#so they’re whimpering and begging me to stop

[reignpage]

S o M e a n !

You're gonna give me a cardiac arrest

Warnings: 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni, pure smut, cowgirl, slight exhibitionism, spitting, teasing, edging, overstimulation, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, cum play, cum eating, face slapping, sub!choso, not proofread

“Ngh, not so fast!” 

Choso’s laid out all pretty for you. His hair’s ruffled and unravelling out of his ponytails, black shirt ridden all the way to his chin, and you had long thrown away his pants. There are faint stains of lipstick, your lipstick, on his mouth, drawing your attention to his plump lips, stretching into an O as he throws his head back. 

“Cho,” you giggle, fingernails dragging down his torso, “you need to stop wriggling around, baby.”

He hiccups, breathing hard and fast whilst he drowns in pleasure. You can tell your boyfriend’s trying his very bestest to stay in the moment, to not lose himself to the growing wave of euphoria within arm’s reach, and it only makes you wetter. 

You lift your hips all the way, until just his tip’s inside. Waiting and waiting until he opens his eyes in confusion, and as soon as his teary gaze meet yours, you slam down. 

“FUCK!”

His abs clench and you feel the hard ridges below your palm. His skin’s so perfect and you can’t help leaning down to press your front to his just so you can lick a stripe up his neck. Choso shivers. Oh and his eyes ares shutting in focus when you flick both of his nipples. He hates when you do that. They’re too sensitive and you never hesitate to use them against him, to make him let out those unmanly mewls. 

He’s whining and whimpering, positively drunk on the feel of you squeezing and pulsing around his heavy cock. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, gonna cum, please!” 

His room’s filled with the filthy sounds of your rough fucking. Always so rough, so mean and cruel. 

Slapping skin, moans and groans, rickety bed, slamming headboard, and underneath it all, is a noise that he’s trying hard to ignore, lest he bursts his load into you before you even cum. Like last time. And the time before that. God, it happened way too often, and he was always so embarrassed, but you would only give him that sweet smile, and climb all the way up his body, hovering until he begged for a taste, to make it up to, to make you forget.  

When you swivel your hips around, his cock head presses against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You grab his hands that are clawing at your hips, torn between slowing you down and holding you steady, and you bring them up to cup your tits. Instinctively, he’s groping and pinching and loving the weight of them in his palms. The boy’s obsessed with your tits, could suck at them for hours, had even cum in his pants from the first time you let him cop a feel, and he can’t fall asleep unless he’s buried between them.

“So pretty -ngh- so fucking pretty. You s-smell really good, really really good. Oh, god…..Don’t stop!” He’s making shallow thrusts upwards like his hips had a mind of their own, like he wants to bury himself inside you. And well, of course he does, you just feel so good, so warm, so wet. 

He’s close, could feel the tell-tale signs of his orgasm rising and rising until…

You pause. 

His eyes dart to you in a panic and you coo. 

So adorable. 

“My friend’s calling me, Cho.”

They are?

He didn’t notice the phone ringing, and when you stretch over his body to reach the nightstand, he’s confused. But he continues to grope your tits, sucking any area of skin he can reach before you’re leaning back to answer the call. Choso has no idea what’s happening, but he doesn’t question you. Maybe it’s a really important call.

“Oh, hey! No, I’m not busy.” His brows furrow and you can’t resist swiping a thumb across his pout. “Yeah, tell me all about your date.”

‘But you were both feeling good, why do you have to answer the call?’ Is what he wants to say but there’s a glint in your eyes that holds him back. Choso gulps. 

And then you’re moving your hips again, slowly, just in circles. You’re grinding down on him, lids fluttering shut at the feel of the coarse hairs at his based rubbing just right against your clit. The phone is pressed to your ear and through the sheer power of being a maneater, you’re holding back your moans. This isn’t about you, not right now. 

Not until you can make him squirt, until he’s overstimulated and he doesn’t even know what day it is, or what his name is. 

“He didn’t hold the door open for you? That’s terrible!” The way you say it, with an indignant tone, makes Choso glad he always opens the door. And you know he’s a good boy, always has been, so you lean forward again, pulling down his bottom lip with your thumb and he breathes hard. He loves when you do this. 

You spit in his mouth and he’s gulping it down like a man in a desert. His cock throbs inside of you and in a flash, like a switch has been turned on, his arms are wrapping around your waist and holding your head down, and he’s kissing you. It’s messy, and he’s sucking on your tongue and nipping your lips. Oh, god, it’s pure heaven to feel the weight of you on him, to feel your nipples cutting into his, and the smoothness of your body so easily accessible. His grip is tight and you can hear your friend calling your name. 

Muting your phone, you pull away and there’s a resounding -SMACK!- echoing through the room. You slapped him. Not hard, could never be too hard, but it’s making his bottom lip quiver as if it had been. You glare a warning at him and he nods, hands loosening and holding your hips instead. 

Continuing the conversation with your friend, you start circling your hips again, and he rubs his thumbs over your hip bone as an apology, willing warmth into your skin. 

Choso doesn’t want to make you mad and it’s killing him that he disappointed you, that he couldn’t keep his urges in check. He’s been bad and he wouldn’t be surprised if you left him, but you don’t, and he’s pouting again. 

You’re so forgiving, so kind, so nice. 

He doesn’t deserve you. 

You know that’s bullshit. If anything, you don’t deserve him. He’s so pliant, always just so happy to be there, to be needed by you, to make you happy any way he can. You know he’d do anything for you. Aside from his amazing dick, you love that most about him. 

Enough teasing, you decide. 

“Yeah, just do your laundry, I’ll wait,” you tell your friend. 

Setting the phone down right next to Choso’s head, you ignore the wide-eyed panicked look he gives you. 

Okay, maybe just a little bit more. 

“Cho,” your voice is like saccharine music, so breathy and light and his heart jumps at the way you elongate his name, “you’re going to have to be quiet, okay?”

He nods furiously. 

And then you’re bouncing on his thighs like there’s no tomorrow, and he changes his mind; you aren’t forgiving, kind or nice at all. You’re very mean, because how can you possibly expect him to hold back the moans building in his chest when you’re riding him so good, so fast, and clamping down until he feels suffocated. 

It’s all too much so soon and he’s biting his bottom lip, fingers bruising as he clutches your hips and then your tits and back to your hips. He doesn’t know what to do except take it. So he does, he accept the pummelling of your squelching pussy, entranced by the white ring forming at the base of his cock, and doesn’t care that his orgasm is cresting again. 

If he cums too fast, it’s your fault. 

“Baby, -ngh- please, I can’t,” he mutters. He doesn’t know where to look either, he’s going lightheaded from the frantic darting of his eyes from where you’re both connected to your bouncing tits and your scrunched up face. “I wanna -fuck- cum, wanna cum inside, please? Can I? Can I?”

Choso’s muttering your name like a prayer, punctuating it with grunts every time you slam back down a little too hard or when his tip brushes your cervix like a kiss. “Don’t wanna be quiet, y/n, please.”

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, maybe hours, maybe seconds, but all he does know is that he needs to cum inside, desperately needs to. He thinks he might just die if he doesn’t. 

“Yeah, go ahead, Cho.” 

That’s all he needs. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, so good so good. I love you, love you, love you…”

Warm liquid pulses through you, painting your insides white, and he drags you over with him. His cum burns like a brand, reaching your very depths, and you swear you feel it fill your heart. You’re spasming, falling forward and moaning unashamedly into his neck as he clutches you to him. You both shake, whining, goosebumps rising along your skin. 

Choso’s loud. He’s thanking you again and again. And you continue to milk him, pumping your hips absentmindedly whilst you come down. But it’s too much for your boyfriend and his cock can’t take anymore, it’s throbbing inside of you as if spurting blanks, and he’s losing his mind. 

“No! N-no more, please, baby. I can’t. It’s -ngh!- too much.”

You stop, huffing a laugh. Peppering kisses against his chin, you wait for him to catch his breath, watching his eyelashes flutter, waiting for that furrowing of his brows to soften and for his hands to stop bruising your skin. He melts like putty underneath you and a smile grows on his lips. 

He feels like he just went to heaven and back. 

But then he tenses. 

“Your friend!”

And you giggle, climbing up to fill his gaping mouth with your tit and he sucks without complaint. “Relax, Cho Cho. I ended the call ages ago.”

Oh, you are mean. So very very mean. 

His tongue flicks your nipple, savouring the salt on your skin as he tries to engulf as much of your breast into his mouth. But you also tastes so good. 

Choso whimpers in protest when you pull away and just as quickly quiets down when you climb higher until your pussy is right in front of him, and he’s watching your puckering hole squeeze out his cum onto his face. He licks it up and his eyes roll back, flaccid cock twitching, at the taste of you and him. 

You don’t sit down though, instead you just slide a finger inside, twisting, scraping his cum out for him to drink. You never let him have it easy, always have to make him work for it. 

And that’s just fine with Choso, because he’s happy to have you in anyway you’ll let him. 

Someone has to be the nice to your evil, after all. 

[bloodredfantasy]

The problem with loving someone is how much I want to tear them apart and feast on their flesh and fuck their body when im done having emotions about them

[dream-girls-dream-girl]

instead of bitching why don’t we all just be thankful ao3 doesn’t have ads xxx

[sttoru]

hi!! could you write smut of sukuna w/ corruption kink x clingy reader? i need to see more of them 🤭🤭

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. smut, pwp. corruption kink. reader is described as clingy cute / innocent. voyeurism?// exhibitionism. double pénetràtion. cowgirl. cream pies. nicknames ‘slut, brat, woman’. combined 2 requests :3

it’s honestly your own fault. you’ve been sticking around sukuna the entire day, clinging onto him like he won’t let you experience the consequences of your own actions.

“eyes on me, brat,” sukuna scoffs, thumb and index roughly turning your chin back. he needs to see your face as he embarrasses you in front of the guests and other concubines standing around the throne.

you’re supposed to feel regret, yet you’re drowning in a state of pure lust. it’s the thrill that keeps your hips going, the ache in them temporarily ignored as you search for that grande moment of euphoria.

you can’t care less about the humans at the bottom of the stairs. they’re grovelling in fear of the king of curses, knowing their heads can fly off if they dare to look up at you two.

it’s a sign of disrespect—a sign that the king of curses can’t care less about what those lowlifes have come to see him for. sukuna’s doing so on purpose, using your clinginess to his advantage.

“hah, what a total slut of a concubine,” sukuna scoffs, leaning his head against one of his hands, elbow propped onto the armrest. this is a punishment for you, though it certainly does not feel like that. even if all attendants in the room can hear you fucking yourself silly on sukuna’s dicks.

you and those sloppy sounds of your two bodies connecting.

you try to hold back your moans, but a rough yank to your hair instantly opens your mouth again. your eyes roll back and your voice spews out. “mhh, my lord—‘s too much,” you whimper, however your body doesn’t stop bouncing on his cocks. sukuna responds by squeezing your middle while he watches his lengths being swallowed by your cunt and ass.

it’s funny how you’ve been reduced to a mess—a toy he can command to do whatever he pleases. your clinginess secretly pleases him, because it reassures him that you’ll do what’s asked of you. sukuna grins lazily, letting you work for it, “too much? tsk. weren’t you the one begging f’ my attention, brat?”

he does have a point. you nod mindlessly whilst his cocks drill into you—leaving no hole empty. your eyes dart to both sides of the throne, where two concubines are situated. you can see them tremble in embarrassment and envy.

sukuna’s showing you off to everyone and they don’t like it; none of the concubines do. they hate the fact that he chose you to show off to everyone else in the room. like you’re the only trophy he’s proud of.

the guests don’t dare to speak either. nor does uraume, who’s politely looking the other way as their master ravages his favorite little concubine. they’re used to his acts of exercising his power.

sukuna keeps a firm grip on your hair, threatening to pull your head back each time you dare look around you. “you have no shame. absolutely zero,” the king of curses says condescendingly. as if the humiliation of being watched isn’t enough, sukuna’s words add to the embarrassment you’re feeling, “cock hungry slut can’t go a minute without being filled, hm?”

your whimpers get louder and your pace grows faster. his fat tips hit your deepest parts over and over again, the stretch threatening to split you in half. you’re too turned on to care. the way sukuna’s staring at you with that menacing glare—his sharp nails digging into your skin so painfully . . . you need it all.

“this ‘s why you’ve been following me ‘round all day long,” sukuna grunts—one hand coming up to free your breasts from the confines of your robes, “y’ just needed to be dicked down.” the flicks against your stiff nipples make you tighten up around his cocks again and again.

you’re nearly screaming because of everything your senses are picking up on. your half lidded eyes catch a glimpse of sukuna’s cocky facial expression and you’re almost pushed over the edge. he’s so smug—knowing he has you in the palm of his hand.

his eyes are luring you in. there’s a hint of something so primal in there - a beast impatiently waiting to be unleashed - one that sukuna is trying his best to suppress.

“aren’t you just cute. . .” sukuna mocks with a dangerous chuckle. his thumb rubs your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth for you to suckle on.

“kehehe, isn’t that what those servants call you? cute.. innocent.. adorable,” he continues, faintly groaning at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb. sukuna cocks his head to the right and your eyes follow. that’s where you spot your maids and lady-in-waiting in a corner.

you feel tears well up in your eyes from both pleasure and humiliation. everyone is seeing and hearing you being claimed by the monster of a curse you’re riding. your maids have always adored your innocence—how you don’t seem to be tainted by sukuna’s advances no matter what. it’s a first to them.

it has been a rumor around the estate for so long; you being the only concubine who can withstand sukuna’s wicked influence. you always seem to stay yourself, your cheery and sweet personality never changing. you’ve been known as the innocent one among all other concubines.

yet here those same maids are, watching your brain being corrupted by sin. you’re so sinfully enjoying how sukuna’s cocks are penetrating you. “n-no, am—fnghh—don’t wanna,” you stammer, speaking to no one in particular. your inner desires clash with your rational mind and your body seems to continue its erotic act.

“don’t you fight it, woman,” sukuna brings your attention back by thrusting his cocks all the way up inside you, balls slapping harshly against your ass. he’s proud with his accomplishments. you’re slowly but surely being tainted by him and it’s so pleasing.

soon enough, that damned innocence of yours is going to disappear. he’s going to turn you into a total slut driven by lust, for him and only him. he’s going to ruin you and your body until all you can think of is the pleasure he can give you.

your nails dig into sukuna’s shoulders. you moan loudly, losing the battle, as expected. the king of curses just knows how to make you give in. he takes great pleasure in seeing you lose yourself, with everyone watching how he strips you from that innocence.

“stupid, nasty fuckin’ thing,” sukuna grunts as the lower pair of his arms hold you by your hips. he halts your movements before starting his own. “y’re mine, ya hear?” he pounds up into you—making you mewl. a chant of his name leaves your lips. you simply cannot stop yourself.

“yes, ‘m yours, my lord!” you moan for everyone to hear. the pink-haired man grins in satisfaction and quickly plunges his cocks in and out of your holes, needing to release himself so he could fully claim you as his in front of the rest.

his dirty cumslut, his tainted and brainless doll.

sukuna wraps all four arms around you, leaving no room for escape. he presses you against him until you’re struggling to breathe. your head is pushed against his shoulder and your insides are being turned into mush. the gooey fluids drip down onto the throne and down the floor.

