#this was pretty much a spur of the moment work

[scryarchives]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 - 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢

much to yuuji's surprise, a new girl from kugisaki's childhood joined their little class of three. unfortunately for him, she's as silent as a ghost, and as hostile as one, too. thankfully, itadori yuuji isn't one to back down from a challenge.

masterlist | next !

–pairings: itadori yuuji x oc

– warning: fluff, canon divergent, pre-shibuya arc

– author’s note: after watching jjk recently, you can count me obsessed.

disclaimer: i’m not of japanese descent and am unfamiliar with japanese honorifics, etc. feel free to correct me!

“What great news you bring us, Daichi!” 

An elderly woman clapped her hands, her greying hair tightly tied in a neat, sleek bun. Her husband smiled alongside her, his hand on her back as the two sat at their dining table. Their grown son stood before them, his wife sitting across his mother as she gently held her swollen stomach.

Daichi’s wife beamed away, her eyes so full of love and hope that it was clear as day that the two were meant to be, nothing but warmth filling household at the joyous news.

Now, Daichi was nothing short of ordinary, he was a man of simple tastes, but based on his choice of outfit being a smart pin-striped suit and wire-frame glasses that rested on the high bridge of his nose, one would’ve thought otherwise. His short, dark brown hair was combed neatly as his warm brown eyes gazed deeply into his wife’s obsidian ones.

“How long more until you’re due? I can’t wait to have a little one running around the house again,” His mother hummed, a pleased smile on her wrinkled face.

“In two months Chizuru be due, Okaasan,” Daichi turned to his wife, a soft-loving look washing over his features as he rubbed her back, so gently, one must’ve thought she was made of glass.

Chizuru however, contrasted from her husband’s formal wear, choosing something more comfortable as she was accompanied by her growing stomach. A soft, and light blue loose sundress covered her form, her long jet-black hair tied into a loose ponytail for her comfort.

“Oh, it would be such a joy to have a little boy to chase around the garden again, wouldn’t it, Akhito?” Daichi’s mother chuckled over at her husband, the family patriarch humming in satisfaction. 

“And he would grow big and strong under the guidance of his grandfather!” Akhito barked out a laugh, the elderly couple unaware of their son’s stiffening smile.

Daichi’s hand stiffened against his wife, and Chizuru, carefully placed her own, smaller hand to rest atop her husband’s. The two eyed one another before Daichi cleared his throat, adjusting the glasses to push them up slightly higher up his nose.

“Uh, yes, of course. A boy,” He smiled, his mother looking at him with a quizzical glance.

“You do know the baby’s gender, don’t you? It’s extremely important to pick the perfect name for a firstborn son, Daichi.”

“Your mother is right, son,” Akhito nodded, voice gruff in thought. “Fumi and I took a lot of care thinking of a name suitable of you and look at you now! One of the best businessmen in Tohoku.”

“Of course we know the baby’s gender, Otousan,” Chizuru smiled gently, rubbing her husband’s hand reassuringly.

“Our little one is quite the listener, it’s like he listens to Daichi when he tells him to not kick me so hard,” She joked, Daichi letting out a little humoured scoff. “So he and I were thinking of ‘Tadashi’, it would be fitting for a boy who’s devoted to his family, wouldn’t it?” 

“Tadashi…” Akhito hummed, eyes shut in thought as his wife’s smile grew brighter.

“Why, it’s the perfect name for the little one!” Fumi beamed. “Oh I can’t wait for his arrival, I know he’d be a beautiful baby boy!”

And beautiful the baby was as it wailed in the doctor’s arms, Chizuru’s brow beaded with sweat, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. While their child was washed clean with the nurse’s gently care, Daichi smiled proudly at the small, red child before them.

“Congratulations,” the doctor grinned as the smiling nurse passed the crying child to its parents.

“You have a beautiful baby girl.”

gif by @kakiriyo

taglist: @mooncleaver @underwateredwrld @mcmisbehaving @neteyamrealgf @khany2026 @tinkerbelle05 @iheartamajiki < comment/dm me if you’d like to be on the taglist! >

[shokocide]

yearner!nanami who, from the moment he laid eyes on you, knew you were meant to be his and he, yours.

you were so sweet to everyone, and that dazzling smile - oh, he was in love. he just had to have you.

he doesn't know what's gotten into him, the usually composed, rigid man suddenly head over heels for the pretty girl next door.

he asks around about you, so desperate to know you - all of you. he finds himself swooning at the very thought of you.

yearner!nanami who finds out you worked at the local bakery and of course all of a sudden he's oh-so-conveniently there every single week just to see you.

yearner!nanami who calls you sweet names whenever he talks to you because he loves the way it tastes on his tongue. and he prays to god that you don't see through the nonchalant facade - wouldn't that be so embarrassing?

yearner!nanami who doesn't know that his so-called 'unrequited love' is reciprocated. yes, of course you had heart eyes whenever you saw him - he was the absolute epitome of a gentleman.

yearner!nanami who finally grows some balls and asks you out and saying he was happy when you agreed would be an understatement. he was over the moon.

and you're glad you accepted, too because he makes that night so magical, it's hard for you to not fall deeper.

he walks you back to your place and it doesn't even take you much thought before you're inviting him in.

yearner!nanami who you find yourself in your bed with in a manner that some would deem inappropriate for a first date but with him - with him everything just felt so right.

oh, and with the way he's worshipping you? yeah, you don't think you're letting him go anytime soon.

yearner!nanami who is convinced that he's had a taste of heaven when he finds himself in between your thighs, laving at your sweetness and your pleasured mewls just spur him on to give you more - oh, anything for you. his large palms keep your legs spread out for him and he delves in for more - he just couldn't get enough.

yearner!nanami who doesn't even know if he's yearning anymore because once he's inside you, it feels like he has everything he could ever wish for. your walls are so snug around him, it's like you were molded to fit him perfectly and he's thanking any god that's listening for this chance he's been given.

he's trying so hard to maintain his composure but you just feel so good around him he thinks he's going to bust just from putting it in.

he finds it in himself to move when you're whining and telling him to 'keep going, please.'

shit, he's gone-

his thoughts are nothing but you, you, you and how he just wants to give you everything you desire and how he's the luckiest man on the planet to be near you. he treats you like you're a privilege because in his mind, he believes that you truly are one.

poor guy is obsessed.

and you are too because the moment he's holding you in his arms, exhausted from your ministrations, lover!nanami is promising you that he's yours alone. do you think it's a bit too soon? nah, you could live by it. it's nanami, after all.

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[tfwbluu]

what do u think riki’s kinks are

PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader

WARNINGS — dom riki mostly, it’s just descriptive with some lines here and there, we’re talking about kinks so there’s that.

WORDCOUNT — 0.8K

NOTE — i don’t want to be repeating myself from my previous works so let’s do with the ones i haven’t done yet. it’s ok if yall don’t agree with me, these are just my personal opinions !

Toys. He’d love the idea of teasing you with them, maybe fucking a dildo into you or pressing a vibrator against your clit until you were trembling. And if he caught you using them while he was gone? Oh, he’d make sure to turn it into some sort of punishment.

“C’mon, angel,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he pressed the vibrator against your clit just enough to make you squirm. His other hand worked the dildo in and out of you at a slow, deliberate pace. “You were fucking yourself on this earlier, couldn’t even wait for me. So now, this is all you get.”

Bondage. He’d definitely be the type to tie you up, relishing the control it gave him. Whether it was your hands bound behind your back or stretched upright, or your legs tied open to keep you completely exposed, he didn’t care as long as you couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. He loved the sight of you spread out, helpless to his every touch, unable to hide from the pleasure he gave or the punishment he delivered.

“You’re sensitive?” he’d murmur, a sly grin spreading across his face as he pounded into you relentlessly. “I never imagined you’d be this sensitive, but I love it.”

Size kink. Have you seen his build? He’d absolutely use it to his advantage. His massive hands would engulf yours, his broad frame could easily cover you completely, and no matter your height or build, he’d always make you feel small. Especially when it came to the size of his cock—he’d relish the way it stretched you, the slight bulge it created against your stomach, or how easily he could manhandle you into positions you never thought possible. Greedy and insatiable, he’d do whatever it took to have you just the way he wanted.

“You’re so tiny beneath me, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand drifted down, caressing the visible bulge in your stomach. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Too much?” he’d tease, thrusting in slowly, his grin widening. “But I’m not even fully in yet. Just wrap your legs around me, angel. I know you can take all of me. Wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

Dacryphilia. He probably didn’t even realize it until he saw you like this—your lips stretched around his cock, tears and drool spilling down your face as you took him deeper. The sight drove him wild, something about you spurring him on, sending a rush of heat straight through him. He’d wipe away your tears with his thumb, the motion surprisingly tender, even as his hips kept moving, his voice low and strained.

“F-Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he’d groan, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “Feels so good, angel. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this, y’know?”

Choking. He loved using his big hands to grip your neck, especially when he was wearing rings. The cold metal pressing against your flushed skin made your head spin. His grip was firm, just enough to leave you breathless, or sometimes he’d use it to hold you up from behind.

Neck grabs, deep grunts, the desperate roll of his hips against yours. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice heavy with need.

“Haa, tired already?” he mocked, his tongue clicking in feigned disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk... always leaving me to do all the work.” His hand tightened around your neck as he pulled you up, continuing to thrust into you without missing a beat.

Missionary. He’d absolutely thrive on seeing the raw effect he had on you. With his cock buried deep inside you, he’d watch every flicker of pleasure on your face, loving the way your lips parted for soft moans or how your body twitches when he teased your sensitive nipples.

“Look at me, pretty,” he’d murmur, his voice deep and commanding. “I wanna see how good I make you feel.”

Eye contact would be non-negotiable. He needed to see the way your gaze melted with desire, and if you wanted to cum, you’d have to look right at him.

“You’re close?” he’d ask, smirking as he slowed to a torturous pace, drawing a whine from you. You begged him, finally locking your eyes with his.

If you didn’t? He’d slow down, torturously edging you, leaving you trembling, desperate, and on the brink of tears. Only when you finally obeyed, locking your eyes with his, would he give in, pounding into you relentlessly until you were completely undone.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thrusts picking up again. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Gonna cum for me now, mhm?”

[avelera]

So apparently, Fortiche shared concept art where Jayce's Hexcorization in the cave would extend all the way to his face:

And this is really interesting to me from a narrative perspective, here's why:

Much of S2 Jayce's arc is incredibly... punitive. Like, he is really being punished step by step for everything he did wrong in S1. From Renni terrorizing and almost killing him for the death of her son, to Viktor leaving him "for another woman" (the Hexcore as represented by Sky) much like Jayce left him for politics as represented by Mel, there's really a sense of the narrative not only tearing Jayce down to his bare essentials (something that's very common for TV writing to do, by the way, it's very common that you want to see characters reduced down to who they are for their "long night of the soul" moment before they learn the lessons of what they really stand for before going into the climax armed with those lessons), but Jayce's time in the cave really goes even further than that and not only does S2 take away his political career, his Hextech ambitions, his state as someone able-bodied, much of his strength, and certain other gifts, it looks like in this draft they considered taking away his beauty too.

I think it would have been interesting either way if they had, but I want to dive into the narrative structure of action and punishment in Arcane, why Hexcorizing Jayce's face might have been a step too far and not really addressed a lesson he needed to learn, and my thoughts on punitive character arcs in general in Arcane (or lack thereof), specifically with regards to Jayce and Caitlyn.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I always found it interesting that much of the hate directed towards Jayce by the fans was for his perceived incompetence in difficult moments, rather than at how naturally gifted he seems to be at everything.

When I first watched S1 on my own, I thought Jayce was a bit unbearable because everything comes so easily to him (after Viktor becomes his partner and Hextech takes off as a result, that is). He is naturally beautiful, he's built like a god but doesn't appear to do any sort of exercise routine to maintain this other than working in the forge, he becomes the Man of Progress and rockstar of Piltover pretty much without trying, girls are literally sighing dreamily as he goes by.

He's also naturally a genius, from what we see, revolutionizing multiple industries with one invention. Even his rescue as a child is a literal miracle and it spurs him to create an invention that makes him a rockstar. When he enters politics, he immediately dominates, to the point where he's able to get a unanimous vote to overthrow the founder of the city within weeks of going there. Even in battle he's naturally gifted and naturally lucky during the raid of the Shimmer factory (up until the death of Renni's son), even though he has no prior skills as far as we know. He also wins the love of arguably the most beautiful woman in the series, again, seemingly without trying.

Then, S2 doesn't just take all of this away from him, it seems to go a step further into actually punishing Jayce for how easy and miraculous his life was in S1.

I'm of two minds about the Hexcorization reaching his face, but I have a hypothesis. I think it would have looked fucking rad but, I kinda get why they didn't do it:

Because Jayce's good looks are not something he can control, unlike the other things the narrative punishes him for.

Insofar as he can control his looks, he gives up on the clean-cut, immaculate "Golden Boy" image. Even in the idealized astral plane, he keeps most of the marks of his time in the pit like his hair and beard. I think it's because Jayce likes who he became down there. The clean-cut version of him was always the mask of him trying to please others, Jayce's appearance after he emerges from the cave is him shedding the opinions of others (contrast this with how Viktor idealizes himself in the astral plane, removing all marks of his illness. This isn't a criticism, just an interesting point of contrast).

So basically, my theory is Fortiche may have pulled back on Hexcorizing Jayce's face on the one hand to soften the visuals a bit, but secondly because it keeps the focus on punishing Jayce for things he chose to do, rather than things he doesn't really have control over.

But make no mistake, the narrative comes down hard on Jayce in S2, for every little thing the fans could and often did hate him for in S1. He pays for all of them, arguably in excess of what he maybe deserved, since as he says he didn't ask for any of this. But he did go along with it, and there's where the hammer of consequence (quite literally) comes down on him, tears away all his privileges, drags him down to literally the level of Viktor when he first left the undercity and says, "You have to do it all again but now focused on what really matters, and it's going to be ten times harder than it ever was."

This, in my opinion, is why Jayce is so popular coming out of S2. It is a hell of an arc, it's a hell of a redemption! You gave the man everything any man could want, then you took it all away, and then as his crowning moment of showing he has truly learned these lessons and made up for his mistakes, he makes possibly the most loving gesture possible, puts his weapons down, and reaches out to the person he loves most and literally sacrifices himself on the altar of his mistakes to make things right and show Viktor he is loved, and to protect Viktor from the horrifically lonely fate of his future self. It doesn't get any more noble, loving, or self-sacrificing than that.

Because more than we like to see a character punished we like to see them learn from their mistakes and come back better. Jayce's S2 nobility is earned, perhaps even to excess, no one can question whether he suffered enough to make up for what he did in S1 but even the most uncharitable read of him in S1, his biggest hater, would have to agree his time spent starving to death in agony, alone in that cave for months, has got to be just about the worst punishment a human can face and live.

Which is one reason I must add that I find it a little puzzling that Arcane's creators didn't predict the hate that Caitlyn would get in S2.

Keep in mind, because this is very important, the Arcane creators did not make S2 in response to fan reactions to S1. S2 was already in production and the script was locked in and done before anyone outside their organizations saw S1. So nothing that happens in S2 is as a result of fan response.

But, the creators did understand that Jayce was going to need to suffer narrative punishment for what he did in S1 in order to be redeemed, whether they predicted how hated he would be after S1, they did predict that redemption would be necessary. And boy-howdy, did they give him a hell of a redemption arc!

But Caitlyn's S2 actions are almost in lock-step similar to Jayce's S1 actions, being manipulated (by a Medarda!) into accepting power, but maybe not having a choice in the matter, but still maybe expanding that power on their own because it is useful in its own right. Caitlyn also makes terrible mistakes. A child doesn't die but people in the undercity do get hurt during her rage-fuled raids, even if most of them are mob bosses and their goons. The narrative asks, does that make it right? Caitlyn like Jayce hurts the person closest to her who is from the undercity and uses bigoted language against the people of the undercity to Vi's face in much the same way that Jayce did to Viktor on the bridge, though in Jayce's defense, he apologized immediately after.

So, seeing how hated Jayce was coming out of S1, to the point where there's still barely any merchandise of him, I'm shaking my head rather ruefully that there was so much merch made for Caitlyn this time around. And I get it! Caitlyn and Vi were very popular after S1, they are intentionally THE main romance of the show and it was a very popular romance coming out of the innocence of their meet cute in S1.

But it's a romance that dearly needed a longer third act if you wanted Caitlyn to be as embraced after her mistakes as Jayce was after making up for his all through S2. You need to give her as long or at least as in-depth of a redemption act with as much suffering and acknowledgment of her mistakes if you want Vi and Caitlyn at the end to get celebrated the way Jayce making it up to Viktor is, because as much as I understand the choice to focus on pacing instead of exposition, and I do think Caitlyn's apology and realization of her mistakes are there on the page more than people complain, I do also agree that it is a bit "blink and you'll miss it" even if it's there. Jayce got a whole episode of being thrown into the Torment Nexus for his mistakes, real or imagined, if you didn't like him or his choices, you definitely got the sadistic glee of watching life kick the stuffing out of him for what he did in S1.

