of dehumanisation before you'd likely him pounce for it - perhaps that was what Joe pushed for, your rage as the final judgment: either scorching him until there was nothing left of the miserable creature or cleansing him enough to move on from this moment somewhere past 3am on a Tuesday night.

“Because I love you and no matter how hard you try, you’ll never silent-treatment that out of me. Ever. I’ve met you as blood was still dripping from your knuckles and yet I decided to stay with you because you’re the only person I trust on this godforsaken planet.” You looked up, watching how a faint gush of tears pooled and eventually pushed over Joe’s lash line, his bottom lip trembling dangerously; broken.

“I never wanted to push you away like that. I just can’t handle it, I don’t know what to do.” You felt yourself crumbling and succumbing on the inside whilst everything on the outside was hellbent on keeping Joe upright and grounded - you knew that you had to be the one stepping up this time and save the saver from himself.

“Then let me show you.” Your palms on his sides tugged at Joe, gently inviting him and pulling him over the threshold of the doorframe of your room, the place he never stepped foot in on his own accord, your safe haven and place of sovereign reign.

“What happened?” You asked anew, much calmer this time whilst slowly guiding him with you, one step after the other.

“Hit the kitchen counter.” The explanation was brief and didn't prepare you in any way shape or form for what you discovered after shoving at the fuzzy cloth of Joe’s hoody and him reluctantly taking the hint.

Your eyes widened as he peeled the fabric back and eventually over his head, casting it onto the floor. Already dark purple bruises covered his torso and forearms for the better part, thin cuts scattered above the hemmorraged skin, giving you an idea on how adamant Joe must’ve been to hit against the counter right on the harsh edge.

“Do you want to take care of that now?” Joe shook his head before you even finished the suggestion.

“Tomorrow…please.” He looked at his arms, consideration accompanied by a shallow sigh - something somewhere between indifference and plain disgust.

“Of course.” Your gentle fingers found his wrists, palming at them to carefully pull him closer again and he followed without resistance, coming close enough for you to feel the heat radiate off of him.

His ever vigilant eyes watched your every move, pupils widening every so slightly as they traced how you moved his forearm to your mouth for your lips to caress his brutalized skin with a wash of barely-even-there kisses. The brief contact of your soft lips against his wrist stung in a way that brought Joe to near immediate capitulation, the kind of sharp pain working its way through his nerves like a hairline fracture, corrupting his doubt and self-loathing promptly and instead stroking a masochism that had never been addressed by Joe; the thing just sitting in the corner of his mind and only being fed the scraps of Joe lashing out at himself every so often.

He groaned out under his breath as he felt the tip of your tongue darting out and wander long with the direction of one the plenty cuts, saliva thick and cold against torn skin. The sound made your stomach drop, the pang of it throbbing right between your legs - the emotional abyss living right next to whatever deep-rooted perversions your trauma had eventually gifted you with.

You felt the goosebumps on his skin, just like you felt him slipping off the edge together with you, hand in miserable hand and hungry hearts trashing in unison.

“Fuck.” Whatever spell you were casting upon him, he yielded, unable to fake nonexistent rejection any longer than he'd already done the past week.

It all crumbled into oblivion as the feeling of your generous caresses wrecked through his hurt and bruised body, chasing the soreness from exhausted muscles and instead filling him with an ache so delectable it rendered him pliant on the spot: He'd give you the world, all you'd have to do was ask.

In a slow motion, his unoccupied hand reached out, curious and eager fingers fumbling around the hem of your oversized sleeping shirt whilst Joe gleefully took notice that it was one of the old and washed out one's he'd given you after you'd pestered him about him for days. He bunched the fabric against his palm, gathering bit by bit until it was enough to pull at it with a firm jerk of his hand, making you nearly tumble against him, lips slipping as you swayed forward before they latched onto the crook of his neck, teeth grazing up his throat until you reached the edges of his roughly trimmed beard.

Both of you pushed and pulled at each other, hands clasping and pawing at whatever possible, only haphazardly agreeing on the direction as feet shuffled over the wooden tiles.

“Bed.” You underlined in a shallow breath, working yourself out of your shirt, the lonely remaining slip following suit shortly after.

The metal of Joe's belt hit the floor with a clunking sound as his pants hit the floor, only briefly missing the much softer rug.

There was no awkwardness in your movements this time, now you knew what you wanted and to go for it because nobody would take you by the hand and do it for you.

“Don't you ever do that to me again.” An unfamiliar but not unwelcome sense of assertiveness took hold of you as you pushed Joe back, his calves reaching the edge of your bed frame, the feeling signaling him to sit down and lay back.

You were with him again immediately after, straddling before he could roll over, making him exhale sharply as you simply sat yourself onto aching hips, your thighs pushing down on purple-spotted, hit skin.

