#is there a physical sensation what am i even looking for here

[wereshrew-admirer]

:)

[azrielhours]

Hey rags! I was thinking about the fact that Azriel isn’t unhappy but he is lonely, i would love to read something written by you were Azriel is just extremely happy when he finds his mate and they’re both laying naked on bed and he is just thinking about how lonely he was and he didn’t even notice until now. Maybe he kept having lovers to try and fill that loneliness inside him but it didn’t work, it’s just with his mate he feels loved

Love Letter

wc: 500

Laying with Azriel was one of the best parts of being with him.

Sex aside, passion and loud loving, explicit testimonies—

The quiet peace of being with him was unparalleled. You sighed, snuggling closer, breathing him in deeply. Relishing his naked glory pressing heat into your skin. Pressing safety onto it. In it, as you so often felt strumming down the bond.

He stroked your back. This was routine after lovemaking, and it was just as good as the erotic high.

You open your body to him, your heart, and now the bond.

A sensation of bittersweetness flowing through it had you cracking an eye open.

He continued to stroke your back, gazing absently, still at the ceiling.

The feeling persisted. A tang of ancient ache hummed through your chest cavity.

You frowned. “Az?”

He looked down at you.

“You okay?”

His brows rose slightly. “Yes, my love. Why?”

You bit your lip. The feeling had halted, but whatever had prompted it…

“I—uh, could feel—” This was new, the transmission of soul, and yet—“Um, the bond, baby,” you finished quietly. “Is… everything okay?” Had you done something wrong?

“Oh,” he breathed. He searched your eyes as you waited apprehensively. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was just, uh—” he broke your gaze, seeking courage beyond the vulnerability in your eyes that threatened his resolve greater than even an open mating bond did his honesty.

A deep breath. “I was just… remembering,” he spoke softly. Swallowing. “How it felt before all this. Before I got to have you.”

Oh. “How did it feel?”

Azriel met your gaze again. “I’d been so lost. Just… existing. Waiting.” Seeking. He didn’t want to think about how he sought it with his whole being—a mate. How he drained himself onto females, old and new lovers, strangers, chasing physical intimacy like empty promises, trying to fill the soul-deep void. Failing over and over. He took another steadying breath. “I’ve always known I craved a mate, but having you now, I guess I—just never truly understood how alone I’d been.” Save for now, with the abundance of you filling him, utterly overflowing. Waking him up.

Your heart broke. He felt that too, resuming stroking your back, pulling you tighter. Reassuring you in the wake of his confession.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He huffed a laugh. “What for?”

You shrugged. “For… I don’t know. Taking this long to find you.”

He laughed again, kissing you. “Finding you in the end is worth all of it.”

Your throat closed with emotion. Another silently conveyed love letter sent to his sternum. He wrapped his other arm around you. You buried your face in his neck, knowing no words would sufficiently convey what your heart was already whispering to his. I love you. I’m here to stay. I would take all the pain away if I could. You’re mine and I am yours. Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.

His heart sang in answer, filling you with such ferocious love it soothed any pain on his behalf. He exhaled, this time in contentment, declaring again, “You’re worth it all, my love.”

[auspicioustidings]

Any version of Soap in any position of power would be soooo disgusting, calling IT Security reader at all times of the day and telling her that the speaker on his computer doesn’t work, while he’s clearly streaming some porno in the background 😭😭😭

You get it Lumi, he's a sick freak :) You also sent this while I happen to be working through 1k requests so bonus short for you <3

Back Chat

Words: 1k

CWs: non-con groping, just all around gross awful Soap

Sergeant John MacTavish was the reason you had poured over your contract for any get out clause that didn't cost you a fortune. You came up with nothing. The military had paid for a high end training course for you on the provision that if you left the role within 2 years then you had to pay every penny back.

Plus this job paid well and the benefits were great. You didn't even mind having gruff military personnel seeing fit to give you a bollocking over the phone because you would be following procedure whether they liked it or not and they could file a damn ticket if they wanted their issue looked at. Generally they were an OK bunch at heart, but rough around the edges and used to recruits eager to please them. When they realised your lack of any rank also excused you from being ordered around by anyone but your actual boss they usually mellowed out.

Of course you had made the mistake of chewing out one such gruff man after he called in a temper demanding that his laptop be fixed as a priority. Not even his work laptop, no he wanted his personal laptop fixed.

“Look MacTavish was it?”

“Sergeant MacTavish tae you.”

“No it isn't. I am not one of your soldiers. I work in IT for the military, your laptop is not military property so I'm not touching it. Use your big boy Sergeant wage and buy a new one.”

“Listen here ye wee bitch-”

You hung up on him and got on with your day right up until he physically showed up at your office on base. You handled IT for multiple bases, you had not considered that the person you had chewed out would actually work on this one. Oops.

He was a big motherfucker as well. Handsome. Crazy scary dog energy. Definitely not your usual soldier with his lack of uniform (unless jeans and a t-shirt that was so tight he was liable to tear out of it was uniform these days) and out of regulation haircut. You scrambled to try and stand but he was already looming over you in your chair, leaving you no space to do so as he settled his hands on the armrests and leaned over you to get into your face.

“I'll need tae settle for you then hen. Better make it good.”

“Excuse me?”