But besides her fight with Ambessa, which was a result of a confluence of many events in the story, not just Caitlyn's mistakes, Caitlyn doesn't really suffer much for the mistakes she made to those she loves. Her losing an eye to Ambessa didn't happen because she said bigoted things to Vi or became a short-term puppet dictator of Piltover. It was a result of Ambessa's actions and maneuvering more than it was a result of Caitlyn's personal mistakes to her loved ones.

In contrast, Jayce's time in the pit gave him the chance to reflect on and suffer for the the mistakes he made that led to the Anomaly that led to him being down in this pit, and what he would do to make it up to his loved ones like Viktor when he returned. Caitlyn never got a moment like that and from what I'm seeing of the vitriol directed towards her, so similar to what Jayce got after S1, it seems like she really needed it if we were going to like her to the same extent again, in a way uncomplicated by lingering questions about whether she ever truly learned the lessons her character needed to learn to grow as a person.

And it's just funny to me that a narrative that was so aware that this whole huge punishment arc was needed to rehabilitate Jayce wasn't aware that we'd need one for Caitlyn too, at least if they're going to move all that merch they made for her (please give us Jayce merch, Riot, I'm begging).

[comatosebunny09]

Slow lovemaking in the morning with Sylus.

He’s settling in for bed while you’re waking up. He doesn’t want you to go. Not when you feel so warm and right, curled up against him like this. He abhors the sun. But he won’t deny how it works in your favor, golden sunbeams peering through the curtains to swath you in its ethereal glow.

You get up for a shower, but he won’t have that. He hauls you back into bed by your waist. Tickles you, and you giggle so bewitchingly while you squirm, he’s laughing with you. Two lovers rolling around in the sheets, wishing the moment could last for eons.

You’re too beautiful not to savor. To let go. So, he kisses you. On your temple first, then your cheek, nose. He saves the best for last, diving in for a taste of your lips, and you’re as sweet as sugar here.

He’s addicted. Drags your hips back to notch your pelvis against his, and he groans hoarsely into your mouth at the contact. Grows hard against the cleft of your ass as you languidly grind against him. You know what you’re doing. He’s sleepy, and you’re taking advantage of his weakened defenses. But he’ll bite.

He holds you by the hip, his other set of fingers molded to your jaw, angling your head back so he can watch you—the pretty way your lips purse, how your lashes bow when he slides his cock between your full thighs. They’re still moist from your earlier escapades. From the naughty dreams you must’ve had, and he bites his lip when you moan so pretty for him as the ridge of his cock head bumps your clit. He shudders. God, you’re addicting.

Finally, he sinks into you. And the union is devastating. So much so, he ducks to place his forehead in the hollow of your shoulder. You always feel so good, swallowing him to the hilt like that. So good for him, the shape of you molding to accommodate him and no-one else.

He’s panting. Trying his damnedest to stay still while you adjust to the intrusion. You ruin him. Utter destruction on legs, but he’ll never tell you that aloud. You roll your hips when you’re ready for him. He moves without a second thought.

The sticky glide of your cunt. The obscene squelching sounds it makes when he sluggishly ruts into you. It’s all so much, and yet not enough. His grip on your waist is crucial. He’s holding you in place while he fucks into you from behind, your cute whimpering spurring him on.

Limber fingers wrap around your neck. Apply enough pressure not to cut off wind, but just enough to bring your pulse pounding against his palm. He breathes, hot and ragged, against your hinged-open mouth. The rhythm of his hips quickens. You feel so good. He could die, buried inside you.

He drags his teeth over the space behind your ear. Fucks into you like he’ll never see you again, the clop of skin on skin saturating the air. He eases a hand down the curve of your stomach to find your clit. Rubs it in meticulous circles, chanting obscenities into your ear. Wants you to cum with him, a fizzy feeling pooling in his stomach. You take him so well. Treat him so good. He’d give you the moon and the stars in a hand-basket if he could.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve been at this, fucking like two lazy beasts in heat. Doesn’t care because you’re suddenly quaking around him. Shuddering, his name the sweetest supplication on your lips. He keeps your legs spread, thrusting into you, helping you ride over the cresting waves of your orgasm with a finger in your clit.

You drag him into the whirlpool with you. Over that slurry edge of pleasure, his teeth grit as he floods the warm channel of your sex with gooey globs of white. He pushes into you until he’s too sensitive to move. Doesn’t pull out, even as his cum scorches down the inner cut of your thigh to saturate the sheets.

He wraps virile arms around your waist when you both come down. Moors you to him, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder with a content smile to his lips.

“Sy,” you laugh, reaching back to drag comforting fingers over his scalp. “I have to get up for work.”

He hums something raspy. Something sleepy, something satisfied. Holds you tighter, murmuring against your ear, sleep toddling in.

“Just five more minutes.”

And, of course, five minutes turn into ten, then twenty. And you’re calling in sick an hour later, because you don’t want to leave the safety of his arms, either.

[thinkinonsense]

Rotten

dofp!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: boot riding, dom!logan, spitting, slight hair pulling, bratty!reader

a/n: something short for now but the semester is over after next week so all december expect more frequent posts from me. gonna focus on the bewitched and sweet temptations mini series plus the new one im working on with worst!logan x camgirl/of fem!reader :)

"i only got a few more papers to grade, princess."

one of the greatest lies ever told, you think to yourself as you sit on logan's lap while he grades essays. two hours turn into four and before you know it, half the night is gone already.

"c'mon baby..." you whine, kissing his neck and leaving little marks, then watching them disappear. "the rest can wait until tomorrow."

deep down logan almost feels bad but he can feel you softly rubbing your pretty blue lace panties on his thigh.

"told ya' only got a couple left to grade then im yours." he says, paying little attention to you as possible.

a sigh of annoyance escapes your lips. slowly you rock yourself back and forth to gain some sort of pleasure from him.

"quit it, sweetheart." logan says sternly, smacking your ass rather roughly.

"fine." you huff, rolling your eyes over his shoulder.

a beat passes before you slowly kiss your way down his body, leaving a glossy trail down his abdomen and v-line until you're settled on the ground in between his thighs under the desk.

logan tries his best to ignore you. he really does but god, it's so hard when you are resting your head on his lap, inches from his bulge.

"what are ya' doing down there?" he asks, raising an eyebrow down at you. sweet doe eyed angel, peering up at him as if it were nothing.

"just resting here until you're ready." you said, biting back the smirk daring to appear.

he's not sure why he trusted you to keep your word. especially when he's spoiled you rotten over the years, always giving into your needs.

steadily, you wrap yourself around his left leg and take a seat on the front of his leather boot. cheek pressed against the inside of his thigh as you resume your grinding from moments ago.

"fuck lo..." you moan, sinking your nails into the material of his jeans; grabbing fist fulls near his calf.

a small puddle of slick leaks from your panties onto the leather, making it easier to move. quickly, you remove the lace and sit your bare core on his boot. a loud moan spills from your lips at the feel of cool leather on your clit.

"f-feels so, ahh!"

logan watches your head tip back, too fucked out to be care about how much of a mess you were making on his shoe. the essays were long forgotten by now, instead he is busy watching you attempt to get off.

"tell me how it feels, princess." logan says, big rough hand gripping your jaw. his hazel eyes were now unrecognizable, dark and blown out with lust for you. "that bratty cunt of yours is just weeping for me, huh?"

"yes, lo! it's s-so fucking good." you struggle to keep eye contact with him, which only spurs him on further into this game. "need you to fuck me, lo. please, wanna ride you."

logan tsks, shaking his head and leaning in to rest his arms on his thighs. inches away from your pretty face.

"rotten girls don't get to ride."

without warning, logan begins to tap his foot up and now. the front rubbing your button just right. soft bounces and lewd noises flood logan's bedroom.

under his cold looking exterior, logan was struggling inside the dark denim covering his large bulge. truth be told, he was enjoying this almost as much as you were. the sight of your slightly parted lips and scrunched eyebrows were prettier than any painting he had ever seen.

"such a messy pussy." he mocks, moving his foot faster, allowing for more of your pretty moans to escape you. "gonna tarnish the leather, sweetheart."

"uh... uh fuck..." you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. " 'm s-so close!"

logan's lucky that you aren't the one with claws, considering how deep you are digging your nails into his legs while humping his boot pathetically chasing your high.

without warning, he taps your cheek signaling you to open your mouth. half expecting him to place the pad of his thumb on your tongue but pleasantly surprised by the string of spit connecting the two of you.

the kiss is almost as messy as the scene below you. all teeth and tongue. oxytocin fills the room as you reach your high, moaning in logan's mouth and gushing all over his poor boot.

when the two of you finally pull apart, logan can't help but take in the image in front of him of you clinging to his leg with a hazy stare, and glossy kiss bitten lips.

"finally gonna fuck me?" you giggle as he pulls you back into his lap.

"maybe." he hums, rubbing his hand up and down you back. "seems like someone is pretty spoiled though."

in a split second, logan's got a fist full of your hair wrapped around his rough palm, tipping your head to the side so he can leave marks on your neck.

"it's not my fault, lo." you pout, slipping your fingers under his shirt.

"i know, baby. i know." he chuckles to himself before lifting you over to the mattress and laying you flat on your stomach with your ass in the air, waiting for him.

it's going to be a long night.

[pearlessance]

Beneath the Armor —part one

summary: Joel Miller has been the center of all the gossip in the trailer park since he tragically lost his daughter. He's short-tempered and mean as hell, his hostility no doubt spurred on by that beer he always has in hand. But when you need a ride to work and he's your last resort, you come to find he's much more than what meets the eye.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI (not in this part but in part two!), ANGST with a happy ending, grief, mention of child loss, daddy issues, age difference, slow burn, attempted seduction, use of alcohol, and references to alcohol abuse, brat taming, eventual smut

wc: 6.9k

note: this entire concept is owed to my bff joelmillersgirlfriend over on AO3! we've cowritten this together (to the shock of no one, i'm pretty sure i need her to write at this point), and if you haven't gone over there to read her stuff by now then you're missing out!! part two coming soon <3 let us know what you think!

[part two]

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Talking to Joel Miller was like pulling teeth with a rusty old plier, one by one, nerve by nerve. He used his silence, his pity like a suit of armor. Meant to protect him, but still wrapped around a man who was too scared to confront his fears. To learn his own forgiveness. 

You had vaguely known him since you were a senior in high school and had seen him and his little girl move into the trailer across from yours. You were sitting on the front porch, occasionally sipping from the iced lemonade in your hand. Summer had come in hot, and the beaming sun was relentless during the first humid weeks of July. 

Joel and Sarah had been the talk of the neighborhood — the dad and the little girl with an oxygen tank. You heard the rumors from some of your friends in the trailer park - that Joel couldn’t afford to keep up with her medical bills, so he had to sell his house and abandon the business he had built up with his bare hands. 

Still, she was a fighter until her last breath. Joel, however, died the day Sarah did. She had only lived for eleven months after moving into the park. What was once a motivated little family fighting hard against the disease soon became a single man inside of an empty shell. 

His warm smiles that he would give to neighbors who brought Sarah over toys and “get well soon!” cards soon turned into nothingness — a dark, empty expression. Joel stopped going out as much, replacing soccer balls and dirty sneakers with whiskey and cigarettes. He no longer stood out on his porch, playing guitar and smiling at you once he met your eyes from your own porch. 

Kathy, who lived directly next to you, begged her husband, Parker, to call the cops for a wellness check for Joel. On the first anniversary of her death, he didn’t leave the house for a week. 

“Mind your own business. God only knows how he’s havin’ to cope; seeing cops knocking on his front door in the middle of the night won’t help nothing.”

You had to admit you were more than a little relieved when you saw him finally emerge, tired-looking with heavy eyes. He got in his car and left before coming back thirty minutes later, a new case of beer in tow.

You spent too much time observing him, ensuring he was alright, even if he didn’t know that. With no dad that you could remember and a mother who remarried some douchebag and skipped town after you were old enough to live on your own, all you had was time. After senior graduation, your friends in the park found a way to escape to college, but you were stuck and unable to escape, just like Joel. 

While your friends went to get a degree, you found a job at a bar up the road. It was grimy and far beyond your dream, but you earned good tips. With responsibilities that caused you to stay and a deep fear of failure, you could not leave the town you’d grown up in. 

Out of desperation, you’d leaped and applied to some college several towns away. It was a spur-of-the-moment impulse, an unrealistic kind of thing. It’s not like you’d be able to afford it anyway. 

So it was a cycle: wake up, work, sleep, and do it all over again. You understood how Joel must feel, trapped in a never-ending pattern, reliving memories that couldn’t ever really go away — not entirely.

And of course, you understood what it was like being handed the short end of the stick. You both wound up in the same place, after all. 

Which was what led you to walk towards Joel’s trailer one evening. Your shift at work was about to start, but your car wouldn’t crank. You'd tried going to Kathy’s house first, but nobody answered. You couldn’t lose your job, already having too many tardies because of your piece of shit car.

The soles of your shoes crunched against the leaves on Joel’s front porch step, your eyes moving to look at him sitting in a plastic lawn chair. His hair was getting long, hanging over his eyes wildly. 

Joel bristled when he noticed you standing on his front porch step, a cigarette hanging between his lips. You’d never been this close to him. It was much easier to see how handsome he was up close: thick hair, a graying beard. Simply too easy on the eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes slipping away from your face and down to your outfit. You always dressed up for work, knowing it’d get you extra tips. Maybe you went a little overboard with the fishnets and the amount of cleavage you were showing, but it always paid off in the end.

His hips shift in his seat, waiting for you to answer his question. 

You cleared your throat, standing up straight to make yourself feel more significant compared to the giant man. “I’m sorry to bother you. My car won’t start, and I’m gonna be late for work.”

Joel glared up at you. “So?”

Taken aback by his hostility, you paused, hesitating. You knew that he was a sad man, but nobody had told you that he was an asshole.

“So… I was hoping you could give me a ride. I could pay you for the gas and-“

Joel stood up in the middle of you talking, the wood creaking under his boots as he walked to the front door and into the house. You faltered, standing stupidly on this rude man’s front porch step.

With a huff, you spun around, leaving the porch. “Fuckin’ asshole,” you muttered under your breath, suddenly jumping at the sound of the screen door slamming shut behind you. Joel had returned, this time with keys in his hand and a brown t-shirt pulled over his white wife's beater. 

“Say somethin’?” Joel asked, walking ahead but narrowing his eyes directly at your face. 

“Nope,” you quickly chirped, rushing to catch up with him. “I thought you’d left me standing outside.”

“‘Bout did,” Joel grumbled under his breath, unlocking the truck door before climbing in. It was your turn to narrow your eyes at Joel, rolling them at the asshole. Even though he was an unexpected dickhead, you had to admit that you enjoyed the way his arms flexed as he pulled himself into his truck.

The drive to the bar was filled with mostly silence, except for the hum of some Radiohead album playing on the radio. Joel had the truck windows rolled down, the wind whipping the loose strands of your hair around your face. 

You tried to subtly glance over at him, watching the same cigarette from earlier placed between his plush lips. Without thinking, you reached over, plucking the cigarette away from his mouth. 

His dark eyes snapped at you in disbelief as he watched you inhale his cigarette, the residue from your lipstick staining the filter. You weren’t sure why you needed to catch Joel’s attention, but you were sure it somehow related to how he was ignoring you. It made you crave his attention. Fucking daddy issues. 

“Now you owe me gas money and a pack of Marlboro’s,” Joel said, reaching over to swipe the cigarette out of your mouth. He eyed the lipstick stain, sighing in annoyance before deciding the nicotine was worth it. 

Your blood warmed at the thought that Joel’s lips touched where yours had just been, indirectly tasting your mouth. His eyes flickered over to you, watching him, a low frown on his face. 

“What’s a girl like you workin’ at Dazzlers anyways?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his remark. “I’m a bartender, not a lap dancer,” you said, prompting Joel to give you an eye roll in return.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, almost so quietly that you didn’t notice, but you did. You understood that he had been through a lot, but Christ, there was no need to take it out on you. You swallowed your pride, knowing he was your last resort to not being fired.

Despite the weird tension and the silence, you found yourself drawn to Joel’s brooding energy, glancing at him occasionally through the darkness. 

Apparently, he was more observant than you thought.

“Need somethin’?” he questioned, not even glancing in your direction. Maybe it had to do with dad spidey senses or something, but being caught had made your blood warm in your veins.

You shook your head, unable to bite your tongue. 

