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aceyalonso · 2 months ago

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two is always better than one - OSCAR PIASTRI & LANDO NORRIS

pairing : oscar piastri x fem!reader x lando norris ↳ oscar piastri x gf!reader

summary : what happens when lando catches y/n and oscar in a rather... compromising position?

warnings/notes : swearing, unprotected sex (please use protection!), dom!oscar (only for a bit), oral (m!receiving), double penetration, anal, creampie, spanking, implied exhibitionism kink, praise kink, degradation kink, a shit ton of dirty talk, squirting

word count : 2.7k

song : hotel - montell fish

a/n : (its immediately nsfw, so its under the cut) teehee love these two sm

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Lando walked into Oscar's driver's room, expecting to find his friend alone. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Oscar's cock thrusting in and out of Y/n's eager mouth. Her lips were stretched around Oscar's thick shaft as she bobbed her head up and down, taking him deeper into her throat with each movement.

Oscar had one hand tangled in Y/n's hair, guiding her movements as she sucked him off. His other hand gripped the armrest of his gaming chair, knuckles turning white from the intensity of the pleasure. "Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his hips bucking up to meet her mouth. "Your mouth feels so good."

She moaned around Oscar's cock, sending vibrations along his length. She loved the taste of him, the weight of him on her tongue. Her own arousal was growing, her panties dampening as she serviced her boyfriend.

Y/n slid one hand down between her thighs, her fingers pressing against the damp fabric of her panties. She rubbed herself through the thin material, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her body. Her other hand continued to stroke Oscar's balls, rolling them gently in her palm.

Oscar's eyes widened as he watched Y/n touch herself. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice strained with lust. "Play with that pretty pussy while you suck my cock."

Lando stood frozen in the doorway, his own cock hardening in his pants as he watched the lewd display before him. He knew he should leave, give them privacy, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

As Lando turned to leave, Oscar called out to him, "Hey, where do you think you're going? Don't you want to join in on the fun?"

Lando hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at the couple, seeing the desire in their eyes and the invitation in Oscar's words. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n pulled away from Oscar's cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the tip. "Of course we're sure," she purred, her eyes locked onto Lando. "I love putting on a show for others."

Oscar nodded in agreement, his hand still tangled in Y/N's hair. "Come on, man. Don't be shy. We're all friends here, right?"

Lando took a deep breath, and his decision was made. He closed the door behind him and approached the couple, his cock straining against his pants. Y/n licked her lips as she watched him approach, her hand still rubbing her clit through her panties.

He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over her body hungrily. She was a vision of debauchery, her lips swollen from sucking Oscar's cock, her cheeks flushed with arousal. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair, mirroring Oscar's grip.

Oscar grinned, his own arousal growing at the sight of his two friends together. "Why don't you help her out, Lando? I'm sure she could use a few more fingers in that tight little pussy of hers."

Lando needed no further encouragement. He dropped to his knees beside Y/n, his hand replacing hers between her thighs. He pushed her panties aside and plunged two fingers into her wet heat, groaning at the feel of her walls clenching around him.

She gasped as Lando's fingers entered her, her back arching off the chair. She reached out and grabbed Oscar's cock, stroking him in time with Lando's thrusts. "Fuck, that feels amazing," she moaned, her head lolling back in ecstasy.

Y/n's mouth was filled with the taste of Oscar as she sucked him off, her tongue swirling around his shaft. Just as she was about to take him deeper, Oscar signaled to Lando, and both men pulled away from her simultaneously. Y/n whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, her body craving more.

She looked up at Oscar with pleading eyes, her lips glistening with his pre-cum. "Why did you stop?" she whined, her voice tinged with desperation. "I was just getting started."

Oscar cupped Y/n's cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "Be patient, baby," he murmured, his eyes dark with lust.

He turned to Lando and gestured for him to help her stand up. Lando complied, pulling her to her feet and steadying her as she wobbled slightly. Once she was upright, Oscar gestured to the couch.

Lando sat down on the couch, his erection clearly visible through the fabric of his pants. He looked up at Y/n, his eyes hungry with desire. "Come here," he said, his voice low and seductive.

Y/n obeyed, walking over to him and straddling his lap. She ground her hips against his, feeling his hardness press against her core. "Mmm, you feel so big," she purred, her hands roaming over his chest.

She turned to face Oscar, her eyes seeking his approval. "Can I take these off for you, baby?" she asked, her fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties.

Oscar nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Go ahead, I want to see that pretty pussy of yours."

Y/n slowly slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them gracefully. She turned back to Lando and straddled him once more, this time facing Oscar. She could feel Lando's hard cock pressing against her bare pussy, the heat of it seeping through his pants.

She began to grind against him, her wetness soaking through the fabric. Oscar had a perfect view of her spread open, her pink folds glistening with arousal. "Look at how wet you are," he growled, palming his own erection through his jeans. "You're dripping all over Lando's pants."

Lando's moans grew louder as Y/n continued to grind against him, the friction driving him wild. "Wait, stop," he gasped, his hands gripping her hips. "Take my pants off first."

Y/n obliged, sliding off his lap and kneeling before him. She unbuttoned his pants and tugged them down, along with his boxers, freeing his throbbing erection. She licked her lips at the sight of it, her eyes wide with desire.