“The lassie on my laptop begs tae get it up the arse. Is a good girl for a thick cock pounding her tight cunt. Even when she's fucked oot her nut and ruined she still gags around a man down her throat and swallows like a proper bitch.”

You were flooded with fear and arousal. Nobody had ever spoken to you like that and you weren't entirely sure he was joking. He wouldn't actually do anything to you right? He was just being a dick because he wanted his laptop fixed. Just trying to intimidate you.

“And I bet she gets paid a lot more than me MacTavish, back off.”

Oh no. There was a feral gleam in his eye and a rabid grin that showed those sharp incisors. He clearly relished your response.

“Then I'll need to buy ye with, what was it? Right. My big boy Sergeant wage.”

He leaned in close and took a deep breath. Christ he was sniffing your currently greasy and messy hair. You hadn't showered in like 2 days, you were fucking IT, it wasn't like people usually came to physically see you in your little den.

“...I'll fix your fucking laptop oh my God just bring it by.”

“Atta girl” he all but panted into your ear before tugging at the lobe with his teeth and then fully tounging at your ear hole.

The sensation was truly the most awful thing you had ever felt. Your skin crawled and your body shivered uncomfortably as you tried to push him away from you. He chuckled and you choked on your own saliva as he firmly smacked your pussy before pulling away.

“I'll bring it right doon.”

You were left completely gobsmacked in your little office, your body hopped up on adrenaline and your cunt throbbing from the spank it had gotten and from the sick part of your mind that found the whole thing depraved and disgusting but sort of titillating.

When he brought the laptop back he hovered behind you while you worked on it, making you sweat. It was an easy enough fix and you sighed in relief and carefully avoided eye contact when you told him it was fixed.

“Ye’ll check it over, cannae be sending me away with a half done job.”

“You can see that it's working.”

He leant over, arms surrounding you so he could scroll over to open a video file. It was of a woman being railed hard from behind, drooling into the pillow and babbling for more. The wet squelch was disgusting, the man spitting down on her and smacking her already red ass.

“Speakers are fucked.”

You squirmed in your seat.

“I can hear it just fine.”

“Aye? What are ye hearing then?”

You remained silent, eyes fixed on the wall instead of on the screen. At least you were silent until he drew a yelp from you by groping one of your tits.

“Told ye, if ye cannae prove that it's fixed I'll need to settle for you. Bit shorter, softer and dirtier than my lassie mind, so got tae give it yer full effort.”

“I-It's working!”

“Prove it, what ye hearing?”

He made you replicate the whole script from each broken moan to the begging to the degrading. He was only satisfied when the whole video had run its course, by which time he had a hand on either tit, rough with how he groped and tugged.

“See now? Wisnae so hard to follow a Sergeant's orders was it?”

“No” you mumbled, crying out when he gripped your nipples through your shirt and twisted. “No Sergeant!”

He let go then, closing the lid of the laptop and standing with it to leave.

“Got an LT having trouble with his phone, he's naw as friendly as me though so best limit the back chat soldier.”

[billskeis]

i quickly thought of this after watching a porno and needed to get it out.

ᡣ𐭩 loser virgin bill and his experienced gf

“a-and you’re sure you’re okay with this..?” he stutters as you’re already opening your mouth, drooling at the pretty cock in front of your face, mushroom tip leaking with pre. you stop and just look at bill, whose thighs tremble in nervousness but anticipation as you talked about giving bill a blowjob.

“of course i am! wouldn’t have gone this far if i wasn’t, hm?” you lean your head to rest on one of bill’s thighs looking up at him as he sits upright on the edge of his bed, propped on his elbows as you sit on your knees placed right between his legs. “o-okay..” smiling brightly at the boy in front of you.

sticking out your tongue, wet with drool from how you’re salivating. you’ve been waiting for this moment forever, the right time to finally pounce. from simply hanging out and watching movies in his bedroom, you pulled up with the ‘can i suck you off?’ question, leaving bill in complete and utter shock. and to your surprise, he said yes.

bill has no experience. whatsoever. its so cute. he gets all shy and flustered whenever you make an advance on him. holding his hips, kissing his neck, whispering dirty things into his ears. he’s never known what it’s like to cum. never masturbated in his life. never seen porn before. he’s never fucking seen a tit or pussy, period.

this excites you to the max. you can’t help but physically get wet at the thought of taking your boyfriend’s virginity and corrupting him. and here you are, about to make it happen. you lick up the length of bill’s cock, he whimpers, it’s high pitch and nasally. fucking delicious, you thought.

“ahhnn, y-y/n..” “shhhh baby just let me do all’tha work mmkay?” he nods feverishly, gripping the sheets as you work your tongue along the shaft of his penis. feeling it throb against the flat of your tongue, you moan, propping both your hands on each of his thighs as you hold them wider and begin to bring your whole mouth to the tip of his cock.

engulfing it, you swirl your tongue around the head, ensuring that you lick up alllll the precum that gloops out. “oohh.. f-fuck..” you kitten lick at his cock and look at him, smirking as his dick stays in your mouth, “feelsh’good?” as you talk with his dick in your mouth, bill can’t help but shudder at the erotic scene in front of him. is this what porn is like?

“ja.. my tummy feels nice..” bless his heart. “does it now?” and before he could speak, you go down, bobbing your head up and down his thick length as you motion your tongue to continuously run against the flesh of his cock, feeling every vein that decors his member, cupping his balls in your hands as you fondle them.