���Nobody told me that you were such a dickhead.”

To your surprise, Joel didn’t even falter, with almost no response to your jab at his aggressive demeanor. 

“Yeah, well, watchin’ your daughter deteriorate right in front of you can change a man,” he replied bluntly, taking a long drag of his cigarette without even looking away from the road. 

It made you instantly feel bad, regretting your words no matter how much truth they held. 

“That’s not what I meant-“ you tried to explain, but Joel waved his hand, dismissing your excuse. His large palm made a rush of air past your face, your eyes blinking at him in response.

“Just leave it,” Joel grumbled, so you obeyed. It wasn’t for long before you arrived at your job, your eyes watching the bright neon lights flashing through the parking lot. You rifled through your purse, attempting to retrieve a couple of bills, but Joel’s palm wrapping around your own stopped you.

Bright-eyed, you looked up to meet his gaze, his usual timid expression replaced with one of determination. 

“You don’t gotta pay me.”

Strong words coming from someone who was just belittling you for owing him money for gas and cigarettes.

“I don’t wanna owe you anything. Just let me give you a couple of dollars and we’ll call it even,” you said, attempting to rifle back through your bag, but being stopped by his massive palm once again.

“Who’s gonna bring you back home tonight?” Joel questioned, his concern genuinely surprising you. Before you shrugged, you allowed your defenses to fall, mostly due to your shock.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out.”

Joel shook his head, rolling his eyes at your half-assed answer. “What time does your shift end?”

You paused, pulling your purse to your chest before glancing at the front of the building. Did you really want Joel to pick you up? Was sitting through another weirdly comforting yet intense ride worth it?

When you looked back at Joel, he didn’t seem willing to take no for an answer; his eyebrows were drawn into an almost scowl-like expression. Sighing with exasperation, you finally spoke. 

“We close at midnight.”

He nodded in response, breaking his intense eye contact with you before opting out to seemingly judge the building itself. It was a rough place, with neon lights flashing and motorcycles lined up at the entrance. It certainly looked more intimidating than it actually was. 

You were surprised when Joel decided to bite his tongue, not slipping out with some smart allelic response about the place. Instead, he hummed, a quick and easy response to your answer.  

“I’ll see you then,” he replied, but something about his words made your chest burn, like it was almost a promise that he’d be there to look out for you. To protect you. 

He did wind up picking you up that night and numerous nights after you explained to him that your alternator had given out and your car would be in the shop for a couple of days. He never argued or took your gas money despite the way he grumbled under his breath when you knocked at his front door at quarter past three. 

It was almost routine to have Joel take you to and from work, and when your car was back in operation, you nearly didn’t want to tell him. Though your time together hadn’t really given you a glimpse into the man Joel truly was since he hardly spoke, it allowed him to get to know you.

You’d rambled on about your absent father, how your mom had abandoned you once she realized you could support yourself. Never did he judge or belittle you. He’d always listen and make sure you were heard. 

Despite that, he never answered your questions when you’d pried at him. Asking him about family? No go. The business he’d given up? Of course not. 

Anything about Sarah?

The first and only time you had fished for information about her, you thought he was going to toss you out of his car. His eyes narrowed and fists clenched the steering wheel, an audible growl of anger leaving his throat.

“You ever say her name again, and you can walk to work, understand?” 

You hadn’t seen much of his anger explode like that before, except during the unexpected arrival of his brother, Tommy. It was on the evening that you finally got your car back, and as you mustered the courage to walk over to Joel’s trailer to let him know that he didn’t have to take you back and forth, you noticed something. In front of his crumbling front deck was a dark pick-up truck, one that didn’t belong in a place like this. It was sparkling new, clearly waxed, with big, gleaming rims.

Before you even had the chance to think much about it, you heard a shout inside Joel’s trailer, a booming voice that almost made you scurry back to your own home.

“I already told you, Tommy! I’m not doin’ it!” Footsteps tracked through the house, heavy boots against weak plywood practically shaking the trailer. You could see shapes pass by the front window, suggesting that both Joel and his seemingly unwanted guest were about to come outside.

Now you were actually scurrying across his lawn, attempting to retreat back from Joel’s yard before you were spotted, but the front door opened too quickly. Thankfully, the heated conversation between him and who you assumed to be Tommy precluded their heated gazes from meeting yours. 

Without wanting to assume who Tommy was, he certainly looked like he was related to Joel - their intense glares were almost identical. The height, the face-shapes, all of it. Even Tommy’s deep drawl matched as he bellowed in return. 

“I don’t understand why you gotta be so goddamn stubborn. Here I am, drivin’ halfway across the county just to see you, to give you an opportunity to get out of this shithole, but instead, you’re chosin’ to live in a shell and letting yourself wind up just like-”

Joel’s frame towered over Tommy’s despite the considerable height that Tommy had himself. Something dark was brewing beneath Joel’s features, clearly quite close to boiling over. Even though you knew you were watching an intense, private moment, you had never seen this kind of emotion from Joel before. You were almost bewitched, unmoving, questioning if you should intervene to stop a potential fight from breaking out.

Tommy’s nostrils were flared, his chest pressed against Joel’s, while Joel’s fists were clenched into a tight ball, threatening to strike like a snake. 

“I told you last time. Bring her up again, and you won’t have a mouth left to speak from.”

Tommy scoffed. “She was just as much mine as she was yours, Joel. Just because you ran away when things got hard and buried yourself deeper and deeper into a hole doesn’t mean I don’t miss her.” He began to stomp off of the front porch, making his way to the truck that was parked in the driveway. 

“But that’s fine! This will be the last damn time I come over thinkin’ that maybe you’re ready to change. Go ahead and delete my number from your phone.”

Both you and Joel, as well as a couple of other neighbors who had decided to leave their houses to view the commotion, watched Tommy’s truck tires screech against the pavement. His departure was bitter and final, an angry bite to the way he spit those words.

You can’t imagine being on the receiving end of them, and when you turned your head to glance at Joel, you found his eyes boring into you. His shoulders are pulled tight, and his jaw is set, and he said nothing as he stepped back into his trailer and slammed the door hard behind him. 

Perfect timing, you thought to yourself. There’s never been a better day for your car to have been up and running again. You didn’t waste time lingering in his yard.

But before you can feel the pavement of the narrow street beneath your sneakers, his disgruntled voice cut through the air. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

You turned to face him, unsure of yourself. Joel’s an asshole, you know that much, but you didn’t think you’ve ever seen him this worked up and angry. “Uhm…about that. I was just coming to tell you that I don’t need a ride today-”

Joel scoffed and shook his head, keys jingling in his hand “Get in the damn truck,” he said, venom on his tongue. And you know he’s not mad at you, but your stomach turned at his fury anyway. “Gonna be late if we don’t get a move on.”

Tomorrow, you decide. You’ll tell him about your car tomorrow. But for now, you do as he said. While he stuck the key in the ignition and turned the engine over, you climbed into the passenger seat, which still smelled faintly of your perfume from the night before.

He pulled onto the road and started the familiar route to the bar, his movements rehearsed and, by now, muscle memory. You sat in silence as he steered with one hand and pulled a cigarette from the center console with the other. He lit it, inhaled the nicotine deep into his lungs, and let out a heavy sigh.

You wondered if you should say something. A million questions are pressed against the back of your teeth. But now isn’t the best time to poke and prod for a glimpse into the man he is outside of what you’ve seen with your own two eyes. So you decided to say something else instead, something that might grant him a little relief. “My car is fixed. That’s what I was trying to tell you. So, tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about giving me rides anymore.”

He glanced at you briefly and then shook his head. “No.”

The word is so simple and definitive in his mouth that it caught you off guard. So much so that you found yourself fighting amusement. “What do you mean no?”

“Just what I said, damn it. You hard of hearing all of a sudden?”

“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hadn’t wanted to press his buttons. Truly. But what right does he have to spew insults as if you were the one screaming at him on his front porch? Your tone was condescending as you said, “Come on. Try it with me; congrats! I’m sooo happy things are finally going your way! I’m glad I could be of help! No problem at all-!”

“Cut that shit out.”

“Me? You first.”

His jaw feathered as he clenched his teeth. He ashed his cigarette out of the open window and then sighed again, calmer this time. “Alright. I’m…”

“Sorry?”

His throat bobbed as if he tried to get the word out but it didn’t quite make it to his tongue. Instead, he just said, “Yeah.”

This time, you’re the one sighing. “It’s okay.”

Another few seconds of silence passed between you, but they were not as uncomfortable as they’d been when you’d first gotten into the truck. Less tension, less anger. And then he said, “Don’t want you drivin’ anywhere in that thing in the middle of the night.”

Your heart pinched in your chest at the words. They’re said with a certain sort of irritation, but yet they’re still so… protective. It’s not something you’ve ever had before, but in the last few days he’s given you a taste and it isn’t until now that you realized you’d developed a craving for it. “Why not?”

“Ain’t safe. Could break down again any second. Leave you stranded at midnight in the middle of nowhere. God knows the kinda people you’re servin’ at that place, would consider themselves lucky to find ya on the side of the road.” He shook his head as if to clear the image from his mind. “I’ll just keep takin’ ya.”

Even though you fought the warmth that crawled up your cheeks, you know he could tell his words did something to you. Joel’s attention left the road for only long enough to steal a fleeting glance at your face, and when he turned back to the task at hand he snorted incredulously. 

But it’s the first time that anyone has ever considered your safety and altered their routine to make it a priority. It makes you feel special and warm and…wanted. And you know it’s likely your daddy issues blurring the lines once again, but you just can’t help yourself or the way your mind jumped to conclusions. “Is that your way of saying you care about me?”

He pressed his fingertips into his temple to massage away a headache. “Stop that.”

You didn’t listen. Of course, you don’t. You leaned in closer, hands on the empty leather seat between you. “Aww… who would've thought Joel Miller would secretly be a softie?” You’d never been so close to him before, so close that you could see the brown-colored freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose.

You swallowed down your sudden nerves due to the close proximity, enjoying the way Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I said cut it out. Sit back down the right way ‘fore I get a ticket.”

It was impossible to follow his orders now, not after seeing how easy it was to rile him up.

Moving even closer, your lips a breath's distance away from Joel’s neck, you whispered, “I think you like the attention.”

“I think you’re mistaken,” he huffed back, but his voice lacked the bite he intended, much softer than the way he was yelling at Tommy earlier. His gaze flicked over to you, watching with an intense curiosity, but only momentarily. 

“I won’t tell you again,” Joel commanded, brushing you back to your seat with a gentle shove of his elbow.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t?” you questioned, although you were sitting back in your seat like he asked you to. “Punish me? Spank me?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, I oughta. Maybe it’d finally teach you some manners,” Joel glanced over to catch your eye. “Anyone ever told you that you got a real weird sense of humor?”

Shrugging, you couldn’t help the slide smirk that spread across your face. “Blame it on my daddy issues.”

Joel didn’t even try to hide his disbelief, a red flush rising from the top of his collarbones and up his neck.

“Lord help me,” he whispered under his breath. 

You granted him a bit of grace, ending your teasing and opting to enjoy the sound of music playing on the radio for the rest of the ride. It was always peaceful riding with Joel, the heat of the summer breeze warming your face. 

From the heady smell of Joel’s Marlboros to the shrill voice of The Smashing Pumpkins playing over the speakers; the comfort of the situation always made you want to break down Joel’s walls. You wanted to see what he was like when he was entirely vulnerable, what he looked like when he woke up in the morning and didn’t have the opportunity to remember all his worries.

From that moment, you decided that you would get Joel to open up one way or another.

Your heart dropped a little when he pulled into the bar's parking lot, his tires crunching against the loose gravel. Joel’s long fingers were swift, reaching to the radio to turn down the music. 

Things felt weird, that same intensity from the moment you’d gotten into the car returning. It felt like he wanted to say something, his mouth twitching before his lips were pressed into a straight line.

“I wasn’t joking, y’know,” you said, hoping to break the awkward silence of saying goodbye. 

Joel didn’t say anything, the curious raise of his eyebrow speaking for him. 

“About wanting you to spank me,” you snipped back, hopping out of his truck right after you admitted it to him. You could see what appeared to be a stifled smile forming on his lips as he shook his head. It made you feel good that you were able to distract him from reality for even a couple of minutes. God knew he needed it.

“See you at midnight. Stay out of trouble,” he called back from his truck, waiting to leave until he watched you safely enter the building.

He was on your brain your entire shift, which wasn’t unusual. What was different now was the pieces of information you’d found out, ranging from his argument with Tommy and his little resistance to your flirting.

So, of course, curiosity killed the cat. On your break you found yourself googling a string of searches; Joel Miller, Tommy, Joel and Tommy, until eventually you landed on an old company website.

Miller Bros Construction Company.

It was outdated, with inquiries and testimonials from years ago, but it did answer a couple of your questions. After clicking on the “about us” tab, you saw a photo of a much younger, happier-looking Joel. 

His arm was thrown around Tommy’s shoulder, a huge smile plastered on his face. If you didn’t know every inch of Joel’s face, you would’ve considered that it wasn’t actually him. He looked so… happy. It broke your heart to know that he had become half of the man he used to be.

‘Brothers Joel and Tommy Miller have been serving the greater population of Austin, TX for several years,’ the tab read, confirming your suspicions that they were related. You glanced at Tommy, happily smiling next to Joel, directly contradicting what you’d seen earlier.

The inquiry tab at the bottom was broken, redirecting to a no longer active form.

Christ. His daughter's death had indeed ruined him. It had sucked all of the happiness out of Joel, leaving him angry and alone. He pushed everything good and decent away.

You spent the rest of your break lurking, sifting through Tommy’s Facebook page, seeing his now solely owned business booming. He had a pretty fiancé, and things honestly looked good for him. You noticed that Joel was nowhere on his page, but you would occasionally see photos of Tommy and Sarah beaming together before she’d gotten sick.

The guilt of it all had eaten at you, so severely that you decided to buy a burger plate before the kitchen closed for the night. Joel had gone out of his way to take care of you, to take you back and forth from work, even though he grumbled about it. He deserved to feel taken care of in return.

Plus, you were almost certain that his diet mainly consisted of cigarettes and alcohol. How he still looked so goddamn good was a question you’d never have answered.  

When you left work, it was like clockwork; Joel’s truck sat outside the building, waiting for you.

The sun was long gone by now, so it was difficult to see Joel sitting in the driver's seat. You’d hoped that he had cooled off from earlier, especially now that you know more about the context of the argument. 

You plopped into the passenger seat, greeting Joel only by placing the plate of food on the center console.

“What’s this?” Joel questioned, no hello or how was your shift? Typical Joel Miller.

“What’s it look like? I got you dinner.”

He rolled his eyes, pointing a finger at the clock display. “It’s midnight.”

“And…?” He raised his brows and you clicked your tongue in response. “When was the last time you had a meal that wasn’t made in a microwave?”

Joel fixed you with a stare, and something lingered in his eyes that you couldn’t quite make out. It’s as if he’s trying to decide whether to yell at you or simply say thank you. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” he stated, but there was no malice in it. 

“I know. I wanted to.” You shrugged casually because it was truly nothing to you. But apparently, Joel didn’t see it that way.

The truck sat idle in the parking lot. He said nothing for several seconds, which felt far too long. It was dark—the only illumination provided was the distant street lamps outside, but you swore you could see the corners of his mouth turn up. Not quite a smile, but something. And it made you feel so victorious that you thought about mentioning it, about making some snide remark, but know better by now. 

Instead, you teased him. “At this rate, I might as well pack a bag and stay the night here.”

Joel scoffed but turned the key in the ignition anyway. “You got a mouth on you, girl. That’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t sent me away yet. So there must be something you like about it, right?”

He doesn’t agree but he doesn’t deny it, either. Still, sarcasm dripped off his tongue as he said, “Somethin’ like that.”

When he turned the radio up, a rock ballad played and put you at ease. You start to realize that these quiet moments with him are the lightest part of your days. Nothing to think about but the way the cool wind hit your face and the sound of his soft humming from behind the wheel. It’s simple and good and you feel safe.

When he pulled into the trailer park a short while later, you almost hated to see it end. For a split second, you debated inviting him over in an attempt to extend your time together. But you knew that after the day he’s had, he probably didn’t want the company. So instead, you gathered your things and hopped out of the truck. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Hang on a sec.”

You paused with your hand on the passenger door. “Yeah?”

Joel hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was, “Uh..” His eyes darted everywhere but yours. The dashboard, the steering wheel, his hands - everywhere but you.

He’s nervous, you realized. Uneasy. You tried to comfort him. “What is it?”

“I, uh…I was just wonderin’ if, I don’t know. You wanna… split it with me?” He pointed to the takeout container. “Or you could have a drink, or…do you drink?”

