#slides down the wall and just dies.

[landotism]

I love this little cringefail loser sm <33

[steakout-05]

imagine Barry Steakfries but he's like. actually small enough to fit inside a phone screen. like he's literally not even an inch tall. just a tiny little guy that you can drag around with your finger like a shimeji. personally i'd put him in a soda can and spin him around

[2truehearts]

FUCK WLANG RATING

[maybanksprincess]

the bends.

warnings: 18+, smut!!!, humping, kissing, slight fingering, hickeys, hair pulling, pet names.

summary: after you and jj stayed underwater too long, you get the bends, leading up to you two being locked in a hyperbaric chamber.

pairings: bf!jj x gf!reader

requested by this ask!! (thank you anon) 🤍

after you and jj arose from the water, you both had a guttural pain in your stomachs, resulting in you two being locked in a cramped up hyperbaric chamber to ease the pain.

both of you are laying on your backs, beside each other, staring up at the roof of the chamber.

jj was lost in his thoughts, his mind filled with guilt. he should've never let you go down there with him, you could have died. and it hurt him to know that he put you in danger.

"baby?" he breaks the silence, his gaze never leaving the roof.

"mm?" you hum

"you almost died." his voice cracks a little as he speaks. you can see the guilt and remorse in his eyes. "i should've never let you go down there."

you glance at him for a brief moment, then back at the ceiling.

"then who would've saved your life? if i wasnt there, he would've gotten you."

jj flicks your arm playfully, his voice weak as he speaks, nonetheless playful. "okay, i saved you too"

you smile a little, and turn to him. "you did."

"thank God." jj says, finally turning his gaze over to you.

theres a comfortable silence for a few moments, until you bring your hand to hold his.

"you know, i really thought things were different now...But it really is just us against the world, isnt it?"

"hm. us against the universe, more like. And were winnin'...we are."

you giggle and squeeze his hand, your head going to rest on his shoulder. you break the comfortable silence with your next words "you know...were in here for twelve hours."

"mhm." he agrees "what're we gonna do?" his words are laced with a bit of suggestion.

you giggle a bit "im sure we'll think of something." following your words, you lean in to kiss him.

as your lips were about to meet, some doctors walkie goes off, pulling you two out of your trance.

you quickly grab a pillow and cover the one window thats in the cramped space. with the hyperbaric chamber being sound proof, nobody on the outside could hear anything from the inside.

you go back to kissing him, the slow passionate kisses quickly turn into heated, rushed ones.

jj pulls on buttons of your denim shorts, pulling them down and sliding them off, then he works at your bikini bottoms, never breaking the kiss.

you feel his body on top of yours, hovering over you, one of his knees between both of your legs. he brings his ring and middle finger to your hole, slowly pushing them into your heat, as you two make out.

a moan escapes your throat as you feel his ringed fingers slide into your pussy, you continue to keep up with the kiss and your hands move from his shoulders to his blonde unruly hair.

you run your fingers through it as he pushes his fingers in and out of your heat, speeding up after every moan you let out.

he continues to massage his tongue over yours, dominating the kiss.

he feels your pussy clamp down on his two fingers and before the band in your stomach snaps, he pulls his fingers out and breaks the kiss with ragged breathing

you whine at the loss of his fingers, you walls clamping on nothing, and your orgasm postponed. "jay-"

before you can finish your sentence, you feel the tip of something huge hit your entrance, you look down and see his thick, and veiny cock prodding at your entrance.

jj pushes inside with a guttural groan, rocking his hips against yours. with every snap of his hips, he's hitting that spongy spot over and over again inside of you.

before you can even register it, you feel the pressure in your stomach build again, with every thrust, every groan that escapes his lips, your putty in his arms.

"jay. 'm gonna cum." you squeak, and his thumb goes down to rub circles on your swollen bud, increasing the pleasure.

"mhm, cum for me mama. give it t' me." he encourages, with deeper thrusts, his balls hitting your ass.

your eyes roll back as your orgasm approaches, the pressure finally snapping inside of your stomach, you grab onto his hair and pull at it, as you ride out your orgasm.

he groans loudly as he cums on your tummy, stroking his cock over and over again, more thick strings of seed coming out.

after you both ride out your highs, he lowers himself on top of u, kissing ur neck softly. "you okay, mama?"

"mhm. i love you jayj."

"i love you too princess."

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

but you belong to me

bf!rafe cameron x fem!pogue!reader

cw — p in v, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, dumbification, jealousy, rough sex

summary — after rafe sees another guy “flirting” with you, he takes you home to remind you of something.

a/n — currently working on some requests so heres whatever this is. please request more!!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“no, yeah, like i actually did so fucking bad. i got an 84 and almost cried,” your friend, daniel, said dramatically as he spoke to you over the loud music of the party. he shook his head at the thought. “god, i hate that old-ass teacher. he can suck my fucking dick.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him and giggle before taking another sip of your drink. “dude, what are you talking about? that’s not even bad. it’s still a B and i doubt it even dropped your grade.”

unfortunately for you, you could feel rafe’s glare boring into your side as you talked. he was extremely annoyed. he was left wondering what was so insanely interesting that you and this random guy have been talking for 15 minutes already. you looked too engaged in the conversation and you laughed a little too much at what he was saying.

“yo, you good?” topper asked when he noticed his best friend gripping his bottle of beer until his knuckles turned white and his jaw clenched almost painfully hard.

rafe didn’t even spare a glance to him, just continued staring at you. “yeah man, ‘m fine,” he said uninterestedly.

he followed his gaze to where he was looking at you just as you laughed with the boy before chuckling and patting his back. “he’s just some fuckin’ pogue, man. no need to worry ‘bout him.”

“fuck off, top,” he mumbled in annoyance. he never wanted to be interacted with when he was pissed off and this was definitely no exception. unless it was you of course.

while daniel spoke, you finally averted your gaze over to your boyfriend who was still leaned up against the wall like he was when you’d left to get more drinks before being stopped by your classmate. you mentally cursed at yourself. he looked pissed. he nodded over the front door, eyes never leaving yours as he waited for you to follow the silent command.

that was the last thing you could remember from that stupid party. no matter how many times you’d tried to tell your boyfriend that nothing happened, that you were just talking about your grades, he didn’t care or believe that. he knows what he saw and he saw the boy flirting with you.

and that lead you here, face buried into his pillows and your ass up with rafe bullying his cock into your hole with rough hands gripping your hips tight and uncontrollable moans leaving your lips. your nails dug into his bed sheets as you felt the slide of tears run down your cheeks at the overwhelming feeling of his thrusts.

“such a dumb baby,” he mumbled, freezing deep inside you to make you squeal and squirm. “always gettin’ so fucked up ‘nd letting random guys flirt with you huh? can’t even handle your fuckin’ alcohol.”

you cried harder into the sheets as frustration built up inside you from both the situation and the pain of him bottomed out. “di—didn’t have anyone flirting with me, rafe,” you snapped back as sassily as you could manage.

“what was that baby? couldn’t hear you,” he teased in that rude, mocking voice you hated. he pushed his hips further into you, pushing your body to lean forward more and allowing him to press into you at a different angle.

you whimpered and leaned up on your forearms with the last bit of strength you had to look over your shoulder at him. “you’re bein’ mean.”

he jutted his lower lip out and fake pouted. “aw, i’m bein’ mean? so sorry, sweet girl,” he muttered before grabbing your hips and pulling them back to their normal position. he slowly pulled back then pushed forward harshly, making you yelp and jolt forward. he repeated the action multiple times. “maybe this’ll teach you a lesson not to fuck around with other dudes.”

you balled up the sheets and buried your face in them when he began snapping into you quickly. your legs began shaking and threatening to give out under the pressure and rough force of his thrusts. “can you be a good girl and keep yourself up for me, baby?”

after another particularly hard thrust, your body finally collapsed and your cried out when he quickly slipped out of you. you could hear him sigh from behind you. “jesus. went all fuckin’ dumb in me and now i gotta do all the work, right?” he mocked before pressing your legs together and straddling them to then slide back into you.

you squeezed your eyes shut and whimpered at the new sensitivity the angle brought. he leaned forward once he was fully sheathed inside you to grab a pillow and wrap one arm under your hips to lift them up enough to slid it under and ease the pain of your back and hips. the small act of care and kindness made you smile against the mattress.

he began to pound into your used hole from behind just enough to make you scream but not hurt you. “feels good, rafe. ‘s so fuckin’ good,” you babbled mindlessly to let him know you were still here and okay. “so—so deep.”