He guided Y/n back onto his lap, positioning her so that she was still facing Oscar. He gripped her hips, holding her steady as he rubbed the tip of his cock against her wet entrance. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

Y/n shook her head, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Not there," she whispered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I want it somewhere else."

Oscar leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher her meaning. "What do you mean, baby?" he asked, his voice low and curious.

Lando understood immediately, his cock twitching at the thought. He moved his hand, positioning the tip of his erection at the entrance of Y/N's tight hole. "Is this what you want, Y/N?" he teased, his fingers digging into her hips. "Do you want me to fuck your ass?"

Y/n bit her lip, nodding eagerly. "Yes," she breathed, her eyes locked onto Oscar's. "I want you to fuck my ass, Lando. I want to feel you inside me"

Oscar's eyes widened at Y/N's request, a mix of surprise and arousal flickering across his face. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his hand stroking his own cock faster. "I didn't know you were into that."

Lando didn't need any further encouragement. He pressed the tip of his cock against Y/N's tight entrance, feeling her tense up slightly. "Relax, Y/n," he murmured, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her lower back. "I'll go slow."

With that, he began to push forward, the head of his cock breaching her tight ring of muscle. Y/n gasped at the initial stretch, her nails digging into the couch. But as he continued to press in, inch by inch, the pain began to fade, replaced by a deep, intense pleasure.

Lando groaned as more of his length disappeared into Y/n's tight heat. "Look, Osc," he panted, "she's taking it so well."

Oscar watched, transfixed, as Lando's cock slowly vanished into Y/n's ass. Her face was a mixture of pleasure and discomfort, but she never once asked him to stop. "Fuck, she looks so hot," he said, his hand pumping his own cock faster. "I can't believe she's letting you do this."

Y/n moaned, her head falling back as Lando finally bottomed out inside her. "It feels so good," she whimpered, her hips starting to move tentatively. "Don't stop, Lando."

Lando began to move, his hips rocking back and forth as he thrust into Y/n's tight ass. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through her body, and she couldn't help but moan louder. "Oh god, yes!" she cried out, her fingers gripping the couch cushions tightly.

Oscar watched, his own arousal growing as he saw his girlfriend take Lando's cock so eagerly. "You like that, don't you, baby?" he asked, his voice rough with lust. "You like having Lando's big cock in your ass?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. "Yes, I love it," she gasped, her hips meeting Lando's thrusts. "It feels so fucking good."

Oscar's eyes gleamed with excitement as he watched Lando pound into Y/n's ass. "Lay down, Lando," he commanded, his voice authoritative. "I want to fuck her too."

Lando complied, laying back on the couch and pulling Y/n with him. She ended up straddling both men, Lando's cock still buried deep in her ass, while her pussy was exposed and glistening with arousal.

Oscar positioned himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her wet entrance. "Are you ready for me, baby?" he asked, his eyes locked onto hers.

She nodded, her body trembling with anticipation. "Yes, please," she begged, her hips wiggling impatiently. "Fuck me, Oscar."

Oscar gripped Y/N's hips, holding her steady as he slowly pushed into her tight, wet heat. She gasped as he filled her, her walls stretching to accommodate his size. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Lando watched as Oscar began to move, his own cock twitching inside her. "She's so fucking hot," he muttered, his hands roaming over her curves. "I can't believe we're both inside her."

Y/n moaned, her head thrown back in ecstasy as both men moved within her. The sensation of being filled so completely was overwhelming, and she could feel her orgasm building quickly. "Don't stop," she pleaded, her nails raking down Lando's chest. "I'm so close."

Oscar and Lando increased their pace, their hips slamming against hers in a frenzy of lust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with the trio's moans and cries of pleasure.

Y/n's body was consumed by the dual sensations, her mind clouded with ecstasy. She could feel every ridge and vein of both cocks as they pistoned in and out of her, stretching her to her limits. "I'm gonna cum," she screamed, her voice raw with passion. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

Her words spurred the men on, their thrusts becoming erratic as they chased their own releases. Oscar reached down, his fingers finding Y/n's clit and rubbing it furiously. That final stimulation was all she needed, and with a guttural cry, she came undone.

Her body convulsed as her orgasm crashed over her, her inner muscles clamping down on the cocks inside her. Oscar and Lando followed soon after, their own releases triggered by the intensity of her climax.

Oscar came first, his cock spurting ribbons of cum into Y/n's pussy. Lando followed suit, his cock unable to slip out of her ass as he emptied himself into her tight hole.

Oscar grinned, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with their combined juices. "You want more, baby?" he asked, his eyes dark with lust. "You want to have another round?"

Y/n nodded frantically, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. "Yes, please," she begged, her voice hoarse. "I want it all."

Lando chuckled, his hand stroking his spent cock. "Looks like someone's needy tonight," he teased, his eyes roaming over Y/n's slightly shaky body.

Oscar stood up, pulling Y/n with him. He guided her to the other end of the couch, where Lando was already lying down with his head resting on the armrest. "Get on your knees, baby," Oscar instructed, his voice gruff with desire. "Suck Lando's cock while I fuck your ass."