Your heart was doing somersaults behind your sternum. A girlish giggle left you despite your attempts to hide your excitement. Through a face-splitting grin, you asked, “Like a date?”

“Christ,” he sneered. “You know what? I take it back. Never-”

“I’m kidding!” Your laughter filled the cab of the truck. “I’m just kidding, Joel, I swear. Of course, I’ll come in for a drink.”

He looked hesitant, and at first, you thought it was because of how you’d been pulling his leg all night. By the time you had made it inside of his trailer, you realized that he was probably a little nervous on account of the mess in his living room.

Empty bud light bottles covered the surface of the side table next to his couch. An ashtray haphazardly placed on the kitchen counter was long overdue to be emptied, ash and half-smoked cigarettes threatening to spill over. Next to it were a couple of prescription bottles, the print too small for you to make out what they were supposed to be treating.

No matter how you felt about the place, you understood how difficult it all must’ve been for Joel. It wasn’t dirty or anything, just unkempt, a man overwhelmed by grief too distracted to focus on cleaning.

“It’s not much to see, but feel free to make yourself at home,” Joel said, slipping past you at the front door to place the bag of food down on the kitchen counter. You watched him momentarily, taking in the normalcy of his routine.

His movements to wash his hands before eating, the clatter of plates being pulled out of the dishwasher. Watching him in his element relaxed you. You tried to envision what it was like in the home when Sarah was still alive, filling the space with her innocent laughter. 

“I won’t bite,” Joel spoke, pulling you out of your own head. Your gaze refocused, a quiet sense of fulfillment washing over you as you watched him for a fleeting second. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you chirped back, toeing out of your work shoes and heading over to his leather couch. A knitted blanket thrown across the leather prevented the back of your legs from pressing against the cold material, and you were grateful. 

“Do you get pleasure outta givin’ me a hard time or something?” Joel asked, plopping next to you. He slid a plate over to your side of the coffee table, pulling the table forward slightly so you’d be able to reach it easier. He placed two beers on the table, too, and cracked the seal of yours. It’s such a small but gentlemanly thing to do, and you try not to think too hard about how it makes your heart swell.  

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until he unwrapped the bag and split the food between the two of you, your stomach growling in response. 

“I just like seeing you squirm,” you joked, noticing how Joel shook his head and snorted under his breath. Both of you ate together, quietly but comfortably. 

You were sure that Joel spent most of his nights like this, in his living room with the TV flashing light across the walls of the house. It made you feel good that you were there to change his routine so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

The longer that time passed and the less food on your plate created an odd sense of pressure, that you were running out of time to pull something new out of Joel. Being in his home was an accomplishment on its own, but you still had a challenge with yourself to learn even more.

“Do you wanna, uh,” you began to speak, picking at one of your fries to fill the awkward space, “y’know… talk about earlier?”

“Nope,” he replied without hesitation, which you probably should’ve expected. Your pout was uncontrollable, discouraged by his instant lack of vulnerability. But you weren’t going to force him to talk, because he’d for sure shut down. 

“Not to be cheesy or anything, but you’re pretty decent to be around, once you stopped being an asshole all the time,” you said, finishing the final bite of your fry. “If you ever need to talk about shit, I’m probably the best option you got here. Kathy tells everyone’s business, so.”

Joel actually chuckled at that, a deep, rumbling sound that made your gut twist. “I didn’t plan on talkin’ to anybody about anything, much less Kathy. But thanks.”

You nodded, a pang of disappointment flickering through your abdomen.

That night, you thanked him for the company and he promised to meet you in the afternoon right on time. The same routine you’ve had all week. 

You and Joel get good at routines. Because the next night when you brought him dinner again, he didn’t even ask if you’d like to eat with him. He just said, “Picked up some sodas earlier. Figured you might want that instead of beer.”

And just like that, it became a nightly thing. The cooks at the bar don’t even ask what you want any more, they simply have the food finished by the time you’re ready to meet Joel in the parking lot. You had even occasionally fallen asleep in his living room, the comforting sound of the TV humming and Joel’s even breathing lulling you to sleep.

He always made sure to throw a blanket over you and quietly slip into his room, never waking you or forcing you to leave. It was an unspoken rule.

So, due to your growing interest in Joel and alleviating some of his stress, you decided to take a leap. One morning you’d woken up on Joel’s couch after falling asleep there the night before. Joel wasn’t home, which wasn’t unusual since he sometimes picked up odd jobs at the mechanic's shop in town to pay the bills. 

It was the perfect opportunity to clean his house. You weren’t sure how he was going to feel about it, but you were only going to take out the trash and leave everything else as it was. You didn’t need him hollering at you for moving his shit around.

You had a good four hours to just clean out the place, and Jesus, you needed it. It appeared that he didn’t have any other cleaning products besides bleach and dish soap, which you couldn’t really use to get some old stains out of the carpet. It had taken you an hour of rifling through your own stuff to get the correct products and supplies to make a dent. 

By the time you finished a couple hours later, you had three trash bags full of random newspapers, beer cans, and whatever other miscellaneous stuff you were sure Joel wouldn’t be upset to part with. Surprisingly, you hadn’t seen anything belonging to Sarah, no pictures hanging on the wall, no toys, nothing that indicated that anyone besides Joel had lived there.

That was until you’d decided to step into the room towards the back of the trailer. Joel’s bedroom was hardly used, his bed made and room clean, indicating that he probably spent most of his nights on the couch, so you didn’t bother cleaning that space. You were, however, curious about the spare room.

As soon as you’d opened it, you knew why you couldn’t find anything of Sarah’s. It was like a museum, a room stuck in time. Light pink paint covered the wall, the late afternoon sun streaming in colorful rays through the sheer purple curtains. The bed was made, without a wrinkle in sight, with a little teddy bear tucked in, as if it was keeping the bed warm for Sarah’s return.

You stepped in a little, taking in the small details; the photos of Joel and Sarah hugging on the wall, a little caboodle makeup box, and nail polishes lined up against the dresser. What truly broke your heart was the oxygen tank that was placed next to her bed, still attached to the mask. 

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” spoke a voice from behind you, almost causing your body to jump out of its skin. You whipped around to see an absolutely fuming Joel watching you with narrowed eyes. You stammered, quickly trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I was cleaning and I thought, I mean I was thinking that-“

Joel quickly approached you, his face only a mere breath away from yours. You were too anxious to even notice the closeness because you knew he was beyond pissed. You don’t think he was even this mad when he was fighting with Tommy.

“I don’t know why you think that you’re entitled to comin’ into my life, touchin’ my shit, steppin’ foot into this room, but guess what? You’re not.” He spat, stepping even closer to you. You felt tiny, like a bug ready to be squashed by a foot. 

“You don’t mean shit to me. Just because your life is fucked up doesn’t mean I need you to try to come into mine and save me. I don’t wanna be saved. Now get the hell outta my house,” he spoke, his voice unwavering and scarily calm. It took every ounce of strength inside of you not to cry, not to shout, because you knew he didn’t mean it. You had crossed his invisible line, despite not doing it intentionally.

But you weren’t strong enough to control your emotions, and eventually, the pressure of Joel’s angry words left your eyes watering. Though your jaw was clenched and your face wasn’t giving much away, Joel easily saw past the facade and noticed the tears welling up in your eyes.

And he scoffed. A quick laugh, right in your face, at seeing your tears. 

“Christ, you gonna cry now? Upset that you don’t got no daddy here to comfort you, gotta take out all your trauma on me? Fuckin’ pathetic.” 

Your tears turned from hurt, into angry, hot streams rolling down your face.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

You could feel your blood pumping in your head, so angry that you could break something. He was lucky that you made your way straight out of his house instead of grabbing all of the trash bags and pouring them right back onto the floor. 

You knew that he was self-destructing, that he was pushing you away because you were too good for him, but it didn’t make his words hurt any less. He wasn’t wrong. You did take interest in him because he was broken, similar to yourself. Despite that, it didn’t hurt any less.

As painful as it was to believe, you began to wonder if he had fooled you.

Maybe all that remained of Joel Miller was the worst part of him.

[part two]

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.�� Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[xifere]

xifere presents… kenji sato x gn!reader

content warnings… 18+, not proofread, sub!kenji sato, edging, solo masturbation, pet names, praise kink, might be a lil ooc, kenji can’t be discreet over the phone

How embarrassing, really, Kenji thought. He stared at himself in the mirror across from him as he sat on the edge of his neatly made bed, hands positioned behind him. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like months, and now the evidence was staring right back at him, though covered by the thick layer of his black sweats. It ached. He wanted nothing more than to relieve himself, but he knew himself. He can’t cum without your help.

And yet, he was desperate. Already, he was breathing heavily as he took a shaky hand and palmed his clothes dick. He let out a deep sigh before pulling down the waistband of his sweats juuuust enough for his cock to bobble up. The air was cold against his sensitive tip, and a hiss left his lips. Kenji wasted no time wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, just the way you do, trying to stimulate the same movements you used. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of himself biting his lip with a slightly flushed face in an attempt to hush himself from sounding so pathetic.

He imagined you behind him, guiding him to his orgasm, and the image itself makes him forget any rational thoughts.

“Fu-hhhh…”

That one time you really did sit behind him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears, reminding him how much of a slut he was for you while praising him all the same, popped up in his mind, and he couldn't help but stroke faster. Your sultry voice, your breath on his ears, the teasing kisses you gave him. Oh, how he fucking mi–

A loud ringtone filled the quiet room. Startled, he let go of himself, and his incoming orgasm was lost. But he quickly recognized the ringtone– it was the one he picked specifically for you.

But shit. Could the timing have been any worse better? At this point, his tip was fuming. An angry red, his slit trickling pre. He couldn't stop now, but he wasn't going to skip your call either.

“Hey baby… what's up?”

“Just wanted to say you did great today, sweetheart. I saw your little heroic moment on the news.” God, and the first thing you do is praise him. He feels like a horny teen again, the way he wraps his hands around his cock just to jerk off at the sound of your voice. You wouldn't mind though, right?

A shaky, “Yea?” was all he could manage without revealing his actions to you.

“Mhm, and also just to say sorry for not being able to see you lately. Work has been so busy and…” he could listen to you for hours. He stroked himself to the pace of your words, squeezing tighter every time he went over his tip. He couldn't do the same motions as you, his brain already too preoccupied with you and his need to empty his balls.

“Ken? Ken, baby, I know it’s been a few days, but if you’ve missed me that much, you could've just told me.”

He didn't even realize. He'd already gotten too comfortable, his back against the bed, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other hand stroking his cock, and his throat eliciting all the evidence you could ever ask for. You'd never mistake these moans for anything but pleas for pleasure.

But being caught only spurred him on more. “Hahh– missed… you s’ much…” You couldn't hear them as well as his breathy groans, but the sound of slick was filling up the room, slowly but surely.

“Don’t you dare cum, Ken.” He stopped. A whine. You loved it. The way the pitch of his voice rose when he didn't get what he wanted. And he wanted more, so why should he listen? He thought he would break with how much his cock ached. Yet his hand was still at the base of his dick. “I’m coming over right now, so sit pretty like the good boy you are.”

He so terribly wanted to disobey you, show you he doesn't always have to be a good boy for you, but he knew himself. He wouldn't have been able to cum without you anyways.

[vampzity]

pussy drunk! han jisung who can’t get enough of you. He wants you all to himself, but he doesn’t wanna push you to commit if it’s not something you want.

He loves inviting you to his apartment—especially when he’s making music. He tends to do it on purpose so that you can bug him about giving you attention. And boy, he can’t resist it when you beg like that; eyes all pouted and cheeks flushed from the heat inside of you.

You got out of bed, standing behind him and watching as he worked diligently. You sighed, moving his things out of the way and sitting yourself onto his desk. Han tried to act shocked, but in his mind this is exactly what he wanted— a bold reaction out of you.

Your hand ruffled his hair softly as you pulled him loser to your waist. He brought his hands up your sides, lifting your shirt softly as he placed soft kisses against your stomach. He tugged at your underwear, his kisses trailing to the band. He glanced at you, your pleading eyes meeting his own as he pulled them down. They dropped to the floor as you spread your legs once again, revealing your glistening cunt before him.

“Look how pretty you are baby.”

He spread your folds with his thumb, running it against your clit softly. You threw your head back in response, breath hitched as he played with you.

“Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to play with you?”

You nodded feeling your body heat up under his touch. He leaned over, lapping at your juices as his thumb swirled around your bud. You tasted so sweet, it was as if he was thirsty for a taste of you.

You whimpered softly as his tongue worked you, his lips pressing against your clit as he sucked on it. His tongue flicked your bud quickly, giving you an overwhelming feeling of pleasure. His eyes pierced into your skin as he watched you fall apart, but he couldn’t stop now. You tasted so good, he craved more of you. He was infatuated— drunk in you.

“You like that princess?” he stuck two fingers into you, pumping them slowly as they curled against your sweet spot.

A soft moan escaped your lips, your legs spreading farther to allow more access for him. His tongue ran itself across your folds, swirling around your sensitive bud hungrily. His pace sped up as he felt your back arch above him, desperate to make you finish.

“Taste so good on my tongue.”

You gripped at his brown locks, only pushing him further into your cunt. He made a mess out of your clit, fingers still pushing further into you with every second. He was in deep— so deep he stuck in another finger, feeding off your whines and cries. Three fingers were too much— which was crazy when you adjust to his dick just as easily.

“Oh don’t be like that.” you squirmed on the desk, your moans becoming uncontrollable.

“Take it like a good girl for me.”

Your walls spasmed around his fingers as he fucked them into you, his tongue flicking at your bud. Within seconds you came undone, your juices spilling out into his mouth. His chin dripped in your arousal, but he got every last drop he could as if he wouldn’t get anything else for months.

He sat back in his seat, watching your soaked cunt drip onto his desk.

“So,” he pressed his thumb against your bud, making you jump at how sensitive you were. You met his hooded eyes, a tint of lust coloring them.

“Gonna let me stuff this pretty thing with my cock next?”

💌: this was a spur of the moment thing.. munch han gotta be one of my favorite genres, gimme 14 of em stat!!!!

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[moremaybank]

jj eats you out for sport. he lives for it. but sometimes he can get just a lil' mean about it. (18+)

he spits onto the core of your panties, letting it soak the barely existing lace fabric before he starts to lick you up through it. just slow, languid licks across your most sensitive spots, feeling the way your achy hole clenches and flutters in need.

then when he believes that you've endured enough of the agonizing torture that was his teasing, he pulls them back and buries his face in your cunt. he slurps every inch of you up, paying extra attention to your hard, pulsating clit just the way you like. swivelling his tongue over and around it. wrapping his spit and arousal-slicked lips around it and sucking with little to no mercy. telling you i love you solely with the actions of his gifted mouth.

his only instinct in this moment is to make you feel loved. make you feel appreciated and attended to. make you feel good. just fucking good.

you're pawing at him the best you can from his place between your legs. fingers splaying through his hair and tugging roughly at the roots. both hands clawing at his shoulder blades and dragging down the lengths of his arms. they find solace atop his larger ones, where they were curled around the muscles of your trembling thighs. his short nails bite into your skin a tad, and he groans into you.

the vibrations you gain from it are immaculate.

"j, s'too much. n-need a break."

but your body works hard against you. it betrays you.

your cream pools out of you, dripping down toward your ass and down jj's chin.

he pulls back from you, unable to halt the incoming smirk. "see, your mouth is sayin' one thing but this sweet pussy's sayin' another. think she needs more. think she needs me, baby."

your hole squelches as he punts his fingers inside you, colliding with your g spot. it effectively makes you melt. his thumb works at your puffy clit, and your eyes nearly cross.

"mmm, j," you mewl, going tense as your orgasm got closer and closer within your reach.

"mmm, mama," he says, mocking you and giving you a false look of sympathy. you're always so pretty when you cry out for him. "love it when i eat it, don't you? got your tight pussy wrapped 'round my fingers."

you let out a strangled whine, your poor legs starting to shake again, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train. heat and pure bliss courses through your veins, and your chest heaves violently as you fight like hell to catch your breath.

but his fingers don't stop, and his mouth gravitates to your pussy like a fucking magnet. he sucks and flicks and practically makes out with your clit while his fingers continue their hard work.

you're screaming out — for mercy or what, you have clue — and he spurs you on, this time with more praises.

"y'got it, mama. fuckin' squirt for me."

and you do. oh, you do.

your pussy always works in his favour.

"yeaaah, look at that, mama. still goin, huh? that's right, let me take care a'ya. y'know i will."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[pinkboaclub]

Love On Tour

Summary: You accompany Harry on Tour, when things get too stressful, you’re there to help.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings & More: entirely smut, kind of Soft Dom, praise kink, LOT Harry, I last minute changed this from present to past tense, so if there’s any mistakes, sorry !