“Uncomfortable?” Joe shook his head as tye question slipped from your lips in a gentle whisper, broad hand reaching out to press down onto your thigh and eventually on himself, the hallway self-inflicted wash of pain making him throb and twitch between your legs, the sensation giving you a headrush and an aching desire for more.

“Oh.” A grin grew around your mouth as you realised, finders reaching out to apply careful pressure to a fresh bruise right at his left rib cage.

“Good heavens.” Joe let his head fall against the duvet, teeth grinding down onto his bottom lip as a wretched jolt of equal parts unfamiliar vulnerability and pressing arousal thundered through him, causing him to arch and angle his waist, his palm still shoving at you, until he'd worked himself inside out you, filling you to the very hilt, the wet warmth of your oozing cunt and the delectable stings of alluring discomfort fogging his mind and swallowing every doubt whole.

There were not half-baked what ifs left as you started moving on top of him, you hips swaying in in slow motions and Joe gazed at your bare body in awe, glazed-over eyes exploring of faded scar tissue he'd only ever felt through the layer of fabric, the pressing want to kiss them pushing him back up.

A little gasped yelp rolled over your tongue as you watched him rise, pulling his torso up with his hands latched onto your things, any leftover doubt trickling out of him with every hitching breath. Joe's beard brushed against your stomach before his lips caressed the still somewhat rosy, newer, streaks scattered along your sternum and right breast.

It was obvious that he knew the kind of self-hatred that made you do those things to yourself just all too well: the shame turned disgust turned a muffling hellscape of numbness eating away at you from the inside out until it all came crashing down over you.

Joe felt the delicate skin against his mouth, leaving a tender trail of little kisses until his lips latched onto your pebbled nipple, coaxing a sudden moan out of your throat as he felt you clench down around him.

Joe couldn't grasp what in the everloving hell had haunted him this week - suicidal ideation over something that didn’t happen in the way his mind had twisted it to be.

If you didn't want this, didn’t want him and didn't want to be with him, you simply wouldn't be sitting on top of him with his lips suckling at your nipple, nibbling and playfully biting at it. It was as plain as that.

Joe hummed against your skin as he felt you press a kiss to his forehead, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself, skin pressing against skin with every roll of your hips.

The pure amount of sensations overwhelmed Joe, took him by surprise and caused his whole body to tense up in an earth-shattering orgasm he didn't feel coming until it hit him.

You rode him through it, ass grinding into his lap as you revelled in the feeling of him unloading himself inside of you, filling you up with him.

“Hold on, hold-” Joe leaned back, his chest rising and falling with every breath, the exhales cooling down the traces of saliva he'd left around your nipple and you halted immediately.

“You okay?” Your brows furrowed as you looked down at him.

“Oh, yeah.” Gray eyes beamed back at you before his hands rushed from your thighs to slip underneath the curve of your ass, lifting you up with ease and guiding you with him until you towered over his face between your legs.

Joe held you up and in place, a cloudy amalgamation of himself and you trucking down onto his chin as his tongue ran through glistening labia until he pushed the wide muscle inside of you, the taste of you flooding his mouth.

You gasped into the darkness of your bedroom, the feeling of him tenderly stretching you out like that entirely new to you and the thrill of it only accelerated with the way the bridge of his nose nudged against your swollen clit.

It filled you with a full-body rush, muscles contracting in ways you hadn't felt before as the blissful pressure in your lower abdomen grew, coiling up into the almost unbearable for moments that appeared endless.

Curses swapped over your bottom lip as your thighs started trembling, unsure whether you were falling head first into a thrashing orgasm or cardiac arrest.

“Joe…Joe, fuck-” A visceral moan tore itself out of your larynx and you nearly doubled over, the intensity of what you were experiencing making you dizzy as dopamine and oxytocin hit your bloodstream.

He fucked you on this tonhe until every last contraction had ebbed away, your body formerly an uptight livewire but now pliable, muscles soft and a trembling a little.

“You're good?” You'd moved back, soaked and smeared thighs resting on his lap again and Joe looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, brows arched just every so slightly.

“Oh, fuck you.” It left your mouth in a quiet chuckle as you moved your legs, allowing yourself to fall onto the mattress next to him.

“You're not going to be gone tomorrow. Promise?” You turned to look at Joe, the gray in his beard damp with your release.

“Promise.”

[asian-heart-92]

A Real American Hero fancast (part 22)

Chiwetel Ejiofor as David Vennemeyer/Major Barrage

Grigoriy Dobrygin as Grigori Ivanovich Rostoff/Big Bear

Joaquin Phoenix as David B. McCarthy/Blocker

George MacKay as my choice #1 for Earl S. Morris/Bullet-Proof

John Boyega as my choice #2 for Earl S. Morris/Bullet-Proof

Joe Taslim as Bushido

Ali Fazal as Chuck Ram/Cloudburst

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as Cliff V. Mewett/Colonel Courage

Henry Cavill as Dodger

Yayan Ruhian as Michael P. Russo/Dojo