“fuck. not a drop goes to waste or i’m fuckin’ ya again,” sukuna warns before shooting loads of cum into your womb and up your ass. both your holes are stuffed full of white, sticky semen mixed with your own release. you desperately clench around nothing once sukuna pulls you off his dicks.

you try to reach your hands out towards him as he manoeuvres your body away once he’s finished. the king of curses pins your wrists at your back so he can turn you around on his thighs, forcefully spreading your legs like a trophy he’s showing off on his throne.

one arm wraps around your waist and his chin rests on your right shoulder. sukuna keeps you on his lap and continues to act like he didn’t just completely wreck your insides.

while you’re left in the intense moment, he seems to have moved on already.

“speak,” sukuna orders the humans who’ve witnessed the whole ordeal. their foreheads are stuck on the floor—none of them daring to look up at the sight, like everyone else.

you’re panting and your head is spinning. you’re totally spent. sukuna holds your limp body up on his lap as one hand is busy scooping the excess cum back into your pussy, not wasting a drop like said before.

one of the villagers finally speaks up, stating the reason for their visit to the estate. their voice is muffled due to a loud buzzing in your ear. you’re tired and can’t focus on what’s said either. you just want to sleep. . . in sukuna’s warm embrace, filled and half-naked, for the entire room to see as they continue discussing business as if you’re not even there.

[misserabella]

@ entersandman

summary; spencer turns to pornography to pay for his phds and careers, but what happens when his secret identity gets revealed? and by no one else than you?

cw; +18 content, minors dni!!, imagine is spencer on the pictures, suggestive messages, only fans, straight out porn, live porn stream, sub! spencer, dom! reader, mommy kink, male masturbation, mutual masturbation, sexting, dirty talking… i can’t remember the rest!!

a/n: happy (kink)october!!!

@ entersandman has started a live!

your whole body thrummed at the notification, your thumb quickly pinching on it to open the app, your hungry eyes ranking over the supple soft skin of his toned chest and abdomen.

@ pin_klily; god

@ yourprettyprincess233; i’m so early!!!!!

@ idealisticashee77; so hotttt

your eyes scanned the upcoming and flowing comment section of the stream, your fingers quickly typing to receive the protagonist of your wet dreams.

@ puredoll; hi pretty boy

his hand was slowly caressing his growing erection from over his clothes, and his sultry voice filled your ears, making you squirm.

“hey, doll.” you could hear the hint of a smirk on his tone.

you bit down on your lip.

@ puredoll; missed me?

he hummed, squeezing his crotch with his veiny hand. “missed you so much, baby. you weren’t here the last time.” you could almost see him pouting. cute.

you smiled. he always made time for you, it was as if you two knew each other. by the longest time, you had been following his socials, and had become part of his only fans. you had bumped with his account two years ago, and since then you’d been completely hooked. you could still remember the post that caught your attention.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; would you play with me? i promise i’ll be a good boy.

you weren’t very fond of porn, you barely watched it, but once you entered on his twitter and saw the little snippets of his only fans that he’d post to gain more followers… it was over for you. you didn’t even know you were into more submissive men, always having been the submissive one in your sexual encounters, but once you heard him moaning and begging for more to the camera, completely at the mercy of his watchers, so pliant and responsive… you became obsessed.

you had never bought something as fast as you had bought the membership for his only fans.

he was just so… special somehow. his voice so beautiful, even more when he’d whimper and moan to the camera. and the content was so good…

it honestly made your day to come back home to pictures of him.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; take my clothes off? yes ma’am.

that or his simple comments, like;

@ entersandman; feeling so needy right now. can i bury my face on your pussy, mommy?

he really knew how to get a rise out of you.

@ puredoll; sorry pretty, i was busy. but i never stopped thinking about you…

his hand squeezed his cock once again and a little sound escaped his throat.

“you thought about me?” his breathy voice came through and your thighs squeezed against the other. he sounded surprised, and happy, glad even. as if he thought about you just as much as you thought about him, which was not possible.

@ delicioussin; take the pants off +50$

@ helplesswhore; i wanna see your cock +100$

@ secretiveloveee; play with us

@ puredoll; you see that, baby? they’re waiting for you. why don’t you give them a show?

spencer groaned, his eyes squeezing shut, he couldn’t help the jumping of his dick, not when you talked to him like that.

“should i take this off?” he tugged at his pants, and the chat went crazy, money flowing in, and he chuckled. “alright, alright…” his slim fingers easily snapped open the button, and pulled down the zipper, pushing his pants just the slightest down to show the streamers the sight of his fully erect dick and the stain of precum surrounding his tip.

@ puredoll; haven’t touched yourself and you’re already dripping, so cute…

spencer couldn’t swallow down the moan that left his throat, his cock twitching in need for his hand. he cupped it once again, his length clear as day through the flimsy material. he was big. really big.

“you see this? look what you do to me…”

you moaned at the neediness of his tone, your heart skipping a beat when he pleaded with a “can i take them off?”

@ kittypurr555; get rid of them +100$

@ morppheus_2; show us your pretty dick +100$

@ needyneedyneedy; god he’s so hard!!! +150$

@ uttermostlust; i’m salivating +50$

@ puredoll; so good at asking for permission baby… go ahead, show mommy

he whimpered. and god, you’ve missed that sound so much. fucking finals. fucking school… one of your hands came down to your chest to pinch your nipples as he quickly pushed down his underwear under his balls in between ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’’s. they looked so full. and he was so fucking hard… what you’d do to have him in your mouth…

@ p0rnlover5663; +200$

@ babybluebaby; +150$

@ ashtonishingstamina69; +100$

your tongue licked your lips as you took in the sight of his reddish pretty tip, beaded with precum, the veins that decorated his shaft and the little curls at his base.

a whine left spencer’s lips when his hand wrapped around his cock. “mommy… i’m so hard…” you sighed, smirking at his neediness and tone. gently laughing at the lustful comments in the chat, you typed your response.

@ puredoll; i can see that baby, why don’t you fuck your hand for me, hm?

“fuck…” he moaned as he quickly followed your order, his hand slowly pumping his cock as his chest quickly increased in breaths. his back slightly arched, and his free hand harshly gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

@ puredoll; that’s it, you’re doing perfect, pretty. tell me how good it feels

“it feels so good mommy… so good…” he moaned. money was easily flowing into his account, the chat increasing in thirsty comments. “i wish it were your hand, your mouth…” he was begging as he sped up. the hand that was touching your breasts came down underneath your panties, finding yourself soaked through. you moaned as you started drawing little circles on your puffy throbbing clit. “i need you mommy.”

your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth capturing your bottom lip in a vice grip. you could draw blood if you wanted to. your hips bucked against your own hand when another whimper came through the screen. “fuck.” he looked so pretty, his neck (the last thing you could see, since his face was out of frame) and chest were flushed, lungs quickly taking in air as his hand worked his cock, his thumb gliding against his slit in little circles.

“see this? this is how i’d touch your pretty clit, mommy, would make you feel so good…” your eyes rolled at his breathy whine. jesus christ.

@ purringkitty7; my godddd +50$

@ allsheeatsisdickk; i’m literally dripping +50$

@ itsbonercl0ck; +100$

“would you like that mommy? or would you prefer to have my mouth? fill it with your cum over and over again? suffocate me with your pussy and use me?” you moaned, topping with your non dominant hand –since the other was busy plunging two fingers inside your gaping hole-. “please use me mommy, i want you to use me…”

@ puredoll; such a fucking dirty mouth, baby… i bet you’d love that, huh? to be my little toy… beg for it.

spencer moaned, his cock jumping in his hand. his adam’s apple bobbed right before he went ahead and complied.

“please mommy… can i be your toy? please let me be your toy mommy, please… i need it. need to be your pretty toy.”

your fingers curled against your g spot as his words made you moan and clench.

@ puredoll; good boy, baby, such a good little toy for me

spencer cursed, his pace around his throbbing and leaking dick increasing. you smirked.

@ puredoll; slow down… they want to see…

spencer whined but followed the order, deciding to play with his balls instead, showing off the length of his cock with light grasps and jerks of his hand, making it bob and slap against his lower stomach, precum staining his porcelain skin.

spencer was biting down on his bottom lip harshly, his dick twitching in need of release. his hazel eyes trailed along the comments and donations. looking for you. for directions.

@ puredoll; good boy… is all of that for me?

he moaned. “it’s all for you mommy, all for you.” he went back to slowly pumping himself. you fucked yourself at the same pace. “are you touching yourself for me, mommy? am i making you feel good?”

you could almost scream in ecstasy. why did he have to sound like that?

@ puredoll; so good baby, so good…

to that he whimpered, his hand moving faster. just the thought of you touching yourself because of him, of how he sounded and looked, making his mind dizzy and the pressure building in his lower stomach to grow faster than before.

“mommy i’m so close… i can’t hold it.” he whined, his hand going impossibly faster. “can i cum? please can i cum? wanna cum inside of you mommy, wanna fill you up, please…” those words brought you closer to your own orgasm, moans spilling from your lips as your finger curled against your g spot over and over again.

@ iseered633; so hot +100$

@ bestgirlint00wn; fuckkkkk +150$

@ octoberween666; +50$

@ punkypurr; +60$

he kept begging, whining, moaning, whimpering… until he saw it.

@ puredoll; cum.

it was immediate, instant, hot white and creamy spurts of cum coating his hand and reaching up to his chest as he became a babbling whimpering mess for you, his eyes rolling back as his hips fucked into his hand needily.

your orgasm hit you just as fast, triggered by the sight and sound of him coming undone. your back arched as your fingers kept thrusting, curling, fucking you dumb.

both of you rode your highs until there was nothing left.

you watched as spencer laid there, cock still twitching slightly against a pool of cum on his stomach, his chest heaving as he tried to found his breath.

@ puredoll; good job baby, looked so pretty coming for me

“thank you mommy.” he flushed, as always, feeling conscious of his disarray and state in front of the camera. “thank you for coming, i’ll see you next time.” and with that, he ended the live.

spencer posted hours later on his twitter.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; i see your name and i go crazy

it was another boring day at school. philosophy classes were really kicking your ass.

the professor had gone on a tangent of rambles to which you could not keep up with. that was until he took a deep breath and questioned.

“so, can anybody tell me if abstract concepts, like numbers, really exist?”

someone, someone you hadn’t seen before in your class, which was pretty weird, rose his hand. you couldn’t see much, except for brown hair and his back, clothed in a white shirt.

“yes?”

“from a platonist perspective, abstract concepts exist in a non-physical realm of forms, accessible through intellect and reason. in contrast, nominalists argue that these concepts are mere human constructs without independent existence.”

that voice.

your whole body tensed, your eyes widening and breath hitching. you could recognize that voice anywhere.

entersandman.

“correct, …?” the teacher paused, awaiting for a name.

“oh, reid. spencer reid.”

your heart was about to beat out of your chest. quickly after the class was dismissed since it had come to an end. you were fast at getting out of there to take a look at him.

casual. be casual.

just one glimpse.

but when he left that class and walked into the corridor your eyes couldn’t leave his face. his perfect face.

your heart almost stopped then. hazel eyes, messy curly hair, small nose, pink full lips and high sharp cheek bones. you were fucked.

you could perfectly be gaping like a fish right now, drooling even. he was handsome, pretty, attractive, hot, everything. he was everything. and he was so tall…

you almost moaned when he passed by your side and could smell his cologne.

god…

you could feel yourself getting wet already.

you turned to see him walk away to what you supposed would be his next class. he was here. entersandman was just meters away from you, in the flesh. he was real.

but he didn’t know you knew. he didn’t know who you were. he didn’t know you were the girl that had made him come many times, on and off camera.

but you were gonna let him know.

you had a plan.

that night you came home to more posts coming from spencer.

@ entersandman; thinking about you tying me up with my tie, using me to get off, mommy. want to be your boy toy so badly… can’t stop thinking about your lips on my neck, leaving marks that won’t go away as you take all you want from me.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; i’ll beg if i have to, baby, i just wanna be in between your thighs

you smirked, your mouth salivating at the sight. so needy…

time to move. you opened his profile and pinched on the message option.

you thought for a minute before typing the decided words and hitting sent.

@ puredoll

somebody’s needy today, aren’t you spencer?

spencer was busy reading his assignments for university when his phone buzzed, a new message notification. his eyes widened when he read your username, fingers scrambling to quickly type his password, unlock his phone and get into the app. but all blood drained from his face when he read what you had written him, more specifically his name.

how did you know it? how did you know him? how?!

you chuckle as the minutes pass and he doesn’t answer.

@ puredoll

cat got your tongue baby?

what a pity, you know i love it when you’re loud

@ entersandman

how do you know?

he bit down anxiously on his bottom lip, his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

@ puredoll

so dry… you hurt me baby, thought you’d be happy to talk with me

@ entersandman

i am, it’s just…

@ puredoll

for all that matters, i’ve gotta say that you’re prettier than i thought, with those puppy eyes of yours and big brain. got me so horny in class…

spencer’s cheeks reddened, his heartbeat loud on his ears, his whole body flushing and cock jumping in his briefs. something about having gotten caught by someone, by you, made his mind fuzzy and his desire stir.

so you’re in his class? which one?

@ puredoll

so quiet… what’s on your mind, hm?

@ entersandman

sorry, so you know who i am

@ puredoll

i do

he swallowed.

@ puredoll

such a dirty boy… going to school by day, stroking your cock for the internet by night.

he groaned, feeling his cock stir.

@ puredoll

and i bet you love it, huh? love the attention. my attention.

@ entersandman

yes

@ puredoll

yes what?

he moaned, biting his lip.

@ entersandman

yes, mommy.

@ puredoll

good boy, spencer.

holy fuck. he could come just by the sound of you calling him by his name. one of his hands came down to his hard dick, squeezing, his lip harshly bit in between his teeth.

@ puredoll

you’re quiet…are you touching that pretty cock of yours for me, baby?

@ enteresandman

fuck. yes, mommy.

@ puredoll

so dirty… let me see.

spencer groaned and quickly followed your orders, opening the camera and hitting the record button, showing you the imprint of his hard cock from underneath his flimsy pajama pants as he stroked it.

@ puredoll

someone’s needy, mh? who are you this hard for, huh baby?

@ entersandman

you mommy, only you.

@ puredoll

yet you have so many clothes on… why don’t you take them off for mommy, huh?

@ entersandman

like this?

he sent you a pic of his completely nude body, and you bit down on your lip.

@ puredoll

exactly like that baby, now go ahead and use your hand

and he did, making sure to show the length of his cock to the camera as he slowly pumped it, whimpering curses and begging for you. yet this time, his face could be seen, eyebrows scrunched, jaw slack as moans spilled out and puppy brown eyes shining with lust.

@ puredoll

so fucking pretty… fuck spencer.

your thighs pushed together as your cunt quickly slicked up.

@ entersandman

please… can i go faster mommy?

@ puredoll

yes baby, go ahead

he moaned and once again pressed record as he sped up, stopping every now and then to play with his balls before going back to stroking the leaking head of his cock.

‘look what you do to me.’ he muttered to the camera, voice sultry and raw.

one of your hands came down towards your pussy, your hand cupping it from over your clothes as a groan left your lips.

@ entersandman

wishing it were your hand, mommy.

@ puredoll

you’re driving me crazy…

@ entersandman

have been thinking about you… want to make you feel good, want to make you cum

@ puredoll

yeah?

@ entersandman

yes…

your hand pushed into your pants and panties, sighing when you felt how wet you were.

@ puredoll

i’m so wet for you, you always get me like this…

spencer moaned, the image of you touching yourself for him driving him crazy, his hips thrusting up into his hand.