You slipped on Harry's favorite lingerie, a sweet spring yellow set that complemented your skin tone perfectly. He was on tour, performing his new album, and you, as his girlfriend, were accompanying him. The tour had recently been catching up to him, each night he would come home, exhausted from giving 100 percent on stage each night. So today, you decided to give him the stress reliever he needed.

When you hear the key card slide into the lock, your heart raced. This was it, the moment you had been dreaming about all day. As the door opens, Harry's exhausted frame comes in the doorway. He sighed heavily, dropping his bag to the floor before he spots you, lounging on the bed in nothing but the yellow lingerie he loves so much. A slow, hungry smile spreads across his face.

"Hi, beautiful girl."

You give him a seductive smile, patting the space on the bed next to you. He doesn't need further invitation, stripping off his shirt, revealing his toned body, a testament to the rigorous tour schedule.

"What's all this for?" He asked with a cheeky smile, undoing his belt as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed.

"I wanted to help you out," You replied, now taking control of his belt yourself, stripping it from his pants. "You've been so stressed out and tired recently...I want to please you, make you feel good."

Once you unbutton and unzip his pants, and free his growing length from his boxers, you start to give his halfway hard dick a massage, running your hand up over and over from the tip to the base.

"Mm, that's it," Harry murmurs, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you work his cock. You lean in and kiss the tip, feeling his pulse under your lips.

"You suck so good, baby," he says, stroking your hair as you take him into your mouth. His words make you feel powerful, like you're the one in charge of his pleasure. You start to suck him deeper, feeling him harden against your tongue. You're eager to show him just how much you want to please him.

"Look at you," Harry says, his voice a low rumble of praise. "You're so beautiful in your pretty lingerie."

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you kept going, taking him deeper into your mouth, your eyes never leaving his. You started to pick up speed, your tongue swirling around the tip, teasing the slit before taking him in deeper again. You could feel him getting harder, his grip on your hair tightening slightly. His praise only spurred you on, making you want to give him the best blowjob he'd ever had.

You moved faster now, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him with everything you had. Harry's breath hitches, his eyes rolled back in his head as he watched you. His voice strained, his words coming out as breathy moans of pleasure.

"That's it," he whispers, "you're doing so good, baby."

Encouraged by his words, you sped up, your lips gliding along his shaft as you took him deeper and faster into your mouth. You felt his cock throb against your tongue, and the salty taste of him became more intense. Harry's hips started to move with you, gently thrusting into your mouth as he lost control. The sound of your suckling filled the quiet hotel room, echoing off the walls.

Suddenly, you lifted your head, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. You look up at him with hooded eyes, a smirk playing on your lips. You enjoy the power you hold over him at that moment. Harry's eyes were dark with desire, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked down at you, his pupils dilated with lust.

In your sex life, Harry was definitely the more dominant one, if there was one, but that definitely didn't stop you from having some level of control over him when you looked deep into his eyes as you sucked his cock.

He reached down, gently gripping the base of his cock to stop you. "My turn," he says, his voice gruff with desire. He stood up, pulling you up to your feet and walking you over to the bed. "Lay down," he commands, his voice firm but not unkind. You obeyed, feeling a thrill of excitement shoot through you as you lay back on the edge of the bed.

"I hate to take this off you so quickly, but I don't mind getting a look at your pretty pussy."

He knelt before you, his eyes feasting on the sight before him. He took a deep breath, his nose flaring at the sweet scent of your arousal. Without wasting another second, he dived in, his tongue pressing against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Oh, Harry," you moan, your hips bucking slightly as he lapped at your folds. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and teasing until you felt like you were going to burst. You held onto the bed for dear life, your knuckles turning white.

"Keep going," you whine, your voice needy. Harry's eyes meet yours, a smirk playing on his lips as he saw how much you were enjoying this. He didn’t say a word, just continued his sweet torment, his tongue delving deeper into your pussy, exploring every inch of you like he's savoring a fine dessert.

Your legs shook as Harry's mouth moved in perfect rhythm with your body, his tongue teasing your clit, then plunging into your wetness, only to retreat again. You couldn’t help but moan, the sound echoing in the hotel room. His praise was constant, whispered sweet nothings that make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"You're the perfect girl for me...I love hearing your sweat moans."

You felt Harry's breath against your pussy, hot and heavy, as he started to lick you again. You laid on the end of the bed, your legs up and apart, giving him full access to your most intimate parts. You held your legs up under your knees, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on by the way he was looking at you. His eyes were full of hunger, and the way his tongue moves against your clit was like nothing you'd ever felt before.

"You're so pretty, baby," Harry murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "Your pussy is so sweet, it tastes perfect."

With a final, lingering kiss to your clit, Harry stood up, his cock fully erect. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the very edge of the bed. You watch as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against your wet entrance. He looked down at you with a fiery gaze, and you nodded, begging for more.

"Ready for me, baby?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. You nodded eagerly, your heart racing as you felt the tip of his cock pressing against you.

With one swift movement, Harry entered you, filling you completely. You gasped, the feeling of him inside you was so intense it was almost overwhelming. He started to move, his strokes deep and firm, his praise never ending.

"Look at me, baby," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're so pretty when you're taking my cock."

You moan, the sensation of being filled by him while he praised you, pushing you closer to the edge. He started to move faster, his cock pumped in and out of you with a ferocity that left you breathless. Each thrust was met with a "good girl" or "so sweet" from his lips, and it only made you want to cum quicker and harder.

"Look at you, taking me so good," Harry said, his voice strained. He grabbed your hips, his fingers digged into your skin as he fucked you with a perfect rhythm. You whimpered, the pleasure building up inside you. "Keep those legs up, baby."

You did as you were told, your muscles quivering from the effort of holding up your legs as Harry's cock hit just the right spot. The bed shook with each thrust, the headboard thumped against the wall.

"You're so wet, baby," Harry groaned, his eyes never leaving the spot where his cock entered you. "Such a pretty puffy pussy...were you waiting for this darling? Waiting all day for me to come and fuck you?"

"Yes, yes." You whimpered out, overcome by the pleasure his cock was giving you.

His strokes grew more demanding, his breathing ragged as he watched his cock slide in and out of you. Your pussy clenched around him, desperate for release, and he could feel it. "You're going to cum for me, baby," he whispered, his eyes dark with lust. "You're going to let go and show me how much you love it."

You moaned out, the feeling in your stomach different from a standard orgasm. "'m… gonna squirt, Harry."

"Yeah?" he growled, his eyes locked on yours, his strokes becoming more powerful. "Gonna soak me, honey?"

You felt it, your stomach twisting in a delicious knot, your pussy tightening around him. Harry's grip on your hips grew stronger, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched the pleasure wash over your face. You nodded frantically, unable to form words as the pressure grew.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, his voice low and guttural. "Let it out, baby. I want to feel it all."

Your stomach twisted tighter and tighter as Harry's relentless rhythm continued, his praises only adding to the high building inside of you. Your eyes squeezed shut as the pressure became unbearable, and then, with a final, desperate whimper, you let go. The orgasm ripped through you, your body shuddered and convulsed around him as you squirted, soaking him and the bed beneath you.

"Oh, fuck," Harry gasped, his eyes struck with amazement and desire as he watched the sight before him. "Made such a mess on me, baby. Does your pussy love my cock that much?" he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he felt your pussy clench and pulse around his cock.

"Yes, love your cock so much." You moaned out, breathless from the powerful climax your body just went through.

"Good girl," Harry said, his voice soothing. He slowed his strokes, giving you a moment to recover before he starts to build the rhythm again. You felt his cock swell inside you, his own climax approaching. "I want you to cum again," he murmurs, his thumb brushed against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

You whimpered, your body already so sensitive from the first orgasm that you weren't sure if you can handle more. But Harry knew exactly what he was doing, his skilled fingers and cock working in tandem to push you towards the edge again.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "You're so close." His thrusts were relentless. He forgot about his own orgasm and pleasure, only working to hit your g spot over and over again.

"Look at me," Harry commanded, his eyes boring into yours as he sped up again. "Tell me how much you love this."

You obeyed, looking up at him with a mix of adoration and desperation. "I love it, Harry," you whisper, your voice strained. "I love your cock so much."

He smiled, pleased with your response, and leaned down to kiss you hard, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hips slammed in and out of you. You felt him getting closer, his strokes becoming more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening. You know he won't last much longer.

"Please," you beg, your voice breathless, "I want to feel you cum inside me."

"Not yet, baby," Harry said, his own voice tight with restraint. He slowed his movements, his eyes never leaving yours. "'m gonna make you cum again first."

You whimpered, your body already on the edge. Harry's fingers worked their magic, playing your clit like a maestro with a violin, and you felt your orgasm building again. "Please, Harry," you begged, your voice shaking. "I need you to fill me up."

He pulled out, your pussy feeling empty without his thick cock inside you. You watched as he lined up with your pussy again, the head of his cock glistened with your juices. With one smooth thrust, he was back inside, filling you completely. You let out a gasp, your legs trembling uncontrollably. Harry started to pump into you, his movements slow and deliberate at first, building up the intensity.

You felt your orgasm approaching like a freight train, barreling down the tracks of pleasure. Harry's praise turned into growls of encouragement, his eyes dark with hunger as he watched you. "That's it, baby," he murmured. "Cum for me."

The next few seconds feel like an eternity as your body tensed, your muscles tightened around his cock. And then, with a scream that you didn't know you had in you, you did. Your pussy clenched and spasmed, another powerful orgasm ripped through your body, making your legs shake so badly you think they might snap.

As your body relaxed and the aftershocks of your climax faded, Harry's eyes darken even more. He grabbed your hips and started to fuck you harder, his strokes deep and demanding. You could feel his own orgasm building, his cock swelling even more inside you.

"Fuck, baby," he said, his voice strained. His grip tightened, his hips snapped against yours with each thrust.

Harry slammed into you one final time, his cock pulsed as he came deep inside you. You felt his warmth fill you, and it's the most incredible feeling in the world.

His eyes darkened with satisfaction as he pulled out of you, a soft smile played on his lips. "You're so beautiful," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving down to kiss your cheeks, your neck, and finally, your still-swollen lips. You could taste yourself on him, and the idea of it makes your insides melt. He pulled back, a finger lingering on your pussy, tracing the mess you both created.

"Look how beautifully we've made you," Harry whispered, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He ran his finger up your sensitive slit, the mix of his seed and your juices made you quiver. "So wet, so tight...my cum inside you," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

He brought his finger up to your mouth, his finger shined with your combined releases and you obediently part your lips, taking his finger inside. You sucked greedily, the tang of him mingled with your own flavor making your stomach fill with butterflies.

"You're so good, baby," Harry praised, watching the intimate act with a gentle smile. "So, so good." His thumb traced over your bottom lip as you suck, the sweetness of his words made your heart flutter.

tag list !

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf @maudie-duan @gilwm @mads3502

[sceletaflores]

he’s a good time, cowboy casanova!

pair: cowboy!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 9.4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, alternate universe/no powers, swearing, drinking, smoking, probably some inaccuracies about ranch life idk i haven't been around a horse in like two years, logan working a lasso yes god, age gap (early 40s/mid 20s), THE COWBOY HAT RULE RAAAHHH, nasty dirty talk, i was so horny for kissing when i was writing this jesus, p in v, unprotected sex (do as sex ed tells you, not as i write), semi-public sex, riding, creampie, some emotional constipation cause it’s me, porn with a little too much plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: another purely self indulgent work...i just fucking love cowboys what can i say. it's practically ingrained in me by this point. logan would never dance but like who cares he's my barbie i can make him do whatever i want! kisses <3

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

a cowboy and the governor’s daughter walk into a barn...

The ranch is alive like you've never seen before, almost every acre lit up in celebration of your father's recent inauguration.

Twinkling lights strung around the barn's ceiling cast a warm orange glow all around you, flickering like fireflies on a summer night.

People are everywhere—laughing, mingling, drinking. Their faces both familiar and new, dressed in everything from head-to-toe denim to their Sunday best.

The lively music from the band floats through the space, couples on the makeshift dance floor twirling to the familiar twang of an acoustic guitar.

You take it all in from your spot against the wall, drink in hand as your eyes scan the room.

You did your share of mingling earlier in the evening, greeting the higher-up’s in your city with hugs and thanks.

You posed for pictures that’ll be splashed across the front pages of Monday’s paper, listened to your father’s speech as you stood by his side with a smile.

This is the first moment you've gotten to yourself since the ball started, one you've spent in content silence while enjoying the perks of an open bar.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all by your lonesome?"

The honeyed rasp of a voice filtering in from your left paired with the jingling sound of spurs against the soft ground grabs your attention.

At first, you turn ready to greet a stray boutique or feedstore owner you may have missed earlier. You’re pleasantly surprised to see Marie sauntering towards you instead, a bright grin on her face that makes you smile right back.

Marie was one of the first people you met after moving to Texas at the beginning of your father's campaign, and you've only gotten closer since she started as a ranch hand down at Blackbird.

Her unruly red curls spill out from under her Stetson, the bouncy strands swinging in time with the white fringe of her show-shirt as she opens her arms.

"Thought you might have gotten lost in all the fancy folk," she teases, nearly crushing you with the strength of her hug.

You laugh as you hug her back, the warmth of her embrace a welcome interruption to your moment of peace and quiet. Her scent wraps around you, the familiar dust and lavender that's seeped into her clothes.

"Definitely not lost," you say, stepping back to meet her gaze. "Just taking it all in."

Marie smirks, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside you, crossing her arms as she watches the crowd.

"Sure is a good night for it," she says, glancing over at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Lookin' for anyone in particular? A nice night cap?"

You snort, taking another sip of your drink. Marie has always been more invested in your love life than you, hand picking guys from around town she deems worthy enough of your attention.

You know she means well, and it's almost as endearing as it is pesky, so you let her play matchmaker from time to time.

“I don’t need a night cap,” you laugh, shaking your head sluggishly. "I’m perfectly fine spending tonight alone."

Before Marie can respond, a stir from outside filters in. Loud cheers and hollers, hooves beating against dirt, the distinct whistle of a lasso slicing through the air.

Marie practically squeals, excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she peers through the barn doors. “It’s starting!”

You don’t have time to ask what ‘it’ is before she’s snatching up your wrist and turning to haul you outside.

"Marie! Where the hell are we going?" You practically trip over your own feet trying to keep up with her, your drink splashing up against the rim of your glass precariously.

Marie laughs as she pulls you out into the cool evening air, her boots crunching on the gravel as she drags you toward the commotion. “You’ll see!”

You weave through the crowd forming around the training ring, Marie’s grip still tight around your wrist as she pushes toward the front until you’re right up against the railing. 

You peer over it, eyes adjusting to the floodlights surrounding the ring, illuminating the clouds of dust kicked up by the different ranch hands perched on horses.

A few riders take turns showing off their skills, each of them in the same show-shirt as Marie, expertly swinging lassos and wrangling cattle with practiced ease.

The energy is contagious, and you find yourself smiling, soaking in the excitement pulsing through the crowd.

Marie leans closer, her voice low and laced with something knowing. “Just wait for it, honey. It’s about to get good.”

You give her a puzzled look, but she’s already grinning ear to ear, her attention fully focused on a new rider that chargers into the ring.

You follow her gaze, and your breath catches in your throat.

He rides in like he owns the place, his coal black horse cutting through the fog of dirt like a shadow, sleek and powerful beneath him.

A black Stetson sits low over his face, casting shadows that only add to the rugged allure of his jawline, a jawline that could cut glass. 

As he leans forward to grab the rope tossed at him by one of the other riders, his muscles flex, a kind of strength that isn’t there for show, but for real work.

His show-shirt is stretched over the width of his chest, over broad shoulders that look like they were carved from stone, made for lifting hay bales and hundred pound feed bags.

The sleeves rolled up to expose forearms dusted with dark hair and more than a few scars. His gloved hands rest on the reins with an ease that tells you he’s more than familiar on a saddle.

He’s not the flashiest rider, but there’s something commanding in his presence as he races his horse towards the steer, lasso circling high above his head.

He doesn’t even look like he’s trying to put on a show—he is the show.

Marie’s grip on your wrist tightens, and she leans in again, her voice loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“That’s Logan,” she says, practically glowing with pride. ”He’s the foreman down at Blackbird, might just be the best damn cowboy in the whole state.”

You blink, hardly able to tear your gaze away from Logan, who’s riding like he’s part of the horse, one seamless, commanding figure cutting through the chaos in the ring. 

His focus is sharp, and as his lasso snaps through the air, catching the steers back leg in a clean loop, the crowd erupts in applause.

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of amusement flashing beneath the shadow of his hat.

Marie nudges you, her grin widening as she catches the look on your face. “Told you he was worth watching,” she teases, winking. “And he’s got a bit of a reputation for bein’ hard to impress—one of those strong, silent types, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster as Logan turns his horse, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before it lands on you.