“yeah? can feel you squeezing around me,” he replied, continuing his punishing pace. “shoulda recorded this shit to show everyone how much of a fuckin’ slut you are once you get my dick inside you. maybe then everyone would stay the fuck away from my girl. maybe i should jus’ knock you up, cum inside this little cunt and have you all swollen with my kid so everyone sees you’re mine.”

you felt yourself involuntarily clench at the words before your legs began to spasm again. “oh! ‘m gonna come, rafe. please, please, please,” you begged for sweet release and he fucked you quicker until he felt you cream around him.

he chuckled and leaned down to kiss between your shoulder blades as you continued to ride through it. “that’s it. feels like fuckin’ heaven around me. best pussy i’ll ever have,” he mumbled against your skin. “i’ve got you, baby. ‘m right here.”

his hands gently kneaded the fat of your ass as you finally came down before swiping the pillow out from under you and pulling out. he rolled you onto your back and took in the sight of your disheveled state. your hair was messy and sticking to your face and up in the air, your cheeks were blushed from the intensity of your orgasm, and your tits were sitting so prettily right in front of him. “so fuckin’ gorgeous, angel. what’d i do to deserve you?”

in contrast to just moments ago, he softly pushed the hair off your face and smoothed it down. he leaned forward to gently suck on your left breast and leave deep colored hickeys along your skin for him to look back at later. while one hand toyed with your other breast, the other lined himself back up with you then pushed himself inside.

you bit your lip and whimpered at the stretch of him. “oh fuck,” you heard him moan against your breast before switching and sucking your other nipple into his mouth. he slowly rocked into you at a much more loving and delicate pace. it wasn’t about punishing you anymore, he just wanted to feel you and be close to you.

you sighed in relief when be began hitting that certain spot inside of you a much more tolerable pace and his pelvis gently rubbed against your clit. it felt like you were starting to see stars with how he’d press against it for prolonged moments. he left wet kisses up your neck and to your jaw then finally your lips. he was leaned up on his forearms at either side of your head while he kissed you softly with that same passionate love he always showed you.

your hands reached up onto his head, searching for something to grab onto only then remembering the buzzcut he now has. you moaned into his mouth when you felt him speed up just slightly while your hands continued to roam for something to hold from the overwhelming pleasure you could feel building up again.

he took hold your hand and intertwined your fingers at the side of your head, letting you squeeze him as tight as you needed as your moans began to pick up and so did his soft pants of breath. “fuck, angel. pussy feels so good,” he whispered breathlessly. “‘m gonna come.”

you hummed in agreement and clenched around him, making him groan and gently suck on the sensitive skin of your neck. “inside, rafe. p—please come inside me,” you moaned, desperate to feel him fill you up.

he mumbled a string a curses before spilling inside you and triggering your own orgasm. he continued softly kissing at your skin and allowing you to squeeze his hand through the pleasure until he finally rode it out for the both of you. “you okay, baby?” he mumbled slightly out of breath.

you nodded and huffed out slow breaths. “mhm, ‘m good,” you replied, still in euphoric bliss.

he slowly laid on top of you as to not crush you with his weight before burying his face in your neck, still inside you. “don’t ever let me catch another dude flirting with you again,” he said against your skin.

you rolled your eyes. “oh fuck off,” you said jokingly while pushing him off of you and out of you then rolling onto your side away from him.

he laughed softly and quickly followed, grabbing your waist to pull you back into his chest to smother your shoulder and neck with wet kisses.

[hotshotsxyz]

where else but here, who else but us?

(8x06 coda) (buddie) (986 words)

Eddie wakes to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing, and for the first time in maybe his entire life, he lets himself luxuriate in it. If he’d actually made it to bed last night, he might even go back to sleep.

He stands and stretches, then shivers a little bit as the cool morning air tickles his bare thighs. Eddie grins. He just—

He did something for himself, and the world didn’t end. He did something for himself, and not only did the world not end, it got a little bit bigger and a little bit brighter. He did something for himself and Buck showed up, and that joy he was feeling burned a little bit hotter.

Eddie scoops his phone up off the floor and finds that it’s completely out of juice. He huffs a soft laugh and plugs it in. It’s a silly thought, but—Eddie can’t remember the last time his phone died. How could it, when he’s been so damn determined to avoid anything that might bring him a little joy. Hell, he hasn’t even been letting himself text Buck unless Buck texts him first.

He pads down the hall and into his bedroom and pulls on the softest pair of sweats he owns. He changes into an old, threadbare t-shirt, leans against the wall and exhales.

In his kitchen, Buck is making breakfast. In Texas, Christopher is safe and probably still asleep, and that’s a whole lot more than Eddie’s been letting himself acknowledge.  Here in LA, Eddie is alive and healthy and, if the priest that was maybe hitting on him is to be believed, allowed to forgive himself. He’s not there yet, but he can let himself join Buck in the kitchen.

On his way, Eddie makes a pit stop in the living room. His phone, up to an impressive 8% battery, has already reconnected to the Bluetooth speaker that’s tucked behind one of the photos on the mantle. He queues up a playlist that he and Buck have been curating together for years. Soft music fills the room and Eddie kind of wants to cry.

This is what he’s been denying himself. Easy mornings and raucous evenings and his best friend filling all the empty spaces he’s always been too afraid to try to fill himself. Eddie walks into the kitchen and finds Buck already looking for him.

“Morning,” Buck says, a little rough, like it’s the first word he’s said today. It probably is.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He steps into Buck’s space and pulls him into a hug, just because he wants to. He feels Buck exhale and melt into him. “You okay?” he asks softly.

Buck pulls back from Eddie’s embrace and bites his lip. “I, uh—honestly?”

Eddie nods.

“I don’t really know,” Buck admits. “I think I just—or, I thought—I don’t know.” He lets out a frustrated huff.  

Eddie slides his hand down Buck’s arm until his fingers are circling Buck’s wrist. “You don’t have to,” he offers.

Buck’s head tips to the side. “You seem different,” he observes quietly.

“I am, I think,” Eddie says.

“What does that mean?” Buck asks

Eddie considers for a moment. “I think I’m just… ready to let some things go,” he says. “Maybe let some new things in.”

Buck smiles, small but genuine. “That’s—I’m glad.”

“Me too.” It’s incredible, but Eddie’s pretty sure he actually means it.

Buck’s gaze slides away from Eddie and hits the floor. “I, um. Me and Tommy. We—or, he—he broke up with me,” he says.

Something clenches in Eddie’s chest. “Then he’s an idiot,” he says.

“Maybe,” Buck says with a kind of hopeless shrug.

“He is,” Eddie says with conviction. “You’re—“ Sunshine. Joy. Perfect. Everything. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and twists their fingers together. “You’re the best person I know,” he says. “If Tommy couldn’t see that, that’s on him.”

Buck blows a disbelieving breath out through his nose. “He said I was going to break his heart.”

“Getting his heart broken by you would be a privilege,” Eddie replies before he can think better of it.

Buck lets out a pained noise. “But I wouldn’t—or, I didn’t want—” He cuts himself off with a frown. He looks up through his lashes and Eddie and Eddie—

Oh, Eddie wants.

“Anyone who’s lucky enough to be loved by you, even for a second, should know it’d be worth it,” he says.

“Eds,” Buck breathes.

“I mean it,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand. “And if you don’t, I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”

Buck laughs wetly. “You make it hard for a guy to wallow in a breakup, you know that?”

Eddie grins. “Good.” He steps back, tugging Buck’s wrist as he goes. “Come here,” he says, and Buck follows easily.

The coffee and bacon are quickly cooling on the counter, but there’s music in the air and Buck’s in his arms and Eddie’s pretty sure he wants to kiss his best friend. And he thinks that might even be a good thing.

“Eddie, what?” Buck asks breathlessly as Eddie puts a hand on his waist and spins them both.

“We’re dancing,” Eddie says, smiling.

“O-okay,” Buck says, clumsily following his lead.

Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest. A small grin spreads across Buck’s face.

“Maybe I would have,” Buck murmurs quietly.

“What?” Eddie asks, spinning him again, just because he can.

“Broken his heart.”

Warmth spreads from Eddie’s chest to his fingertips. “Yeah?” he asks breathlessly.

Buck hums but doesn’t clarify further. Eddie, though, Eddie’s pretty sure he gets it.