@ entersandman

fuck, doll…

you quickly pushed your clothes down, exposing your drenched cunt to the air, your fingers sliding easily through your folds before stopping over your clit and drawing tight circles that made your thighs shake and your back arch.

@ puredoll

you want to see?

@ entersandman

yes please, please mommy…

you smirked and hit record, pointing the camera in between your legs, filming how you touched yourself for him, letting out little sighs and moans before plunging your fingers inside yourself and curling them to hit your g spot.

spencer couldn’t handle it. the sight, your sounds and the fact that this was you, the girl he had been fantasizing about for months on end, touching herself for him, pushed him straight to the edge.

he came so hard his load hit his chest as he moaned loudly. he shakily recorded the remains of his spurts with whimpers as he made a mess of himself and his hand.

and when you returned the favor with a video of your own release, creamy cum surrounding and dripping from your fingers, he knew he had to have you.

and soon.

a/n; this took so long to write. anyways, would you guys like a second part? leave your comments and reblog and like if you enjoyed it!🤍

[kaionyx]

I can’t stop thinking of having a sub at my disposal for practicing the different knots and ties with some rope all while acting as if they’re purely just a pretty toy for me to play with.

Coaxing them through the first bit with soft words and praises like, “You’re so pretty wrapped like this, such an obedient mutt for daddy aren’t you?” and “That’s a good puppy, open your mouth for me yeah? Just like that darling..” to get their mind fuzzy and pliable enough to not notice my hands starting to slip a gag in their mouth or a vibe in their cunt once I have them bound just enough to be immobile. Seeing them squirm and look up to me with those precious doe eyes when I start to pull against the rope tighter and manhandle them into different positions without a word, the sweet little muffled begs and whimpers that try to escape from behind the gag when I angle them a certain way to feel the vibe press against the spot that makes their mind switch off. Keeping this up for hours while I take my time to try out the new ties I seen, pausing in between them to coo and whisper faux sympathy over their whimpers and choked out cries from feeling their mind forcibly melt out their poor oversensitive cunt.

Ending it by putting them in my favorite tie and forcing them to take my cock until I have my fill and finally take them down to praise and kiss them to sleep, just to see them wake up the next day asking for it all over again? God, i’ll go fucking crazy if I don’t get this anytime soon.

[rbfclassy]

A GOOD POUNDING! — TOJI + SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...toji or sukuna fucking you so good that you can barely think, the only problem is that you can’t make any noise or he’ll stop

INFO...toji x fem!reader, sukuna x fem!reader, mirror sex, carry fucking, degrading, praise, they’re kinda mean, rough sex, pussy slaps, dacryphilia, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Just imagine toji or sukuna fucking you so good, his big strong arms holding you up, your arms wrapped around his neck as his dick pistons in out of you, leaving your mind spiraling. Your toes are curling at the delicious feeling of his cock rubbing against your g-spot, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. You’re panting, biting harshly on your bottom lip, eyes screwed shut because if you make any noise, he won’t hesitate to pull out and leave you and needy, whiny mess. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, juices cascading down his shaft and to his balls, making it sloppy between you two.

“You better not make a fucking sound or I’ll stop fucking this tight pussy,” he grunts. It’s so hard to keep quiet with how deep he was, the pleasure coursing through you wasn’t helping in the slightest. “Look,” he chuckles, “look at how much of a mess you’re making on my cock.” He nods towards the mirror, a smug smirk on his face as he easily lifts your hips. You look over your shoulder towards the mirror, seeing the effects of your creamy pussy. “Poor baby wants to cum so bad, huh?” He thrusts his hips into you unexpectedly, nearly making you yelp. You stare at him with such desperate eyes, practically begging him to let you at least make some type of noise.

It wouldn’t be too much longer until you did, his hips slamming back into your sopping cunt, making your eyes rolling back. His pace picks up, guiding your hips down to his as he watches the way your ass ripples against his pelvis. He’s being mean, fucking you harder and faster cause he wants to see you break. Your nails claw against his back, holding onto his for dear life, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Your lips are pursed shut, digging your head into the crook of his neck as you tried to conceal the moans that wanted to escape to badly. The familiar feeling of your orgasm began approaching and you can’t hold it back anymore. “Please, please, please, I’m gonna cum!” You’re crying, tears pricking your eyes.

“What a fucking slut you are.” He pulls out of you without hesitation, leaving you squirming in his grip, hole clenching around nothing. “Can’t you listen to a word I say?”

“I’m sorry! Please just keep fucking me! I need you so bad,” You beg, growing so desperate you try and reach around to shove his cock back inside. He takes joy in the way you whimper, a frown on your face as tears well in your eyes.

“Only good girls get to cum.” He tosses you on the bed, leaving your swollen pussy exposed. He hovers over you, a large hand pushing one of your legs back to get a good view at your slick folds. Without warning his slaps your pussy, the stinging sensation making your body jolt. Then he does it again, and again. It felt so good, but hurt so bad. It was almost just enough to make you cum. You’re whimpering, legs quivering as you stare up at his large figure. His hand comes in contact with your sensitive cunt again, your lips now puffy. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’ll get off to anything just to cum.”

“I’m a good girl, I swear!” You pout, gasping when his fingers ghost over your clit before he removes them.

“I don’t think you are, sweetheart,” he sighs. “Now sit here and have fun trying to get yourself off. You don’t deserve my cock,” he says, all while he did it on purpose just to see those tears in your eyes and to hear your pleas to cum, squirming and becoming a needy whore. It was all apart of his plan.

repost from my original account

[visionsofmagic]

◜ mk1 men breaking the bed/headboard while fucking you ◞

▸ characters: bi-han, syzoth, liu kang, raiden, kuai liang, johnny cage, tomas◂ ▸wc: 4k+ [wow]

▸ tags¬es: REQUESTED by @luvv4lurd. drabble but long (like very long), fluff, nsfw, breaking, licking, ropes, inappropriate usage of power/abilities, humiliation, rudeness, rough, biting, power, begging, fingering, swearing, monster fucking (kind of), power play, pet names, calling god/goddess, possessiveness, protectiveness & more in the work, enjoy! [didn’t want to write this long & I am not sure whether @luvv4lurd wanted it to be this long but couldn’t hold myself, they’re so cute! hope all of you like it, have fun!]◂ ▸ m.

BI-HAN doesn’t care about hurting you that much, yet, he gives you a safe word to make him stop when it is needed. clearly, he wants to fuck you well enough so that he can show you only he can fuck you like this. this goal of his brings him to an edge that he put your body down on the bed, ass up, cock thrusting deep inside your walls as your body jolts forward and backward in sync with his cock’s rhythm going in and out of your pussy full of cum - since you have cum like two times already.

he’s a bit rougher than he is usually because he heard a few other lin kuei’s members talking about you - how they are mesmerized by your presence whenever you come into view, however, they complained about how they can’t talk to you because you’re always with the grandmaster, sub-zero.

that moment, he decided to fuck you hard enough to make you have difficulties with walking, making everyone realize who fucked you - their grandmaster - they will know who you belong to and that was why he is rough right now.

you don’t complain though, well, until he makes you scream his title - “my - ohh - my grandmaster!” he loses his mind, releasing his power; hands get colder as ice appears on them from fingertips to the arm, and since his hands on the headboard, to hold it tight and fucking you with a great strength, it covers with ice, making the surface so easy to break into pieces and this is exactly what happens.

the headboard breaks into countless pieces, the room’s temperature going down in an instant, your eyes widen but bi han gains his mind’s control, hands turning to normal as they touch your waist, sending a chill down your spine with their coldness - bi han begins to fuck you harder as if it’s even possible, blaming you.

“see what you made me do whore? it’s only because of you! have to get a new one now, but you should pay for what you have caused pretty slut and you will pay by giving this beautiful wet pussy to me - to the rightful owner of it. will fuck you until you can’t walk for the next week, my dumb whore.” 

SYZOTH tries his best not to use any of his strengths during the make-up sessions you share - getting intimate yet shy while doing it. he wants you to stay healthy even after the sex, only maybe some of the marks on your body that he likes to leave. however, sometimes you become a brat, acting naughty, trying to play with his nerves of pleasure and instincts enough to make him go rougher, and since he doesn’t want to hurt you, his hands find the sides of the bed while he’s fucking you with the position of missionary, green innocent eyes focusing on your face that full of cries, parted lips, half-closed eyes watching him with such delight he wants to prove himself further – wants to fuck you so good that your body cannot forget about it in the following days until the day he fucks you again.

and he loses himself when a hand grips him by the hair, pulling his face down at your level, ear to ear, you say in a whisper which is followed by a little moan afterward, “cmon pretty boy, I know you can do better than – ohhh – this!”

who is to decline your offer? who he is to hold himself still instead of fucking you harder – better?

syzoth whimpers at your words, he lets your legs hug his bare back, hands wrapping his neck as his hands begin to hold the surface of the bedsides tighter to find a balance after shoving his dick into your wider pussy rapidly than before, roughness and lust dripping from heart to body within actions.

“oohhh –“ he moans in sync with you, “tell me how good it is my love, please, please –“ he stops himself from crying by biting down your shoulder a few times, listening to your cries mixed with both pain and pleasure with full attention, and when you praise him, his edge comes, making him lose himself, and letting his nature form in some parts of his body; a tail appears on his back, it wags on its own – eyes turn darker green – and hands are covered with the skin of his true form, all green until it reaches to the arms.

all feelings double when his strength rises, weight becomes hard to endure, dick bigger – definitely rougher, going in and out of your aching yet wet pussy, and you reach climax at the same time – the exact time when a few crack sounds are heard, causing you to look into each other’s face – looking both excited and peaceful because of reaching the climax and shocked when the bed break into two, its middle swallows your bodies as syzoth hold you from the back from an instant, turn you around so that his back meets with the rigid surface of the floor under the bed.

hands on your back, hugging, turning into human form, and tail disappears as he looks at you with innocent and shy eyes as if you’re not lying down on the ground, inside a broken bed, cums still dripping.

“I’m so sorry y/n – but it – it was too much for me to handle. my love, how can I make you forgive me? I will do anything for you – just say it and I will show how sorry I am but please don’t judge me. I can’t hold my thoughts together when I have your pretty pussy.”

LIU KANG can be the steadiest person – or a god but you don’t know any other god aside from him, but not in bed, no, never. he is that steady, straightforward, gentle, cute, and all these kinds of things under the lights of daylight, however, when it turns into a dark sky when you visit him in his room – or you in yours, exchanging a few words, questions only to begin to fuck after the formality.

it’s not that he uses you as his fucktoy – yes, it feels like it because it turns you on, but no, he’s in love with you – so deeply that he loses his mind whenever he sees you, and when it comes to getting intimate, oh, he forgets about the timeline he has created entirely, focusing on you – your pretty face he likes to watch, your magnificent body he finds as the most beautiful thing on all realms, your voice that comes into his ears as prays while you moan his name and even his title whenever you feel like it, and oh, your delicious pussy that neither his fingers, his tongue nor his dick will ever get bored of – it will be such disrespectful thing to be bored when you open your legs wider to him, showing your pink pussy that begs for his caring and affection – that he gives you what you want right away.

he’s a god, yes, but he can kneel in front of you if it is needed – to eat you out, or even to beg you.

on a night, when he lets you do whatever you wanna do with him, you chose to ride him in order to show him how you love his dick so much as he watched you from below, making you feel so powerful because of having the god of fire, liu kang, under you – moaning your name, eyes blurry, a bit of fire travels on his shoulder since he hasn’t logical side in the brain, no longer when you ride him so good – it feels as if you’re his goddess and you can’t deny that it doesn’t turn you on just by thinking about it.

smiling widely, you let yourself get the pleasure at the highest level, so, you throw your head back, and hands travel on your body from hair to shoulders, from breasts to abdomen, from there to your ass – literally exhibiting your own body to liu kang while bouncing on his lap – pussy clench around his length whenever you sit down only to rise up and repeat the action rapidly, riding him, fucking him.

and liu kang’s last logical side screams him not to hold you – because if he does it, he is sure he will break you into pieces. he doesn’t want to hurt you, especially when he witnesses the sight in front of him – breathtaking, making him lose the balance of his strength. instead of holding you, he grips the headboard behind him as he sits there, having you on his lap – watching you riding him beautifully.

then, you look down, and chuckle, “let your goddess take you to the stars, pretty boy.”

he never had this kind of situation with any other person, so, when you reflect his own words with yours – ‘let your god take you to the stars, pretty girl’ – he really sees stars, hands get tighter, and he breaks the bed with his power of strength and fire, moaning your name loudly, “aggh – y/n!” as he cums hard into your warm walls.

the moment he opens his eyes once again, he sees your smirking face first, one of your soft fingers travels on his cheek as you kneel down closer, “oh, couldn’t pretty boy resist it and cum in an instant?” you chuckle, mocking him, “where is the god of fire, huh? maybe, you should be the one who calls me goddess instead.”

he doesn’t waste a moment, holding you from the waist, he closes the gap between your bodies – nose to nose, white eyes devour yours only by looking at them intensely, and he smirks – darker than yours, radiating fire.

“darlin’, you are already my goddess but you need to learn who you belong to. don’t worry, the lesson you will have now will be enough to make you remember it to no longer forget about it. I will teach you personally while fucking you on this broken bed.”

RAIDEN is a stranger to his own power that has been given by liu kang to fight with it to protect the earthrealm, however, now it sticks with raiden every second of the day and night, and he can’t leave it even while fucking you.

he says he should get used to it in every situation. he’s shy about it while saying it but you know that there are other reasons behind the desire to bring his lightning power into the bed ‘cause, that way, he can send a tickling jolt to your body – even to your pussy, making your pleasure rise up, wanting him to continue what he’s doing.

he knows you like it too – how he can’t anyway? you love seeing his eyes turning to light blue from time to time, love to let it flow through your skin, sending chills down your spine, getting you closer to the edge.

raiden discovers your kink contains electricity accidentally, and in a weird situation when he forgets to leave his amulet bonded to his hand while getting intimate with you.

he doesn’t realize holding it even when he goes hotter as he lowers down on your body, kissing every inch of you, reaching your exposed pussy soaking wet to the ground because of his gentle, slow yet effective approaches. he’s so gentle with you that he literally begs to taste your cum in his mouth.

letting him, you lean onto the headboard, wide open legs meeting with his soft-looking eyes, making him whimper at the sight.

you look so pretty that even after having your cum in his mouth, he can’t stop - he says he wants to thank you for letting him eat you out passionately by hovering over you, hands find the headboard behind you as he thrusts into your wet and fleshy pussy again and again with a pace driving you mad.

you scream how good he’s making you - to make it double, he uses some electricity that flows through your body without even noticing it, and the sudden sensation makes you clench around his length, swallowing it entirely, giving raiden a heart attack because of the pleasure he has never felt before, and it ends up with him using his strong muscles to hold himself in balance by gripping the headboard harder, making it crumble and break into pieces in a second.

to protect you from the falling pieces of it, he lowers down, covering your body within his but it makes all things go worse – or better as you say afterward; his cock reaches the end of your pussy, and it even becomes visible on your abdomen – and the scream, moans you made causing raiden to lose his mind – he begins to thrust into you, balls hitting your ass, forehead touches yours, eyes turn into light blue when you look at them.

“you have no idea how beautiful you look right now, my love. so – so beautiful. I am so sorry to break the bed but I can’t stop now. how can I? your pussy begs for me to continue fucking you. ohhh – it feels so good. I am offering myself to you as a forgiveness gift.”