Your cheeks warm under his stare, trying to subtly make out the different features of his face from this far. His head tilts just slightly, as if he’s sizing you up from across the ring.

For a second, it feels like the two of you are the only ones there. The cheers from the audience dulling into white noise all around you, everything in your peripheral blurring together—everything but him.

“He’s good…” Your voice has gone light, airy as you watch Logan turn his horse back to lead the steer into the ring's stall with all the others. 

Marie's grin only widens as she leans against the post, clever eyes trained on the side of your face. "You still 'perfectly find spendin' the night alone'?"

You don't respond, too busy watching the strong muscle of Logan's back ripple under his shirt as he rides out of the ring—to your complete dismay—almost as fast as he rode in.

You're only snapped out of your trance when you can't make out his silhouette any longer. The crowd around you dissipates, filtering back into the barn while you're stuck to the fence straining your eyes for broad shoulders and a black cowboy hat.

“Show’s over, sugar.” Marie says with a snort, gently tugging you away from the post. “Come on, let’s get you another drink.”

You lost your company ten minutes ago, but you knew you didn’t stand a chance when Remy found the two of you huddled at the bar.

Sheepishly coming up to Marie with his hat in his hand, pressing it to his chest as he asked her for a dance.

You waved them off with a smile, assuring Marie you'd be fine on your own for a couple songs.

It gave you a chance to step out for some fresh air, to lean against the side of the barn and sneak a cigarette while your father was busy dancing with the town's best real estate agent money can buy.

You take a slow drag, eyes peering up at the stars so you can trace the constellations. You think that this might just be your favorite part of the move. 

Nevada has never been known for its clear skies, you can count the times you’d been able to see the stars on one hand.

You still remember the first night after you settled into your new house, the stress of the move and your fathers inauguration weighed on you enough that sleep was hard to come by. 

You finally crept out of bed around three, climbing over your balcony to perch yourself on the roof, carton of cigarettes and a lighter shoved in the waistband of your shorts.

The first time you looked out over the horizon was like stepping into a whole new world.

The stars had never felt so close, hung through the air like diamonds. So bright against the vast nothingness that stretched out beyond the too-big ranch house on the too-many acres the state appointed you and your father. 

It was like you could almost reach out and touch them, pluck them from the sky like fruit off a tree.

You’d been used to the city lights, the constant hum of noise that swallowed up the stars, but here? It was different. 

The air smelled of dust and rainwater, and the silence was louder than anything you’d ever known.

You remember the deep, quiet hum of the night, almost like it was waiting for you to catch up, to adjust to the new rhythm of the world you were suddenly a part of.

It was a moment of peace, a brief stillness from the mess crowding your head, and you found comfort in that isolation.

You take another long drag, letting the smoke curl around your fingers, the orange embers glowing bright against the darkness.

As the faint scent of tobacco mixes with the cool air, you find that same sense of peace returning, the same stillness settling over your chest.

You tilt your head back to rest on the barn, eyes fluttering shut as you let the crisp breeze lull you into its serenity.

"Those'll kill you, y'know."

A voice comes from just over your shoulder, warm and low. A smooth drawl ringing out from the shadows.

You slip your eyes open, expecting to see one of the older ranch hands or maybe even a city official looking to lecture the governor's kid. 

It takes you a second, but the black Stetson and squared shoulders register quickly enough—Logan. 

You nearly swallow your tongue, eyes widening as you take in the way he leans against the barn a few feet away from you. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there, watching you. 

The moonlight dances across his face, highlighting the rough line of his jaw and the confident tilt of his smirk.

“I didn’t think cowboys were one’s for giving lectures.” You’re shocked at the stillness of your voice, the beat of your heart picking up the tiniest bit.

Logan’s smirk only widens as he pushes off the wall, gravel crunching under his boots as he makes his way over to you, slow and deliberate. He’s still dressed in the same outfit from before, a lasso still coiled in one hand.

He comes to a stop next to you, leaning his shoulder just inches from yours. "Not usually. But when I see a pretty girl puffin' away on somethin' that's bound to ruin her, I make an exception."

You smirk, lifting the cigarette to your lips again just to make a point, even as your pulse jumps a little under his gaze. "Guess we all have our vices.” You say, blowing out the smoke slowly, watching the way his gaze tracks its lazy drift.

Logan’s eyes trail back to yours, and you can see the color of them now that he’s closer. A mix of different greens and browns fading together, like a forest in the thick of summer.

The lightest dusting of freckles decorate the bridge of his nose, trailing along his cheeks until they disappear under his beard, a product of being out in the sun so often.

You’re struck by how pretty he is, all long lashes and red lips.

Well, pretty for a cowboy anyway.

“You plan on sharin’?”

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles from your chest, brow raising skeptically. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Logan just shrugs, a lazy half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I reckon’ it’s rude to let a lady smoke alone.”

You huff lightly, reaching into the pocket of your dress. You flick the top of your Marlboros open, slipping a cigarette out and offering it to Logan silently. 

He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours enough to send a spark through you. It travels up your arm and all around your shoulders to seep down through your entire body, resting in your stomach to swirl through the heat simmering there.

“Got a light?” He asks, words muffled around the filter.

You roll your eyes, but reach back into your pocket regardless. Logan leans closer as you flip your zippo open, taking his hat off to cover the side of his face, blocking the flame from the lazy breeze.

Your heart stutters in your chest as he nears closer. You didn’t expect he’d want you to light it for him. You will your hand to steady as you raise the flame to the tip, holding it close enough that the small light illuminates his face.

The intoxicating mix of leather and musk invades your senses. You fight the urge to lean into it entirely, to close the gap.

When the flame flickers and catches the end of his cigarette, Logan pulls back, taking a languid drag, the embers glowing between his lips.

His eyes don't leave yours as he exhales deeply, the smoke curling from his lips in slow tendrils. You can’t tell if it’s the nicotine or the way he’s looking at you that’s making your head spin.

You break eye contact, feeling the flush creeping up your neck, and lean back against the barn to cool yourself off. Logan leans beside you, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you, just the soft crackling of cigarettes and distant music filling the space between.

Logan puts his hat back on, his voice breaking through the quiet as he does. “You’re Governor Wright’s daughter, ain't you?”

You nod slowly, exhaling another long plume of smoke. It’s still weird hearing it out loud. “I am.”

Logan hums, turning his head to face you again. The silver moonlight catching the glint in his eye.

“Saw your picture in the paper.” His gaze rakes from the top of your head, all the way down to the tips of your boots. “Looked real nice.”

The air feels heavier as Logan’s eyes travel over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle, before meeting your gaze again. His eyes hold a hint of amusement, the green of them darker than before. The heat swims through you faster, stronger.

“Congratulations.” He adds, almost like an afterthought. A quick pivot to take some attention away from how his eyes swept over your body so shamelessly.

You snort before you can stop yourself. If you had a dollar for every time you’ve heard that over the past few weeks. “Yeah,” you say, kicking at some rocks near your feet. “Thank you.”

You can see the way Logan’s brow raises out of the corner of your eye, his gaze burning a hole along your profile.

“Don’t sound too excited,” he comments, exhaling lazily. “That why you’re hidin’ out here?”

You shrug, leaning back against the barn and tapping your cigarette to shake off some ash. “Maybe I just like the quiet,” you say. “Or maybe I’m avoiding another round of ‘how proud are you of your daddy’ small talk.”

Logan stays quiet, and you feel the overwhelming need to explain yourself. A need to fill the silence, like he’s some kind of magnet that soothes the truth from people.

You sigh, turning your eyes to the dark sky again. “I’m happy for my dad, of course I am but…” You trail off, searching for the right words. “It’s just a lot.”

He chuckles lightly, a low rumble that feels more real than the sounds of laughter from inside the barn. “Hell, I don’t blame you,” he says, his eyes flicking up to the stars too. “Nothin’ wrong with takin' a breather now and then.”

You both stand there in comfortable silence, the night stretching out around you, as vast and open as the sky above. You let yourself study Logan out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way he seems at ease, like he’s as much a part of this land as the grass and stars.

Finally, he looks over, and you feel that sharp gaze settle on you again. “You keep starin’ like that,” he says, a teasing note creeping into his voice, “I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re more interested in somethin' other than the stars.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, heat rushing to your ears as you search for something to say.

Logan’s smirk widens as he catches the way your breath stutters, and for a moment, the silence is thick, the air between you charged. 

You force a laugh, trying to play it off, but it’s weak, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck again. "I—"

Back inside the barn, the band switches songs, saving you from your embarrassment. A softer melody floats through the air, slow and sweet as molasses. It’s muffled enough that it sounds almost hazy, like a soundtrack to the most wonderful dreams.

Logan turns to watch the shadows move in the light spilling through the open doors. Couples pairing off, taking to the dancefloor. All warm embraces and slow moving circles, swaying to the gentle beat.

He turns back to you, running his thumb over the coarse lasso in his hand. “Care for a dance?”

You raise your brow, skepticism written all over your face. “I don’t really do that.”

Logan doesn’t back down, tilting his head with an easy grin. “Seems like a waste not dancin’ in a dress like that.”

You can’t fight the smile that tugs your lips up, shaking your head with a quiet laugh as you peer down at the nice floral fabric of your sundress. The wind makes it swish along your sides, the flowy fabric swaying over the knee of your boots.

“Maybe another time, Logan.” You try to ignore how good his name feels rolling off your tongue.

He takes one last drag off his cigarette before he’s stubbing it out on the worn leather of his belt and slipping the butt in his jean pocket. It’s both the strangest and most endearing thing you’ve ever seen—a cowboy that refuses to litter.

“Well I’m gonna have to insist.” He crosses his arms over his chest, straining the fabric around his biceps. There’s a challenge in his eyes now, a dare.

“Oh, you’re insisting, are you?” You repeat doubtfully, lolling your head to the side languidly, your hair flowing with it. ”And how are you gonna do that?”

Logan doesn’t answer with words, just raises his arm to start twirling his lasso through the air with a smug grin. He circles once, twice, three times before a deft flick of his wrist sends the rope across the way to you. 

It slips over your shoulders, sliding down to catch on the curve of your hips.

You raise a brow, reluctant smile still playing on your lips. “Do you carry this thing with you everywhere you go?”

Logan cocks a brow, tugging on his end of the rope so it tightens around you, forcing you a step closer.

You stumble forward with a soft laugh, eyes darting up to meet Logan's. The lasso feels snug, but not tight enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he’s in control, and the thought sends a spark straight down to your core.

“You sure you don’t dance?” He tugs you a few steps closer, his smirk only deepening as he effortlessly reels you in.

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, shaking your head. “You sure are persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Logan doesn’t wait for you to say anything else, instead taking that final step forward. His grip tightens slightly on the lasso, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. 

You can feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, his chest rising and falling with each slow, deliberate breath.

“Some would say it’s my best quality,” he teases quietly, voice dropping to something lower, like gravel and velvet. “Now, you gonna fight me the whole way through, or are we gonna dance?”

You glance up at him, your chest fluttering in spite of yourself. A thousand lame excuses run through your mind, but all you can manage is a breathless laugh, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and nerves.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” you murmur, hands tentatively coming to rest on his shoulders. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Logan’s smile softens, his hand slinking around your hips to loosen the lasso, letting it slip down your legs so you can step out of it.

Big hands settle on your waist, brushing the soft fabric of your dress, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. His touch is firm and gentle all at once, guiding you effortlessly into an easy sway.

The moment you fall into the rhythm of the music, your body moves naturally against Logan’s, and you can feel the charge between you intensify with each step.

His boots scrape against the dirt as he leads you in a slow, almost languid circle. Your feet match his without thinking, the sound of your boots in sync with the soft country tune playing from the barn.

“See? Not so bad, huh?” His voice is low, a soft whisper against the backdrop of the music.

You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. The rough scrape of his jeans against your bare legs sends a delicious shiver skittering up your spine.

“Not so bad,” you agree, your voice quieter now, the playful edge slipping away as something deeper stirs between you.

You tilt your head up, breath catching in your chest when you find him already looking down at you. His lips quirk up slightly, but there’s a new intensity there now, something sharper than the teasing glimmer from before.

"Logan," you murmur, but your voice is barely a whisper, lost to the night air.

His free hand slides up the length of your spine, trailing along your neck until he’s cupping the side of your face. His thumb grazes your cheekbone with a gentleness you never thought men like him to be capable of.

The space between you shrinks even more as Logan dips his head, his nose brushing against yours in a featherlight touch that sends a shiver down your spine

“You gonna tell me to stop?” He murmurs, his lips so close now you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your throat works to form words, but they’re gone, stolen by the way his hands slide a fraction lower on your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

Your breath hitches again, and without thinking, you close the space, lips pressing against his, soft at first, unsure. Logan deepens it almost immediately, tugging you impossibly closer.

It’s tender–achingly so. Logan’s lips are surprisingly soft, he tastes like top-shelf whiskey and your Marlboro Golds. They mold to yours with a gentle pressure, warm and inviting. His hand on your face tilts your head slightly, angling you just right as his thumb continues to trace soft circles over your cheek.

The warmth of it spreads through you, settling low in your stomach, and you think you could stay like this the whole night, wrapped in the quiet safety of him.

All too soon, Logan’s pulling away. You whine pathetically, lips chasing his own. You’d be embarrassed if it wasn't for the pure need coursing through you.

“You were right,” he mutters lowly, running his thumb along the slick expanse of your bottom lip. “This is a hell of a lot better than dancin’.”

“Shut up.” You drag him back down by the fistfuls of his shirt, your own lips hungrily seeking out his again.

This kiss is different, something filthier, something messier. It’s like a dam breaking to let a rush of water break free, all the tension unraveling itself as you meet again.

The gentle tilt of Logan’s head changes, and when his teeth catch your bottom lip with just enough pressure, your knees feel dangerously close to buckling.

His hand slides down from your cheek, skimming your jawline before tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck. His tongue sweeps past your lips, and the taste of whiskey and smoke is heady, stronger, dizzying.

Logan’s mouth moves against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You let out a soft, involuntary sound, and that only spurs him on, the hand in your hair tightening as he presses you back against the rough wood of the barn.

It digs into your body harshly, scratching at the bare skin of your shoulders and backs of your thighs. You hardly care.

Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, knocking his hat off so you can tug him closer as your tongues slide together lewdly. Logan groans into your mouth at the sting of his scalp, you can feel the rumble of it in your bones. 

His beard scratches against your chin and cheeks so deliciously that you can’t help but imagine where else it might rub your skin red and raw. The thought alone has a shudder running through you, your hips arching off the barn unconsciously.

The subtle grind when your hips slot together is enough to have Logan’s grip tightening around your hips. His fingers flexing where they’re still tangled in your hair. You moan softly at the hard length tenting his jeans, pressing insistently against your lower stomach, big even trapped in the rough denim.

Your body reacts to the thick plane of heat almost viscerally, your pussy aching with the need to be filled.

When you finally break apart, it’s only because neither of you can breathe.

Logan pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths that match your own. His pupils are blown wide, dark and intense. You dazedly think back to the sleek coat of his horse, black as ink and shining under the rings lights. 

His lips are an angry red and slightly swollen, glistening in the pale moonlight, and the sight of him—disheveled and wanting—sends another wave of heat blooming through your core to leak wet and sticky in your panties.

“Your daddy would shoot me between the eyes if he caught us like this, darlin’.”

You hide your pleased smile in the crook of his neck, trailing soft kisses from his jaw to his ear. “Then we should find somewhere a little more private, shouldn’t we?”

Logan groans, hands bunching the fabric of your dress in tight fists as your lips brush against the lobe of his ear with every word, teasing. “I reckon’ we should.”

You step back, fingers trailing down to toy with the shiny belt buckle sitting pretty on his waist. “Lead the way.”

Logan smirks, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

He bends to grab his hat from where it lays at his feet, pushing his hair away from his eyes before dropping it back on his head. His hand finds the small of your back, turning to lead you away from the barn.

You try not to notice how well it fits. 

Turns out, ‘somewhere a little more private’ is just another barn. This one filled with stray mountains of hay and empty horse stalls instead of the watchful eyes of partygoers.

You can’t bring yourself to care, not when Logan’s got you pressed to the closed door, his hands roaming down your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip. 

“Christ, you’re somethin’ else,” Logan mutters, his voice thick with want as his lips ghost along the side of your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make your knees shake.

His breath is hot against your ear when he adds, “Bet you’re soaked for me already, aren’t you, darlin’?”

The rough pads of his fingers drag along your bare thighs as he hikes your dress higher, the fabric bunching at your waist. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat between your legs as his palms knead the soft flesh. 

You bite your lip to stifle the embarrassing moan that threatens to escape, but he catches the sound anyway, pressing a cocky grin to the side of your cheek.

