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burrowswomen · 4 days ago

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me next joe please

joe and songbird? backshots? how often?

a/n: drafted and forgotten, but now posted <3 enjoy this word vomit that hopefully doesn't suck since it was written on my phone

warnings: smut, mdni.

backshots are absolutely in joe and songbird’s rotation. maybe not a nightly ritual, but a guarantee when the atmosphere between them is heavy and charged, when tension hangs like summer humidity in the air, clinging to their skin until it’s unbearable. it’s a position that always finds its way into the night when joe’s been away for days at camp, leaving the house before she’s even awake and returning long after the vibrance of the new day has faded, carrying the tight, restless coil of someone who’s been running on nothing but adrenaline and thoughts of her. or on those nights when she’s decided to tease him slowly, swaying around their space in that whisper of a dress he can never unsee, giving him fleeting brushes of her fingers across his arm or the back of his neck, throwing him glances so quick they feel like teases in and of themselves. the kind of bait that pulls at every instinct in him until the only thing left is the thought of bending her forward, pressing her into the mattress, and taking his time until she’s trembling from it.

when it finally happens, it’s not rushed. joe’s never rushed with her. the first touch is his palm, broad, warm, steady as always, flattened between her shoulder blades, urging her forward with just enough pressure to make her sink into the bed. his presence behind her is huge, consuming, the heat of him bleeding into her spine before he even touches her anywhere else. her cheek rests against the cool linen, the faint scent of detergent mixing with the sharper, intoxicating trace of his cologne still hanging in the air from where he’d leaned over her earlier. she breathes shallow as he shifts her hips, adjusting her like she’s made of glass, until he finds the exact angle he likes.

he pauses to look at her, really look at her, the way she falls into the position without hesitation, like she trusts him enough to give over every muscle, every curve. “stay just like that for me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and fraying at the edges, already dragged low with the hunger he’s holding back. his hand glides from the nape of her neck, tracing each vertebrae down her spine until his palm rests against the delicate dip at the small of her back. she arches beneath his touch instinctively, and he watches the movement like it’s art, like her body just sculpted itself for him in real time. “fuck, look at you,” he breathes, a little shaky, like the sight physically hurts him.

his hands drift lower, covering her waist completely, thumbs brushing over the soft give of her sides before he grips her, firm and unyielding. there’s no warning, just the slow, powerful pull of him dragging her back onto his cock in one long, fluid motion, filling her inch by inch until the stretch forces her breath to catch in her throat. he feels the quiver go through her legs, the delicate, involuntary flutter inside her, and his own control thins by the second.

she gasps his name, the sound trembling, ragged and needy, like she’s not sure she can get it all out, and it makes his teeth clench with hunger. every time his hips drive forward, hard and deliberate, he finds that spot inside her that makes her legs tighten, that makes her back arch, that splits her breath into jagged, intoxicating stutters against the sheets. her voice cracks, high and desperate, each syllable drenched in want, and he can’t stop watching her, can’t look away from the way her spine curves, the tumble of her damp hair falling in wild disarray across her glowing skin, the slick sheen from her arousal catching the lamplight like molten silk.

the rhythm between them is hypnotic, his pace relentless, each thrust rolling deep and heavy, hitting her core again and again until her body trembles uncontrollably. her hips meet his with a frantic, shivering grind, instinctive and needy, rebounding against him like she can’t get enough, like she’s trying to swallow every inch of him. the heat between them is endless, a fire coiling through their veins, all-consuming, saturating the room with the scent of sweat, slick skin, and raw, frantic desire.

even as he holds back, teasing her with slow, punishing thrusts, the pressure inside her is unbearable, making her shake and whimper, nails digging into the sheets as her body tries to contain the ache that only he can release. he leans closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice thick and ragged. “fuck…you feel so good, baby…so tight…so fuckin’ perfect for me,” he rasps, thrusting deeper, harder, chasing every delicious tremor, every shiver, every moan that escapes her lips.

she’s wet, so impossibly wet, slick gliding against him, her breath coming in pants and gasps, every small movement of her hips synchronized to his thrusts, her body trembling around him like she’s trying to pull him closer with every shudder. “joey…please…fuck…don’t stop…,” she whines, and it sends a fresh coil of need spiraling through him, making every groan, every slam of his hips, every drag of his fingers along her spine feel like it’s carving them both deeper into this fevered rhythm of pure, feral lust.