KUAI LIANG is a man who lives to give you, his beloved lover, what you deserve – the whole world, as he believes. loving doing the things you want, he’s no longer a gentleman in bed as the bond you share grows more powerful as well as the intimate sessions you have an increase in passion and trust.

he becomes rougher when you need him to be. being such a needy lover for him, you choose to trust him enough to let him have you in ways you can never imagine on your own because he looks fragile from the outside – he still is but not when you get into the bed after a long and exhausted day, ready to find your peaceful hours, inside each other’s arms which turns into a hot moment since you can never resist the urge of getting closer – he turns into a beast, you can see the sparkes he has inside his eyes – reflection of the fire he has within his soul and body.

on one of the nights you become lustful for each other, kuai has you on your knees, ass up in the air, and your second cum’s juice flows through his thick warm cock onto your inner thighs and ass, however, he can’t focus on the mess you’re making because all his attention is on your wrists which are roped with his kusarigama – it has no kama yet the coldness of metal chains around your wrists are enough to send you chills since kuai’s entire body radiates warmness.

holding your wrist, he increases the pleasure you are getting from the way he fucks you into the mattress, moans coming from you mixing with the swears and praises he says between his rapid breaths, dripping sweats and moans – only you can make him so weak, so fragile yet powerful at the same time – it causes him to try to prove himself to you in a greater way that you can never forget about it, that your body screams his markings.

the sound that is created by the lewd sounds of his thrusts hitting your soaked clit build twist feelings inside your stomach that is pushed down onto the bed as his left hand holds the wrists that have chained while the free one is put on the headboard’s edge, holding it tightly because he needs to find a source of stability to stay still but it doesn’t work – not when he finds this new angle amusing, begins to shove his dick into your warm walls faster, then, when his climax hit, the solid tool cracks – collapsing.

when he comes to his senses, getting off his high, he realizes what he has made.

he looks a bit guilty, eyes finding yours, his face has an expression of a man who seeks forgiveness yet he seems to enjoy it, and he smiles when you chuckle, joking about how he can easily turn into a madman only because of having you like this.

as he agrees, he caresses your hair, hands playing with the chain to open it. he turns your body over, hugging you from the shoulder, he still doesn’t take his dick off of you.

“’m so sorry honey, didn’t mean to break the bed but weren’t it the head of the bed, I would break you – was so good – you feel so good. fixing it will be the first duty for me after I get more of you – can I? please say that I can because I need you – one more baby, please, give me one more. promise I will be more cautious with our surroundings. don’t want to get you hurt. you will only get pleasure until we’re done, my love.”

JOHNNY CAGE can be the most reckless fucker in the whole timeline. interested in you only, he loses the last logical side of his brain – if he has any when he has you in different situations yet each one of them is as effective as the others.

being energetic, having almost superhuman strength, and going wild in sex, he is sure unreliable while fucking. creating a sense of fear with excitement in your abdomen, ideas rush into your mind as you think about what he will do differently this time in every intimate moment. his uniqueness can be pointed out even while fucking you or letting you fuck him.

he’s also loud, talkative, preferring to let you know that you feel wonderful, perfectly taking his dick – or him, entirely, destroying his mind because of the beauty you have as lust cages him like a chain.

he seems like a madman too with his mind full of thoughts about how he can turn the sex you have into something more bustling, catchy, and entertaining for the two of you, maybe a little more for you ‘cause he prefers to be an unforgettable lover. he addresses you as his queen, and he is determined to prove himself right by treating you as one.

to do this, he tries to get his ideas turn into realities while fucking you.

not caring about your surroundings, not thinking consequences of being unconcerned, not realizing what he has done until his highness’ effects of being pussy drunk decrease. the reality hit his face when he saw the world around him, you still under him, mind dizzy, mouth dry because of moaning non-stop, eyes half-closed as you looked up at his face, cries cleaning your heated face.

the bed, worth a million dollars he chose to fuck you onto, now has a broken headboard – the pieces falling onto the floor and the bed’s soft white fabric. the memories of the moment before rushes into his mind as he looks at the broken material inside his fisted hands; he understands that he is the one that caused this. he fucked your wide-open pussy so mindlessly that when he gripped the head to find something to hold on to, he broke it without realizing it. 

as you still soak wet with your cum, and his own getting out of you, he jokes about the situation; chuckling while pointing out the power he has enough to break the bed’s head in one movement, showing it to you with such proudness you roll your eyes – this time not because of his dick, but because of his silliness.

he puts his hands on your sides, smirking down at you, winking, and having no shyness about breaking the bed.

“oh princess, it was worth a million dollars but doesn’t matter. you are worth more than anything in entire timelines. to have your pussy, I can break all of ‘em pretty. but can we appreciate how strong I am? ‘is all because of how good you’re makin’ me feel – ohh, pretty lady, making my mind go crazy like that – ‘is because of you that I broke it, but, what about we break the couch too? wanna do it – wanna break it too while eating you out. c'mon princess, gotta fuck you in every piece of furniture in this house.”

TOMAS is not like his brothers – he is not like the rest of the men at all. he’s a lover who puts your well-being before anyone else, including his desires, and passionate when it comes to that decision in times he has you inside his arms, standing naked from head to toe, giving yourself completely to the man you trust the most, you love the most.

his fragile manner doesn’t let him go hard on you even if you want him to do so. afraid of hurting you even a little bit prevents him from becoming rougher and harsh to you. he listens to all your pleases, begging him to fuck you harder, wanting him to believe he can never harm you, yet, he chooses to stay still even when you act so bratty, trying to get into his nerves, making him let it go.

tomas, being a cute shy boyfriend, delicate when the matter is you, stays determined for a long time ‘'til the day you plan everything out and make him lose his gentle manner, causing the loss’s emptiness to be completed with the new one – greed.

the greed he has for you builds up from his deep soul to show itself through his actions after he sees you sitting on the bed, on your knees, the dress you wear is thin and represents the color of tomas’ armor, the delightful body underneath it is visible to his widened eyes, looking innocently yet devilishly to his eyes, smiling widely as you rise your hand for him to hold and get into the bed with you.

who he is to resist? his determination is not that great – and both of you realize it when tomas gets into the bed, a moment later, when his cock meets with your already soaked and prepared pussy after he fingers you, he feels warmness, fire building within his body, making him want to devour you, unlike the times you had before, he’s a bit dizzy now.

he moans your name over and over again, lips curl only to moan, whimper, and beg for more. you let him though, saying he can get what he needs – you say he can use your body for his pleasure, and when he finally admits it feels euphoric to go rough on you, moans coming out of your pretty pink lips like a melody to his ears, encouraging him further.

he grips you from the waist while fucking you; he uses your body as he pleases, moving your body front to back, his thrusts meet with your walls in mid-air, earning rhythmic moans from both of you.

throwing his head back, he decides to hold the bed under your body because he realizes the red marks on your waist due to the grip he has on there. when his hands reach for the mattress, he grips the white covers strongly, hands turn into fists, and those fists hit the bed’s rigid surface – the bed breaks into two the moment he cum carelessly into you after you praise him, call him your good boy.

he swears for the first time, eyes closed shut, his cum meets with yours, forehead connects with your chest as you hug him from the shoulders.

breathing deeply into your breasts, warmness flows from his breaths to your exposed skin, smoke appearing on the curves of his body slowly, and you feel his tears because of both pleasure he has felt and quilt coming from breaking the bed, making your bodies go lower a little bit.

“oh, I’m so sorry, so so sorry, didn’t mean to – I – I just want to prove myself and get lost when you moan my name like that, calling me your good – ohh – boy. ‘m so sorry my goddess, please, forgive me. wanna say it will not repeated but I can’t – it felt so good that I wanna do it again – right now. my love, would you let me do it again? say yes, and I will be a very very good boy for you – only for my goddess.”

what a journey of rut! here's a cake for you because you deserve it after reading this, bearing it with me! 🍰

❤️ tagging: @lookingforgoodthings , @snowprincesa1 [taglist]

[livebeforeyoulearn]

Safe in Her Arms

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Use of safe word, Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Alexia goes a little too far and cares for you after.

Request

-

Alexia's lips latch onto your neck, branding the tender skin again and again, each press hot and possessive. Her mouth moves with unrestrained hunger, grazing, sucking, her tongue gliding over the bruised spots. She feels like a vampire lost to desire, marking you as hers, and each time her teeth scrape or her lips suckle, you gasp beneath her, arching into her body. 

“Another?” Her words come close to a tease, yet they’re a question too, just as much as a request. You hum in reply, words failing you, reduced to the basic sound that’s enough to make her smirk. 

She shifts, lifting herself up to her knees, her eyes locking onto you in that potent way that leaves you feeling bare, vulnerable, but willing. Your legs are spread wide open for her, aching and receptive, and you’re not sure how many times she’s had you like this tonight – maybe the fifth, or the sixth? Your body is worn and sensitive, surrendering to her insatiable rhythm with a desperation that mirrors her own. But how could you deny her?

“Remember your word, bebé?” she whispers, and you manage a nod. She studies you, intent. “Tell me, I need to know you remember.”

“Red,” you manage, a whisper from hoarse lips. 

She hums in approval, her lips curving into yet another smirk, seemingly thrilled by your surrender. "Good," she murmurs, her gaze intense, devouring you whole. Her hands grip your thighs, keeping you open, exposed, as her eyes drink in the sight of you, desire deepening in her gaze. “Still want me so bad, huh? Have I not given you enough already?” she teases, her voice dripping with a possessive pride that leaves you trembling.

Your response is a helpless whimper, and she leans back, her hand finding the strap, sliding along its length to coat it with the traces of earlier pleasure before guiding it towards you. You can feel her gaze on you, taking in every subtle movement, every little sound you make as she drags the tip of it through your folds.

“Alexia, please,” you beg, voice breaking on the edge of a whine, every inch of you hyperaware of each movement. Her grin only widens, slow and dangerous, as she relishes in making you beg, enjoying every second that she has you at her mercy.

When she finally presses forwards, the tip stretching you in a way that’s both familiar and fresh, your mouth falls open, a strangled moan escaping as she fills you once more. You’re tight, your body trembling, and the pressure makes your eyes roll back, lost in the feeling she draws from you. Her eyes are locked between your legs, completely lost in how you take her; entranced. Her breaths are shallow as she watches your body open up to her touch, every inch of her consuming you.

Her movements start slow as she leans down, her fingers threading through yours, pinning your hands beside your head, trapping you under her as her hips find a steady rhythm. You glance up at her, catching sight of her torso, her abs flexing with each thrust. The sight alone is enough to make you melt, your body responding with even more need. Her eyes trail up your body, taking in every inch before she lowers her mouth to your chest, her lips catching one of your sensitive nipples. Each suck and bite, each motion is precise and demanding, pushing you further until your mind is hazy.

“Ale,” you moan, voice cracking as she moves faster, her rhythm intense, her own need apparent in the way she holds herself. “Fuck,” each thrust sends you reeling, caught between pain and pleasure, unsure where one sensation ends and the other begins, and yet you crave it all, maybe even crave for it to stop, though you can't quite tell anymore. Everything blurs together, and all you can do is feel.

You tighten your grip around her hands, nails pressing into her skin, and she responds with a groan, dragging her teeth along your chest, a teasing nip that makes you cry out. She watches, caught in her own pleasure, your hips lifting despite the overwhelming ache. Her body presses you down, her control firm as she whispers praises, “Ho estas fent molt be, mi princesa.” 

She slips one hand free from your grasp, sliding it down to steady your hips as her thumb begins tracing slow, agonising circles over your sensitive clit. Your free hand drifts down to her abdomen, fingertips pressing firmly along the defined lines of her abs. Your nails rake against her skin, leaving faint, heated crescents in their wake, a breath escaping her lips as she feels each trace you leave behind.

“Mira’t,” she husks. “Taking me so well.”

Her thumb presses harder against you, and as her lips capture yours in a messy, needy kiss, your mind spins. You can feel that familiar heat building, intensifying as she pushes you to the edge one final time until everything snaps, sending you headlong into bliss. Your vision fades, your senses numbing, body going limp. As the waves of ecstasy wash over you, her lips trail down your jawline to your neck, kissing and sucking with fervent desire. Each soft bite sends goosebumps across your skin, pulling you deeper as she explores the sensitive curve of your throat. 

But just as fast as the pleasure washes over you, it shifts – the sharp edge turning from sweet to searing, the sensation that once held you captive now pressing painfully against every nerve.

“Alexia, red, red, red,” you gasp out, voice faint but urgent. She stops instantly, her entire body stilling above you, her breath a sharp intake as she processes the word. She freezes, her lips still pressed to your neck, her hips halted, her breathing heavy as she lets you both catch up, her chest rising and falling in time with yours.

Then, softly, she whispers, “Amor?” Her voice is gentle, a hint of unease beneath the concern. “I’m going to pull out, okay?”

You manage a faint nod, the lingering pleasure melting away as she withdraws carefully, her hand gentle on your stomach, stroking softly as she helps you come down. The bed shifts, the quiet rustling of fabric filling the silence as she slips out of the harness, discarding it with little thought as she watches you with concern.

Exhausted, you roll onto your stomach, burying your face in the pillow. The scent of her skin lingers there, familiar and comforting, and you let yourself breathe, willing your body to relax as the ache fades.

In moments, she’s beside you again, settling on the bed and pulling you close. Her hand finds your face, her thumb wiping away a tear that’s slipped free. She’s quiet, waiting until you’re ready to meet her gaze, and when you do, her expression softens, a tender worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay, mi amor?” Her voice is soft, almost pained. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, your voice so faint, almost uncertain, feeling the exhaustion seep into every word. “I just need a moment.”

She nods, her face relaxing with a soft sigh, “No rush, mi amor,” she says, her arms encircling you as she guides you on top of her body. Her fingers trail softly across your back, drawing gentle, soothing patterns that steady you, and her lips press delicate kisses to your forehead. 

You stay on top of her for a while, savouring the warmth of her body beneath you, her skin like silk under your fingertips. Your cheeks feel flushed, a faint embarrassment creeping in. It’s not the kind that feels shameful, but it’s enough to make you aware of just how exposed you feel. Admitting you needed to stop, even to her, feels vulnerable, like peeling back an extra layer of yourself and laying it bare for her to see. But you know she’d never judge you; she understands more than anyone. Yet, lying here, pressed against her, it’s impossible to ignore the gentle ache in your chest.

Her chest rises in a deep, slow breath beneath you, and the motion stirs you from the peaceful fog you’d nearly drifted into. Your eyes flutter open, taking in the dim light of the room. Her fingers, once tracing soft, soothing circles along your back, now lie still, her hand resting gently against you. Her lips are pressed firmly to your forehead, her breath soft against your skin. You feel her inhale, breathing you in as if memorising the moment, and it fills you with a strange, quiet peace. Your fingers draw a soft circle against her chest before you find your voice.

“Can we go shower?” The words come out rough, your voice betraying how tired and raw you feel. 

“Of course,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss before she carefully shifts, guiding both of you upright. You slide off her lap as she sits, her hands steady on you, her gaze tender. When she looks at you, her eyes seem to cradle you, holding you in that soft gaze that always undoes you. She leans forwards, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s gentle and sweet, as if speaking the words she doesn’t need to say. When she pulls away and rises to her feet, she reaches a hand towards you.

She pauses when you don’t immediately move, a faint smile playing at her lips. With a gentle shake of her head, she steps closer. “Come on, I will carry you,” she says softly, amusement and love mingling in her tone.