Y/n eagerly complied, kneeling between Lando's legs and taking his semi-hard cock into her mouth. She began to suck him off, her tongue swirling around his shaft and bringing him back to full hardness.

Oscar pressed the tip of his cock against Y/n's tight hole, feeling the resistance of her muscles. "Fuck, you're still so tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into her hips. "Maybe we need to loosen you up a bit more, huh?"

He began to push in, his cock stretching her even further than before. Y/n moaned around Lando's cock, the dual sensations of being filled and sucking driving her wild with pleasure.

Lando gripped Y/n's hair, his hips bucking up to meet her mouth as she sucked him off. "Fuck, you're so good at this," he praised, his eyes locked onto hers. "And Oscar, you have one hell of a slut for a girlfriend."

Oscar chuckled, his own hips moving in a steady rhythm as he fucked Y/n's ass. "I know, right?" he said, his voice strained with pleasure. "She's so fucking needy."

Y/n moaned in response, her mouth and ass filled with their cocks. She loved being used like this, loved the feeling of being their plaything. The more they complimented her, the more aroused she became, her body craving their touch and praise.

Her hand drifted down to her clit, her fingers rubbing the sensitive nub as she continued to suck Lando off. Suddenly, a sharp smack echoed through the room as Oscar spanked her ass. "Ah!" she cried out, her fingers leaving her clit.

"I didn't say you could touch yourself," Oscar growled, his hand rubbing the reddening spot on her cheek. "You need to ask for permission first, understand?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes wide and submissive. "Yes," she whimpered, her voice muffled by Lando's cock.

Oscar smirked, pleased with Y/N's response. "Good girl," he praised, his hand caressing her ass before delivering another firm spank. "Now, let's see if you can make us both cum again."

He began to thrust harder, his cock plunging deep into her ass with each stroke. Lando matched his pace, his hips rising to meet Y/n's mouth as she continued to suck him off. The room was filled with the sounds of their moans and the slapping of flesh against flesh, creating a symphony of lust.

Y/n's body was on fire, her nerves alight with pleasure as the men used her for their own satisfaction. She could feel her orgasm building once again, her walls clenching around Oscar's cock as she sucked Lando's with renewed vigor.

Her body tensed, her back arching as her orgasm crashed over her. She threw her head back, a guttural moan escaping her lips as she came hard, her pussy squirting clear fluid onto the couch beneath her.

The sensation of her coming undone around him drove Oscar over the edge, and with a final thrust, he buried his cock deep in her ass and released. His hot seed filled her, mixing with the remnants of Lando's previous load.

Lando followed shortly after, his cock pulsing in Y/n's mouth as he emptied himself down her throat. She swallowed it all, her eyes watering as she struggled to keep up with the volume.

When Lando finished, Y/N pulled his cock out of her mouth, her lips forming a perfect 'O' as she opened her mouth wide to show him that she had swallowed every last drop. Lando grinned, his hand stroking her cheek affectionately. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Oscar pulled out of Y/n's ass, his softening cock slipping out with a wet pop. He admired the sight of her, sprawled out on the couch with their combined fluids dripping from her holes. "You look so beautiful like this," he murmured, his hand caressing her lower back.

Y/n's body trembled, her limbs weak from the intense pleasure she had just experienced. She collapsed onto the couch, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Oscar and Lando each wrapped an arm around her, supporting her weight and pulling her close.

"That was incredible," Lando said, his voice filled with awe. "I've never seen anyone take it so well."

Oscar nodded in agreement, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Y/n's skin. "She's something special, isn't she?" he mused, his eyes filled with admiration and love for his girlfriend.

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 1 month ago

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October 18 - Angry Sex

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda sees you at Kamar-Taj, taking what's hers.

content warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, choking

word count: 2.2k+

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comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

You groan, your body aching and weak. The taste of dust lingers in the air, coating your tongue with each breath you take. You can hear soft footsteps crunching, and lower your forehead back onto the ground.

The footsteps stop, inches away from you. A strong hand tangles with your head, wrenching your head up.

Green eyes, the same ones you fell in love with. The same green eyes you’d grown to hate. They hold the same cold look in them that you remember so well.

“Wanda,” you spit, your voice weak and raspy. It hurts to talk, but you refuse to show it. It won’t do you any good to show weakness.

She smiles, a dark look on her face as she observes you. You can see a hint of malice behind her eyes, her headpiece glowing slightly as fire burns behind her.

“You destroyed my home,” you say, your tone biting.

“And you were foolish enough to stand against me,” Wanda responds, her voice soft. You don’t mistake her tone for weakness, sensing the power behind her words.

You just scoff, not denying her words. It was the truth, and you knew better than anyone how incredibly naive it was to stand against the Scarlet Witch. Deep inside, you felt a tendril of hurt rise within you at the cold, detached look on her face.

Wanda’s eyebrows raise, and you instantly curse yourself. Of course, you’d forgotten that she could read minds. The sneaky witch. She always managed to use that against you.

“I’m starting to… realize something,” she begins, speaking her thoughts out loud. You’re powerless to stop it, your arms weak as your fingers scrabble in the dirt for purchase. Her grip tightens in your hair as you squirm. “I came here for America, for her power, but now…”

She trails off, her gaze sharpening as she looks at you. She speaks, her tone cold. “I hate you for leaving me.”