he’s not just inside her, he’s holding her. one hand braced like an anchor at her hip, the other sliding up, palm fitting over the ridge of her spine before curling around the back of her neck. the touch isn’t harsh, but it’s commanding, an unspoken tether keeping her exactly where he wants her. he leans in close, his chest brushing the plane of her back, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear as his voice drops into something wrecked and raw. “so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. all mine. takin’ it so good for me,”. her response is a soft, breathy whimper that punches straight through his composure, pulling something primal and possessive to the surface. she’s flushed, warm, and pliant beneath him, her breath coming in small bursts, every inch of her tuned to him. he reads her body like it’s a playbook only he knows how to read—every shiver, every gasp a call he coaxes from her with deliberate precision.

the closeness is dizzying. it’s more than the press of his chest, more than the deep, steady push and pull of his hips—it’s the intimacy of knowing this is theirs. it’s the echoes of all the quiet 2 a.m. talks, the clipped but calming texts before games, the weeks spent apart without ever losing that thread that pulls them back. no matter the noise outside, the stadium chants, the flashing cameras, they find their way back to this rhythm, to each other.

his hands never falter, because he knows exactly what he’s holding. she’s fragile in the way she gives herself to him without restraint, laying every part of herself in his hands like she trusts he’ll never misuse it. and yet she’s fierce, meeting his intensity without flinching, taking what he gives and giving back just as much. she’s contradiction in the most beautiful form, the kind of duality that reminds him of her music—soft verses melting into screaming choruses—and of his own game, where brutality and elegance collide on every play.

she moans his name like it’s the only language she’s ever known, muffled against the pillow but sharp enough to cut through him. the syllables are frail, caught somewhere between a whimper and a plea, and they land heavy in his chest. each time she says it, it’s like she’s offering another piece of herself, and he takes it greedily, tucking it away like something he’ll never give back. her mind is gone now, stripped down to nothing but sensation. the steady, consuming thrust and drag of his cock, the unwavering cadence that’s impossible to think through. he draws out every inch of the connection before pulling back, just to push her into that sweet, unbearable edge of wanting more. it’s too much and nowhere near enough, and that’s exactly where he wants her.

her spine curves under the glide of his palm, every muscle bowing for him, her body betraying how much she needs it. his next thrust is sharper, deeper, and the sound she makes when it lands is ragged, her moan breaking apart against the sheets. “there you fuckin’ go,” he growls, hips snapping forward again, the sharp slap of skin on skin echoing through the dim bedroom. “knew you’d give it to me like this. you always do,”.

he bends until his mouth hovers over her ear, his voice filthy and almost taunting as his pace turns faster, heavier. the air fills with the obscene wet sound of her arousal, slick running down her thighs and coating him, and he groans at the feel of it. “you know just how i like it, huh?” he bites out, and she pushes back against him, grinding down with a need that makes her thighs quake.

“you like that, don’t you?” he hisses, one hand sliding around her waist while the other rises to the base of her throat, holding her there—not choking, just controlling, keeping her exactly in his orbit. “you love lettin’ me have you like this. takin’ all of me. fuck, baby…look at this pussy, so fuckin’ greedy,”.

she makes a sound that’s not quite a word, spreading wider for him, her ass flushed from the constant collision of his hips against her. his fingers sink deep into the flesh of her hips, dragging her back into each thrust, making her feel every solid, unrelenting inch. he’s right at the edge, straining to keep it together, his cock twitching when she clamps down on him like she knows he’s about to break.

every thrust sends a jolt through her, the sound of their bodies moving together like percussion, and he can’t take his eyes off her. he watches the way her breathing falters, the way her manicured fingers twist into the sheets like she’s clinging for stability. he dips down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade before letting his voice curl into her ear, “tell me who’s makin’ you feel this good, baby,”.