A shy smile tugs at your lips as you scoot to the edge of the bed, letting her arms slip around you. She lifts you with such ease that you cling to her, feeling the need to be close. You nestle against her, and she seems to sense your desire to be held, pulling you even closer, her lips brushing soft kisses against your neck and shoulder as she carries you to the bathroom.

She sets you down on the cool countertop, and you watch as she moves to turn on the shower, the steam slowly beginning to fill the room. When she returns to you, her palms rest on your thighs, her fingers drawing soft trails along your skin. Her gaze is thoughtful, her eyes tracing over your face with an intensity that makes you wonder what she’s searching for. But her touch, her closeness, is reassuring, reminding you of the trust that exists between you, even in this moment of unfamiliar vulnerability.

Neither of you has ever had to use the safe word before, and you both feel the weight of it, unspoken but there. You know it isn’t her fault – she hadn’t meant to push you past what you were comfortable with. And she did exactly what she should have, stopping the moment you uttered the word, letting the trust between you remain intact. You take a steady breath, grateful for her presence, for how deeply you trust her, and for her respect towards you and your boundaries.

She blinks a few times, her gaze softening as she seems to pull herself back into the present. Her fingers tighten around your thighs for a moment before she nods towards the shower. You give her a look that says enough, and she laughs softly, stepping forwards to help you down.

She slips into the shower first, letting the water run over her as she tilts her head back, closing her eyes in peaceful surrender to the warmth. “Amor, quick, it is lonely without you,” she calls, her voice carrying through the gentle rush of water.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts, and slowly step into the shower. Your limbs feel heavy, the emotional exhaustion mingling with the physical, but she immediately pulls you close, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. She reaches for the shampoo, her hands finding their way into your hair, fingers working with such tenderness it nearly takes your breath away. Each touch feels purposeful, soft and attentive, as she washes away the remnants of the night, the lingering weight of the moment. She treats you with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile but safe, a softness that assures you she’ll handle every part of you with care.

When the soap is rinsed away, and you’re both just standing there under the cooling water, she wraps her arms around you from behind, her head resting on your shoulder. You let your hands fall over her forearms, anchoring her close, the moment both grounding and comforting.

“I’m sorry for making you stop,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the soft patter of water. “I know you were enjoying it.”

She frowns, her face immediately softening as she turns you around, pulling you closer. Your arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders as hers tighten around your waist.

“No, you did exactly what you should’ve done. Thank you for trusting me,” she says, her voice tender, her eyes filled with sincerity that warms you from the inside.

You look down, feeling a flicker of embarrassment you can’t quite name. “Thank you for stopping,” you whisper, a touch of shyness creeping into your tone.

She lifts your chin gently, her thumb brushing against your skin as she meets your gaze. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed, I promise. I am happy you told me to stop. Otherwise, I would’ve hurt you more, sí?”

You nod, your heart easing under her soft reassurance. She gives you a tender smile before leaning in to press her lips to yours, the kiss unhurried and filled with a quiet love.

You stay like that, bodies tangled in soft kisses and gentle caresses, each touch a wordless promise. They never evolve into anything more, remaining innocent and comforting. In that restraint, you feel a respect and care from her that makes your heart ache in the best way. She’s understanding, patient, and everything you need in this moment. It’s one of the many reasons you love her.

As the water finally begins to cool, she shivers and quickly reaches to turn it off, both of you chuckling softly. She’s quick to wrap you in a towel, drying you off with the same care, and once she’s dressed, she helps you into something comfortable before guiding you back to bed.

Under the soft covers, she pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you with gentle insistence. Her fingers trace light patterns along your back, and she whispers soft, comforting words, each one slowly lulling you to peace. She brings a steady sense of tranquility as she lays against you, and as your eyes grow heavy, you feel nothing but safe, loved, and secure in her embrace. She follows you into sleep not long after, holding you close through the night.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k

summary: joel agrees to go out to tommy’s favorite bar, where he watches you ride a mechanical bull and wishes you would ride him.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, no defined reader age or physical appearance besides outfits, alcohol use, joel getting slapped, tommy is a little shit, first date anxiety, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, girl on top, couch sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, deep throating, more men whimpering and begging 2k23. let me know if any warnings are missing!

author’s note: look, i know i’m in the middle of my spooky specials but i saw two very specific tik toks that left me with the need to write this 😵‍💫 also this post layout is inspired by @bits-and-babs, whose works and aesthetic are chef’s kiss.

“Why did you pick this place?” Joel grumbles, hand wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer. People keep jostling him as they squeeze past, forcing him to keep his elbow tight to his side to avoid having his beer be collateral damage.

“You’ll see,” Tommy says with a cryptic wink. Joel rolls his eyes.

Tommy has dragged him out to a saloon style bar, complete with swinging wooden doors and longhorn skulls decorating the walls. Everything is shiny dark wood and western motif, down to the saddle style barstools. Most of the patrons have leaned into the theme, too — tassels, leather, cowboys hats, and ostentatious belt buckles.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice calls out over the speakers. “The show is about to begin!”

“Show?” Joel asks dubiously. Tommy only grins at him, dragging him by the arm towards the back of the bar.

He weaves through the crowd until they’re only behind a few rows of people that have gathered around a mechanical bull riding ring, of all things. The floor of the ring is inflatable and in the middle sits the brown bull figure. Joel catches his first glimpse of you, a gorgeous woman in denim cut offs standing beside the bull. Your black leather halter top plunges low to expose your cleavage and stops short of the waist of your shorts, a tantalizing strip of your stomach on display. The black leather of the top matches your black leather boots and the cuffs snapped around your wrists.

“One of Salty Saloon’s very own has stepped up to take the bull by the horns tonight!”

You lift a hand to wave, bright smile on your face as you take in the crowd. Your eyes land on Joel and for a brief moment he swears he stops breathing. He can’t hear anything the emcee is saying, all the noise around him just a dull buzz as he watches you swing yourself up onto the back of the bull.

“Alright, alright, alright! Our rider’s goal is to stay on for one minute using only one hand! If she falls before the buzzer, y’all get nothin’. But if she makes it, shots are half off for the rest of the night!”

A cacophony of cheers erupts around Joel and you straighten your spine, holding your hand out with a thumbs up. The music starts, some pop song he’s heard on the radio in the morning when he’s taking Sarah to school, and the mechanical bull turns in a slow circle. You have one hand twisted in a leather strap, the other raised above your head as the bull bucks and swings, your hips moving smoothly with the machine.

“Goddamn,” someone says from behind Joel. “I ain’t ever wanted to be a bull so bad in my life.”

Me, too, he thinks.

Your thighs press tight against the sides of the bull as it swings around, turning you to face the section of crowd Joel stands in. You release the hand grip, both hands in the air now as you rely solely on your legs and core to keep you up on the machine. When the machine turns again, you manage to lift your body and swing your legs around to reverse your position, now seated facing the back of the bull.

“Alright, ten more seconds!” The emcee calls out. The crowd starts to cheer your name and Joel can’t help but join in, eyes glued to you as you continue to swing and sway like all the movements are nothing but second nature to you.

“Three! Two! One!”

A cowbell goes off, signaling the end of your ride. The bull slows to a stop and you sit there for a moment to catch your breath, waving at the crowd. The bar owner, Johnny, comes out onto the crash pad with a huge grin on his face.

“Great job up there, kid. Now go sell some half priced shots,” he says with a good natured pat on your shoulder.

You return to the bar, where the other two bartenders scheduled tonight field the after-show rush, lining up shot glasses and filling them in quick succession with the requested liquor. When you get behind the bar, a familiar head of curly hair catches your eye.

“Tommy!” You call, excited to see one of you favorite regulars. He shouts your name as you stop in front of him.

“This is my brother, Joel!” He says, slapping the back of the man beside him. You’d seen him in the crowd, a handsome guy with broad shoulders stretching a dark blue t-shirt, warm tan skin, and messy curls that speak to the family resemblance between him and Tommy. You reach a hand across the bar, Joel’s calloused fingers dragging against your palm as you greet the man.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joel. Can I get y’all anything?” You ask. Tommy grins.

“Let me get this man a slap shot!” He yells.

You glance at Joel. “That okay with you?” You ask.

His eyes are comically wide as he nods. You step back to ring the bell behind the bar, your fellow bartenders whooping and cheering, a chant of “SLAP SHOT! SLAP SHOT!” echoing around you.

Haley sets a glass of water on the bar for you and you grab a pint glass, filling it with ice and two ounces of Jim Beam and amaretto. You smack the steel shaker on top, grabbing both glasses and shaking them vigorously over your shoulder.

You strain the contents of the shaker into a shot glass, amber liquid flowing to the brim. When you’ve got everything ready, you leave the back of the bar and squeeze your way through the crowd until you’re in front of the two brothers and can hoist yourself up onto the bar.

“Alright, Joel, are you ready?” You shout. He looks a little confused, brows pinched tight over kind brown eyes, but he nods anyway, holding his hand out for the shot glass. Tommy watches with a shit eating grin. “Three! Two! One!”

Joel takes the shot and you follow it with a glass of water to his face and a slap across his jaw in quick succession. Tommy is howling with laughter and Joel’s face is one of pure shock, red blooming across the skin of his cheek. He turns to his brother.

“Tommy, what the fuck!” Joel shouts. His hand wraps into the neck of Tommy’s shirt. “You little fuckin’ shit!”

You have the sinking realization that Joel wasn’t prepared for what a slap shot entails. You had just assumed this was something Tommy had told him about, having been to the bar so much the last few months.

Joel looks mad as hell, his shoulders tense and you worry he may actually throw a punch at Tommy. You hop from the bar and get between the two men, pressing a hand to their chests and pushing them apart.

"You, come with me," you say, pointing to Joel. "And you," -- you jab a finger into Tommy's chest -- "are on my shit list."

You take Joel by the hand and guide him to the back office, shutting the door and muffling the noises of the bar beyond it. His face is still dripping wet and the water dripping from his chin has gathered into a sizeable spot on the collar of his shirt.

"I am so, so sorry," you start, rifling through the storage cabinet for a bar towel. You hold it out to him, avoiding his gaze. "Tommy comes here so much that I just thought he'd told you about what a slap shot was. I should have told you, oh my god."

"Hey, it's okay. I ain't mad at you," Joel says, running the towel over his damp face. "Tommy, though. I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass later."

"Still," you mumble, twisting your hands together nervously. "I'm sorry. Is your cheek okay?"

He rubs the towel over his head to dry his hair a bit, the action leaving him adorable mussed, curly strands sticking up in every direction. You're staring at him, maybe a little too much, but who can blame you? The man is hot.

"Yeah, trust me. I've had worse," Joel replies with a laugh.

"You get slapped by women often?" You tease.

"The number of times ain't just one."

"Oh, a bad boy. Mama warned me about guys like you."

He laughs again, long and low, running a hand through his hair. "Well, thank you for the towel."

"Right. And your next drink is on me. As an apology," you tell him.

"I'd rather get your number," he says. "You know, as an apology."

You raise your eyebrows at him before turning to the manager's desk, grabbing a marker and tugging the cap off with your teeth. You slide a hand down his arm, lifting his forearm up so that you can write down your number across the smooth, tan skin.

"I'm off next weekend," you comment when you've recapped the marker.

"I'll keep that in mind," Joel replies with a grin.

Joel's nervous as he waits outside of your apartment building in his truck, fingers tapping a nameless tune against the steering wheel. It's Saturday night and he's here to pick you up for dinner at a restaurant in downtown Austin, one that required he dig out the old black button down he keeps shoved in the back of his closet for parent-teacher conferences and funerals.

The front door to your building opens and you emerge, dressed in a pretty red wrap dress and black heels. Joel gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for you and he's surprised when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

"Hey," you say in greeting, climbing into the truck and settling into the passenger seat, your purse on your lap. Joel can't help the dopey grin that's surely stretched across his face.

“Hey, yourself. You look nice,” he replies. He shuts the door and jogs around the the driver’s side.

“You don’t look so bad either,” you tell him as he starts the truck up. He can feel his cheeks get warm and he hopes that you can’t see him the proof of his nerves in the dark cab.

At the restaurant, the host leads you both to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, pristine white tablecloth topped with a small vase of flowers and a flickering votive candle. A waiter in a white button down comes by to take your drink orders before disappearing the the kitchen, leaving the two of you regarding each other in silence.

“Look, I gotta be honest about somethin’,” Joel says, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’ve got a kid. Sarah, she’s thirteen. Light of my life, you know?” He takes a deep breath before finishing with, “And I don’t think I’ve even been on a date since she’s been born, so this is just…a little new to me.”

“You have a kid?” You ask. For a moment Joel worries that he may have ended this before it could even get a chance to begin, but then your face lights up with a sweet smile and you ask, “Will you tell me about her?”

Joel does. In between ordering and eating your delicious meals, you and Joel discuss anything and everything. He tells you about Sarah and his contracting work, while you tell him about your full time job as a pharmacy technician, the gig at the bar a part time thing on some weekends. He nearly makes you snort your water out of your nose with a story about rescuing Tommy from the bathroom of the girl he’d been seeing when her long distance boyfriend, who Tommy didn’t know existed, showed up at her apartment.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim breathlessly. “And he just jumped out of the bathroom window?”

“To be fair, she had a first floor unit,” Joel confirms. “His royal pain in the ass still made me take him to urgent care because he thought he broke his ankle.”

“You’re a good brother,” you say with a smile. Joel feels the warmth of it in his veins.

After dinner, the ride back to your place is quiet, the comfortable silence filled with the low music from the radio. In a moment of bravery, Joel reaches over and lays a hand on your low thigh, just above your knee as he drives. He refuses to look over at you, but from the corner of his eye he sees you look down at his hand before looking back out the window.

He counts that as a win.

He pulls up the curb outside your apartment and kills the engine. You speak before he has a chance to agonize over what to say.

“Will you walk me to my door?” You ask.

He feels relief and anxiety in one fell swoop. He agonizes internally over whether to kiss you goodnight as he follows you up the stairs to your apartment, the buzzing in his brain momentarily silenced while he watches your hips sway as you climb the steps.

You stop on the second floor, guiding him down a long hallway to a door marked with a black metal number three. You turn to face him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“This is me,” you murmur. Joel swallows nervously.

“Right. I, uh…I had a really great time tonight,” he says.

“Would you…want to come inside?”

Joel’s brain short circuits. “Would I—? Yeah.”

You turn to unlock the door, pushing into your apartment and Joel follows you inside. The apartment is dark but you quickly turn on the lights as you move further inside, illuminating an open living room with a dining nook. There’s a door off to the right that he assumes is your bedroom and an open kitchen to the left. It’s small, but it’s cozy, bursting with colors and fabrics and mismatched furniture.

“Well, this is home,” you say with a shrug. You set your purse down on the small circular dining table. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got beer, some liquor on the bar cart over there if you want to have a look.”

“Beer is fine,” Joel says, taking a seat on the comfy looking couch. You return with a bottle of beer, passing it to him before settling in beside him, kicking off your heels and drawing your legs up beneath you.

He takes a sip, fortifying his nerves. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long time since he’s been on a date, but even sex has been a distant thought for the last year or so. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

“So,” you start, your elbow pressed into the back couch cushion while you lean your face into the palm of your hand. “You wanna know what I think?”

“‘Bout what?” Joel asks.

“You.”

“You got a report card ready for me already?”