He and Buck—well. It’s hard to imagine a world where they don’t choose each other, over and over and over again. It’s them. How could they ever end up anywhere but here?

Eddie wants. He tightens his grip on Buck and keeps dancing.

[tetzoro]

MESSY — ༉‧₊˚.

fr. zoro roronoa !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : zoro has always been a little messy, so what else do you expect when he gets to have his way with you?

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, prone bone, creampies, mentions of spit & sweat, light choking, use of pet names (pretty baby, messy girl), mentions of overstimulation, honestly it’s just filth. — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : needed to write this out because it haunts my mind. thank you for reading & enjoy !!!

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

zoro’s just so messy. it’s especially true when he drinks, the sake dribbling down his chin as he takes steady gulps of the liquid. always finishing by wiping it off with the back of his hand, and depending on how far gone he is — he’ll lick that right up too.

it’s hard not to let your mind wander when you see him like this. it’s a stark difference to the way he fights, concise with a strategy meant to take down his opponents swiftly. it’s even different than the way he can be with others. no, it’s something more pure, driven by instinct.

his tongue will dip out of his mouth, swiping his bottom lip to clean up any remaining sake before a barely noticeable smile blooms. but you see it — you always do. your ever observant eye on him has you knowing more about him that he would think.

they say curiosity killed the cat but you wonder if death could ever taste this sweet. maybe heaven was found with zoro between your thighs, sloppily running his tongue all over your clit, spitting and sucking on it like his life depended on it. acting like a man starved for the honeyed nectar only you can give him, making sure to consume every last drop, unbothered by how many times you’ve cum already.

or maybe heaven was found here — caged under his body as you lay on your stomach, his body pressed on top of yours as his overwhelming girth stretches you out more with each thrust he gives you.

it didn’t start in this position, not by a long shot. after a few rounds you had no choice but to fold into yourself. propping yourself up on all fours took a heavier toll the more orgasms you had. like a fawn learning to walk, your limbs gave out under you, falling flat onto the bed— but he didn’t stop, not that you wanted him too.

he stayed upright at first, both hands firmly set on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. even if you tried to squirm out of his hold, trying, begging to get a moment of reprieve, he can’t stop. your silken walls just felt too good wrapped around his cock. it hurtles you into another release, taking him down with you — literally.

so now, he has you in a little headlock to hold you in place, his bicep keeping a light pressure against your neck that made you see stars. you’ve lost all vocal control at this point, moans steadily flowing out of your mouth, mewling nonsense mixed with his name.

you can hear zoro speaking — feel the rumble of his voice against your back and shivering up your spine, but there’s no way you can process it right now. your eyes are rolled so far towards the back of your head you swear you can practically see the heaven you’re feeling right now.

his toned chest slides along your back, your bodies both slick with sweat from the intensity of his thrusts. every part of you feels split open by him, but you knew deep down he’d stitch you back together once he was through. he always did.

whatever he was saying before has died out into soft grunts, his lips practically kissing your ear as he presses further into you. everything felt too hot, too close, but your mind was too dizzy to care. his cock continuously pumping his own cum back into you as it kisses the spongy spot deep inside of you.

you claw and writhe against the sheets, your body trembling as your release sneaking up on you. again. you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum on his cock alone but judging by how disturbingly damp the sheets are, you’d say it was more than you could count on one hand.

and you just couldn’t stop shaking — your legs twitching under him, your fingers trying to find purchase in something, anything. it all felt too much, but you were right on the edge, ready to leap into the abyss knowing he’d always be there to catch you.

“gonna cum again f’me pretty baby?” he grunts out the question so close to you that you finally hear him.

he moves his arm from where it was lightly pressed against your neck as he starts to let up — his hand reassuringly grasping yours for a moment as you search for something to hold onto. he presses a surprisingly tender kiss between your shoulder blades, savoring the soft whimper you let out for him.

“please- ‘m so close!” you can barely choke the words out, each thrust he gives you has you gasping for air. you swear you can feel him all the way up in your lungs, whisking away every breath you take.

the other arm that he used to prop himself up slides down under your stomach to wrap around your waist, using it as leverage to go even deeper.

in this position, your swollen nub easily catches against the bunched up sheets that lay under you — and he knew it judging by the way he kept pushing you down against it. the game he was playing was unfair but you’d never tell him anything different, not when it felt so good.

“then cum.” he whispers, squeezing both of his hands on your supple skin as he continues driving himself into you.

with his blessing, you let go. the pleasure was mind numbing, your body locking up before releasing it in a sweet ecstasy that has you crying out his name. it didn’t take long for zoro to finish after that. frantically rutting into you, the sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fills the room as you squeeze around his cock, desperately attempting to milk every last drop out of him.

seeing you almost helplessly confined under him had him moving even faster, watching as your body bounces against the mattress from the force of his thrusts as you fight against overstimulation, eagerly awaiting for him to fill you up again. and he’d never want to disappoint his baby.

he pushes all the way inside of you, letting out a strangled groan of your name as he finishes deep within you, finally giving you what you want. you weren’t sure how many times he had come either, but you could already feel it oozing out of your overused cunt and onto the sheets.

“always so messy.” he slurs, an ounce of pride in his voice as he lays on top of you. like he’s one to talk. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d let him have a piece of your mind. but instead, he’s gently turning you over and cradling you in his strong arms, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss against your sticky temple. he looks at you so softly the words die in your throat. he lets out a breathy chuckle, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “my messy girl.”

taglist : @fuyuaika @otoyastoy @ushiwhacka @margumis @oooohno @the-tenth-shadow @aeternussidera @strawberrystepmom

[kiwicopia]

MDNI | Themetober: Tricked

Fae!Geto x Fem!Reader

CW: noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, imprisonment, chained reader, mentions of starvation/dehydration, mentions of impregnation, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, overstimulation, licking, biting, body worship, face fucking, sex against the wall, creampie.

tags: @sweetchildcloud

Themetober Masterlist

He had to give credit where it was due, truly. Not many humans could evade a fae for as long as you had, but even you had limits to this evasion. He just had to find them; however, he wasn’t as patient of a fae as he should have been. The desire to have you as his was overwhelming to the point that drastic measures had to be taken. One little slip-up was all he needed, and the very second it occurred, he whisked you away to his domain.

“Darling,” he cooed, dark eyes watching as you shied away from him. Your body moved further back in the cell, and the soft clinking of the chains caused the corners of his lips to twitch as he smiled. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Things would be easier if you would simply give in.” Geto inched closer to the bars of your cell, his fingers tightly wrapping around the cold metal as he rested his forehead against it. “You’re being childish.” 

You hadn’t eaten or drank anything in three days, having refused him each and every time he would bring you something—it was such a childish thing for you to do. His eyes lowered, squinting as he assessed your huddled form in the corner of your cell. Geto didn’t want things to be this way. He couldn’t understand why you resorted to such stubbornness, which only resulted in an inevitable deterioration of your body. 

The fae huffed in irritation, brows creasing as his mind came to a single conclusion: be forceful. Honestly, this was the last thing he wished to resort to, but he couldn’t think of any other way to make you see reason and listen to him. With a quick tap of his forefinger against a metal bar, the door to your cell opened and he stepped inside. Your wide, teary eyes watched as he came closer to you, causing you to squish yourself against the cold, hard wall of the cell. 

“You have left me no choice,” he said. Geto then snapped his fingers, causing the chains connecting you to the cell wall to quickly slide back, which lifted your body to your feet. He came closer, stopping a foot in front of you before reaching a hand out to gently caress your cheek. He thumbed a tear away, tutting softly before letting out a small sigh. “You’ll see reason soon enough.” 

Disgust bubbled in your stomach as his hand drifted from your face and down to your thigh. His other hand followed suit, and you squirmed as his fingers wrapped around the flesh beneath your tattered dress before forcing your legs apart. Geto hummed softly, his smile broadening as he lowered himself to his knees. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles against the skin along your inner thighs before cupping the plump flesh and lifting your lower half up. It was just enough for him to roll his shoulders underneath your legs, situating them over his shoulders perfectly—though he still kept his hands cupped beneath your thighs. Geto’s lips kissed along the skin, trailing his movements further up to your awaiting cunt. “So beautiful, and all mine.” His nipped at your flesh, causing you to cry out before attempting to wriggle away from him. 