“eek! schatzi! no! please!” bill’s legs attempt to clamp close as he tries to bring your head up from his cock, overstimulated from the sudden pleasure of a blowjob. he’s sooo sensitive.. but it’s his fault! how can someone so cute never have gotten a blowjob?? you feel honoured to be his first, and you wanna make sure it’s the best and last he’s ever had.

you swat away at his feeble attempts to escape from you. sucking even harder, you’re hollowing out your cheeks and stick your tongue out deeper to make sure you don’t gag, deep-throating him. his tip hits the back of your throat leading you to moan at the sensation. bill can only moan, mouth formed into an O shape as the rest of his body falls against the bed, there’s no winning with you and he’s given up on trying to stop you.

the sounds are nasty, lewd, wet, and squelchy as you blow off your boyfriend, occasionally stopping to pay extra attention to the head of bill’s cock, his favourite spot. you can tell it’s his favourite because he get’s especially whiny when you do.

“y/n..! y/n baby please stop ‘m gonna pee.. please!!” but you don’t. you don’t understand the concept of stopping because you’ve already gone this far. but bill doesn’t understand that he’s not actually gonna ‘pee.’ how silly of him x3! such a naive boy..

as much as he wants you to stop. he feels shooo good. he’s just too shy to actually admit it, feeling like a complete loser for moaning and whimpering like a bitch in heat cause it’s his first blowjob. he hates how much more experienced you are than him. he wants to make you feel good too! but that’s a discussion for a later time.

as you suckle on the tip, bill finally sees white. breathing extremely heavy, his moans are caught in his throat and they come out as cries. his thighs shake and tremble as he paints your throat walls a creamy white. you milk him, ensuring to suck out every drop of cum from him. it’s delicious, you love the taste. it’s even tastier coming from bill, an addicting ambrosia that you can’t wait to get more of.

latching off bill’s cock with a ‘pop!’ you lick at the cum that formed on the flesh of your lips, relishing in the taste. smirking at your boyfriend, you giggle at how he can’t look at you, eyes darting to everywhere in the room but you. that is, until you cup his face to look at you and place a kiss to his lips.

you dart your tongue to enter his mouth, assaulting his own. tasting himself, he cringes at the taste of his own cum. you like this? he moans into the kiss, not knowing where to place them, holding himself up on the bed instead as you now sit in his lap. as you part lips with him, bill snuggles his head into your chest, now hugging you. “you okay? how was it?” “felt s’good.. i want more..”

petting his hair, you can’t help but laugh at how cute he is. you get up from his lap to grab the tv remote from the floor, movie finished from your previous session. reaching for it from over the bed, bill gasps as he stares at you in front of him, ass up with your skirt all ridden up to reveal the wet patch on your panties. you’re soaked from just sucking him off. “y-y/n.. you’re.. um, i-i—”

“hmm? oh! ‘s all your fault billy.. now come fix it..”

[astrolynnworld]

Faded Views

pairing: sub! chris sturniolo x f!reader

summary: your best friend is cross faded at a party and he’s feeling real intimate, will you fold?

warnings: SMUT, language, drug implications, riding, mommy kink, praise, tad bit of oral. minors dni!

a/n: this is my first story guys 🫣 please be nice about it

word count: 1,508

“oh shit” was my only thought when i realized that chris wasn’t by my side anymore. there is a faded chris right now, roaming around this house party.

i was supposed to be keeping an eye on him as a courtesy to nick but i literally lost him. i won’t lie, i am also a little faded right now but not enough to lose chris.

its 1 am and it seems like the party is starting to die down. i search around the house trying to find chris but i can’t seem to find him anywhere.

i check every room, with no luck, but notice that the master room has a balcony. i take my chances and go look there, to no surprise i find chris lurking over the balcony at a pretty view of the city.

“chris?” i call to him

he turns around and breaks out into a smile when he notices it’s me. “hey princess, you found me” he says.

“yeah thank god. why are you hiding from me? do you want nick to kill me?” i ask.

“i would never hide from you beautiful, i just wanted some fresh air.” he tells me

“next time just bring me along thanks.” i respond

“do you see this view?” he changes the topic quickly.

“yes chris. it’s very pretty” i reply sarcastically.

“reminds me of you.” he says back.

“is this high you talking or did you drink a little as well?” i ask laughing.

“i drank a little too.. but i’m serious! i don’t need to be intoxicated to know that you’re absolutely gorgeous.” he replies with a bit of serious tone

i kinda get a bit flustered here because i’ve never even heard chris call me pretty before.

“thank you chris” i say with a smile trying not to look at him as i heat up inside.

i can’t deny that chris is soo hot, i just never think too much about those thoughts because he’s my best friend. but having him in my face calling me beautiful while i’m high asf just really set it in for me.

“don’t look away from me princess” he says as he notices that i’m trying to avert my eye contact

i look back up at him.

“there you go.” he says softly while holding up my chin for me to keep looking at him, “show me those pretty eyes”

i physically feel my heart flutter inside my chest, he’s so seductive and it’s really turning me on. all i can think about is what i would do to this man at this moment. and because of this i start feeling bold.

“i can show you a lot more than my eyes, chris” i state.