You let out a weak chuckle, your eyes closing in pain as her fingers tighten harshly. Looking back up, you twist your head until you meet her eyes. “I hate you for always choosing power over me.”

Anger washes over Wanda’s perfect features, and you feel a flicker of fear as her magic reacts. It spins around her violently, but surprisingly, doesn’t touch you. You try to read her eyes, like you used to, but find her expression closed off and… different.

Maybe it’s been too long. Maybe you don’t truly know her anymore.

A flash of hurt appears in her gaze, and you close your eyes briefly. Right, you’d forgotten that she could read minds. Again.

“Are you going to kill me, then?”

Wanda’s face remains stony, sensing the sincerity in your question. She feels rage, sadness, and… longing?

Her jaw clenches, her eyes cold as she looks down at you. “No,” she says, her voice low. “I’m going to get closure.”

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, her hand grabs you, her eyes glowing red. You blink in surprise, her fingers digging into your arm painfully as scarlet magic swirls around you, confusing your senses and warping your reality. It swirls between you and Wanda, your vision blurring as you focus on breathing, her painful grip on your arm grounding you slightly as her magic collides with you.

You land on a hard stone floor, your elbow cracking painfully as you awkwardly twist. The first thing you register is Wanda’s figure, striding away from you. The second thing is the aching, bitter chill that seeps past your robes and into your bones.

Turning your head, you see a frozen wasteland beneath you. Scrambling back from the ledge, you feel your heart race as you realize that you’re high up in a tower somewhere, with no apparent means of escape.

Flexing your fingers, you realize that Wanda has taken your sling ring, your ability to perform spells greatly diminished without it. You close your eyes for a moment, sighing as you steel yourself.

“Wanda,” you call out, standing slowly as you cradle your elbow.

You find her further into the tower, past a giant statue of herself and through a small door. You can’t help but admire the tower as you descend further, following the scarlet wisps of magic that seem to lead you. She has her back turned towards you, her fingers tracing the spine of a book you recognize.

“The darkhold,” you spit. “Of course.”

Her blackened fingers halt their movements, her head twisting as she looks at you. A scarlet glow fades from her eyes, her expression cold as she turns to fully face you.

“The darkhold…”

“I know,” you sigh, sinking into the couch provided. It looks like you’re in a library, the tomes duty but the room is well lit. “It’s the only way you can find your children, I’ve heard it a thousand times, Wanda.”

With steady footsteps, she makes her way towards you, eyes blazing. “That book is the only chance I have to reunite my family.”

“That’s not true,” you retorted, watching her approach with wary eyes.

“You don’t know that,” Wanda hisses, her face contorted in anger. There’s something else in her expression, but you can’t quite place it. She reaches the couch, her hand reaching out and twisting the collar of your robes.

“An ancient, known evil artifact is not going to bring your children back, Wanda,” you say, ignoring her closeness. The last thing you ended right now was to get flustered. “It’s a painful, dangerous path that not many return from.”

Wanda leans in, her eyes wide and wild. It sets you on edge, and you quickly rise and shove her away. She just chuckles, her scarlet magic swirling around her fingertips as she advances on you.

“You foolish, naive little sorcerer,” she hisses, her eyes darkening as you slowly inch backward.

“I’m the foolish one? You’re the one who just wiped out most of Kamar-Taj and made yourself public enemy number one,” you hiss, feeling your back press against the bookshelf.

“Aww,” Wanda coos, “It almost sounds like you care.”

She steps closer, and you let your hands reach behind you for…. anything really. You find nothing but dusty, old books.

Wanda’s eyes are triumphant as she steps into your space, one of her hands twisting with the collar of your robes as the other firmly presses your hip into the bookshelf. Your elbow grazes something hard, and you wince in pain, your breaths shaky as you watch her.

“If you think I care about you, then you-”

You’re cut off as Wanda leans in, her lips pressing against yours and slotting perfectly against your mouth. Losing focus, you let your words die as your lips remember the shape of hers.

Fuck. Her lips feel amazing, her tongue swiping over yours as you feel her teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a groan escaping your treacherous throat. Her hand moves to press against your neck, her fingers digging in. The hand on your hip squeezes, and you suppress a whine at the arousal that floods you.

Her body is pressed flush against you, her thigh slipping between yours as you feel your body heating up. You put your hands up, intending to push her away, but find them tangling with her hair instead.

“Fuck you,” the words escape quickly, your face angry as Wanda pulls away slightly.

“Oh, I intend to,” she whispers, leaning in. Your hands tighten in her hair, and she moans into your ear. “Fast, and rough… just the way you like it.”

You shudder at her words, your reaction causing Wanda to smile against your cheek. She wastes no time, dipping her head and harshly sucking hickeys into your neck while you squirm beneath her. Your fingers are harshly pulling at her hair, simultaneously pushing her away and holding her against you.

It’s like you can’t make up your mind, your chest heaving as you begin to rut your hips against her thigh, your emotions swirling.

You hate Wanda Maximoff. But she feels so… fucking… good against you with her hot tongue, insistent lips, and long fingers squeezing you in all the right places.