The fae tutted softly, shaking his head a little before tightening his grip on your thighs. You should know better than to refuse—not that you could if you tried. “Please,’ you begged. His eyes flitted up to your tear-filled expression. The way you cried and pleaded for him to stop brought forth a low rumble in his throat, as well as causing his cock to chub at the sight of more of your tears. You were so beautiful like this. Teary-eyed and pleading; a real sniffling mess as you attempted to wriggle away once more, but to no avail. “Please don’t—.” 

Your words died midsentence upon feeling his tongue lick a thick stripe along your folds, the tip curling slightly to catch your clit at the right angle. His ears rang with cries that spewed from your pretty lips, only to be ignored as he continued lapping at your cunt. The fae’s fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs to quell the constant squirming of yours as you tried pulling your hips back. Geto’s nose soon brushed against your bundle of nerves the further he pressed his face against your pussy, earning a shrill cry as you tossed your head back against the cell wall. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. The soft slurps rang in your ears, and the fact that your body was so eager to wet itself with arousal as he pleased you felt so wrong. You didn’t want this, you never wanted this. But it felt good. No longer could your mind hold the disgust for what he was doing to you; that feeling now fading as a sick and twisted need for him to continue festered in its place. 

The second your hips began to grind against him, he knew. You were giving in, and he groaned softly as his cock twitched beneath the fabric of his pants. It ached to be free, to be deep inside of you, but not yet. Geto still needed you to give in entirely, and there was only one way to get that. His pace increased as his tongue delved past your folds, lapping up the slick that now coated his lips and chin as he feasted on you like a starved beast. 

His nails dug into your flesh the more you fucked yourself against his face, now whining and moaning for more. You needed more, wanted it, craved it, and he delivered. The fae held your lower half up as your body shook upon releasing a sudden, sharp cry. His dark eyes watched as your back arched while your senses flooded with pure ecstasy. “Pretty girl,” he chuckled. Geto flicked his tongue along your puffy clit, relishing in the whiny moan that slipped out from you. “I’m still not finished eating.” 

He lapped at your sensitive, slick cunt again, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until he finally felt satisfied. The fae’s tongue licked along his lips after he pulled his face back, relishing in the sweetness of your multiple releases. Your body still twitched from the effects of him overstimulating you, which made you perfectly pliant for him as he stood to his feet and pressed his chest against yours. Geto kept you balanced between him and the wall, with an arm around your waist while a free hand worked to release himself from the confines of his pants. 

His cock sprang free—the tip angry and weeping arousal—and he slowly rubbed the thick head against your folds before easing himself inside. You whined at the stretch, body tensing from the sudden burn that ached the more he disappeared inside of you. The fae’s arm around your waist tightened as his hand moved to grip your hip, and his face buried itself in the crook of your neck. Your scent wafted through his nostrils, causing his dick to twitch inside of you, and Geto gave you a small moment of adjustment before pulling his hips back and slamming himself into you. 

The pace was relentless, with little to no room for gentleness as he fucked you. Gods, you were so tight and warm, with walls that sucked him back in with ease—so heavenly to him, this feeling. His arm soon unwound from around your waist, and both of his hands firmly pressed against the cell wall. Your tears were long gone by now, with eyes rolled back as you babbled nonsense in his ear, to which he let out a breathy chuckle at. 

You were adorable. His little human, getting herself fucked by a fae she thought she could evade. The thought of his little tricks almost not working on you days ago didn’t sit well with him, and he now desired to make you his in more ways than one. Fucking you just didn’t seem to be enough for him. Geto could impregnate you, force the swell of your belly with his seed. Then you would be his forever. 

Such an idea spurred him on, his body squishing you against the wall as his cock bullied your sopping cunt. “Take it, take it, darling,” he panted. Those words spilled from his lips like a mantra, a heavenly chant that would ensure your bond to him for life. Gods, it was enough for him to finally come undone. With a low growl rumbling in his throat, Geto fucked into you one last time, spilling into you and painting your walls in thick, creamy cum. 

His thrusts had slowed, gentling out as he kissed along the side of your neck. You were too fucked out to comprehend what had even happened. Too overstimulated from orgasms prior to realize the fate he resigned you to. Geto was a fae that had always gotten what his heart desired, no matter how sick and twisted it was. 

If impregnating you kept you bound to him, then so be it. Simply another little trick that had to be done. 

[sturnioz]

꒰ STURNIOZ KINKTOBER '24 ꒱ !

shy!matt isn't the biggest fan of horror movies, so he uses you for a distraction.

thank you @bernardsbendystraws for the idea, love you <3

matt flinches beside you as another jumpscare flashes across the screen, his body tensing as ringed fingers grip the blanket tightly, knuckles turning white as he pulls it close to his neck, squinting through long lashes in a desperate attempt to continue watching the horror movie.

you can't help but grin in amusement at matt's reactions, grabbing a handful of buttery popcorn and trying to stifle your laughter by shoving the popcorn into your mouth, but the sight of matt's wide eyes and fidgeting makes it nearly impossible for you to remain silent.

when a figure suddenly appears on the screen, matt gasps loudly — a sound that's half a squeak, and half a started yelp. you watch as he sinks further into the couch, knuckles turning an even paler shade of white as he pulls the blanket up over his chin, leaving only his wide, terrified eyes visible.

"i hate this," he mutters, his voice coming out slightly muffled from the safety of the blanket. "i hate this movie."

"it's not that bad," you hum, casually shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth. "it's predictable as fuck."

"does it look like i'm predicting the jumpscares?" matt whines helplessly beside you, his voice a mix of exasperation and fear which causes you to laugh, reaching over to gently stroke his hair in a comforting gesture as he continues. "how am i supposed to know when—"

matt is abruptly cut off by another piercing scream, and you aren't sure if the sound came from the movie or from him, and you choke on your popcorn as matt flings the blanket over his head, trembling beneath the comforter.

"matt!" you call out his name, laughing loudly, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. you cough and splutter, thumping your chest with your fist to clear your throat, and the sight of him quaking beneath the blanket only makes you laugh harder.

under the blanket, matt stays hidden, completely overwhelmed and refusing to even watch the rest of the movie, and you allow him to do as he pleases, but your laughter dies down and is replaced by curiosity when you feel matt shift beside you, moving to lay between your legs beneath the blanket.

you go to call out his name, to question him on what he's doing, but the words get caught in the back of your throat when matt pulls your shorts and under to the side, gently parting your folds with trembling fingers.

"matt..?"

"shh.." his breathing shudders as he shushes you, and you feel his nose brush against your skin as he leans in close. "need... need a distraction, okay? just.. just need this."

his tongue is already darting out to taste you before you could even reply, and your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, your hips raising towards his face as your hand slips beneath the blanket, tangling your fingers in his hair and guiding him closer to your heat.

soft moans escape your lips, the horror movie playing in the background fading into white noise — you don't even care about the movie anymore, and you most definitely can't concentrate when you're feeling matt's tongue lapping at your pussy, mouth sucking gently on your clit.

you arch your back off the couch, pushing your pussy more firmly against matt's mouth as you breathlessly whisper his name at the smooth slide of his tongue. his hands begin to wander, caressing your thighs and thumbing circles over your clit.

the dual sensation of his talented mouth and fingers pushes you closer to the edge, and you roll your hips in time with matt's licks, seeking more friction and pressure.

the messy noises is what makes your body tense too, your toes curling as the knot inside your stomach wounds tighter and tighter with matt's relentless rubbing on your clit, your gummy walls clenching around matt's probing tongue as you buck wildly, grinding your soaked folds against his face as your orgasm hits.

matt continues lapping at you until you collapse back onto the couch, panting heavily as you desperately try to catch your breath while matt crawls out from beneath the covers, capturing a glimpse of his glistening chin and lips as he moves up your body, refusing to meet your eyes as he lays above you comfortably, tucking his face in the crevice of your neck as his arms wind around your back, holding you close as you come down.

© STURNIOZ

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

[hoshifighting]

detective!reader x cop!mingyu + gunplay + roleplay

— you were a detective and weren't used to handcuff suspects, it was the police's job, so you asked your coworker, cop!mingyu, to show you what it was like to be handcuffed by the police.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, roleplay, being seach by the police, gunplay, handcuffs, penetrative sex, hair pull, breast play. IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE DON'T READ! may be triggering. I warned you.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you weren’t supposed to get involved in this part. you were a detective. the cops did the dirty work, slapped the cuffs on and dragged the suspects off. but the curiosity had been eating at you for weeks. mingyu made it look so damn effortless, and, well… you’d never admit it, but you kind of wanted to know how it felt.