“mhm. like what?” he says with his eyes red and half lidded from how high he is

“i can show you how i smell.. how i feel.. how i taste.. would you like that, mister?”

i don’t know where this side of me came from but i can see it on his face that he’s going crazy inside, which is only driving me crazier.

“i would love that actually” he says with a smirk

i start to notice the bulge fully built in his pants. i take him back inside the house to the bedroom that had previously led to the balcony. not caring about who had to sleep there that night, all i knew is that i had a mission.

i pushed chris onto the bed, then quickly covered the balcony windows with the blinds and i locked the bedroom door.

going back to chris i decided to give him a strip tease show. i pulled off my shirt, then turned around as i bent over to take off my pants. he took a heavy breath at the sight of my ass and vagina through the laced thong i was wearing.

i climbed on top of him and passionately kiss his ear down to his neck as i took off his shirt. then, i proceeded to kiss down his chest all the way to his happy trail while i wiggled him out of the sweat pants that he had been wearing.

i straddled back on top of chris and starting kissing him. wet, sloppy, passionate kisses of lust of sensation as i grinded my wet panties on his bulge. we both couldn’t help but moan through the kisses

“you feel so fucking good y/n” he said in a whine as he broke the kiss

“awe say that again for mommy, you’re such a good boy.” i replied in an almost degrading yet praising tone

“fuck. you can’t say that to me” he panted back to me in a whimper

“why? do you not want to be a good boy for mommy?” i reply in that same tone

“of- of course i do mom-nugh- mommy. i want nothing more than to be your- fuck your good boy.” he says in the most submissive tone ever

i could tell the grinding was too much for him. he was about to cum. i had to cut it there

“nooo mommy pleaseee. why’d you stop? i was so close” he responds to my abrupt stop

“that’s not how i wanted you to finish baby” i say as i hop off of him and slide down his boxers to which his hard on springs up.

“fuck” i say at the sight of his dick. i knew it had to be big but i had never imagined how the 9 inch circumcised pink tip dick would actually look like when it was in my face. just drooling with precum, i didnt know if i wanted to suck it or ride it first

“please- please please please touch me mommy. i can’t take it anymore i need to cum” chris spoke while looking up at me staring as his dick

i lick all the precum off first in case i wouldn’t get to taste his cum for the rest of the night. then i hop back on top of the whiny boy and guide him inside of my wet hole.

i sit down slowly on his cock trying so hard to adjust to the size of his member.

“yo- your s- s- so so so fucking tight mommy oh my god this is unreal” chris said as he fell bad onto the bed trying to prove a point that it was too much.

as my hole adjusts to his size, i get comfortable enough to start moving. with each bounce i hear chris let out a fought back breathy moan straight from his chest. it was like he was trying to hold it back and be quiet but he couldn’t

“you don’t have to hold back for me baby, i wanna hear you be loud. i don’t care who can hear” i reassure him

i proceeded to go faster, & bounce harder to make sure that it wasn’t even possible for him to be quiet.

“nugh- fuck fuck fuck m- mommy” he says in a whimpered moan that could be heard through the whole room

“i- i can’t take it anymore. you feel to fucking good. i’m gonna cum. i need to cum mommy please let me cum” he whines again

i ignore at first to see how long he can hold off without my permission

“mommy please mommy, i can’t cum until you say too. please say i can cum” he continues to beg while only whimpering louder.

i’m pretty sure whoever’s still at this party can hear him at this point. but it’s not about them, it’s about how good christopher looks writhing underneath me, begging to cum with no shame about who can hear him or what even even looks like as this whimpering puppy mess.

“yes baby, you can cum. cum in mommy, my love” i permit

he chases his high whole thrusting up into me at the most animalistic pace i have ever seen. the noises coming from him were sounds i haven’t even known the human voice could make, he was so pent up. it’s like he hasn’t came in weeks.

“fuck y/n.. that was so fucking good.” he says

“so you said” i laugh while getting off of him, letting the cum drip out onto his dick.

“that’s so hot.” he calls out as he watches his cum drip from my pussy

“you’re so hot” i reply

he chuckles. “here, lay down real quick while i go get a towel to clean you up with” he insists.

a few moments later he returns with a small wet cloth that he found in one of the bathrooms. he cleans both of us up and helps me put my clothes back on.

“i’m not even the submissive type.” he says like he’s trying to clear the air

“i don’t know, you seem pretty submissive.” i shrug

“i guess i’ll just have to show you what i mean next time ..” he replies trying to sneakily introduce a next time

“next time” i smile

—————————————————————————————————————

i had to scrap my original story cause it was taking to long to get to the point 😭 i hope you guys like this tho!! took me an hour

[auteurdelabre]

Something to Fight For (SERIES) Part 20

Something to Fight For Chapter 20 Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) Tommy x Maria, Bill x Frank Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT. Loves of cheese. Extra cheese with a side of cheese. Love and more love. Happy ending. All the happy shit.

masterlist here

a/n: Ya'll this feels so strange. Even though the epilogue is on its way sometime soon, writing this chapter felt very final. Its a bittersweet feeling. After this story I won't have all of us together again. It's been a journey for us all, hasn't it? You've felt like real friends, caring for this story I invented. Sorta surreal, huh? And I TOLD YA'LL THE ANGST LED TO A HAPPY ENDING. I really hope that if you've never left a review, you decide to do so on this chapter. I also hope if you have left reviews before, you do so now. Detailed ones, ones where you tell me your favorite part cuz It was so beautiful to write, but it was also hard. I feel like I'm sayin' goodbye to a part of me. Also, SMUT WARNING. Sorry, I am not a smut writing professional. It's just sorta the icing there on Bill's cupcake. It doesn't come naturally to me, but these two deserved i t don't you think? I love ya'll. See you in the epilogue.