“you, joey,” she gasps, her voice breaking on the words, raw and unguarded. “only you…fuck, please don’t stop,”.

and that’s the crack in his restraint. not just the words, but the way her voice carries them, heavy with need and trust, like she’s holding nothing back. her hips keep rolling, taking him deeper, her body clutching him like she was carved to fit him alone.

her moans shift into something more needy when he changes his angle, driving harder into the spot that makes her shake. her thighs tremble, toes curling into the mattress, spine bowstring tight as he keeps her there. his eyes are locked on the mess they’re making between them, on the way she’s gripping him like she’s trying to pull him deeper. “that’s it, baby,” he grits, dragging her hips into his over and over, their bodies moving in a rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat gone frantic. “that spot, huh? always gets you, can feel you clenchin’ for me,”. his hands tighten, leaving soft marks in her skin, holding her exactly where she can’t escape the pace.

she tries to say his name but it comes out in pieces, muffled into the pillow, her jaw slack with pleasure. sweat beads at her temple, her lashes clump together, every muscle straining as heat winds tight inside her. with joe, it’s never just the physical. it’s the way he reads her without asking, the way he tunes himself to her responses until it feels like her pleasure is wired into his own. every thrust is well placed, every shift in angle a calculated push toward her breaking point.

when she falls over the edge, it’s not a gentle surrender. it’s a wracking, shivering collapse into pure, dizzying ecstasy, a tremor of need that pulses through every fiber of her body. her sobs break sharp against the pillow, ragged, raw, and drenched in want, each note a plea he feels deep in his chest. her walls clamp around him with hungry insistence, gripping him tighter with every flicker of her trembling hips, forcing him deeper inside her slick, heat-warmed tunnel, making his own breath catch in a guttural groan. every twist of her hips, every involuntary curl of her toes, drags him over the edge with her, and he presses himself against her back, letting her ride the waves of her release like a tide that refuses to recede, letting her tug him where she wants, curling her legs around him, quivering and greedy.

her hands clutch the sheets so hard the fabric wrinkles under her knuckles, white and tense, every inch of her body vibrating in delicious, trembling pulses that he traces with his eyes and his hands alike. the scent of her, sweat, arousal, that unmistakable musk of desire, wraps around him, intoxicating, and he groans again, deeper this time, chest pressing into the curve of her spine as he drags his hips slowly against her slick, inviting heat, savoring the stretch, the tight, hot grip she gives him with every pulse. her back arches instinctively under him, ass lifted high, every quake a command he can’t resist, and the wet, slick friction between them makes his veins thrum with need.

“gonna make a mess on you,” he rasps, voice rough and ragged, cock twitching in his hand as he pulls out just enough to let her whine at the sudden emptiness, a sound that makes him harden against himself. his fingers curl around his slick shaft, still dripping with her, each drop sliding along the thick veins as he teases himself, watching her arched form—the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the slick glint between her thighs, the way she shivers helplessly under his gaze. the sight is devastating, sensual in every sense, making his cock throb painfully in response.

she stays exactly where he told her, cheek pressed into the pillow, lashes heavy, lips parting in shallow, ragged gasps as her eyes flick back at him through the haze of lust and aftershocks. “joey…,” she whispers, voice trembling, breath thick and soaked in want, “…fuck, please…i need to f-feel it,”.

her body is a vision of heat and need, glistening with sweat that beads along her collarbones, damp tendrils of hair clinging to the back of her neck. skin flushed pink and impossibly soft under his fingertips, every curve of her frame is on display, ass lifted high, hips trembling uncontrollably as the aftershocks of her release ripple through her. the slickness of her release glistens against her inner thighs, sliding slightly with every movement, catching the low lamplight as if her skin itself is shimmering.

he groans her name, his chest heaving, voice thick with hunger and reverence, as he spills across her back in long, hot streaks, following the contours of her spine, over the smooth swell of her ass, each drop making her shiver and arch further into him, completely consumed. his eyes never leave her, tracing the way the warmth of him drips down her skin, how her muscles flex involuntarily with every shudder, how her hands clutch at the sheets as if trying to anchor herself while every nerve endings screams for more.

his hips jerk once—slow, reflexive, chasing the last pulses of tension still coiling in both of them. then twice, each movement sending a wave through the bed, through her body, through the heat-soaked space around them. his breath is uneven, loud in the quiet room, mingling with hers, jagged and heavy and full of need finally sated. her own gasps and soft whimpers thread through the air, a low, shivering melody that he drinks in hungrily, chest rising and falling against the curve of her spine.

the room itself seems to fold around them, heavy with intimacy, thick with the scent of sweat and sex and longing. the soft glow of the lamp catches the sheen on her skin, the rise and fall of her chest as her breath flutters in irregular waves. it’s their sanctuary, this bedroom—a space where the outside world doesn’t exist, where stadiums and fame and everything else fade away, leaving only the two of them utterly undone, bodies and hearts entwined, pulsing in unison, sacred and raw.

#noor’s fic rec

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