“so... how’s it work?” you ask, leaning back against your desk with a smirk, trying to play it cool. you tilt your head at him, crossing your arms in a way that makes him raise his eyebrow.

“you serious?” mingyu’s laugh comes out low, skeptical, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you he’s not completely surprised. maybe you’d been too obvious lately, hovering around during his arrests.

“dead serious.” you hold his gaze, daring him.

he steps closer, tall and broad, his police uniform stretching over his shoulders. there’s a moment of silence, tension hanging in the air, before he finally says, “you really wanna know what it’s like?”

you nod, feeling your heart skip a beat.

“hands up,” he orders, voice dropping. the shift in his tone makes your breath catch, and you do as he says, lifting your arms above your head, letting your wrists press against the wall behind you.

“like this?” you ask, trying to sound bored, like this is no big deal. but the way his eyes roam over you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, it’s doing things to you.

“just like that.” he steps closer, his chest brushing against yours. you can smell his cologne, the leather of his holster. you’re hyper-aware of every inch of space between you two.

he spreads your legs with his foot. the drag of his boot against the floor is the only sound in the room. you feel something between your thighs as his knee nudges your legs farther apart, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“you always talk this much during an arrest?” he teases, voice gravelly as his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“depends on the cop.” your voice comes out breathy, but you force a smirk, playing the game. “you gonna frisk me now or what?”

“watch that mouth,” he warns, eyes narrowing as he pulls back. “or i might have to make you regret it.”

you laugh, but it dies in your throat when he suddenly grabs your hips and spins you around, bending you over your desk. the cold surface presses against your chest, and you hear the unmistakable click of his gun, the barrel resting against the back of your head.

your whole body goes rigid.

“not laughing now, huh?” mingyu’s voice is low, teasing, as he leans over you. “you were so cocky a second ago. what happened?”

“fuck off,” you mutter, your face hot, heart pounding in your chest.

he chuckles darkly, and the next thing you know, your arm is being wrenched behind your back, the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into your skin as he clicks them into place.

“i warned you,” he breathes against your ear, one hand still pressing the gun to your head, the other sliding down your waist, lingering at your hip before gripping the waistband of your pants.

“is this how you treat all your suspects?” you snark, despite the pounding in your chest, the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“only the ones with dirty mouths,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath your shirtt. “now behave, or i’ll really give you something to cry about.”

your lips part, a protest on the tip of your tongue, but it dies the second his hand slips lower, fingers grazing just above the edge of your panties. and even though you’re cuffed, face pressed against the desk, the click of his gun still in your ears… you don’t regret a damn thing.

you feel him grind his erection against your ass, the rough fabric of his uniform scratching against your jeans. his hips push into you, each thrust forcing you against the desk, the cuffs biting into your wrists as he pulls the chain tighter.

“this how you behave in an interrogation, too?” mingyu’s voice is cocky, fingers tugging at the chain, forcing your arms to stretch farther. the pull on your wrists burns, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

you’re about to spit something back when you feel his hand slide from the cuffs to the front of your jeans. it’s sudden—the way he pats your pussy through the denim, rough and unapologetic, making you jolt forward against the desk. your thighs tense, a soft gasp escaping before you can stop it.

“oh? got something to hide, sweetheart?” his laugh is dark, fingers teasing along the seam of your jeans, feeling the heat between your legs. “what’s this? you hiding contraband under here?”

his tone mimics the routine police talk, that cocky professionalism laced with a dirty undertone, making your stomach twist.

he unzips your jeans, the sound loud in the silent room. you bite your lip, face pressed into the cold desk, trying to focus on anything but the way his fingers brush against your skin as he pulls your jeans down over your hips, dragging your panties along with them. your breathing stutters when you feel the cool air hit your exposed pussy, and then his low scoff breaks the silence.

“fuck... you’re soaked.” he grips your panties, holding them up to inspect, a thin line of wetness still connecting them to you. “look at this. bet you’re real proud of yourself, huh?”

your face burns, but you can’t move, can’t even squirm under the weight of his gaze and the gun still pressed firmly to the back of your head.

he lowers the gun slowly, the cold metal sliding down your spine, making you shiver. when the barrel reaches the curve of your ass, he presses it there, and your body instinctively tightens.

“you nervous?” his other hand trails between your thighs. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, infuriating circles, and you mewl at the sensation.

“can’t take the heat?” he continues, his thumb sliding over your clit. “what’s the matter? can’t handle being searched?”

you whine, hips pushing back into his hand, desperate for more. the pressure of the gun against your skin, combined with the teasing strokes of his thumb, has your mind spinning, body on edge.

“don’t worry, i’m just doing my job,” he mutters, his voice mocking. “i’ve gotta make sure you’re not hiding anything, right?”

and then his thumb slides lower, pushing inside you, and your breath catches, hips jerking as your pussy clenches around him. the stretch is perfect, teasing, not enough to satisfy but enough to make you desperate.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” his voice is almost reverent, but there’s that smirk again, audible in every word. “imagine if i was fucking you right now. you’d be losing your mind.”

your lips part, a shaky breath escaping as his thumb moves slowly in and out. but it’s still not enough, and he knows it.

the gun moves from your ass, and you feel his other hand snake around to the front of your shirt. with a flick, he unbuttons it, his fingers brushing against your skin as he peels it open. your bra is the next to go, pushed down just enough to expose your breasts, your nipples hardening at the sudden exposure.

“damn, you look good like this,” he murmurs, the gun now tracing the curve of your breast. “bet you’ve never had anyone do this to you before, huh? play with you while you’re cuffed…”

the cold barrel of the gun brushes over your nipple, teasing the sensitive bud, and you gasp, hips pushing back instinctively, but his thumb inside you keeps its torturous pace.

“what’s wrong? want me to go faster?” he taunts, moving the barrel in slow circles around your nipple. “maybe if you ask nicely, i’ll think about it.”

you bite your lip, refusing to beg, but it’s hard to hold back when his thumb presses deeper, and your walls flutter around him, making a loud squelch sound.

“still so stubborn.” he chuckles, the gun moving lower, teasing the space between your breasts before coming back to your nipple, pressing the cold metal right against it. your breath hitches, and he leans down, his mouth near your ear.

“tell me how much you like it,” he whispers, the heat of his breath against your skin making you shiver. “or i’ll leave you like this... hm? what do you think?”

the words spill out before you can stop them.

“i like it, okay?” your voice is breathy, broken. “fuck... mingyu, i love it.”

“good girl.” his smile is practically audible as he rewards you, pushing his thumb deeper, his hand moving faster now, and your body jerks, gasping against the desk.

his thumb stops moving, and you instantly sulk, your hips rolling on instinct to chase the friction. it’s so unfair—the way he’s teasing you, bringing you so close to the edge only to pull back. “fuck… why’d you stop?” you whine, shifting against the desk, trying to get him to move again.

“don’t sulk.” mingyu’s voice is firm, warning. but you sulk again, pressing your face into the desk in frustration. you expect him to react, maybe something softer, but then you feel his gun leave your breast, and you freeze.

curiosity gets the better of you, and you glance over your shoulder, just a peek to see where he’s going. but before you can even process it, he slips the barrel of the gun between your legs, right behind your ass, the cold metal brushing against your skin. your eyes snap shut, a chill running down your spine.

“eyes forward,” he commands, the words sharp, and you comply instantly, feeling your heart hammering in your chest.

then you feel something hard and cold tapping lightly against your clit—a slap that makes you flinch. the touch is brief, superficial, but enough to send a jolt through your body. mingyu isn’t going to risk much, but it’s a warning, and you damn well understand it.

he steps back briefly, enough to kick off your boots and tug your jeans and panties down at once, making you yelp at the sudden force. before you can react, he’s moving you, lifting you onto the desk like you weigh nothing, positioning you right where he wants you.

you hear the soft click of the handcuffs again, and your arms are pulled forward, your wrists now locked in front of you, pressed against your chest. you’re panting, skin flushed, and your eyes flutter.

his voice drops to a whisper, leaning close to your ear, as if breaking character. “does it hurt?” he asks softly, thumb grazing your wrist. the shift in his tone makes you open your eyes.

“no,” you murmur, throat dry. “keep going.”

he smiles against your skin, satisfied with your answer. “good.”

his gun moves again, the barrel sliding up from your belly, trailing a wet, cold path over your skin as he drags it upward—across your chest, over the valley of your breasts, to the hollow of your throat. the sensation leaves a damp chill, making you squirm. your heart pounds harder when it finally reaches your lips, hovering there for a moment, like he’s giving you time to process what’s coming next.