“How dare you leave me,” she mutters, her voice low as she nips and sucks down your neck, pulling your robes to the side to leave bruises on your collarbones. You feel your robes slide off, her hands grabbing the fabric and roughly pulling it off you.

The sharp point of her headpiece digs into your neck as she sucks at your skin, and you breathe deeply. Her vanilla scent fills your nose, and you hate the way your hips buck harder in response. Your fingers are tangled with her soft, auburn hair, and you stroke it gently for a moment before pulling harshly.

“Don’t hate me for protecting myself,” you snarl, pushing her slightly.

Wanda’s green eyes fill with anger, desire swirling in her irises as she pushes you roughly into the bookshelf, pinning your hips with her own. She reaches up to grab your throat, her fingers flexing as she watches your face contort while she cuts off your air supply.

“Do not talk back to me, you ungrateful little brat,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. She leans in, her tongue dragging over your jaw and cheek as you struggle weakly against her. “Don’t forget who has all the power here.”

She lets you go, watching as you slump back against the bookshelf. Your legs give out, and you drop to your knees while you pant and catch your breath.

“Ah,” she smirks, tilting your chin up with one finger. “This is a familiar sight.”

You narrow your eyes, glancing down her body. You can’t hide the desire you feel, even as your anger pumps hotly through your veins. As you take her in, you wonder if she tastes the same.

“Why don’t you find out?” Wanda whispers, and you close your eyes as you remember (again) that she can read minds.

Watching with restrained want, you feel your core grow hot as she sheds her Scarlet Witch outfit, her magic whirling around and practically melting the fabric off her skin. She’s… beautiful.

Wanda’s hand touches the top of your head, grabbing your hair and wrenching your head back to force your eyes up. “Show me if that mouth of yours is still talented, or if you’ve wasted your gift,” she says, her eyes dark. “Open your mouth.”

You obey, feeling your body weakening with every minute. It's no use to fight now, you’ll lose in seconds. Besides… you weren’t going to lie and say you weren’t enjoying this.

A glob of saliva lands on your tongue, and you swallow at Wanda’s command, shuddering as you feel your headspace become fuzzier.

Wanda’s nude form stands before you, her stance strong and her body somehow looking more perfect than the last time you saw her. You can see her glistening folds, and your tongue rubs along your bottom lip as you look up at her.

Desperation swirls in your irises, your anger slowly fading as she presses herself against your face.

“Lick,” she commands, her voice soft as her hand moves to grab your hair.

You obey, your tongue flattening as she gazes coldly down at you. You feel your anger rising again at the look in her eyes, so you wrap your lips around her clit and suck.

It’s harsh, her clit throbbing in your mouth as she loses her composure and moans, her other hand slamming into the bookshelf to support her trembling legs. It spurs you on, your tongue swirling around her clit as you apply strong suction with your lips.

“Fuck,” she groans, her accent slipping out.

You want to see her crumble. You want to see her composure break as she cums from your mouth. You want… you want her to finally let you past the walls she’s built up around her, the same ones she’s started building during your relationship.

Bringing your hands up, you thrust two fingers in her wet heat, curling them as she moans loudly, her head thrown back as books topple down around you. You can sense her losing control, her orgasm imminent.

Looking up, you watch her neck muscles strain with need, her fingers gripping your hair painfully as she rocks her hips against you.

Moaning against her, you watch as she comes undone, her orgasm washing over her. Wanda moans, Sakovian curses streaming from her lips as she shudders, her clit throbbing between your lips. You watch, sadistic glee filling you as tears roll down her face at the unrelenting pressure of your lips and tongue against her.

“Wait,” she moans, her hips still bucking against your face. Her fingers grip you tightly, holding your face against her, trying to draw out the pleasure coursing through her.

Smirking, you continue to suck, your tongue moving quickly as you watch her quiver, her expression open and wanting. Another, smaller orgasm rips through her, the moans sounding out turning into soft whimpers as she rides out the last bits of pleasure on your lips.

Eventually, she tears herself away, her chest heaving as she looks at you with lidded eyes. She twists away, taking a moment to compose herself as you pant and sag against the bookshelf.

“Glad to see you haven’t changed in some ways,” you say.

Wanda turns to you, lifting your chin up with her fingers and gripping your jaw painfully. Her eyes are dark, her pupils blown as she searches your face, glancing down at your swollen, glistening lips. She smirks, and you shudder at the dark look on her face.

“Your turn.”

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macfrog · 8 months ago

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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.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #fic: san angelo

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cheriskindaclueless · 6 months ago

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DUVET ── ⟡˙ ̟ 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾ℴ𝓁ℴ

── ⟡˙ ̟ switch!matthew sturniolo x fem!reader

✩ cw ---- smut, male masturbation, profanity, use of 'y/n', oral (f receiving), slight humiliation kink

✩ synopsis ---- walking in on your boyfriend, moaning your name

✩ a/n ---- for all the anons in haleigh's inbox :)💫

0.8k words.

@hysteria-things

── ⟡˙ ̟ KICKING off your shoes, you walked up to you and matt's room. the soft sound of the bed gently and repetitively squeaking echoed out into the hallway. but yet, you didn't think much of it.

walking into the bedroom, you begin to call out matt's name but quickly stop yourself.

your eyes widen, and your mouth falls agape.

matt's fully clothed, on the bed. his face is pressed into the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut as soft moans and whimpers spill from his lips. you watch as his hips rut into a pillow between his thighs.

his legs are trembling, and his mouth grows wider as he visibly reaches his climax. your name falls off his tongue, sending a shiver down your spine.