“I think” — you take the beer bottle from his hand, setting it on the coffee table — “you’ve spent a long time being a caretaker. Right? You’ve got Tommy, who was already a handful. Your daughter, who’s obviously priority number one. You’ve got a business to worry about, workers to care for.” You shuffle closer on your knees, swinging a leg over his and settling yourself onto his lap. “This okay?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he replies, probably a bit too enthusiastically. His fingers curl into the couch cushions and he wants to reach up to wrap his hands around your waist but he’s not sure if he should.

You play with the collar of his shirt. “What do you think about having someone take care of you for a change?”

Joel’s stomach flips, cock jumping in interest as the blood in his brain rushes south and leaves him only capable of responding with a mumbled, “Oh?”

“I just think you deserve someone treating you real nice,” you say with a shrug. Deft fingers work at undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Especially when I was so mean when we met, slapping you across the face like I did.”

“Told you not to worry ‘bout that,” he replies, head dropping against the back cushions. “S’not like I didn’t like it.”

“You like to be roughed up a little, Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe.”

Your grin is wicked as you drag your nails down the now exposed skin of his chest. He hisses at the sting of it.

“Interesting,” you murmur. You lean close, chest pressed against his, hands coming up to frame his face. Your nails scratch through his beard now and he groans his appreciation.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. “Please?”

You respond by pressing your lips to his, chaste as first. Your mouths move together slowly, feeling each other out. It’s you that takes it deeper, tracing your tongue over his bottom lip and dipping it inside to tangle with his. He wraps his arms around your low back, holding you tightly in his lap as he consumes you, drunk on the feeling of your breath in his lungs.

You drags yours lips away from his with a slick sound, trailing them along his jaw and towards his ear. You nip at his earlobe, teeth gentle and breath hot before whispering, “Can I suck your cock, Joel?”

A whimper claws it’s way up Joel’s throat as he nods, already unable to form words. He’s no stranger to turning into a puddle for a pretty woman but he’s certain this must be a new record.

You slip from his lap and kneel on the floor, pushing his legs apart so that you can settle in between them. Your hands reach for his belt, tugging on the buckle and pulling it loose so that you can pop the button of his jeans and tug the zipper down, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room.

Your fingers curl into the waist of his jeans and Joel lifts his hips a bit to aid you in tugging them halfway down his thighs. His cock tents his boxers in an obscene way, a wet spot already staining the fabric. You run your palms up his thighs before bracketing his member between your hands, lightly running your thumbs up his length.

“Christ,” Joel says, teeth digging into his lip.

“That feel good?” You ask.

“Uh huh.”

You smile beatifically before leaning forward, warm breath on his covered cock as you press gentle kisses through the fabric. Joel’s hips twitch and he lets out a deep groan.

You tug the elastic of his boxers over his length, tucking it beneath his balls. He’s practically vibrating with need but you continue to take your sweet time, pressing more kisses along his shaft, tracing the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein.

“You have a pretty cock, Joel,” you say, wrapping your hand around the base of him to hold him steady. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t want to miss the sight of your tongue lapping at the bead of precum gathered on his flushed tip, or the way your own eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of appreciation.

You wrap your lips around his cock, taking him inch by agonizing inch into your warm mouth and Joel feels any semblance of sanity disappear from his lust clouded brain. Your eyes stay fixed on him as take him in as far as you can, throat fluttering around the sensitive head when you swallow before pulling up, twirling your tongue around the tip, and plunging back down.

“Christ,” Joel groans, reaching out to cup your cheek. “You look so goddamn good like that.”

You lift off his cock and take it in your hand, moving it across your lips as you ask, “Like what?”

“Chokin’ on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls.

“That was nothing.”

Joel’s about to ask what you mean when you lower your mouth over his length once more. He can feel you flatten your tongue, your throat and jaw relaxing enough to take him to the very base, your nose tickling the wiry curls on his pelvis. He moans as you swallow around him, breathing through your nose and holding yourself there for a moment before coming up with a gasp, tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and spit making your chin shiny in the low light.

“So…I could keep doing this,” you tell him, “or…”

“Or?” He asks.

“Or…you could let me make us both feel good.”

You stand up, your hands untying the knot that holds your dress together so you can push it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You push your panties down your legs and unhook your bra, leaving you gloriously naked in front him, every inch of you like a piece of art meant to be admired. Joel’s hands, greedy and unfulfilled up until now, reach up to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, your pussy hot and wet against his cock. He lets his hands wander over every inch of exposed skin, relishing the way your ass fits in his palms and the way you hiss when his thumb caresses a tight nipple.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he moans, his lips against your rapid pulse, teeth ghosting the thin skin of your neck. “Need you so bad, baby.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whisper, reaching between your bodies to hold his throbbing cock steady, notching it at your soaked entrance and beginning a slow slide down.

Joel is panting against your sweat slick chest, mumbling desperate words into your skin as you take him inside of you as slowly as you can, thighs burning with the effort. When you’ve finally seated yourself on his lap, his head drops back to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut tightly and fingers nearly bruising on your thighs.

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he begs. “Oh, fuck, feels so good.”

Where he’s desperate for you to stay still, you’re already desperate to move. His cock is perfect, thick and long with a slight upward curve, pressing up against your g-spot with stunning accuracy. You’re certain this won’t last long for either of you.

You rock slowly, forward and back, little movements of your hips. Joel lifts his head, looking down at where your bodies are connected with dark eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tangling your fingers in his hair and giving it a sharp tug that has him hissing your name.

You start to move more quickly, rolling your body in smooth waves over his. He’s panting as he looks up at you, sweat gathering at his temple, and his hands grip your ass and follow your movement reverently.

“So fuckin’ good,” he moans, “you’re gonna make me come, baby, goddamn.”

You speed up, bouncing on his lap now. Your couch creaks the slightest bit, protesting your movements, but you don’t care — all you care about is the man beneath you and the desperate little noises spilling from his lips as you make good on your promise to take care of him.

“Touch me,” you command. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He’s a good listener, your Joel, his thumb immediately finding your clit and circling it with messy movements that drive you wild, that tension in your muscles coiling tighter. Joel’s hips flex into yours with each drop down his length, the room echoing with the lewd sounds of skin against skin and the chorus of whimpers that spill from both of you.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. He wraps his arms around you, really thrusting into you now as your own movements falter and you collapse forward, head buried against his neck as you come, trembling with the strength of it.

It’s not long after that he goes still, cock pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. You stay slumped against each other, catching your breaths and waiting for your racing hearts to come back down to earth.

“That was…,” Joel says with a breathless laugh that shakes his chest. His fingers play up and down your back, soothing and gentle. “Goddamn, that was amazin’.”

“Yeah?” You ask, lifting your head. You smooth his messy hair back from his forehead. “You weren’t so bad either.”

He nips at your neck in retaliation, making you laugh and squirm away from him.

“Do you have to get going?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Tommy’s watchin’ Sarah for me tonight. He owes me one. Besides, I’m ain’t done with you yet.”

“No?”

“Not even close, darlin’.”

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[seresinhangmanjake]

Do You Love?

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x wife!reader

Summary: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

Notes/Warnings: fluff and a little angst and very light smut (still 18+), softy-soft Feyd, probably could do with a wedding prequel if people were interested, im sure there are typos. I think that's it.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

He hates being away from you. Can't bear it. It takes less than two days for withdrawal from your lack of presence to settle in, and when it hits, it hits hard. The luminescence of your smile that threatens the darkness within him on his worst days; the delicate suppleness of your skin that introduced him to the softness and warmth of a human body; the specific quality and tone of your voice when you whisper and whimper and moan in his ear—he needs it. He needs you. He craves you until the second you’re in his arms again. He just wishes he could understand if you feel the same. He wishes he could know if you love him as much as he does you.

When you came into his life, you were a pawn for peace. A gift from one Great House to another. A reluctant bride who couldn’t choke back her tears on her wedding day. He’ll never forget the saltiness that lingered on his lips after the kiss that bound you to him forever. He can still feel the pang in his heart from seeing you finch when he guided the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder. 

It took ages for you to shed your fear; to allow him to hold you and kiss you and be inside of you, but those many months of ‘two steps forward, one step back’ have left him in a paralyzing state of identity crisis and uncertainty. You’ve turned him into a man who begs for scraps of reassurance that you care for him rather than a man who shows no mercy for love; a man so preoccupied with thoughts of his wife’s affection that not even his enemies are granted his full attention as he watches the light drain from their eyes. 

From the moment he leaves, he anticipates his return so you can quell his agitation, at least to some degree. The same words echo in his head each time he steps off a Harkonnen ship to search for you—hug me, hold me, kiss me, let my body inside of yours, tell me you love me—and in recent months you haven’t failed to do those things, with the exception of the last request. The day you tell him you love him will be the day he stops fearing you'll eventually grow bored with him. On that day, he’ll be happy, at peace. He’ll be unafraid of what his future with you will bring.

—

Reader POV

He often goes to Arrakis for a week or two, that’s not new. He must monitor things and fight Fremen when necessary. However, this time was different. There was something foreign in his eyes after he kissed your palm and boarded his ship to depart. Sadness? Pain? Worry? All three? You didn’t know, but it terrified you from how little he tried to disguise it. With each departure, it’s seemed his mood has worsened and you can't decipher its cause.

Now, ten days later, your fingernails are worn to nubs and dark circles have found home under your eyes from nightmares interrupting your sleep. They’re different every night but they always end with Feyd not coming home to you, and you don’t know how to cope. You tell yourself you’re crazy, that there’s no possibility of him being taken down with a Fremen knife or gobbled up by a sandworm or blown to bits from his ship getting shot out of the sky. He’s too smart, too quick, too trained for such things to claim his life. At the same time, however, the last person whose death you dreamt of was your mother’s, and while it’s rare your dreams are prophetic, that one came to fruition not five days later. Who is to say your dreams of your husband are not the same?

But you can’t lose Feyd, not when it feels like you just got him. When you married, your dread of navigating a new husband and life on Giedi Prime—both of which have a reputation for being cold and desolate and harsh—crippled your ability to see him for who he is. It’s only been the last few months that you’ve let yourself love and understand him, and you can’t imagine a reality in which you wake one morning knowing you will never have him again. You wouldn’t survive it. 

But you won't have to, because he's fine, perfectly safe—that's what you tell yourself. He told you he wouldn’t be away long and he wouldn’t say that unless he believed it, right?

Then again, believing he would be home soon doesn’t mean fate agrees. What if he's already gone? Wait, no. No, he wouldn't do that to you. He'll be home because he always makes it home. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave you. You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave.

--

Your body curls into the first touch of warmth you’ve had in a week and a half as a heavy weight rests in the dip of your waist and tugs you against a solid form. Plush lips ghost your temple. A heartbeat thrums in your ear and you feel the rise and fall of a chest. 

Oh, you like this dream. He’s so real in this dream. It’s the first dream where death is not at his heels.

“You don’t know how I miss you,” he mutters into your ear. Stands of your loose hair brush back from your face. “How unbearable it is.”

His voice is so clear, so beautiful and vivid that it’s almost like he’s really with you. Humming contently, you huddle further into him. “Then stop leaving me,” you mumble.

Breath catches in his chest, no longer moving at a steady rhythm. “You're awake?”

Your brows knit—that's not a very ‘dream-like’ question; it threatens your lovely illusion—and then your eyes snap open. 

“Feyd?” His nose is an inch from yours. Your hand raises to cup his cheek, just to see if he is real, and you gasp at how warm his skin is under your palm. “You're here,” you cry, quickly pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him. 

You press your lips to his, hard. A whimper is pulled from your throat when he parts his mouth so you can get a taste of his tongue. Yes, he’s definitely real. 

Hands trail down your back to your ass, squeezing two handfuls of flesh and pushing your pelvis down onto his. He’s already hard and thick and pressing into you, the matching thin material of your nightgown and his sleep pants doing a pathetic job of maintaining any sort of barrier. 

Feyd slowly drags the ink-toned silk up the curves and dimples of your body until it pools at your waist. Fingers graze your skin as they move lower to slide through your slick bare folds, and at his touch, your brain goes absolutely fuzzy. You’re unashamedly desperate, refusing to take any longer to get what you need, but when you finally free him from his pants and he thrusts up into you, you both find yourselves stopping. The kiss breaks and you simply breathe in each other’s breaths as he stays nestled deep inside you. 

Your forehead falls to his. A fresh tear that you hadn’t noticed in your eye lands on his cheek. “You're ok,” you gently whimper, reassuring yourself of his safety. His nose nudges yours.

“When am I not?” he whispers as he catches the next tear with his thumb before it drops from your lower lashes. 

“In my nightmares.”

His brow pinches in curiosity, cock twitching within your walls. “You dream about me?” 

You lightly nod. “I thought this was a dream.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a sickening feeling you weren’t going to make it back this time. I know it was a routine trip, but I just couldn’t shake it,” you say. “And that would’ve killed me, Feyd. I love you.”

Feyd sucks in a short stream of air as his hips slightly buck up against yours. “You love me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you exhale, riding the little high of pleasure that came from the sharp involuntary shift of his hips. “I was so scared to be right.”

Feyd's arms tighten around you and he tilts his chin up to connect your lips. Kisses travel along the line of your jaw and down the length of your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat. 

“I love you,” he tells you.

Your stuffy chuckle settles into a grin. “I know you do.”

---

tag: @avidreader73

[screampied]

yuki and reader scissoring while choso begs to be in the middle ,,, vegas do you see the vision 🗣️🗣️🗣️

❤︎ ໋𓈒 choso being the third wheel between you & yuki

warnings. fem! reader, cucking, scissoring, praise, dirty talk, needy choso, mdni.

“such a pretty girl,” she’d purr in a soft voice—her hand gripping against your heel as she’s gradually rocking herself against you. you couldn’t suppress the sweet mewls and moans from your glossy lips even if you tried. your legs were all sprawled out and yuki’s on top of you—rubbing her clit against yours and it feels simply euphoric. “heh, gotta keep up with me angel,” she creates kiss trails near your heel. her pace had so much rhythm, you’re just slumped back against the bed with your mouth slightly dangling open. “mhm. fuck me back jus’ like that, thereeee we go.”

it was so much mobility of her hips, you bit your lip as your eyes roam all over her body—she’s grinding against you continuously and you let off a moan once her legs interlace with you further. her pussy jerks against yours and you whimper out a sweet, “y—yuki, f-fuckkk.”

choso gulps, watching his two lovers bump clits in such a sensual way—his pout displays against his lips before he speaks in a needy tone, lowering his head towards the blond. “yuki, i want a turn too. you’re being s-stingy with her.”

“i told you to be a good boy ‘n wait, choso,” she murmurs, averting her eyes back towards you before silencing your syrupy sweet moans with a kiss. you’re out of breath, practically dragging your hands up her spine before pulling her closer towards the warmth of your body. you taste the remains of her favored lipgloss on your tongue before she departs, watching choso frown. “aw. just a few more minutes then you’ll get a turn, baby.”

“s—stop calling me that, yuki.” he mumbles, glancing down at you before softly strumming a thumb against your tummy.

“make me, pretty boy.” she jibes, giving him a quick wink before going back to kissing you.

“you’re . . you’re being a brat, yuki,” choso huffs out a cute irritated sigh. he leans close to give you a kiss. they’re both competing with you, solely on who can coat you with more kisses.

choso softly strums a thumb near the edge of your chin, pulling you closer into a deep kiss.

he tastes sweet . . sweeter than he’s ever been.

even though, yuki’s continuing to vigorously sway her hips against yours—your right arm hooks around her waist as she’s rutting back and forth, about to fall into a blissful spasm.