“tongue out,” he orders, eyes locked on yours.

your tongue slips out hesitantly, and the next thing you know, the barrel of his gun is resting there, pressing against your tongue, heavy and cold. you taste the faint metallic edge of it.

he watches you, almost hypnotized as he presses the gun deeper onto your tongue, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. you can feel your own taste lingering on the barrel from where he’d touched you before, mixing with the sharp metallic tang.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “u taste yourself on it, hm?”

you nod, eyes half-lidded, the sensation making your head swim. your body trembles, desperate for him to keep going, but at the same time, completely mesmerized by the way he’s looking at you—like he’s never seen anything like this before.

his hand slides up to your breast, squeezing it roughly before pulling back just slightly, his voice shifting into that professional cop tone as if this was just another part of his job. “ma’am,” he asks, his voice low but polite, like he’s following some unspoken protocol, “permission to fuck this pussy?”

the contrast makes your stomach flip, the filthy intent hitting you square in the chest. you nod, lips still parted around the gun, and he gives you a soft, almost mocking chuckle. “i’m gonna need a verbal confirmation for that,” he teases, his hand squeezing your breast harder, fingers pinching your nipple.

“yes, fuck... me,” you pant, your body arching against the desk, desperate for him to just take you already.

he yanks your legs apart, spreading you wide with his knee as he undoes his belt, the sound of it making you clench around nothing. the gun presses harder against your lips as his fingers slide through your folds, feeling how wet you are for him. he lets out a groan, cock twitching in his hand as he lines himself up.

“you’re so fucking tight,” mingyu mutters, gripping the base of his cock before sliding it through your slick, teasing your entrance with just the tip. he’s holding back, savoring the way you squirm under him, desperate to feel him inside.

then, without warning, he thrusts forward, burying himself deep inside you in a rough stroke. your body jerks forward, the force of his hips slamming into you so hard that your arms strain against the cuffs, the desk creaking beneath you. your walls flutter around him as you try to adjust to his size.

the gun, still resting against your temple now, makes you shut your eyes tight, the cold metal pressed against your skin a constant reminder of how dangerous this is, how vulnerable you are beneath him. your entire body clenches, a whimper escaping your lips as he holds himself deep inside you for a moment, just letting you feel him, letting you squirm.

“shit... you feel so good,” he groans, his free hand sliding up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back sharply so you’re arching against him. “such a dirty mouth on you, and now you’re taking me so well.”

his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against him as he starts to fuck into you, hard and deep, his pelvis slamming into your clit with every thrust. your hips rolling in time with his movements, your body helpless under his grip.

he pulls your hair again, forcing your head back even farther, his grip almost painful as he keeps fucking you, rough and relentless. the gun moves, sliding down from your temple to press against your lips again, and you open your mouth without thinking, letting it slip between your teeth.

“that’s right,” he mutters, watching you bite down on the cold metal, eyes half-lidded. “keep it there.”

his thrusts get faster, more desperate, his body pressing into yours harder. the desk shakes beneath you, and his other arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place as he fucks you.

“fuck,” he hisses, his breath ragged. “you’re gonna come for me, huh? you’re gonna come with my cock buried inside you, while i hold a gun to your pretty little head.”

the gun in your mouth, his hand in your hair, the way he’s fucking you with impetuous ease “cum dectetive y/n,” mingyu growls, pulling your hair harder, making your back arch even more. “cum for me.”

your body convulses inside his arms, your walls squeezing his cock as your orgasm rips through you, pleasure flooding every inch of you. you cry out, muffled by the gun in your mouth, and he groans as he feels you clench around him, his thrusts getting sloppier, more unstable.

“fuck,” he gasps, hips slamming into you one last time as he cums, spilling inside you with a whine that he tries to hide between a growl.

he lets go of your hair, gently this time, his fingers sliding through it in a soft, almost apologetic gesture. the gun leaves your lips, and you gasp for air, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

his hand leaves your hair, and you hear the soft thud of the gun being placed on the table beside you. you barely have time to catch your breath before his palm presses against your chest, right above your racing heart. you can feel the heat of his palm on your skin.

“scared?” he asks, as his thumb brushes lightly over your skin.

“fuck off,” you mutter, still breathless, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips despite the way your body is still recovering. “you wish.”

he chuckles. “oh, i don’t think it’s wishing when i can feel your heart pounding like this,” he says, pressing his palm a little harder against your chest, teasing you with his gentle touch now. “admit it, i made you nervous.”

“oh, absolutely terrified,” you deadpan, sarcasm dripping from your words as you raise your cuffed wrists in mock surrender. “the big bad cop, pointing an unloaded gun at me.”

he pauses for a second, eyes narrowing. “how did you—?”

“please,” you interrupt, raising a brow, “i knew it wasn’t loaded. you’re good, mingyu, but i know better than that.” your voice softens, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you lean in, your forehead brushing against his. “you’re not nearly as heartless as you like to pretend.”

he steals a kiss, his lips pressing against yours. “you saying i’m soft?”

“yeah,” you breathe, teasing him as you press your forehead against his again. “soft.”

his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to be playful, his thumb stroking your cheek as he leans in close, his lips brushing yours. “you’re lucky i like you, you know that?”

you grin, biting your bottom lip as you stare into his eyes. “i’m starting to think you might like me more than just a little.”

he chuckles, shaking his head as he finally unlocks the handcuffs, pulling your wrists free. “you might regret saying that.”

“or maybe you’ll regret trying to hide it,” you shoot back, giving him a teasing wink before stealing a kiss of your own this time, catching him off guard. “but you can keep pretending, mingyu. i’ll play along.”

“we’ll see about that,” he mutters, stealing one last kiss before pulling back with a grin. “just don’t expect me to go easy on you next time.”

“i’d be disappointed if you did.”

[dnvrsmedia]

i fear the voices are making me write for sev again (i miss her bad)

so

sevika falling for nerd!reader (this is totally NOT self indulgent wdym??)

SFW

You both met when silco decided to hire you

And by hire you, he threatened to kill you if you didn’t acquire the money your father owed him (he didn’t care if your father died. he needed his money some way or another)

You, being a modest engineer, did not have much to offer

Except for your brains

Sev was definitely skeptical about you when you first landed on the team (but let’s be fr when is she ever open minded and welcoming)

She was tasked to keep you company whilst doing your various tasks (silco calls it bodygaurding, sevika calls it babysitting)

Sevika likes to pretend that she hates brooding around you but that would be a lie.

You’re sitting around doing your work.

glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose, making your concentrated face.

& Sev’s whole body is lit on fire.

oh don’t get me started on when she hears you in your meetings talking your smart shit

she’s practically drooling

CALLING ! YOU ! COOKIE !

this started off as her calling you a smart cookie (absolutely trying to be demeaning when she first met you)

and when you finally chip her walls the nickname spirals into something endearing

“Cookie, cmere real quick”

“Ya know i don’t understand that smart shit, cookie”

“ Maybe I need tutoring, Cooks”

She absolutely will stare down the men in your meetings who try and demean you.

“ Look, I don’t know what the fuck you guys are talking about but she does. Next time you interrupt her it’ll be my foot up your ass”

Will ALWAYS be asking you to tinker with her arm

You’ve gotten caught staring at her one too many times

not just because she’s ya know so delicious looking

But because you’re thinking about the many many different ways you can upgrade her!

This obviously did not bode well when she first met you!

Barring her teeth at you and the whole 9 yards but that didn’t stop the pull you both felt for each other!!!

She revels in making you nervous

At the start, Sevika used to use her “scary lady status” (you’ve coined this term) on you

she’d absolutely tower over you with a :| face just to push your glasses up your nose

she’d watch your breath catch in your chest as your heart pounded heavily with a smirk

now! she uses her scary lady status on you for good!

she absolutely will threaten you to take breaks

So many times has she found you sitting at your desk, mouth open, and softly snoring

Meanwhile, her heart breaks into thousands of little pieces

“Cooks, you work too hard. How many times do I gotta check you’re here before going home?”

She shakes her head as she hoisted your body over her brute shoulder.

she absolutely loves you reading to her

after a long day of work for the both of you

you can bet on it that Sev will mope around you until you’re ready to lay with her head on your lap

Sev never understood the whole point of reading growing up

Having a rocky relationship with her family (her dad) she never experienced the warmth being read to could have brought.