"matt?" you mumbled, dropping your coat on the floor, keeping your eyes on the dopey boy in your bed.

he moaned, eyes slightly opening, but he doesn't stop his movements. keeping his eyes glued to yours.

you feel frozen in your tracks, watching matt fuck himself into your pillow.

"fuck..." his voice trails off, his hips shaking as he reaches his high. he looked as if he could care less that you were watching him, and honestly, neither could you.

the sight of your boyfriend getting off to your scent on a pillow cover, leaves a pool in your panties. you subconsciously begin rubbing your thighs together, basking in the deep groans elicited from the brunette.

"matt..." you whispered again, seemingly not able to say anything more.

his hips rutted for the last time, and he collapses onto the bed. watching you carefully. his eyes enticed you, dragging your towards the bed. your feet had a mind of their own, gliding you in his direction.

he sat up, meeting your eyes again. a visible wet spot right on his crotch. he pulls down his zipper, "fuck y/n..." he groaned. "you ruined my boxers, baby."

the way his raspy voice echoes in your ears had you eager to pull your clothes off quickly. you were stripped down to your panties and bra in seconds, finding yourself being pulled on the bed.

matt straddled over you, lips ghosting yours. his breath tickled your skin, and you desperately pulled him into a kiss. it was sloppy, but it had you fiending for more.

he pulled his jeans down, his clothed crotch rubbing against your skin. he slowly began to grind down on your heat, the cotton grazing your clit perfectly.

you let him snake his hands around your body, unclipping your bra, and slides it down your arms. discarding it on the floor.

he drags down your body, leaving wet kisses along your neck and chest. meeting your eyes as he flicks his tongue over one of your nipples. he continues down your body, stopping once he gets between your thighs. his eyes bore into yours as he grazes your abdomen with his teeth.

"so, so wet," he mumbles, licking a strip along your panties. "all this because you ruined my alone time, hm?"

matt hooked a finger around the soft fabric, "i was enjoying myself you know? thinking 'bout you and your perfect body." he mumbles, slowly pulling your panties down, fueling you with a rush of adrenaline. "but then, you just had to walk in."

he cuts himself off, suddenly attaching his mouth to your clit. you moan, hugging your thighs tightly around his head. you squeeze your eyes shut, his fingers grazing through your dripping folds.

"fuck, matt-" you hissed, dropping your head back. your boyfriend dipping two of his fingers into your core.

"feels good, huh?" he groans against your core. slowly beginning to grind into the bed beneath him. "taste so good for m' baby."

your hands curl through his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the coffee colored strands. he was grinding deep and hard into the comforter, the pleasure he was giving you was driving him insane himself. wanting nothing more than for you to cum on his face.

incoherent mumbles trailed off his tongue as he tried to talk you through it, but he was close to his second orgasm, and couldn't get out any more than soft whines.

easily, you returned the movements. grinding against his hand and nose like a dog in heat. his pace didn't seem to be fast enough for you as his own orgasm made his brain go hazy. his actions growing sloppy as his mouth hung wide against your pussy, his fingers doing all the work at this point.

your legs began to shake as you hooked your ankles at the base of matts back, reaching your high. "matt! oh my god~!" you cried, releasing onto his tongue.

matt buried his face against your thigh, grinding into the bed faster then earlier. hips rutting as he came, staining his boxers for the second time tonight.

✩࿐ cher

#cher-writes ✮⋆˙#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you

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chimcess · 28 days ago

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⮞ Teaser Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Hockey Player!Jungkook, Figure Skater!Reader, Hockey Player!Taehyung, Hockey Player!Jimin, Coach!Yoongi, Hockey Player!Namjoon, Hockey Player!Hoseok, Figure Skater!Jin, Genre: Hockey!AU, Figure Skating!AU, Olympic!AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn Drop Date: 01/20/2025 Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has always been destined for greatness as a competitive figure skater, her dreams of the Olympics sparkling like the ice beneath her blades. But when a devastating injury sidelines her, those dreams seem to melt away. Just when she feels lost, she unexpectedly meets Jeon Jungkook, a talented NHL hockey player.

I never used to think about what came after. Why would I? It felt pointless, like trying to guess the end of a novel when you’re still tangled in the middle. Every chapter rushing by, barely letting you catch your breath. Sometimes, life dangled a dream so vivid, so close, you could almost feel it in your hands. But right when you thought you had it? That’s when life reminded you—pages stop turning. Lights flick off. And suddenly, you’re back in the grind, stuck right where you started.

Normal? No chance. I wouldn’t recognize normal if it jumped out of the shadows and hit me. Normal was for people who punched clocks and sipped lukewarm coffee in beige cubicles. My mornings started when the world was still dark—lacing up my skates, the cold air biting at my face. Stretch until the pain dulled, practice until my routines were burned into my mind like a broken record. The rink smelled like sweat, frost, and desperation, clinging to me as I chased that perfect moment, day in and day out.

That was my life. Until it wasn’t.