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Joel is finishing up watering the front lawn when he hears a car coasting down his street. He doesn't pay it any mind, turning off the spigot and heading towards his front door. 

He's thinking about you. How warm you felt curled against him this morning. How your puffy eyes and gentle smile makes his heart sing even now. He wipes his damp hands on the back of his jeans. 

You must be breaking things off with Paul, right? Joel saw the ring box. He saw your bare finger. 

And your eyes, your eyes said so much. Even as he was leaving he saw the dueling emotions there. The quiet anxiety from your mom's incoming call mingling with the open desire to have Joel stay. He felt it coming off of you in waves. 

He would have. He would do anything you wanted. 

He'd help you build that sanctuary with his own bare hands. He'd move you box by box into his home tomorrow if you gave the word. He'd hold you every night and make love to you every morning if that's what you said you needed.

He'd even figure out how to travel back and forth from home to Chicago and Austin for the next six months without it disrupting Sarah's life too much, if it's not a permanent move on your end. A combination of odd weekend visits and daily phone calls seems manageable. He'd even learn how to text properly. He doesn't want you back in Chicago, but he'd do it. He will continue to fight for you.

He needs to tell you this, he decides. He needs to spell it out. The word love was sputtered last night, without thought. But he needs to say it with clear eyes and your body against his. He needs you to know exactly what he's offering. He'll call to see if you’re free before the wedding to talk.

This can't wait. 

He pulls the front door open, his hand reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. He hopes you answer. 

"Joel!"

He spins in the door frame, his eyes widening. It's you. You're here, pulling yourself from the driver’s side of a car he doesn't recognize.

You're wearing some green dress that has far too many bows but Joel doesn't give a shit, all he can think is it's you it’s you and your here for him. You have a blazing look in your eyes, sharp and focused all on him as you march to his front door.

He feels a pull at his abdomen, a delicious sensation because there's no indecision in you anymore. It's there written in your face: you want Joel. You're here for him, to claim him. 

Because he's wanted. 

Joel feels a smile break over his face, his teeth a slab of white against the tan of his face that has you laughing and sobbing in equal measure. He steps away from the door because you're running to him the rest of the way, your face breaking into a smile as you launch yourself into Joel's arms. 

"Honey-"

He doesn't get another word out because you've launched yourself into his chest, circling your arms around his neck. He grunts as your body collides with his and grips you in surprise. He holds fast to you against him, staring down at your tear-streaked face.  

And then you're gripping his face, pulling it to meet yours. Kissing him with a ferocity that he's not expecting but is oh so responsive to. There on his doorstep you kiss him, your mouth hot and needy as Joel kisses you back, pulling you against him before panting as brings you inside the house, almost carrying you over the threshold. 

You're frantic, needing to touch and kiss and make up for lost time. To show him through your passion just how much you've missed him, how much he means to you. He's still got you in his strong arms, his hands skating down your back. Your hands are coming to his collar, desperate for him to press you against the wall as he did not so long ago at your place. 

Whoa slow down.

You need to talk. To get things right. You break apart from Joel slowly, your mouth reddened. Joel smiles so widely you're concerned he might pull a face muscle.

"Too much?"

You shake your head as he begins lowering your feet to the floor.

"Not enough."

Then the silence descends as he stares at you. Joel has this uncanny ability to remain so still he almost looks static. His fingers drag the strand of  hair caught on your damp lips, but his finger stays at your cheek, frozen. The moment feels heavy, thick with tension and you second guess everything.  

Maybe now is a bad time. This seems like one of those things a person does when they look and feel perfect. And you don't. You're sweaty and dressed ridiculously and you're pretty sure your hair still has grass in it. 

Joel seems to sense your indecision and responds by reaching out his broad hand and taking yours. You immediately relax, the warmth of his grip guiding you to the kitchen. 

You look up his arm, your eyes sliding to his strong profile and his full mouth as he leads you. He feels your eyes on him and he turns, smiling sweetly. 

I love this man.

His hand presses you gently into the seat at the kitchen table, urging you to relax into it. You look up at him and hold in a sigh when he traces a forefinger along your cheek again. 

"I'll be back in a sec."

He leaves the room and for a moment you sit there in the kitchen of so many memories you feel so incandescently happy that it brings tears to your lash line. Coloring with Sarah. Decorating cupcakes. Joel's dinner, the dropped salad. Laughter, tears, so much is just in this single room of the house. 

Joel reappears seconds after you wipe the tears away. He sits across from you, his broad shoulders flexing as he places something on the table. 

He clears his throat, finally dragging his eyes to meet yours and now suddenly he looks nervous. This makes your anxiety flood your senses, starting to creep up your spine.  

Then you realize the time. How Joel is dressed. How you’re dressed for fucks sake. The wedding is only a few hours away and Sarah is probably still getting ready. Why did you think now was the best time? This is something you should have done when you could take your time, not rush. You’d just been so excited to see him, to tell him.