“i— i want you,” choso speaks between soft breaths, foreheads meeting against each other. the way he was trying to get between you both was so cute.

one kiss turns into two, then three, then four . .

a plethora of adoring pecks near your lips. when choso’s horny and needy, it’s adorable.

he literally can’t keep his hands to himself.

he allows his hands roam all over your body as yuki’s slowly lifts up your leg a tad bit higher.

with the angle she has, her sopping cunt resumes to clash against yours. the moist wet plops of squelches that escaped from the both of you were so lewd.

the entirety of the provocative scene taking place was simply downright dirty. the blonde woman starts to moan herself the second she feels a sudden rapture pool up inside her clenched abdomen.

“my . . my,” she squeaks, a sheepish smile going against her lips before she picks up her pace a bit more. her voice was teasing, a mere harmony to listen to.

she feels the slight twinge that lasts for only a second, it shifts into pleasure and you’re surely about to lose it. yuki pulls choso away from you before kissing you again for probably the umpteenth time. with a pout, he watches before not expecting yuki to bring him into a kiss also.

“oh you big baby,” she hums playfully, still grinding against you—with the obscene view, your eyes linger towards her chiseled abs that flex and tense with each jerk she creates forward. she’s unintentionally sexy, with a brief moment of her hips—you gaze as a few beads of sweat race down her stomach and she shoots you a sly grin. “if you wanted a kiss, choso all you had to do was ask.”

“y—yuki..” choso moans, melting into butter just from her coquettish actions.

her plump lips were so soft as they went against his, you felt your cunt twitch at watching them make out. choso doesn’t know what to do with his hands and she titters, grabbing his hands to place on her waist. still multitasking, she’s keeping up her rhythm at pulverizing her hips steady against you. so wet, the noises that squealed from your pussy rings throughout your ears and even reverbs across the entire room.

the both of you were close—substantially approaching that familiar unavoidable release. tips of your ears grew out to be so hot, your hand drags towards her ass to squeeze it and she giggles.

“aw,” she teases, pulling away from choso for a breath of fresh air. he’s so embarrassed—but he didn’t exactly want her to pull away. choso subtly licks his lips before averting his eyes back down toward you. the stimulation, you find your back starting to arch before feeling your climax arise at such a rapid speed. it was sporadic the way everything was happening at once. “kiss our girl while she cums, choso.”

“f— fine,” he stammers, and he’s trying to keep up his jealous grumbly facade but he’s clearly failing. he didn’t know who he wanted more—you or yuki. alas, it was choso, so more than likely he wanted you both. and he did, he leaned up close before lowering his head toward you. you heave, breaths becoming more and more heavy before he softly laps his tongue against the inner part of your neck. you moan from his sweet touch, feeling choso then start to coat the entire frame of your collarbone with nothing but kisses.

“s—so sweet,” he croons, starting to gingerly nibble against your skin. “let yuki make you cum, c’mon princess,” and he leans in to kiss near your lips, “mwah,” he coos, skimming a thumb against the crevices of your mouth before staring at you. his naturally drowsy stare, it was so loving. he was still needy, yet seeing you so close to your orgasm was enough to make him wanna please you even more. after all, your pleasure was always their pleasure. “pretty girl.”

“yuki i’m gonna c—cummm,” you’d huff out in irregular pants, feeling the familiar coil within you be on the very edge of snapping. your hand squeezes yuki’s wrist and she’s just as vocal as you. sweet voice honeyed with such smoothness that you could listen to her all day.

she moves choso aside, hearing him grumble cutely before she kisses you again this time, every few seconds she breaks away before whispering, “give it to me baby,” and soft cacophonies along the sides of, “come on. make a mess all on my pussy.”

her words, it was filled with such dirtiness. she stares into your eyes, your hands merely dragging her hips back and forth before you end up cumming. yuki matches your peak, a gasp rippling from her lips before she slows her thrusts down.

“fuckkkk, sweetheart,” she moans, still grinding against you but she slows down—reaching a hand between your legs to spread your swollen lips open. she runs a thumb down your slit, watching you twitch and spasm before he exhales deeply. yuki giggles, feeling choso’s chin rests against her shoulder. he was done being patient, and he wanted attention too. “fine, fine. so impatient.”

she gets off of you and you’re catching your breath before choso sits you up. he peppers a few sweet kisses near your neck before whining.

“waited so long,” he shakily sighs. as you run a hand down his chiseled chest, he gets up between you and your nude body. as he inches closer, that’s when you feel it. choso’s hardened boner that poked through his shorts, he was embarrassed—but he wanted you so bad. mwah, another kiss presses against your forehead before he spreads your legs, softly rubbing against your sensitive entrance. “now it’s m-my turn, princess. just lie back ‘n let me do everything o—okay?”

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your stressed lover comes home from a long day of work and finds you asleep. he can’t help but wake you up in a rather special way.

wc. 1.6k total

tags. dom!jjk men x sub!female reader (gojo, toji, sukuna). smut. general warnings: dark content — somnophilia (consensual). size difference because im self indulgent ; reader gets referred to as small. ehm they’re kinda depicted as perverts. rest of the warnings are given before each character.

GOJO SATORU; cw. cunnilingus. fingering. he’s a bit whiny. nicknames used ‘princess, sweets’. he cums untouched lol.

“mm, fuck. look at my sweet princess,” satoru sighs under his breath. he’s welcomed home by the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the bed, your hips lifted a bit as you rest on your stomach.

satoru’s voice is shaky as he mutters something to himself. he carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trembling fingers reaching out to trace the shape of your plump ass. he can’t not touch you—especially when you present yourself so nicely to him.

it isn’t long before his fingers dip under the material of your shorts. satoru gauges your reaction to his advances and notices the corners of your lips twitching. a sign you’re unconsciously feeling his warm touch.

“fuckfuckfuck. ‘m sorry, princess — i have to.”

satoru gives up any self-control that he had left. he doesn’t waste any time pulling down your shorts and panties to your knees. his already erect cock twitches in his pants at the beautiful scene; your wet cunt in all its glory.

he clenches his fists, desperately trying not to do anything. that determination does not last long.

in just a second, satoru’s already lapping up your juices, his hands firmly holding your hips still. his nails dig into your flesh and he moans once he feels your body instinctively pushing back against his mouth.

“mm, s’rry,” the sorcerer whines in a muffled voice. he knows you’re awake by now—judging purely by the increase of your little moans of pleasure. his tongue doesn’t stop moving between your spread folds, tasting you until your thighs are spasming.

you’re confused when you’ve awoken to a tingly sensation between your legs, though you quickly put two and two together. you’re too lazy to comment on satoru’s sudden actions, only babbling a soft ‘welcome home’ between whimpers.

satoru’s breath hitches the moment you tell him those words. those sweet words. like you don’t mind that he’s dragged you out of your slumber this way. it’s such a turn on—your acceptance to what he’s doing.

“yeah? oh god,” satoru’s nose bumps against your slit each time he moves his jaw, lewdly slurping the fluid your pussy produces. he can feel his dick throbbing against his pants, begging to be released, “ngh, can’t—gonna cum, sweets.”

your lover’s desperate whines make your fingers curl around the bedsheets. the sole image of him cumming in his pants just from eating you out pushes you over the edge as well.

you reach your climax at the same time. satoru lolls his tongue out to catch your juices, moaning loudly against your puffy folds as he feels it trickling into his mouth. he can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers, “shit.”

the white-haired man removes himself from behind you, licking his lips for any residue. you lazily look over your shoulder at him with glazed over eyes. his big hands are already working on his belt and zipper.

satoru shows you the dark spot in his underwear and pouts, “ah, look what you’ve done to me, princess—made a mess out of my favourite boxers b’cause of you.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI; cw. tiny hint of implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected. spooning position. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut, whore’. degradation / objectification.

toji kicks his shoes off and makes a beeline towards his bedroom. he’s in a shitty mood after he had met up with a rude client. despite that, his lips curl up into a faint smile the moment he sees you laying on his bed.

“heh, there’s my little girl,” his voice is raspy, hoarse and utterly exhausted. the older man climbs under the covers and wraps his strong arms around your small figure. he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in the nice smell of your shampoo.

toji wouldn’t be him if his hands didn’t wander all over your skin. his rough palms squeeze everywhere and anywhere—enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh in them. you subconsciously react to his touches by pushing your body back against his.

“. .do not,” toji hisses like you can hear him. he was already half hard on his way home as the thoughts of you clouded his mind, but now that he’s actually with you, he’s fully aroused. especially with your ass pushing back at his aching bulge.

he’s too lazy to get up and get himself off in the shower. thus, he starts off by humping the fat of your ass. the friction isn’t enough for the assassin and therefore he switches to the real thing.

“such a slutty fuckin’ thing. can’t keep my hands off ya,” toji groans into your ear, half hoping you’d hear all the dirty things he’s calling you. your pants are pulled down and your panties are pushed to the side—making way for his fat cock to drill into you.

your impatient lover adjusts your legs so he could have easier access to your tight cunt. the slow strokes inside you make you squirm and tighten up around his throbbing erection. this only riles toji up more.

“hah, y’can feel it even in y’r sleep, can’t you? my cock stretching your tight pussy out—my pussy,” toji corrects himself with a low moan. his warm breath hits the nape of your neck, his hands fondling you whilst he thrusts aggressively.

he doesn’t care if you wake up or not. he’s going to use your delicious body to relieve himself. you gave him the green light when he asked you if he could fuck you in your sleep when he needs it. so, there’s no reason to stop now.

you eventually jolt awake once the continuous stimulation become too much. if it wasn’t for toji’s hand on your mouth, you’d have woken up the neighbours with your loud and lewd moans.

toji scoffs. he keeps a tight grip on your face and thigh, not stopping the rough pounding he’s giving you. he sees your eyes roll back from the unexpected pleasure and he snickers.

his lips connect with yours, muffling your moans that way;

“hah, seems like you needed this as much as i did—waking up ‘n already moaning like a whore. missed me that much, huh?”

SUKUNA RYOMEN; cw. true form!sukuna. has two cocks woops. masturbation (m). turns into blowjob. hairpulling. reader gets called ‘brat’.

sukuna returns to his chambers. finally, after dealing with some sorcerers that’ve had challenged him for a battle. he’s tense, sweaty and obviously in need to blow off some steam. he knows just where to get said relief.

sukuna’s red eyes instantly spot your sleeping form on the middle of his kingsized bed. his favourite little human—resting without a care in the world. the innocent sight is one that sets his loins on fire.

“oi, brat,” the male speaks up as he sits on his side of the bed. the mattress dips to one side due to his huge form, causing your small body to automatically manoeuvre his way. you don’t seem to stir nor wake.

you’ve gotten used to sukuna’s demanding voice to the point that it doesn’t scare you anymore. he smacks his lips in frustration. guess he’ll take care of his problem himself for now.

low grunts fill the spacious room—sukuna’s head lolls back against the headboard whilst two of his hands move swiftly on his now exposed cocks. his sharp eyes are focused on your body, shamelessly checking you out. from the cleavage of your breasts, your clothed cunt to your perfect parted lips; all of you is turning him on.

“fuck, can’t believe this. .” sukuna curses under his breath. he can’t believe how weak he is for you. how his cocks throb and leak drops of pre-cum from just the sight of you sleeping. fully clothed at that.

whilst one set of his hands is busy touching himself, the other reaches out to grope your body. one hand on your chest and one on your ass. of course, sukuna doesn’t pass on the opportunity of smacking the soft flesh.

“i said get up,” sukuna clicks his tongue and tries to wake you again. this time you do actually wake up. a short, inaudible whine leaving your lips. you take a few seconds to process the view in front of you; your lover with both his thick cocks out, pre-cum making the lengths glimmer under the light of the lamp.

it got you horny. immediately. you slowly crawl over between his legs, like you know just what to do. sukuna raises an eyebrow—surprised by your lack of questioning. he’s amused at how fast you took the hint.

“that’s it. you’re learning fast,” sukuna sighs deeply the moment your lips wrap around his upper dick. your small hand jerks off the lower one. both stimulations at once makes the man beneath you grunt in satisfaction.

you still are and look extremely drowsy, though your devotion to sukuna knows no bounds. even in your half-asleep state. the king of curses pats your head—a surprisingly appreciative and loving gesture that he rarely does.

you bob your head carefully, not wanting to gag too much. however, the pace you set is too slow for sukuna who’s waited way too long to fuck you. in any way.

he bucks his hips—thrusting upwards into your hot mouth. his strong hands yank at your hair, keeping you in place as he hears your muffled whimpers of protest. not that he cares; you choking on his fat cock only adds to his pleasure.

“keep it up like that. fuck, where do you want me to cum? in your little mouth? yeahh, you’d like that huh, filthy girl. you’d have to work harder for it if you’re so desperate.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FAVORITE CREATORS !!

[ellecdc]

Hey gorg!!!

I saw the post about wanting pregnant reader/ dad marauders prompts and I literally ran here.

I’ve got two ideas, so whichever gives you the most inspiration/ whatever you like best 😂

1- pregnant!reader who just hits her limit for the day- overwhelmed and overstimulated with everything to the point she jsut wants to sit and cry- all because of something silly

Or!!

2- reader on their first day away from baby with the girls- leaving dad!marauders to it, coming back to a baby who’s very excited to be free from the chaos of the boys.

Lots of love!!

-🥟

eeeeeeeek I went with #2!!! thank you my love <3

dad!marauders x mum!reader who saves their daughter from the boys' tyranny [522 words]

CW: kid fic, fem!reader, you have a daughter but I avoided assigning her a name (let me know how ya'll prefer that: do you want me to name the kid? or do you want me to leave it ambiguous? I feel like it would probably read easier/more naturally with an assigned name, but I understand if you like making that up yourself)

“Oh thank gods you’re home.” Sirius pushed out all in one breath as he hastily stood from the couch with your daughter in hand. 

You clicked the door shut behind you as you took your shoes off, furrowing your brows at a frazzled looking Sirius and an equally frazzled looking baby in his arms. 

“You have to help us.” He begged quickly. “They’re driving us mad.”

“What?” You laughed carefully, though you had to admit that your child had a nearly identical pout on her lips as her papa, and you were quite sure babies her age didn’t have the ability to conspire. 

Though, you were sure if any baby could conspire, it would be a baby Marauder. 

“They haven’t stopped all day.” Sirius enunciated, whispering at you and looking over his shoulder as if some invisible threat was going to attack at any given moment. “Jamie got up this morning on a warpath; first we went on a family walk to feed the ducks some corn. Fine, I’ll let it slide. We no sooner got home, and Moony set up the sandbox in the yard. Great. But then, James insisted we go to the park! Which - okay, that was fun, because I got to run around as Padfoot. But then after a mere 20 minute nap, Remus had us out at the stream catching and releasing frogs!”

You awed in sympathy as you brushed some fine hair away from your baby girl’s forehead who was using her two pudgy hands to rub at her eyes.

“You tired, lovie?” You asked the child, but they both whined a yes in response. 

“Okay.” You murmured as you accepted the sleepy child’s grabby hands, only for her to immediately rest her head on your shoulder and melt into your embrace.

“Pads? Where’d you guys run off to?” James called from the other room, and Sirius’ paled. “We’ve got the water table set up.”

“Oh gods,” Sirius whimpered, “they’re coming.”