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me now.” His hand slides between your thighs, calloused fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. 

The low groan that escapes him when he feels how wet you are is pure sin, vibrating against your neck as his fingers trace over the damp cotton. “Fuck, barely touched you and you’re already drippin’ for me.”

“Logan—” You start, but your words dissolve into a sharp gasp as he hooks a finger beneath the fabric, pulling it to the side.

The first drag of his finger through your slick folds has your head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. A high moan falls from your parted lips, embarrassing and needy as your thighs clench around his wrist.

Logan just hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of your slack mouth. “Is she hurtin’ real bad, baby?” he asks softly, his thumb pressed over your pulsing clit. “Just gotta give you some sweet kisses and she gets all worked up, huh?”

Your only response is a breathless whimper, your fingers clutching at his shoulders for stability as he teases you with slow, torturous circles around your clit.

His thick pointer finger slides through the slick seam of your pussy, catching on your dripping entrance before it’s sinking to the knuckle in one slow thrust. 

You arch into him, your hips rocking instinctively to take him deeper, desperate for more. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek as his gaze locks onto yours. 

The intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip, your breath hitching as he watches every little expression cross your face.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he coaxes, sliding his finger in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. “Look at you, so fuckin’ beautiful. Takin’ my fingers so good, baby.”

“Please,” you gasp, the need in your voice making his smirk widen.

“Please what?” he teases, curling his finger inside you and grinning when you nearly sob at the sensation. “Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You whimper, thighs trembling as you manage to stutter out, “Kiss…kiss me.”

Logan groans, brows twitching up like that wasn’t what he was expecting to fall from your slick, kiss bitten lips. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning in to capture your mouth with his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperate and bruising. 

His lips part against yours, tongue sliding in to meet yours, hot and eager, as he sinks a second finger inside your clenching hole. 

The kiss deepens, becoming a rhythm of its own, each stroke of his tongue matching the languid thrust of his fingers.

Logan's lips move hungrily against yours, his pace never faltering even as his fingers curl inside you, searching, teasing, until—there.

The moment he brushes against that spot, your back arches off the barn wall, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. He grins against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur, “There she is.”

The slick sound of his fingers pumping into you fills the quiet barn, mingling with your soft, breathy whimpers. His thumb circles your clit with devastating precision, each pass of his fingers inside you coaxing your body closer to the edge.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, honey,” he groans, his voice rough and dripping with praise. “Can feel how close you are. Bet you’re gonna fall apart for me so pretty, aren’t ya?”

You shake your head, your breath coming in soft pants. “No.” Your hand snakes down to his wrist, halting his movements. “Wanna finish with you inside me.”

Logan stills, his breath catching as your words hang heavy in the air. His fingers stay buried inside you, the slight curl of them making your thighs quake as his eyes search yours.

The fire there burns hotter now, feral and barely restrained. 

“Yeah?” The raw hunger in his voice makes your pulse spike. “You want me inside you, huh? Wanna feel me stretch you open, baby?”

You nod eagerly, your chest heaving as his words fan the flames of your desire. 

“Alright,” he mutters darkly, voice gone low and smoky. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Logan slips his fingers from the warm grip of your pussy, the sudden emptiness stealing all the air from your lungs. You miss the stretch almost immediately, clenching around nothing with a soft moan.

He lifts his hand between you, his fingers glistening with your wetness in the dim light. “Look at that,” he says softly, almost in awe, before slipping his fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your cheeks burning at the sight. 

Logan catches your gaze, a wicked smirk spreading across his face as he leans in close. “C’mon,” he whispers softly against the skin of your neck, hands slipping around the backs of your thighs and squeezing gently. “Up.”

You hitch your legs up around his waist, a soft breath escaping you at the way he lifts you with ease, like you weigh nothing.

You can’t help but run your hands over the thick muscle of his biceps as he walks you further into the barn, lips trailing wet kisses along where his shirt’s top button popped open, exposing more of his tan skin to your greedy eyes.

Logan falls back against a knocked over bale of hay, you feel the hot length of his hard cock grinding over the slick fabric of your panties as he positions you over his lap.

You waste no time, stray pieces of hay digging into your knees as your trembling hands reach for his buckle. Your fingers brush over the cool metal as you fumble sliding the worn leather through his belt loops.

Logan just watches you, leaning back on his forearms with a smirk—cool as ever.

Once his belt is undone and his zipper dragged down, you shove at his jeans, watching with a mix of anticipation and desire as his cock springs free, thick and heavy and already leaking for you. 

You’ve heard the expression ‘hung like a horse’ countless times. You always thought it was a gross exaggeration, until now.

Logan’s hand glides down his stomach to start stroking himself lazily, his eyes never leaving yours. “Been hard since the second I laid eyes on you tonight. Could barely keep my hands to myself, watchin’ you all dolled up like that. Drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

Your mouth waters with the need to taste, eyes tracking the thick line of pre-come leaking from his flushed tip. 

The phantom ache in your jaw almost has you dropping to your stomach right there, but you know that your time here is limited, and you need Logan inside of you more than anything.

You lean back, lifting your legs so you can shimmy your soaked panties down and off, tossing them behind you haphazardly the same way you tossed his belt.

His eyes are locked onto yours as you crawl back towards him, situating yourself over his lap all over again. You take a steadying breath as you reach for his cock, nearly moaning at the heft of it in your hand, at the near scalding touch of his silky skin against your palm.

“Hang on, baby.” Logan’s hands fall to your hips, stopping you just as the tip of his cock brushes against your dripping pussy. “You wanna ride, you gotta look the part.”

He drags his hands lower, calloused palms rough against the soft skin of your thighs. It’s enough to make you shiver, hips twitching down with the desperate need to be filled.

“Got the boots,” he murmurs idly, thumbs sliding along the back of your thighs. “Just need the hat.”

Logan reaches up to grab his hat by the crown, pulling it off his head to drop it on yours.

You left out a soft breath, feeling the worn felt settle on the top of your head, still warm from his own.

It’s too big, slipping down to shadow your eyes. Logan’s gaze darkens as he adjusts it, tipping it back just enough to frame your face.

“Much better,” he says, flicking the brim once before his hands fall back to your hips. “Alright cowgirl, give it to me good.”

The words shoot straight to your core, igniting something wild and reckless inside you.

You bite your lip, spurred on by the way his hands knead the meat of your hips. Not forcing or pushing, just two steady weights as you slowly start to sink down.

It's nearly torturous, but in the best way possible. The stretch of each inch a pleasant burn as your hips slot against his after what feels like an eternity.

“Fuck.” Logan grits out, his hands tightening on your hips as you settle, giving yourself a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. 

Your body trembles, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you slowly begin to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles.

Logan’s eyes track every movement, darkened with need, a quiet groan slipping from him as his hands slide lower, gripping your ass, urging you to pick up the pace.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Takin’ it all so good.”

His praise only encourages you, and you lift yourself up before sinking back down, your hands gripping the scratchy fabric of his shirt for leverage.

The feeling of him filling you up, stretching you with every downward movement, makes your head swim, the pressure building in your core.

The barn is filled with the sounds of skin slapping together lewdly, with the wet gush of your pussy leaking around the base of his cock messily. It has your ears burning, shame and arousal a heady mix in your lower belly.

Logan’s hips start to rise from the barn floor, snapping up to meet yours with every bounce. You can feel him deeper like this, brushing against places that make your legs shake with pleasure. 

You’re dangerously close to the edge already, a mess from all the teasing earlier. But from the way Logan’s muscles flex and tense beneath you, you can tell he is too.

“Goddamn,” he growls, his hands moving to grip your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him impossibly faster. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby, so fucking perfect. Don’t stop.”

His words make your head spin, the filthy praise sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. You can’t hold back the moans spilling from your lips, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Your hands scramble for the front of his shirt, tugging and pulling until it’s loose enough to show off the toned muscle of his chest.

You rake your nails through the dark hair decorating his skin, hardly paying any attention to the brand burned into the skin across his left pec.

"Tell me how it feels," he groans, his voice dark and commanding. "Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel."

"So good," you manage to gasp, your voice breaking as he grinds against that perfect spot inside you. "Logan, I—"

“You’re close,” he rasps, his grip on your hip tightening as he drives into you harder. “I can feel you, baby. So fuckin’ close. Gonna come for me, aren’t ya? Gonna milk my cock like a good girl?”

You’re too far gone to answer, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach clenches, tighter and tighter. Your head lolls back to the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut as you near the edge.

"C’mon honey," Logan groans, his thumb finding your clit again, circling it in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, let it all fuckin’ out.”

You're helpless to deny him, the thick stretch of his cock paired with the gentle pressure of his thumb on your clit tightening your body like a bowstring threatening to snap.

 “Logan—oh God—Logan!” Your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping as your walls shake around him.

Logan’s hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as he groans low in his throat. “Goddamn,” he growls, his voice wrecked. “So fuckin’ perfect, squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—”

With a few more rough thrusts, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body going rigid against yours as he finds his own release, groaning your name like it’s the only word he knows.

You slump onto him gracelessly, your body spent and trembling as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His cock jumps and pulses inside you, sending little aftershocks through your sensitive core as you feel the slick spray of his come painting your walls.

The rough fabric of his shirt feels oddly comforting on the overheated skin of your cheek as you rest your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath.

The brand catches your eye again, more pronounced now that the wiry hair dusted along his chest lays flush, slick with a thin sheen of sweat.

You raise your hand, gently tracing over the raised skin, feeling the rough texture under your fingertips. A curved ‘X’ scarred right over his heart. 

The same ‘X’ that was embroidered on the front of Marie’s shirt, that hangs above the doors of the very barn you lay in, that’s scattered all throughout the property.

You read once that not all cowboys choose the brand, only the most loyal to the ranch. A kind of fierce loyalty that knows no bounds, that has no limits—it may be the only loyalty most will ever know.

You think back to your grandmother sitting you down at her weathered kitchen table a few days before your father and you made the move. The stern talking to she gave you felt silly at the time, useless information that you’d never actually need.

Now that you're here, her words ring in your ears for the first time in months, blaring and unavoidable.

“Don’t go and get mixed up in any cowboy business, honey. They’ll never love you more than the life, you’ll always be in the rearview mirror.”

Logan takes your hand in his, bringing it from his chest to his lips for a quick kiss before pointedly lowering it to his jean clad thigh. You can feel the way his fingers flex around your wrist, telling.

You swallow hard, the air in the barn suddenly feeling thick and heavy.

You're pushing yourself to your feet before you even realize what you're doing, ignoring the dull ache as his spent cock slips from inside you.

Logan hisses at the sensation, but he's pushing himself to his feet all the same. You're dying to sneak a peek at the look on his face, but you refuse to turn to him.

Maybe out of shame, maybe out of fear for what you might find if you do.

You straighten the wrinkled fabric of your dress, trying in vain to make yourself look as half as presentable as you did before walking into this barn.

The distant sound of a zipper being tugged up and the whisper of denim against denim catches your attention. Your eyes flick to the doors, your brain going a million miles a minute as you consider your options.

You could always beat him to it. You could walk out right now and pretend this never happened, avoid Blackbird like the plague for the rest of your fathers political career.

You doubt you'd ever see Logan outside these fences, it would be so easy to forget.

You shift on your feet, lip caught between your teeth. The sweet ache between your legs only matches the one in growing your chest, all those good feelings sour at the thought of walking away.

Against your better judgment, you turn back to him. 

Logan’s already looking at you, hands busy with slipping his belt back into place.

You’ve always been good at reading people, at gauging what they might be feeling, but as your eyes scan along the flushed skin of his face, you find yourself unable to describe what you see swirling in his eyes.

“When will I see you again?” It’s weak, barely a whisper. You want to kick yourself for sounding so small, for getting so caught up in a man you hardly know.

Logan lets out a soft breath, hands coming to rest on his hips as he searches for something to say. “Whenever you have a reason to I reckon'.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you.

His answer is honest, unpolished—just like him. Something about it hits you deeper than you expect, a bittersweet sting that tightens your chest.

It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s something. 

You try to stomp down all the feelings of hope filling your mind, pointedly ignoring the eruption of butterflies in your stomach.

“Well if that’s the case,” you say slowly, eyes never leaving Logan’s as you step closer. “Then I guess you better keep these.”

You reach around his waist to slip your panties in the back pocket of his jeans, patting the denim a few times for good measure before you step away again.

“Gives you a reason to come see me again, cowboy.”

Logan chuckles, soft and sweet as he shakes his head bemusedly. He raises his hand, gently taking his hat from your head to drop it back on his own.

“You’re really somethin’ else,” he mutters, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, the gesture tender in its unexpectedness.

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, everything feels raw.

Too raw. Like you're teetering on the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, something you’re not sure you’re ready to handle.

You let your gaze drop to the floor, biting the inside of your cheek as you resist the urge to say something else, to push the moment further.

Instead, you turn, taking a slow step toward the barn doors.

Just before you reach them, you hear him again, his voice steady, but there’s something in it that makes you pause, hands lingering on the doorframe.

"Don’t be a stranger, alright?" he calls after you.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: lowkey want to make this a series...like this was so fun to write and i have a few more ideas...let me know chickens <3

[satocidal]

Where Suguru Geto is a Man who has lived around all women<3

tw: i am not trying to thrust any stereotypes here 😭 just thought these are cute lil thoughts

Geto Suguru, who has mastered the art of being one of your "Girlie-Pops" - it is his every-day routine now, and Suguru Geto makes sure to live through all different personas of being your “girlie-pop”, huge believer of go big or go home.

There is the usual Gossip-Girly, every night Suguru plops beside you, acting as your personal pillow while you go on one of your typical tangents - and he knows all his cues. At every bated pause he’ll gasp and at every undulated twist he’ll throw in a - “oh no, she didn’t” or a little, “that bitch”. The gossip girl never disappoints, nor forgets - you can pick up any story from anywhere and he’ll just flow along, often even adding his own comments and/or facts from his research.

The second most-spotted is the The Mom, a key feature to the days when you skip breakfasts (that he meticulously made) or come home hours later than expected. The Mom never lets any detail skip, throwing in little jabs while taking care of you at the same time - he makes sure you’re rested and living in full guilt for making him worry for you. Dramatic muttering under his breath, such as while he works in the kitchen are NOT off the table.

There is always space in Suguru’s week to pull-off a little "The Fangirl" for your sake. These could range from simple pick-me-up moments to just a midnight-spur-off-the-moment thing. Suguru will sing through each one of your favourite songs along with you (and get most lyrics wrong, sometimes purposefully to tease you) - at the top of his lungs. He will stay up with you till however long if your favourite band was announcing something new, or to get tickets, or just to watch a marathon of youtube videos about whatsoever pleased you.

Although Suguru may seem like a totally chill guy on surface, somehow he stresses almost as much as you during your exams, with you - giving rise to The Nerd. The first time he pulled out his glasses and messy bun, and pulled out the look better than you, you were offended. But, he does try his best. Flashcards? He’ll even decorate them all pretty, questionnaires? He’ll come up with games to help you get  eased with them, he will wake you up at whatever ungodly time you beg him to, and sit with you through revisions, with all his drowsy might. And best of all, he will confuse you if you try and get help from him with a subject regarding science because poor baby struggles with basic addition </3 (he does call Satoru for the help though)

However right after your exams are over, Biker Bae takes over and he gets wild (The Mom inside him does not approve), but he will take you on long drives on his bike - he will get you drunk because he finds your babbling adorable and he believes you need all the escape from stress you can get, this Suguru does not care. He will break rules, he will urge you to do the same.

Sometimes, a wild Sassy Susan is also spotted in the wild, especially during fights. This Suguru will make you shut up, even if just for a moment, and is all about eye-rolls and sly little comebacks that you notice all too late. Do not assume for a second that you are safe, he will call out all your bull-shit and also flick his hair, will do all the storming away and point all his fingers at you.

And this finally gives rise to the Boyfriend Suguru , who then begs after you and apologises for hours and promises to bury Susan somewhere deep (it will happen again). Suguru now has to perform all the previous tasks all together but he enjoys all of it so it is a win-win, isn’t it?

All of this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[bunny-jpeg]

men and their power

toto wolff

tags: smut/pwp, assistant!reader, age gap (20s/50s), power dynamics, lingerie & gifts, big cock!toto, doggy style, (threats of) baby trapping, dark-ish themes, oral sex (reader receives)

a/n: happy birthday, toto wolff!!

being the assistant of toto wolff was a tiring job, but it wasn't a thankless one. despite toto's stubborn nature and his capacity for anger, it was a job you quite enjoyed!

you got to see the world, work within a sport you loved and feel fulfilled with your line of work! what more could you want? except you were certain of one thing.

your job description didn't include "sleeping with your boss".