"Shit I'm sorry. You're probably still getting Sarah ready," you say wincing and preparing to stand. "We can talk about this later, tomorrow or -"

Joel raises his hand in your direction, just his palm between you, stilling your ascent. His eyes are troubled by your reaction. 

"Stop. Honey, just sit there a moment, please." 

Honey.

How is it that words or nicknames that sound so trite coming from other people sound so perfect coming from Joel? You nod, planting yourself back into the chair and taking a deep breath.

"Tommy took Sarah about an hour ago. Maria wanted her to get her hair done with the bridesmaids, a little something special for being the flower girl."

You smile. That sounds like Maria. 

"I was just getting ready here, but I got time." Joel's eyes tell you he's sincere, that he always has time for you. And then suddenly he's so earnest. "I'm real glad you're here."

"Me too."

"Be lyin' if I said I haven't been thinking about you since I left."

"Same here."

"Yeah?"

You nod and Joel's face is like the sun breaking through clouds. But in life rain always does fall, and as if just remembering this, Joel's face tenses. That familiar tic in his jaw is back at he gazes at you. 

"Paul?"

"Gone. Done. Over."

You spare him the details. You have a feeling if Joel knew even a hint of what went on today he would personally drive over to Paul's house and finish what Bill started. And you don't want that. Right now you just want this happy, hopeful joyful warmth. 

Joel swallows and you can see he needs the clarity. To know that he's not imagining this. "This a permanent thing or-"

“I called off the engagement," you explain plainly. "I couldn't marry him. I couldn't be with him. Ever. Not when I feel how I do about you."

Joel tries to hide the smile, but it blooms all over his face all the same. His mouth curls, his eyes squint and you have to physically restrain yourself from leaping across the table and kissing him senseless. 

You think he's going to ask you to explain in more detail. To tell him exactly what you mean about how you feel about him. But his eyes are on the pink paper at his elbow. Joel taps it with a forefinger before sliding it towards you, his eyes on your face. As it approaches you see it's an envelope. 

"Open it up," Joel tells you softly, even though you can see that this envelope has been opened and closed a multitude of times, creased and folded.

You open it with shaking hands, unsure of what to expect inside. He wrote you a letter? When? Large crooked letters greet you. 

"Joel I wunt u to bee my Vallentane. I love Sarah. I love you. I wint to be yr wife. LOVE - "

You read your name aloud, your eyes flicking to his. "What is this?"

"You don't recognize it?" Joel taps the card with a forefinger. A familiar Snoopy sticker greets you and suddenly your face breaks into a confused smile. 

The Valentine that Sarah had made all those months ago, the one she'd insisted you personally give to her father. 

“Sarah…”

"When I asked her about it the next morning she said that you had written it." 

You laugh out loud in disbelief at the shrewdness of Sarah. Joel chuckles along with you. 

"She loves you. She thinks you hang the moon," Joel drawls. 

"The feeling is mutual," you say with a soft smile.

"You're wanted in this house, in this family," Joel says motioning to the letter. "You make us better."

You weren't expecting this. You actually can't speak. 

Joel is thinking, clearly displayed in the lines between his brows, the way his dark eyes scan in front of him as if he's trying to recall something very specific. After a moment you sober, closing the card because you need to say it before you lose your nerve. You need to tell him everything.

"Joel -"

"I'm in love with you," Joel tells you bluntly, beating you to it. "Have been for a while. Thought it was kinda obvious but I'm realizing you're a woman that may need things said out loud a couple times before she believes them. So just to be sure there's no misunderstanding, I'm tellin' you plainly as I can: I love you. I don't want anyone else. I just want you."

The sound of Joel telling you he loves you may just be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Better than any song. Even the one he sang to you. He reaches across the table to take your hands in his.

It makes your eyes water and a smile to break out over your features. It also creates a knot in your throat, making it impossible to speak. But that might be for the best because Joel is still going. 

"And I don't just love you because of how you love my daughter, though I'd be lying if I said that didn't have some part in it," Joel admits. "I just don't remember the last time I wanted someone to share my day with or wake up next to as much as I do with you. I go to sleep thinkin' about you. I drive by a shitty Italian restaurant and I think about you. I see a fucking dog at job site I'm working and I think about you. Something happens to me and it's you I wanna talk to about it."

You want to believe these words, you want to believe them so badly but then just as your heart starts to glow, something holds you back. Something that always seems to grip those threads of joy only to slice through them. An ugly, twisting thing that makes you wince and curl into yourself when you remember what Paul said. When you think about your phone call with your father earlier. How can you be so happy when you’ve just been so cruel?

Selfish.

Joel's eyes scan your face, immediately picking up on your agitation. He drops your hands and your eyes slide closed because suddenly you feel so weak. Your head drops forward and all the good feeling, the sweet burst of joy is gone, leaving you drained.

"Honey."

His voice is so tender, so gentle. He's there at your side within seconds, kneeling beside your chair. He's gripping you loosely by the waist, the other hand cupping your face. 

"I can tell right now that you're having trouble hearing this because somewhere along the way you were taught you didn't deserve to be loved," Joel says, his eyes searching your face. "And you're wantin’ to tell me you're a horrible, selfish person. And that I should just forget about you."

He knows. He knows my worst self. He knows everything.