From the moment I took my first steps, the ice had been my escape. My personal sanctuary. Each time my skates touched the frozen surface, electricity sparked through me, alive in my bones. My mom, Emily, she saw it first. She recognized that fire in me and latched on, pulling me headfirst into the competitive skating world. She wasn’t just supportive—she was relentless, like a storm barreling down on me, pushing me to be perfect. To her, maybe that was all that mattered.

People whispered behind her back, saying she was living vicariously through me, chasing dreams she’d lost. But I didn’t resent her for it. Her ambition, fierce and all-consuming, burned like a fire. It kept me warm—even when it scorched me. It wasn’t the trophies or the standing ovations that drove me. It was the ice itself. Out there, I wasn’t just a name on a roster. I was free.

Emily had been a skater once, too. But life, cruel and chaotic, had other plans. Her dreams fizzled out, lost somewhere between time and circumstance. When she got pregnant with me, she married my dad, Jim, and watched her ambitions wither like dead leaves. Year by year, regret settled in, until all she had left was me—and the ice. I became her second chance.

She met Jim when she was still a bright-eyed girl in a small town, dreaming big. He came to Michigan for police training; she was restless, yearning for more. They fell in love—or something close to it. Soon enough, I came along, and after a quick courthouse wedding, our lives unraveled. Emily and I left Michigan for Colorado, chasing skating dreams. Jim drifted back to Olympia, Washington, sinking into his routine like it was quicksand.

I became the bridge between them, constantly tugged between my dad’s predictable world and my mom’s fierce drive. Stability—something I longed for—was never in the cards. Emily hated Michigan, so we stayed away. Jim became less of a father and more of a ghost.

The crackle of the intercom yanked me from my thoughts. My knee throbbed, a bitter reminder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We’re starting our descent into Detroit, where it’s currently five-eighteen p.m., and a frigid fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Please secure your belongings.”

Michigan. I was back, but it didn’t feel like home. It hadn’t for years. And yet, here I was. Family wasn’t a refuge—not with Jim. He felt more like a stranger now, a shadow of someone I used to know. The home we once had? Long gone.

Monday, I’d meet with Dr. Jeon. People swore he was the best, but deep down, I already knew none of it mattered. The moment my skate hit that rough patch of ice, when my body twisted and the world flipped upside down, I knew—my skating days were over.

I could still see it. The rink, bathed in soft afternoon light, the sound of *Swan Lake* floating through the air. I wasn’t competing that day, just skating for the sheer joy of it. Emily and my coach were in the bleachers, discussing my next routine. I built up speed, heading into a fan spiral, when it happened. My blade caught. My leg buckled. I hit the ice hard. Everything went dark.

The plane’s landing gear screeched, snapping me back to the present. My heart raced, the memory fading like smoke. As the plane stopped, passengers scrambled for their bags. I waited, letting them pass, before grabbing my things. The crutches in my hands were cold, unfamiliar. I used to glide effortlessly across the ice, and now, here I was—struggling just to stay upright on solid ground.

At baggage claim, I stared at the mountain of luggage, feeling the weight of it all sink in. How was I supposed to manage with no free hands?

“You need a hand?”

The voice startled me. I turned and saw him—tall, with warm brown eyes that somehow felt like they saw right through me. Before I could respond, someone bumped into me, and my crutch clattered to the floor. I wobbled, reaching out to steady myself, but he was faster. He caught me.

For a moment, the noise, the crowd, everything blurred. It was just us, frozen in time.

“You alright?” His voice was soft, steady, his hands still gripping my arms. I nodded, heat flushing my face as I pulled away.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I muttered. He bent down, picking up my crutch. As he handed it back, his eyes lingered on me, not with pity, but with something else. Understanding, maybe.

“No problem.” His smile was easy, casual, but there was something behind it, like he had more to say.

Around us, life resumed its frantic pace—people rushing by, voices bouncing off the airport’s high ceilings. But for just a second longer, it was still only us.

“Need help with your bags?” he asked, glancing at the heap of luggage.

I hesitated, my pride prickling. “I’ve got it,” I said, even though I clearly didn’t. My knee throbbed in protest.

He didn’t push. Just smiled, unbothered, and shrugged. “Alright. But it’s no trouble if you change your mind.”

As I shifted my weight, feeling the twinge in my leg, I sighed. “Okay, yeah, I could use some help.” The words tasted like defeat, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He easily grabbed my suitcase, balancing my smaller bag on top. I clung to my messenger bag, determined to carry something myself.

"Is someone picking you up?" he asked as we walked toward the sliding glass doors, the cold Michigan air sneaking in like a thief in the night.

"No, I'll just grab a cab," I said, weaving through the crowd. His presence next to me felt steady, comforting, like a life raft I didn’t even know I needed.

“I’ve got my car in the overnight lot,” he offered casually, like it was no big deal. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

For a moment, I hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. “No, it’s okay,” I said, almost too quickly. “A cab’s fine.” But something shifted in his face—just for a second. Disappointment? Or was that just my imagination?

We stepped outside, and the cold hit me like a slap, sharp and biting. I cursed under my breath for not grabbing my gloves.