"mister wolff." you swallowed as you picked up the bra out from the box. it was light grey in colour, almost a blue-grey. it was made to fit you. after all, toto had all the information on you he could get. he knew you painfully well, every little detail was accounted for. from the moles on your back to of course, the size of your breasts. toto was detailed oriented that way.

you felt your boss' hands on your shoulders and his voice was low in your ear, "put it on for me, my prize."

you replied, "doesn't seem like the uniform." and you picked up the panties as well and felt a tightness in your throat. these looked expensive and knowing toto they were expensive.

toto's hands lingered down to you hips and he held onto you tightly, "hmm,i'd say it would be. my assistant should only be dressed in the best, don't you think?"

"sir." you moaned as you felt his lips on your neck. you knew this was wrong. but you couldn't deny toto anything. for the sake of your job that meant wearing toto's gift.

toto held onto you tightly and pressed his clothed erection up against your lower back. it didn't help that your boss had a huge cock, rumor said he left every virgin in vienna with a sore cervix. and even though it was a dumb rumor. it still left your stomach in knots. he had left you bruised before. over eight inches and he knew how to use it. age and experience taught the team principal well.

he liked when he could press his hand into your middle and say that he could feel himself inside of you. he liked when you struggled when he pressed on you. he made a displeased noise then said, "that is no way to thank me, treasure." he held onto you a little tighter, "do i need to teach you how to be a little more grateful?" his tone was nearing a dangerous territory in your ear.

he could be dangerous, he loved pretty things to sink his teeth into. especially assistants who always got his morning coffee exactly how he liked it. little things in skirts with high ambitions. he liked to bruise them, ruin them, make them gasp and moan for more. it was cute, all that power and yet toto still had a craving for delicate little things. things he could break and mend back together.

you said, "i love it, sir." you loved your job. but sometimes you forget how scary it could be. he was much older than you with heaps more power. you were in no position to make demands, you had to say yes to him. preferably with a please at the end.

toto smiled, "put it on. we are not on the track anymore, you can take off the uniform." and while you would've gone to the bathroom to change. toto made you strip down in the bedroom then re-dress in the lingerie.

you stood there in the bra and panties, you felt toto's hungry gaze on you. his dark eyes filled with a lust for you. you wanted to cover yourself up, but if you did that. well, it would just spur toto on to tie you up. and you didn't want your wrists rubbed raw because of his leather belt.

toto had a bit of a mean streak in him. he loved watching you squirm under him. and as his dutiful employee, you got the most attention from him. any sexual fixation he had was taken out on your poor throat or pussy.

"does it look alright, sir?" you swallowed, you looked down for a brief moment until he said your name and you looked back up to him. you shifted on your heels a little.

toto stepped forward and reached for your hips. he held onto you and replied, "i'm debating if i should be tearing this off of you or not. you look divine." then leaned down to kiss you on the cheek. he let out a soft groan and you felt a wobble in your knees.

"don't tear it, sir. it's expensive." you pouted and held your gaze at him, "it would be a waste."

toto chuckled and said, "oh, little one. my treasure. my little assistant. just like i own you, i own that garment. so i can tear it as much as i please." then he grabbed the top hem of the panties and tore them down the seam at the side, "i'll simply buy you another pair."

sometimes you forgot that one didn't become a f1 team principal by being nice. toto made more money in a month than you'd see you a lifetime. of course he could simply buy you another pair, even if it was made of fine materials. the cost was nothing.

your eyes went wide in shock. your stuttered, "sir!" and your boss simply laughed and got down on his knees in front of you.

"i own you." he said, "isn't that right?" he leaned in to kiss your exposed cunt. then forced your legs apart to lap at the wetness between your legs. he heard you whine loudly and your voice got caught in your throat.

"sir! mister wolff!" with shaky hands you reached for his dark hair. you knew he dyed it, but there was no time to think about that. not while he was pleasuring you with his tongue. you whimpered, "please."

you knew this was wrong. there was something deeply wrong with this. tot was your boss, but you were standing there with your knees about to give him. as your much larger and older boss orally pleasured you. his tongue worked your achy cunt and it left you without words. it was wrong, yet so right.

he ran his thumb against your clit and you almost melted. your boss knew all the right places to make you feel the climb of pleasure through your body. "so well behaved." he said before you ended up on the bed. barely had enough time to get the nice bra off before he was undressed and in the bed with you. the bra was spared from ripping, but tossed somewhere you couldn't see.

he handled you with ease. got you onto your stomach and your hips raised to meet his cock. while being an assistant was hard work, you spent most of it on your hands and knees. with your superior's cock inside of you.

he sank his thick cock inside of you and you felt yourself cry out from the stretch. he now fit perfectly inside of you and your mouth was agape as you squirmed under him. your face pressed into the pillows. tot used his size to keep you pinned against the lavish bed.

"ah, sir!" your back arched as you felt him pound against you. you grasps the covers under you. your tone got tighter as you said, "ah, please! please!"

toto felt his ears grow hot from the intensity of your sounds. your boss knew your body perfectly, he knew how to make you feel intense pleasure even better than you knew how. no one understood your body the way he did. toto knew how to touch you, rub up against you, fuck you. and each time he did, you felt an inferno in your gut. he fucked you with a fever and it left you hot all over. he liked to watch you drive you crazy with lust, mewling and crying out for him.

the bed rocked against the wall. he moved you how he wanted you. he used your body how he enjoyed it, the pleasure sparked in his blood. he said lowly as you remained pinned under him, "maybe you need to be busier? hmm?" he then suggested, "maybe a baby at your hip? you take care of me and my child?" his words made you gasp and squirm more.

"please, toto." you whined as you were fucked into the hotel bed. it was hard to form proper words where he was so deep inside of you.

"you don't have much of a choice do you? you are mine and if i want you to have a baby then you'll have my baby. i know you want it. to care of my child. be a mother to them." he continued to move. his pace was aggressive and it left you panting.

you knew you should've ran. you should've told the fia or some other governing body. but deep down, you loved it. you enjoyed being the center of toto's world. the act of him ruining you for any other man.

he continued to thrust and enjoyed the feeling of your tight cunt around him and the symphony of sweet noises. your pitiful moans, he could feel the strain in his body from his heavy movements. he had a single focus, to put a baby in you.

"my treasure." he purred.

"please, toto. oh, fuck." you dug your feet into the bed as you tried to not lose all sense of control. you sounded so needy, you sounded like an angel and you drove toto to near climax.

it didn't take much longer for you to finish. climax hit you and it made your mind go blank as toto continued to fuck you. he needed you. you gasped loudly as his pace quickened and he soon finished inside of you.

you relaxed against the covers and let the heat radiate through you. you made a soft noise. toto adored it. he adored you in return, he pulled his cock out of you before he pulled your hot body against him.

"see, good girl." he said, "i knew you'd behave for me. take me so well. that is why i hired you. and why you are going to be the mother of my children." he said with a bit more affection, but it still made your stomach twist.

you couldn't form words, but laid in his arms. his protective, almost possessive grasp on you. this was your boss, that had fucked the sense out of you. you wouldn't consider you job hard all the time, but it could be physically demanding <3

[foreid]

⋆˳ . ⋆ — “LIKE IT’S ALL MINE. . . !”

part 1 | part 2

wrd count: 2136

warnings: pure smut, breeding kink if you squint, fem!reader, pet names used, big dick josh!!!!!, p in v sex, 18+ content, hard teasing

a/n: finally a part 2!!! yay!! enjoy babies :3 not proofread, per usual >_<

“you’re already so worked up just from humping my leg?” josh breathed out a laugh, hands grabbing at your hips, firmly enough to leave bruises.

all you could do was grow small in embarrassment under him, causing your hips to slow and eventually come to a halt.

his words made you realize what you were actually doing and reality snapped back at you.

josh had a fat grin on his face and he shook his head in disapproval. “don’t stop now, keep going. maybe i’ll let you cum on my dick if you’re obedient.”

your head was spinning, by now you could hardly make out anything he was saying, mind haunted with disgustingly sexual thoughts.

but he wouldn’t just make a huge mess out of you for fun.

josh liked you.

he liked your face, body, and how bright you were; how much you stood out from everybody else. he found it so attractive and he was ready to pour all of those feelings inside of you.

along with something else.

the exposed skin on your warm back started to melt into the cold plaster of the wall, reminding him that he was still completely clothed.

that had to be out the way. now.

josh met his lips with yours again, mouth wet from how harsh he was sucking on your tits. a dream come true.

while kissing you, nice and slow, he started pulling his layers of clothing off, only breaking the kiss for a moment to take his shirt off.

you broke the kiss entirely though, hands still holding onto him just because if you let go, your weak knees would buck and you’d be a puddle on the floor.

“t-take… take off your pants.” a soft order came from your lips, he couldn’t help the chuckle that left his.

he tilted his head at you, like a confused dog. “why don’t you do it for me? hm, pretty girl?” he whispered to you, the words making you feel things deep in your stomach.

there was no need to ask twice.

you were already on your knees, the warmth of your tights battling against the cold floor.

by the time you could take in a deep breath, he was already teasing you.

“c’mon. i love the view but i have needs too, y’know?” josh said from above you as he ran a hand over the top of your head, giving you a gentle push towards his crotch.

it was evident in his tone now that he was just as needy and ready as you. maybe not as much as you but he was getting there.

your hand reached to unbuckle his belt, being gentle because it felt expensive. the noises of metal clanking and pants hitting the ground filled the room.

silence.

stunned is one word to explain the feeling of the sight in front of you.

joshua washington was big, big and tightly pressed against his navy blue calvin klein boxers, pre-cum leaking through the cloth and it was staring right at you.

this was a sight women die for.

the cold breeze of the room was hitting him because his entire demeanor had changed.

josh was flushed, grabbing at the hair on your head with more vice than before, breathing in staggered patterns.

you tugged at the waistband with delicacy, swallowing dryly as the thick seven inches in front of you bounced slowly.

with a hand, you grabbed at the base while your lips made their way around the pulsing tip.

the new contact wired a low groan out of josh’s mouth, knuckles now wrapping themselves into your hair.

you started off slow.

bobbing your head only enough to take less than a few inches in as your hands twisted and tugged on the parts that weren’t in your mouth.

his mouth was wide open, spurring out words of praise while his hands tried to push your head closer, simultaneously pushing his cock farther into your mouth.

“fuck…holy shit thats good, s’good…” his head fell back and a grin fell on his face at the sounds of you gagging all on him.

tears pricked your eyes like thorns, and taunting you for thinking you could handle something so big.

the quicker you sucked on it, the louder the noises of your choking were. it made your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment.

the closer he was to finishing, the quicker he ripped your head from him.

right when you were in the zone. what an asshole.

“h-huh? wha— what? was it bad?” you asked in pure confusion, eyes big and full of tears as you stared up at him.

josh shook his head, his chest heaving and breath hot. “the complete opposite. i just want to finish while fucking your pussy. not your mouth.”

every time he spoke like that, you were just left with your mouth half-open and brows raised, looking dumb founded.

all he could do was laugh.

he grabbed you from the floor, picking you up with ease and hooking your legs around his hips.

hands on the prize, he palmed your ass to hold you up as he started chewing up your neck, loving the taste and all the mewls you cried out.

he was rock hard. dick twitching and ready to burst just from feeling your bare tits on his skin.

but he had to stay strong, had to maintain himself so he could blow a mean load into your guts and clean up the mess.

like a respectful gentleman.

thought there was nothing gentle about the things he was about to do to you.

before you knew it, your back was slammed against the mattress and your shorts were being stripped off your body, all in one swift movement.

he carefully placed one of your feet on his shoulders, holding it there with his left hand.

the view was something straight out of some cheap porno.

his biceps tightening as he ripped open your tights right where your cunt was, his fingers of his free hand slowly sliding your panties to the side.

you twitched from under him, knees bucking as you felt a thick digit rubbing between your lips, teasing your clit.

a whine left your mouth, noises almost pornographic. so embarrassing how quick he could get you like this just from one finger.

and he wasnt even thrusting it yet.

“so wet ‘n pretty. didn’t even have to wet it before putting it inside.” he tutted, sucking in his bottom lip between his teeth to hold himself back from saying something that was almost disrespectful.

your eyes rolled into your skull, biting down on the tip of your acrylic nail to hold back a dramatic moan that was inching out of you.

“josh, just fuck me already. please”

he wanted it as bad as you did. but he was an asshole about shit so, of course he had to take the high road.

“not just yet, gotta get you ready for me.” his tone was cocky as hell. he knew how big he was and how dramatic you were. so if he tore you up, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

after a short moment, he sucked in a breath and scoffed. “fuck it.” he muttered almost to himself and quickly after, he grabbed at your hips, flipping you completely onto your stomach.

as if you’d run away, he forcefully pulled your hips up, leaving a sharp slap on the full skin of your ass through the tights.

you still felt every little thing, jumping and flinching at the burning pain; that still felt so fucking good.

once he realized he couldn’t get the full effect, he was ripping that section of the flimsy material too.

all in a few seconds, he was sliding your panties back to the side and grabbing himself, positioning his length right at your entrance.

a dazed chuckle left josh’s mouth and he’s practically drooling at the sight. “shit, baby. if only you could see how good this looks.”

your back was arched, leaving a sexy arc that made him dizzy to look at.

he never imagined actually having you like this. and it made him so eager to fill you up.

with a guttural moan at your tight walls soaking him in, he tried to slowly push in every inch.

which made everything feel ten times better.

he sucked in a sharp breath, biting on his bottom lip and making a writhed up expression at how good it felt.

you on the other hand, let out a harsh gasp when his tip was touching areas you never thought could be reached.

it made your head perk up from being stuffed in the bed, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“g’nna start— f-fuck— moving… now…” he could barely speak, groans interrupting his words as he started bucking his hips forward.

his hands grabbed at the fat on your hips, holding you in place.

your mouth was stuck in an ‘o’ shape, brows furrowed up and eyes shut as you felt every. damn. thing.

noises you didn’t even know you could make were being let out. and he was barely even fucking you the way he wanted to yet…

how embarrassing.

his dick was so good. you had goosebumps on every part of your body and you could hear your juices squelching every time he thrusted into you.

when he started to get used to the tight and wet feeling, a hand reached for the hair that rested over your neck, grabbing up a handful of it.

with this, all he could do was fuck into you harder, skin slapping as he bit on his bottom lip.

his dark green eyes were full of lust due to the way you just consumed every inch so well.

you were loud. telling him you couldn’t take it and babbling out a whole lot of nonsense.

it just felt too good.

“what’s wrong, baby? never had anyone fuck you this good? hm?… yeah i bet no one’s been appreciating this pretty pussy like they should be.” he groaned, looking at your body as if it was a renaissance painting, his free hand grabbing at the plush skin of your ass with every fiber in him.

safe to say the skin was tinted red with his hand print all over it.

the mix of pleasure and pain of being stretched out made you weak.

your brain was absolute mush and you were so cock drunk, his dick replacing the feeling of all the alcohol from earlier.

“j—! oh my— fuck…!” was all you could blabber out. you tried to respond but he was pulling your hair so harshly, causing your back to arch more than you physically could.

meaning he was hitting a whole new spot, with harsher movements and a faster pace. the new feeling made your mind completely black out.

you were left a loud, whiny and moaning mess.

josh had promised himself to not get too caught up in one thing on this trip.

but the alcohol and ways you were talking to him earlier into the night made his dick twitch in his pants for any kind of attention from just you.

the both of you were close.

he could feel your walls tightening around his cock so nicely, making him want to empty all the cum he could hold into you.

“shit— shit, y/n. ‘m gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah? gonna make you all mine, fill you up so nice.” he was spewing half-minded bullshit in between deep breaths, grabbing at your hair and your hip while his thrusts became more aggressive.

you were drooling everywhere, his words made you want to cum right then and there.

the sounds of wet skin slapping and the feeling of his balls slapping against your clit consumed all of your thoughts.

“c— cum..! g’nna cum.. fuck—!” your legs were trembling, voice shaky while you reached for your orgasm by fucking yourself on his dick, rutting your hips; gripping the bed sheets for stability.

could’ve sworn you were seeing stars. your vision started to enhance white sparks and your eyes were open as wide as they could go, a loud moan of his name slipped out of your mouth.

a few more pumps in and he was cumming deep inside of you, holding his dick as deep as it could go.

he finished with a baritone and low groan, biting at his bottom lip as he watched the cum overflow, slipping out of you and down your thighs.

the both of you lied there in sweat and with limp

limbs, one of his hands was still stuck to your ass, holding it as he rested on his back while you were on your stomach.

“you awake?” josh muttered to you in a bit of concern, breaking the silence.

when he heard soft breathing in replace of your voice, he figured that was his answer and got up to find something he could clean you up with.

tags: @someobsessionrequired @lanadelreyscokewhor3