You feel so vulnerable but his eyes are blazing so brightly right now you can't look away. 

"But I'm never gonna do that," Joel says, his thumb grazing along your cheekbone. "'Cuz I think you're the best thing to happen to me since Sarah was born. And if I have to spend my whole life convincing you of that, I will. I will fight every fucking day because what we have is worth fighting for. You are worth fighting for."

If falling in love had a specific moment it would be this one. Joel Miller, all muscles and wet eyes staring up at you as he kneels at your side promising you a love and life you could only dream of. 

"So that's all I wanted to say," Joel finishes with eyes so luminous you could cry. "I love you. Be with me. Just... just let me fucking love you."

His last sentence makes your heart seize. You're so overcome you can't speak right away. Instead you slide off the chair to join him on the floor, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and embracing him, head balanced on his shoulder. 

Joel reciprocates immediately, pulling you against him tightly. There you sit with arms around each other as Joel rocks you. This moment, this deep serenity works its way through your tight muscles and increment by increment you go boneless against him. 

I love him.

With a tremble you pull back. It's still too overwhelming to look at him directly so you just balance your forehead against his, the two of you breathing deeply. You breathe slowly, you matching Joel’s steady tempo.

I love him so much.

And then finally you tilt back from him, needing to see the warmth of his dark brown eyes. He's there, present, his eyes fixed on yours. 

"I want a cat."

Joel nods without thinking before his face contorts into surprise and then confusion.

"Wait, what?"

"A kitten, actually," you decide. "An orange one. Sarah was saying she wants a kitten anyway. "

A grin has broken over Joel's face. It makes him look younger, his entire disposition vibrant. It matches yours. His hands are coming to cup each of your cheeks. 

"Anything you want," Joel breathes. "Anything."

You smile, no, you beam up at him. You can tell him. You can. You can trust Joel to hold your secrets and not hate you. You can trust Joel with your love because it doesn’t come with receipts or price tags or debts to be owed. Your love for him will be cherished, not a ransom so you can be plucked apart piece by piece.

"I came here because I needed to tell you in person that I'm not going to Chicago," you say with a tensing inhale. "I spoke to my dad today."

Joel's thumb is stroking your cheek and for the first time since you've entered into his home, he looks scared. His dark eyes are suddenly pensive and you can see the way the wheels are turning. You’re confused by this reaction.  

"Don't do this for me," he murmurs. "I can't be the reason. Even if I want it more than anything. You'd resent me if you did."

"I didn't," you promise him. "I did it for me. I did it because I want to be happy. I don’t want that life back in Chicago. And I did it because I can't go another day without you, Joel."

Hope blooms there in the dark brown earth of his eyes. It grows beautiful and brilliant but under glass. It's too good to be true; he's so eager, so desperate but past experience has humbled him. 

"Waking up in your arms this morning was one of the best feelings in the entire world," you explain with open honesty. "I want that every morning. I want to have coffee with you and go to the park with Sarah. I want to read her to bed every night and then crawl in next to you. I wanna make pancakes on Sundays and go to trivia nights with you and Maria and Tommy. I want a life with you."

Joel's heart is rapid and staccato the more you spill forth because what you're saying sounds dangerously close to what Joel desires. Is it possible? 

"I'm absolutely crazy about you, Miller," you confess without hesitation now, wanting to take the tentative insecurity from his gaze. "I'm done pretending I don't want you. I'm tired of not holding you. I'm tired of being away from you and Sarah. I want a family with you, I want a future. I want it all but I only want it with you. I-I love you Joel."

The smile is broad on his handsome face, bringing out the dimple that makes your heart hiccup. 

"Really?"

"Yeah." 

He's got a forefinger tilting your chin so you face up to him. 

"No runnin'?"

"Only to you." 

That does something to Joel. Like a snap to his spine. Only to him. Because he's yours and when your lips press against his it's like every wall that exists comes tumbling down, shattering spectacularly. 

You’re his.

It's here, its happening. He's so grateful, so overcome he can't hold it in. 

It's only when you feel damp warmth against your cheek that your eyes fly open. You see another tear slip down Joel's cheek, his eyes still closed as he kisses you tenderly and you feel something within you burst. 

You didn't expect to be crying but here you are, sniffling with hot tears slipping your face. Joel is all glassy eyed trying to wipe your tears from your cheeks as you do the same for him, both your thumbs gliding over each other's cheekbones.

"What a pair," Joel says with a sniffle. 

You both give big watery laughs at this, giggling like you had only a day ago as you walked down the aisle. His thumb is lingering along your lower lip when the laughter slowly ebbs.  

Then his face is tilting towards you and you don't have to turn away. Because there is no Paul, no Tess. Because Joel is taking something for himself and so are you. 

Mine.

Your lips join once more, your eyes falling shut as he brings you back into his arms, sighing against you. He rocks you slowly in his arms, moving his mouth to your temple and murmuring sweet nothings, promises, loving verse. 

Slowly you tilt your head back, your heavy lidded gaze on his. Your eyes trail over his mouth, then back to see him watching you intently. His dark eyes flicker in understanding. His mouth is on yours once more for a scorching kiss and then Joel is standing, holding a wide hand to you. 

You take it without hesitation, rising to your feet and walking hand in hand to the bedroom. You smile softly at each other as he gently pushes the door open and as he does all you can think is that you're finally here with him in his bedroom properly. 