He noticed, his lips quirking up in a knowing smile. “Forgot what Michigan feels like in January?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, pulling my coat tighter. “Something like that.” I should’ve been used to it by now. I grew up on ice, for God’s sake. But standing there in the freezing wind felt different, like the cold wasn’t just outside—it was creeping inside me, gnawing at the edges of something deeper.

“So, where were you before this?” he asked, his curiosity genuine, his breath hanging in the air like smoke.

“Nevada. Before that, Colorado. We moved around a lot.” I don’t even know why I was telling him this. I didn’t even know his name.

“We?” He raised an eyebrow, the question soft, but pointed.

“Me and my mom,” I said, my voice quieter now. “She’s never been one to stay put. Wherever she went, I followed.”

He nodded, like he understood more than he should. “A modern-day nomad. Sounds... exhausting.”

I let out a small laugh, more out of habit than anything else. “Yeah, it can be.” But there was something easy about him, something that made this whole conversation feel less strange, less fleeting.

“You staying here for a while?” he asked, his dark eyes locking with mine, the cold forgotten for a moment.

“For the foreseeable future,” I replied, surprising myself with how easily the words slipped out.

“Good to know.” His voice softened, like he was letting me in on some secret only we shared. That crooked smile crept back, and I felt my pulse quicken again. He had no idea what he was doing to me.

I bit my lip, trying to steady the rush of nerves rising in my chest. What was I even doing? Standing here, flirting with a stranger in the dead of winter? This wasn’t real life—it was the stuff of daydreams. But somehow, with him, it felt real. Almost too real.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, his hand lifting to ruffle his hair again. The messy strands fell back into place like he didn’t care—like he knew exactly how disheveled he looked and leaned into it.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. The airport, the cold wind—it all seemed to fade away, leaving just us in this strange, fleeting moment.

“You live nearby?” I asked, even though I knew I should’ve been hopping into a cab by now, getting out of this freezing wind and back to whatever was left of my life.

“Detroit,” he said, his breath fogging in the air like a ghost of something lost.

“Me too,” I said, a little too quickly. “Just moved there, actually.”

“Downtown?” He asked it casually, but his eyes were sharp, as if my answer might mean more than I realized.

“Royal Oak,” I said, nodding. “The old houses there... they’re beautiful.”

“They are,” he agreed, and there was something in the way he said it, like he was noticing things I didn’t even realize I was showing. His gaze flicked between my eyes and my lips, and for a moment, the air between us stretched thin, a fragile thread pulling us closer until a sharp gust of wind snapped it, jolting me back to reality.

"Welcome to Michigan," he said with a laugh, his voice warm against the icy air. Without warning, he reached down and took my bare hands in his. The warmth of his touch jolted through me, electric, racing straight to my core. For a second, I swore the ground shifted beneath us. Something unspoken buzzed between our hands.

“We should get you a cab,” he said, glancing down at my frozen fingers, his expression softening with concern. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather.”

"Yeah, I probably should’ve planned better,” I admitted with a laugh, still caught up in the warmth of his hands, the way they made everything else feel just a little less cold.

He waved down a cab with the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times. I watched him as he loaded my bags into the trunk, every movement feeling like a countdown. And then, when he opened the passenger door for me, I hesitated. I stood at the edge of that moment, torn between the part of me that wanted to leave and the part that wanted to stay, just a little longer.

“Thanks for the help,” I said, looking up at him, my heart thudding hard in my chest.

“Jungkook,” he said, his voice soft, that crooked smile still tugging at his lips. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” I replied, the name slipping out of my mouth so naturally it felt like it was meant for him, like it was always supposed to be said here, in this cold, surreal moment.

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was testing it on his tongue, like it was something fragile and precious. He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Y/N?" His hand hovered near my shoulder, his voice even quieter now, almost as if he was about to share a secret meant only for me.

And suddenly, the world around us—everything—fell away. The cold, the noise, the blur of people rushing past. It was just him, standing there with that crooked grin, making me wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of whatever this was.

“Yeah, Jungkook?” I asked, my breath catching, anticipation curling low in my stomach.

“My friends and I... we hang out at this bar on Grand most Tuesdays. Billy’s?” He said it like a suggestion, but it felt like more. Like a bridge to whatever might come next. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?”

A thrill shot through me, quick and unexpected. This wasn’t just some random, fleeting connection. He wanted to see me again. “Yeah,” I stammered, my voice barely steady. “I could swing by. Once I’m settled in.”

“Great.” His whole face lit up, and it was like watching a door creak open, revealing something softer, something vulnerable underneath. "I’ll see you around then, Y/N." He stepped back, shut the door behind me with a quiet finality.

As the cab pulled away, I turned, craning for one last look. He waved, easy and casual, and I lifted my hand in return, my heart still racing. Part of me wanted to freeze this moment, hold onto it before it slipped away. But the cab turned the corner, and just like that, he was gone.

I slumped back in the seat, exhaustion settling in like a heavy weight. I rested my head against the cold window, letting the chill ground me. This wasn’t just some daydream—it was real. And yet, as the city lights blurred by, doubts started creeping in, shadows curling at the edges of my mind. Would I really show up at Billy’s? Or would I let this whole thing fade, convincing myself it was just a fluke?

But then I thought about him—Jungkook. That crooked smile. And a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder... What if?

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