So when you offered to read to her after a particularly hard day she thought you were joking

Absolutely within 20 minutes of you reading and scratching her scalp did she comically fall asleep

I mean open mouth dad snoring with drool dripping onto your blanket

but it’s okay because you’d won’t have it any other way :)

[jobean12-blog]

Burn for You

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Even though you know Marcus would protect you with his very last breath you still want to learn to defend yourself but what will your husband say when you ask him to teach you?

Author's Note: Just another little story in our happy world where everyone is on the same side and friends haha. This is a stand alone story that I couldn't resist after seeing the new snippets from the movie- and then Pedro himself posts the sword gif and I died all over again. How dare he? It's so hot🔥🫠Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and flirty and tense, he's always soft and perfect, semi public sex, smut, they just can't get enough of each other.

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The gold trimmed linen falls over his bare skin, and you smooth your hands down his chest to straighten it.

“When are you going to teach me how to wield a sword General?”

You reach for the fascia, gently placing it over his leg before starting to secure it. When his silence drags on you look up from your kneeling position.

“Are you trying to think of some filthy thing to say right now?” you tease. “I am on my knees.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a mischievous smirk.

“If I didn’t know how much you loved being in that position, I might have something more to say…”

“But…” you finish for him as you slowly slide up his body and meet his eyes.

“Your question has surprised me.”

You take his cuirass and press it to his chest with more force than is necessary.

“And why is that husband?” you ask through clenched teeth.

As you begin to tug on the leather strings at his sides he grabs both your wrists, grasping them in one hand and pulling you against his chest, while the fingers of his other press under your chin and hold your gaze to his.

“You think I do not believe you capable?” he asks with his brows drawn in.

“Why else would you not teach me?” you huff.

“Like my heart, body and soul, you have my sword until my last breath and forever after,” he whispers against your lips.

Your expression softens and you press your fingertips to his jaw, delicately tracing the scar just above the dark hair that lines his cheek.

“I know Marcus…”

“But…” he says, echoing your earlier sentiment.

“I wish to learn. I am strong. And I want to be able to defend myself.”

He remains quiet still, releasing your wrists and smoothing his calloused fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“I could ask Lucius instead…” you start to muse.

“You will not,” he growls.

“He may not have the same reservations you have…whatever they may be.”

Your tone is cheeky as you press yourself closer to him, dancing your fingers down his side to give the leather straps of his cuirass a sharp tug.

He grunts lightly before his lips turn up into a smile.

“As you wish my love,” he murmurs. “I will teach you to wield a weapon.”

“Excellent,” you whisper, loosening your grip and reaching for the Manica to adorn his forearms.

He stops you with a firm hand and you raise a brow.

“On one condition…”

“And what is that?” you ask.

“You will train with me and only me. No other will come near you, touch you.”

“Of course,” you say with a lift of your chin. “Only you.”

He dips his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he presses you against his body.

“How much time do we have?” he mumbles, kissing you, chaste and soft.

He pulls back, licks his lips, and moves forward again, moaning softly against your mouth.

“Marcus,” you chide but it’s lacking vigor, coming out breathier and desperate.

When his hips rock you feel him, hard and ready and it’s like someone lights a match inside your chest and you curl your fingers into the edges of his cuirass and push him back toward the wall.

The draped fabric at your waist falls open and you gasp as cool air finds your skin where you’re wet and aching.

His roughened palm slides down your stomach and his fingers slip between your legs.

“Want to taste this,” he whispers, dragging the tip of his fingers in and out.

“Ah General Acacius. So good of you to grace us with your presence,” Lucius jokes, his eyes twinkling.

The other men stifle their laughter, clearing throats and shuffling feet when Marcus glares at them menacingly.

You step out from behind Marcus and smile at Lucius, whose surprised expression quickly transforms into one of mischief.

“Do we have a new trainee today General?” Lucius asks with a smirk.

Marcus ignores him and deftly twirls the sword between his fingers as he walks along the row of gladiators.

“My wife…, he begins, “wishes to learn how to fight.”

You can see that the men are trying to restrain their shock, and you meet each of their gazes, holding your head high and your shoulders poised.

“You will not touch her or even come near her,” he continues. “She will train with me and only me.”

Marcus turns his covetous eyes to you, dragging them over every inch of your skin that glistens under the warm sun.

With a hard swallow he gets into position and instructs the men on what to practice, giving Lucius control of the group so he can work with you.

“That will keep them busy for now,” he says quietly as he moves toward you, circling.

He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and slowly sliding his hand down from your shoulder to your wrist. Despite the heat, goosebumps crawl along your skin, and you feel his smile at your neck.

“Focus my beloved,” he murmurs. “You will not win any fights if you are distracted.”

The urge to throw your elbow back and into his side is strong but you refrain and strengthen your wrist.

He places the sword in your hand and maneuvers your fingers into the right position, keeping his hand over yours as he shows you the proper grip.

Every word of command is whispered into your ear and every touch of his hand is both soft and firm. Even with his impressive size and strength, he moves lithely, easily disarming you at every turn.

It frustrates you, motivates you but more than anything, and to your utter exasperation, it arouses you.

“Marcus.” You call his name while in a particularly precarious position and he quickly stands and takes you with him, his gaze concerned as it sweeps over your body.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

He waits for you to elaborate and you step closer. “Perhaps you should work with the men now. I think Lucius bores them.”

His lips tilt upward at your teasing, but he continues to study you carefully.

“Do you need a break then?”

“Perhaps I can work on my stance with Lucius,” you suggest.

His eyes narrow. “We made a deal.”

“I know,” you tell him with a quiet sigh.

Then with resignation you throw back your shoulders and get into position. “I’m ready to continue.”

His body heat at your back sends another wave of tension through your body and when his calloused fingertips ghost along your thigh to fix its position you have to fight back a gasp.

“Relax your muscles,” he says as he presses on your shoulders and lower back.

You let out a slow exhale and try to focus on his direction instead of his touch, but the way his voice is low and deep in your ear drags you right back to your lascivious thoughts.

When he’s satisfied with your positioning he moves in front of you, twirling his sword tauntingly and though his forearms are hidden under the armor adorning his wrists you know the muscles flex and shift enticingly.

He beckons to you, and you advance, remembering the foot work well and making good use of your sword.

But before you can make any real progress he has you on your back and beneath him, the sandy dirt rising and floating around your head as you stare up into his face.

“You are doing well,” he assures you, sensing your frustration. “Remember, it is only your first day.”

Sweat coats his brow and you watch a droplet roll down his temple and along the line of his beard. It settles on his upper lip and the desire to lean up and kiss him is overwhelming. His scent surrounds you, sweat and leather, and his touch burns.

“Marcus,” you breathe out.

“My love,” he answers, pushing up and offering you a hand.

You crash into his chest, your eyes dropping to his mouth and your lips parting. “I need you.”

It takes him only a split second to realize the meaning of your words and his head dips to your ear, his growl full of promise.

“Do you need me to fill you my love?”

You barely get your words of affirmation out when he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the training circle.

“Lucius, you can finish off the training for today. I have to see…to my wife.”

Your quarters are too far away, and you tell him so, letting him lead you to an underground alcove in the basilica nearby.

He kisses you until your back hits the cold stone wall and you can feel every inch of armor and cloth that separates your bodies.

His hands grip your face, thumbs pressing urgently into your skin as he kisses you until you’re lightheaded.

Few rays of sunlight pierce the recesses below and you’re bathed in a soft darkness, hidden, but with the sounds of the world going on right above you.

It reminds you that there are other people on this Earth beyond his kisses, his frantic hands, and the way he can’t seem to get you close enough.

Your armor becomes untied, and you reach under his, tugging at whatever you can find to loosen it. Cloth and linen floats to your feet and his fingers skim the curve of your waist, dipping between your legs.

“Fingers Marcus,” you gasp.

He swears, two fingers sliding deep.

Your hips rock into his hand and you hold onto his broad shoulders, on the edge of something that starts in your stomach and slips up along your spine.

You cry out, too loud and breathing so heavy you might pass out.

“I’m so close Marcus,” you whisper. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes lift from between your legs, and you take him in; messy curls, fallen over his damp forehead and sticking to it, his body shining with a light sheen of sweat and dust clinging to his skin.

You almost come at the sight of him. He feels you tighten around his fingers and pulls them free with another curse.

His knee parts your legs and you feel the head of his cock as it slides through you and you’re so wet that with just the smallest push forward he starts to slip inside.