“Sirius,” you started to chide, but he simply turned and started pushing you towards the hall that led to the bedrooms.

“Go, save yourselves. I’ll hold them off.” He whispered theatrically.

“Sirius!” You squealed, laughing as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head - taking a deep breath as if he was trying to memorise your scent like he may never get the chance to do it again - and pat at your hip. 

“Make sure our baby girl grows up knowing the sacrifices her brave, brave papa made for her.” He offered solemnly, walking backwards as he held your gaze. “Go! Nap! Rest! Waste the day away in ways many of us only dream!” 

You giggled at him as he disappeared around the corner, hearing Remus murmur “what the hell was all that about?” only to hear a grunt, a chuckle, and a theatric “I won’t let you tyrannise our sweet girls any longer!”

“What do you say, sweetheart? Time for a nap?” You murmured as you made your way towards your bedroom; a nap did sound appealing, now that you thought about it. 

An answer never came, however; she was already fast asleep.

[florencebirdsong]

Welts and Caresses

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Sharing is Caring - Chapter 2/3

Summary: pain is just as delicious as pleasure when it comes to them

Tags: impact play (thighs and chest), bondage, fingering (R & Rio receiving), Sir Rio, Mistress Agatha, birch rod, biting, marking, oral fixation, light degradation, hand around neck

masterlist | AO3

Authors note: my asks are open if you want to talk about this au or would like to make a request :)

Rio’s legs hook around yours and forces them wide open. Agatha greedily takes you in. You preen, even with the looming punishment. She always loves to see evidence of what she does to you. Her grip tightens on the birch rod and you try to lessen your punishment one last time.

“Rio, please,” you whimper. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her hand wraps around your chin and forces your head back.

“That’s not my name.”

“Sir,” you quickly correct yourself but it’s too late.

“Agatha,” Rio commands. The birch rod flies through the air before you can blink. A pained gasp leaves your lips at the stinging it brings. 

Agatha strikes a mirroring spot on your other thigh. She strikes again just above it and your hips jerk away and then forward. Rio chuckles lowly in your ear.

“You’re not meant to be enjoying this, pet,” she says.

“I’m not,” you deny weakly.

“Oh, is that so?”

Agatha’s next strike lands centimetres from your cunt and you moan. The pain immediately turns to pleasure.

“You’ve always been such a terrible liar,” Agatha says and twirls the rod in her hand. She flicks it and you flinch, bringing a smirk to her face. Rio starts to gently bite your neck to prepare you for when she sinks her teeth in.

Agatha strikes you in the same spot and you cry out, tears gathering. Rio bites down and you moan, hands moving to grip her thighs tightly. You start to rock gently in Rio’s hold and Agatha tsks.

“Always so needy,” she says.You whine and try to open your legs wider, begging for some relief. She hits you again instead. “Rio, be a dear and hold her still.”

That’s not a good sign. Rio’s the one meant to be in charge. They share a look that’s more than familiar to you. It means they’re talking to each other telepathically. Which is never good for you.

“Gladly.” She forces your hands behind your back and holds them with one hand while the other forces your chin up again. “Head back, darling, you really don’t want Agatha to miss and ruin that pretty face of yours.”

Miss?

You can’t see the hit coming and pain flares along the side of your breast. You cry out in surprise and try to get out of Rio’s hold. A silly thing to attempt when it comes to her.

“This is meant to be a punishment,” Rio reminds you. “If your cunt is so greedy touching anywhere near it brings pleasure then we’ll just have to hurt you somewhere else, won’t we?”

“Yes, sir,” you say with tears thick in your voice. The heat heading straight for your core. It’s strange for Agatha to be so quiet but her heavy breathing tells you she’s barely hanging on to her control. Having you like this again is effecting her more than you thought.

The next three strikes burn but you don’t cry out again until Agatha hits your nipple. She does it again. Your core throbs, your clit pulses.

“Please,” you whine.

“Please what?” 

Agatha hits you again and you can’t remember.

“Please what, pet?”

“Don’t tell us you want to stop.”

Rio’s hand releases your chin to slither down to your cunt. She laughs when she finds you dripping.

“Definitely not stop,” she says.

Agatha returns to your thighs and you arch.

“Please what, pet?” she demands.

“Please fuck me,” you beg.

Agatha strikes your thigh again and a tear slips down your cheek as you strain against Rio’s hold. Rio moans low in your ear. This is her favourite part.

Agatha strikes you one more time, just to hear your pained whine of “mistress” before dropping the birch rod and stepping forward. Rio stops her.

“You’ve had your turn, Agatha,” she says. She releases your wrists and curls a hand around your waist. Her nails skim down your stomach to tease your clit. You moan quietly and arch into her touch. You’re always so sensitive after impact play and Rio has no problem taking advantage.

You watch through hooded eyes as Agatha clenches her jaw. Her hand twitches and you know that if she had her magic you would be flying out of Rio’s hold.

Rio holds eye contact with Agatha as she continues to lightly circle your clit. Even with how riled and sensitive you are it’s not enough pressure, which is something you just suffered through with Agatha. That and the thought of coming again without anything inside of you has you quickly devolving into mindless begging.

“Please, please, please, please.” 

Your begging never sways Rio, you get what she’s already decided you deserve, but you know she loves how pretty you are when you’re so desperate. 

She slips three fingers into you without warning and you cry out. Agatha watches the way you arch into Rio’s fingers and how you moan pathetically when she curls them.

“Is this what you were doing, Agatha? Were you fucking my pet like this?”

Agatha’s face darkens at the possessive claim. One of them claiming you in such a way always lead to an amazingly intense scene but you can’t predict how it will end now that Rio has a magical claim to you that Agatha doesn’t.

“Somebody had to.”

“Oh?”

“She was so tight I almost couldn’t fit.”

“Maybe you just didn’t get her excited enough.”

“Her dripping down my hand indicates otherwise.”

Rio moans quietly at the image. Her fingers are relentless and you struggle to stay present as you float higher and higher.

“Were you really that desperate, pet?” she asks, her voice gravel. “Was my stuffing you full this morning not enough for that greedy cunt of yours?”

You know she wants a response but you’re so close that all you can manage is a high-pitched whine.

“Such a needy whore,” she says before sinking her sharp teeth into your delicate skin. Fresh, tingling pain joins the stinging of your chest and thighs which all roll into a deep heat that pulses in time with your clit.

You don’t have the words to ask for permission but Rio’s other hand finds your clit and it’s enough. Your eyes roll back as euphoria floods you. You happily drown in the feeling of what these women have done to you.

You float slowly back down into your body. Pleasurable tingles still travelling through you as you become reacquainted with your surroundings. Rio is gripping you tight to ground you and her tongue laves over her fresh marks on your neck. You’re completely limp in her arms.

Soft fingertips trace the marks on your thighs and your eyes flutter open. It shouldn’t be so shocking to see Agatha kneeling above you but it is. She’s so close.

Those soft fingers tips press down which pulls a needy sound from the back of your throat. Rio’s own grip tightens around you at the noise, her wet nails digging into your weak flesh.

Agatha’s eyes never leave your face as her fingers trail to the next mark and press down again. The heat beginning to stir again has you asking,

“Pl-“

Rio is quick to silence you, pressing her slick fingers into your mouth. You eagerly open your mouth wider despite your intention to talk. Your own tangy flavour fills your mouth and you moan. She doesn’t press down like Agatha did earlier, you’re already docile enough, but it’s a quick and easy way to keep you pliant when denying you something you want so badly. It’s still a struggle not to whine when you lose eye contact with Agatha, although a small part of you is glad you’re not the recipient of the dark look she gives Rio.

“Is this how you had come in your mouth, pet?” Rio asks, completely unrepentant. “Too dumb to realise the rule you were breaking?” Rio’s gaze never leave Agatha’s. “Or did she force her fingers down your needy throat?”

You don’t bother to try to answer. She already knows. You’ve never been able to deny Agatha.

Agatha grips Rio’s wrist and pulls her fingers out of your mouth. You whine at the loss. Which is quickly forgotten as Agatha leans in. Anticipation has your toes curling. It doesn’t matter that she was kissing you three fucks ago, it feels just as exciting as the first time you realised you’d finally get to feel her again. Just as her lips brush yours, Rio grabs her chin. Agatha growls at her but Rio doesn’t let go.

“Only I’m allowed to taste her cunt,” Rio reminds her. 

“No,” you whine and reach for Agatha. Tree roots wrap around your wrists and force them down against your sides. 

“Come now, sweetheart. We can’t celebrate the good old days with such a thing in the way,” Agatha says, her voice low and soothing. Her hand traces along Rio’s thigh. You can feel the tiniest stutter in Rio’s breath. It always amazes you how much of an effect Agatha has on a person.

“That won’t work on me a second time, Agatha,” Rio says, pulling her closer by her chin. Their cheeks brush yours. 

One second they’re about to kiss and the next Agatha is going for Rio’s throat. Agatha’s hand flashes past the corner of your eye and Rio snarls in response, a bright spot of red showing she’s dug her nails into Agatha’s skin. Agatha jerks her face out of Rio’s grip, causing a bigger cut. 

Rio disappears from your back and Agatha goes around you. The roots keeping your hands trapped to your side anchor themselves into the dirt. Turning your head only shows movement in your peripheral. Struggling is useless so you lay down instead. Tilting your head back you can watch their dance upside down.

Your eyes widen as Agatha pins Rio, a hand wrapped firmly around her neck.

“Don’t be such a brat,” Agatha admonishes, inches from Rio’s face. Rio chokes herself by pressing up against Agatha’s hand to brush their lips together. A wheeze escapes her as Agatha’s hold tightens. “If you’re needy then just say so. Don’t deny me what’s mine.”

Rio snarls up at her. Her knife appears in her hand but Agatha knocks it out of her grip before you realise it’s there.

“She’s mine,” Rio growls up at her.

“And you’re mine,” Agatha growls right back. She kisses Rio fast enough that their teeth clack but it’s only a moment before she has control.

Rio moans. You can’t take your eyes off of her. It’s always beautiful to watch one of them melt under the other. 

Agatha’s hand forces its way into Rio’s tight pants and you recognise the start of a quick, dominating fuck between them. Something they desperately need if the tension between them the last few days says anything.

Agatha breaks the kiss to run her lips over Rio’s neck. She nibbles at a sensitive spot as she slides her fingers inside of Rio. Rio’s hips press back with just as much force and bares her neck to Agatha. Agatha bites down and what little resistance Rio has left leaves her.

You whine and tug at your restraints, trying desperately to get to them. Being able to play when one of them gets like this is heaven. Agatha’s looks at you without lifting her lips from Rio’s skin.

“Keep her occupied won’t you Rio dear?”

“No!” you gasp.

“No?” Agatha asks in that dangerous voice of hers, slowly lifting her head to meet your gaze.

“No-,” you wince at saying it again, “I mean you- I want to feel you. Not magic.”

“I don’t remember asking what you want, pet,” she says. 

You whine pleadingly. Rio makes an impatient sound and the roots around your wrists untangle. You immediately crawl to them. Something wraps around your ankle and tugs. You yelp as your arms give out under you. Your welts burn as you the ground. The thing around your ankle grows and winds up around your leg, a twin joining it on your other. Sprouts emerge near your hands and your forearms get the same treatment.  You’re prone in a second.

You look up pleadingly at your owners but you’re only met with delight. Agatha drinks in the new position while Rio watches with a smirk. You try to beg again but something nudges your clit and the words turn into a gasp. It’s soft. A texture you’re familiar with but can’t quite name.

Agatha returns to marking Rio’s neck. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way her hand moves in Rio’s pants. The almost of it is tantalising as you picture the exact position her hands are in, the way her wrist twists and her fingers curl. It leaves you panting.

The soft thing nudging your clit begins to press more firmly against it and your thighs twitch. Rio arches into Agatha and it begins to vibrate. You gasp and try to chase the feeling but you can’t. It drifts away from your clit before brushing up against it again, nowhere near the firm pressure of before, and begins to circle your clit. You moan.

Agatha has to release Rio’s hands to get her shirt open. Rio is more than happy to bury them in Agatha’s hair, moaning wantonly when Agatha finally gets her lips around her nipple. You watch as they meld into one another. The vibration against your clit nothing more than a tease. It’s only when Agatha has thoroughly marked Rio’s chest and you can sense that Rio is close that you beg.

“More. Please, mistress.”

Agatha doesn’t bother to look up.

“You said you didn’t want to feel magic,” Agatha reminds you, twisting your words. “If you’re going to be so picky you’ll have to wait your turn.”

You don’t say anything else to avoid whatever plant-related gag Rio would think is funniest. Watching the way her face scrunches up in pleasure may be enough to get you over the edge anyway. 

Her claws are tight in Agatha’s hair and against her back. Instead of throwing her head back and arching into Agatha, she bends around her. Her head leans against Agatha’s shoulder. It would look like she was cradling her if it weren’t for the movement of Agatha’s fingers.

Rio makes that small noise she always does just before she comes and you watch in awe as she comes undone. She’s still trembling when Agatha pulls out and puts her own fingers in her mouth. The low moan Agatha makes has you and Rio shivering. She slowly pulls them out, holding eye contact with Rio the whole time, before holding them out to you.

“Do you want a taste, pet?”

“Yes, please,” you say and strain toward her. The light buzz on your clit is nothing compared to the taste of your owner. The roots holding you down disintegrate and you scramble to kneel next to Agatha, mouth open. Her fingers slip inside and a hint of Rio fills you. You moan and run your tongue around her fingers.

She only allows you a few moments of bliss before pulling out again. The sting is soothed by her pulling you in for a deep kiss. Her tongue slipping into your mouth the second you give her an inch. Her grip tightening tells you she likes what she finds.

Your lips make a wet noise when she pulls back. You chase her automatically but her tight hold stops you.

“How’s that for not tasting cunt?” Agatha says.

Rio huffs an amused sound. She looks quite happy to just lie there, staring up at her victorious witch. You watch as Agatha allows herself to bask in the feeling of your adoring gazes. It must’ve been a long time since she’s had something like this. That wasn’t hidden behind half-truths and a pile of lies.

Of course she doesn’t allow it for too long given…everything that’s happened in the past. You try to sneak in another kiss but she does little more than brush your lips together before getting up. Rio is quick to follow her and the only thing stopping you from bratting out is the stinging on your thighs. The teasing has made your ache return full force but neither of them acknowledge it.

“Time to go, pet,” Rio says casually. Her magic quickly putting her clothing to rights.

You pout up at her. Agatha hasn’t eaten you out yet. You thought that’s where the whole struggle was leading to. Rio flicks your forehead to get you to stop.  It works. Your face reflexively scrunches. Then you’re distracted by the pleasant feel of her magic trickling over you. Clothes reappear, straighten and lose stains. Your hair is neatly put back into place.

“I don’t see why you went through the trouble,” Agatha says. “The fucked out look really suits her.”

You preen. She may be using a sarcastic tone but you know how much she loves your ruined look.

You say on your knees until Rio motions you up. You immediately snuggle into her side, nosing at the new marks on her neck for attention. She clicks her tongue and you give up any hope of another round. That doesn’t mean you move away.

“You can join us, Agatha,” Rio says with a rare seriousness to her voice. 

Agatha scoffs and turns around like there wasn’t a hint of longing on her face a moment ago. You curl tighter into Rio and her arm wraps around your waist.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Rio says. “We’ll convince her.”

[macfrog]

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

moodboard | main masterlist | playlist [in case you wanna vibe in sad] | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍

Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.