With a grunt, he tucks his head into your neck, takes deep, steadying breaths.

“I need a moment,” he murmurs and holds your hips still.

He straightens, reaching a hand over your shoulder to brace it on the stone wall.

“You feel too good,” he whispers, pulling out and pushing back in slowly. “Too perfect.”

He builds a rhythm, hips rocking against yours, the sound of his armor thudding into yours as he fucks you.

His hand reaches up, holds your face as his thumb traces your lips, the taste of you lingering on his fingers.

“I want to watch you come,” he says, dark eyes moving across your face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, the muscles strained and tight with his restraint, pulling him harder to you.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I want it harder.”

His lips brush yours and he nibbles the lower one, tugging and then soothing with his tongue.

“And…?” he asks, knowing there’s more you want to say. More that you need.

“I want someone to hear us. I want them to know how good you feel.”

He grunts and grips your waist tightly before he starts slamming hard and slick into you.

Voices echo above, the sounds of feet and horse hooves growing louder.

“More Marcus,” you cry out.

You feel so full and stretched and the tight feeling in your stomach grows warmer and hotter until your head falls back against the stone, and you moan out his name as you come.

He follows right after, his movements becoming jagged and frantic before finally stilling with a muffled groan into your skin.

You lean into him, catching your breath and letting your fingers wander over the dips and curves of muscle in his back.

He lifts his head and immediately searches for your mouth, sealing his lips to yours.

When he pulls back his eyes are ablaze, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“What?” you ask, trembling when his fingertips skim along your collarbone, strong but gentle.

They ghost higher, to the hollow of your throat where your pulse beats wildly still, before closing lightly around your neck.

Your breath hitches.

“Was it the fighting that aroused you so?” he asks, pressing his thumb under your chin while he still holds your neck. “Or…?”

You swallow and lick your lips.

“You know what it was General,” you whisper.

“I want to hear you say it.”

He’s still inside you and he starts to thicken, the throb making your eyelashes flutter along your cheeks.

“You, General. It is you. Always you that fills me with an unquenchable need.”

“Then it is a good thing my hunger for you will never be sated,” he whispers as he begins to slowly rock his hips.

[fawnhunter]

natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

[moonlightspencie]

honey, i’m home

Description: Tangerine misses his girl after a long job.

Pairing: Tangerine x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only!, oral (f!recieving), p in v, somno (implied mutual consent)

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: not proofread bc i didn’t wanna

Tangerine slid his key into the lock, turning it slowly with a click. Then the deadbolt above it, extra careful to make it silent.

He pushed the door open, padding in as softly as he could, not even bothering to shut it until he’d disarmed the alarm system just beyond the entrance. As soon as he heard the tiny beep that indicated the alarm was off, he closed the door, locking it again. He reset the alarm, then turned to toe off his shoes and hang up his jacket.

He glanced around the home, noting that everything had been shut off for the night, save for a salt lamp in the living room. He peeked around the corner of the hallway, seeing nothing but a tiny bit of light peeking out from under the bedroom door. Probably her diffuser, he thought to himself.

He tiptoed down the hallway, breathing a little heavier with each step closer to the door at the end. He put his hand on the knob, gripping it gently as he turned it, opening the door. He was careful to go slowly as to not make a sound since the door could tend to get a bit creaky.

He stepped inside the room as soon as he could fit from behind the door, smiling to himself a little as he saw the diffuser running, filling up the room with the smell of lavender.

He ran a hand through his hair as his eyes drifted to the bed, and the woman in it. He almost groaned seeing her half-covered by the blankets in the nightgown he loved so much. She looked so pretty and peaceful like that, her chest rising and falling slowly with every breath.

He tugged on his tie, loosening it a little before fully pulling it off. He set it on a nearby dresser. Then, he pulled off his vest, leaving it with the tie.

He walked closer to the bed, careful to stay quiet as he pushed up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top four buttons of his shirt. He reached forward as soon as he got close enough, slowly pulling the covers off of her body. His eyes trailed the top of the comforter as it revealed her to him, inch by inch. Her soft, white nightgown draped over her chest and stomach. Her panties on display from where the gown had ridden up. Her plush thighs, and the rest of her pretty legs. All for him.

He let out a breath, palming himself through his trousers, hard just from looking at her. He slowly crawled onto the mattress, carefully pushing her legs apart.

He kept an eye on her face as his hands moved up her legs and got a hold of her baby blue panties, pulling them slowly down her legs, tossing them across the room. He groaned softly, his eyes drawn immediately to her perfect cunt.

“Fuck,” he muttered gently, lowering himself down between her legs.

He started kissing up her thighs, sucking the supple skin into his mouth every few kisses. If he could died between her legs, he was sure he’d die a happy man.

His mouth trailed up further and further until his lips were ghosting over hers, breathing in her scent. She was already a little wet, and he was determined that it was because, even in her sleep, she knew he was nearby. He pressed a soft, open mouth kiss to her cunt, wanting to feel the silky flesh on his lips more than anything.

He swallowed after the kiss, feeling totally wrecked by her already. He reached his hand up, sliding two fingers between her folds before opening her up, licking a long strip from her hole to her clit. He moaned into her, swirling his tongue around the little bud before sucking it into his mouth, his cheeks hollowed out. He focused his tongue on her clit, his fingers sliding to her entrance, teasing around the hole before sliding one in.

He swore he could pass out as he heard her let out a breathy moan, slowly starting to wake up. He smiled against her, curling his finger inside of her, relishing the feeling of her walls, soft and spongy, against his skin. He ground his hips against the bed, needing to get some kind of friction with how painfully hard he felt.

“Tan…?” she mumbled softly, her back arching off the bed a little.

“Hey, m’love. I’m home,” he said, his voice reverberating through her pussy.

She moaned softly, her hand immediately moving to tangle in his hair. He smiled, licking her softly before he slightly lifted his head up.

“Hope you don’t mind, darlin’. Couldn’t help myself with you laying here all pretty. I missed ya,” he said, watching her face.

She shook her head. “Don’t mind. Please don’t stop.”

He smirked. “Glad to oblige ya, love.”

He moved back in, kissing her leaky cunt once again before sitting up on his knees. She watched him with hooded eyes as he started undoing his belt.

“It’s been too long,” he muttered, undoing the button on his trousers, zipping them down.

“Too long,” she nodded, her eyes on his hands as he pushed the material down his thighs.

He didn’t even bother taking it all off, pushing down his briefs next, letting his cock spring free. They rested near his knees as he dragged the head of his cock through her folds, groaning softly.

“M’fuckin’ sensitive. I think my cock might’ve missed you more than I did,” he gritted out, pulling her hips forward.

He could have cum on the spot from the sound she made as he pushed his tip inside of her, soft and needy and fucking desperate. He leaned himself over her body, propping himself up on his forearm as he pressed into her, kissing her temple.

“Love you, darlin’.”

“I love you.”

He smirked at her voice, snapping his hips against hers, his cock buried to the hilt. She moaned, gripping hard onto his arm as he started fucking her into the mattress, no longer worried about being so gentle with her.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned into her ear.

He relished in the feeling of her walls squeezing him, too tired to keep herself relaxed for him. He knew he wouldn’t last long like this, but he didn’t expect to anyways. He hadn’t gotten to properly fuck her in almost a month: he didn’t care if he came right away. He just needed to be inside of her.

“Come on, love,” he grunted, his hand moving between their bodies to rub her clit harshly.

She whimpered, holding onto him like her life depended on it as he brought her to the edge. He moaned into her ear, kissing down her neck sloppily.

“Fuck,” she whined, her body starting to tense up.

Tangerine groaned loudly. “That’s it, baby.”

He practically whimpered as she clenched down around him, cumming hard on his cock. Her walls pulsed, drawing him dangerously close to his own climax. He put it off as long as he could, wanting to fuck her through her release, but he could only do so much.

“Shit, baby,” he grunted, pulling out just in time to make a mess of her stomach, his hips jutting into his hand as he finished. “Fuck.”

He looked down at her body, her pussy soaked and messy, her tummy not much different.

“God, you’re pretty like this,” he said softly, leaning back on his knees to look at her. “Messy girl.”

She whined softly. “I missed you.”

“Missed you more, love,” he smiled softly, brushing his hair away from his face. “Promise I’ll fuck you proper tomorrow morning.”

He leaned down to kiss her lips once, determined that he wouldn’t be taking another job for at least six months.