He looks nervously around, as if he’s expecting everything to fall to pieces.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That I wish I’d cleaned the fucking room.”

You see the bedroom through his eyes now and hold in a chuckle. The scattered clothes on the ground, the belts slung over the treadmill in the far left of the room, the bed haphazardly made. The empty water glasses on the nightstand, the CD’s scattered atop the dresser.  

“I can work with this,” you assure him, giggling nervously as he leads you to the bed. He assures you with relief that the sheets are clean before you both sit at the edge of his bed. His hand is on your knee, thumb tracing small circles on the soft inner, leading to your thigh.

You watch this hypnotized, breathing unsteadily when his hand begins to drift upwards, under your skirt. He says your name once, seeing the uncertainty in your features. When you don’t reply he says it again, and now you glance up at him. His brows raise, a silent question. What’s wrong?

"I'm scared," you whisper, your mind suddenly going over everything that could go wrong with this relationship. 

What if you break up? What if Joel turns? What if you run again? It feels too good, too perfect already and time has taught you not to trust the calm times. Time has taught you that calm times come before tidal waves. That calm times are a harbinger of greater carnage.

"Me too." Joel kisses the corner of your mouth. “But I got you, baby.”

You nod, still pensive, even though the pull below your navel is debilitating at this point. Joel urges your gaze to his, seeing the lowering of your lids and the gentle shuddering of you. You can see him there, thick and waiting in his jeans.

“We could wait until tonight,” Joel offers, grazing your arm with his knuckles. “Or tomorrow.  Hell, I’ll wait as long as you need. I just want you here is al-”

No. You don’t want to wait. You need Joel in a way you’ve never needed anyone.

“I can’t wait,” you inform him before the sentence leaves his mouth. You’re on your knees on the bed, your body pressed against his as your mouth tilts towards him.

“Well alright then,” Joel chuckles, his hands going to either side of your neck, his thumbs resting on the architecture of your jaw. You melt into his kiss, your hands gripping his shirt by the front.

Joel shifts back against the headboard, bringing you along with him to straddle his thighs. He kisses you languidly, slowing your frenetic motions. He can feel your movements, quick and sharp like a hummingbirds as you kiss him, tongue sliding between the seam of his soft lips. He pulls back gently, amused.

“We got time, baby,” he breaths against your trembling mouth. “Don’t have to rush anything.”

For some reason that hits you directly below the navel. The knowledge that Joel wants to take his time with you. No rushing, just the lazy pursuit of mutual pleasure. It’s so opposite to what you know of sex.

He's tender, his movements slow, his touches light. But that's not what you want right now. You want to feel it, more heavy tactile reality that this is happening, your body with his. You're straddling him, licking into his mouth as he holds your thighs, his mouth moving over yours as he groans. 

I want to take care of him.

Joel has spent so much of your time together taking care of you – doctor’s appointments, kennels, that night of the Christmas party . . . Joel is always looking out for others and you want to take care of him for once.  It’s not expected or forced upon you, it’s got you slick between the thighs just thinking about it.

“Take my dress off,” you whisper. Joel’s hands come to the hem of your dress with zero hesitation and he peels the unflattering dress from you, lifting it up over your arms stretched high over your head. It’s tossed gently to the other side of the room, making a soft flutter as it descends. You sit astride Joel’s lap in nothing but your lacy green underwear that you’d bought specifically for the wedding.

No bra, you’d decided. The dress fit better without it. Seeing Joel’s eyes darken you’re so fucking glad you decided on that.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes, mouth coming to circle your left nipple without pause. You moan into his mouth, feeling as his hands span your middle back, pushing you into his greedy mouth. You feel him grinding against your core, his jeans rasping against the gusset of your panties.

“Clothes off, Miller.”

He grins up at you, shimmying out of his jeans, kicking them down his legs as you bracket above him. You take your time pulling the shirt over his head, marvelling at how he looks as he disrobes. His skin is gold, his body a mixture of strength of softness. His hair tousled his mouth full and parted. He looks delicious.

You see his eyes snap back to your bare chest, getting ready to claim another straining nub between his teeth when you pull back, smiling. He tilts his head curiously as you begin backing up, sliding your body down his.

He’s breathing shallowly, quickly as your cheek brushes past his boxers, grazing his length there. He gives a sharp grunt, watching as you pull down his boxers, releasing his cock with a spring. You tug them off completely, tossing the boxers over your shoulder with a flourish before nestling yourself between his legs and admiring the rosy head of his cock.

Like you said. Joel Miller looks delicious.

You trail a finger along his length, fascinated by the rigid yet silken texture. It twitches at the contact. You smirk up at him from between his legs, your pupils blown wide at the view. 

Joel is so fucking sexy. Laid back, legs tilted to give you space to lay between them, his cock is there waiting for your mouth and this time it’s happening. No distractions, no delays. You have been aching to get your mouth on him. You dip your head forward, eyes closed as your mouth brushes the head. You hear Joel give a low gasp, thighs twitching.

"You don't have to do this," Joel moans, even as you give kitten licks along the tip.  You smile as his fingers brush your cheek, sweet and affectionate.  

Your mouth moves over the head, flicking with your tongue and then taking it into the wet warmth of your mouth. You begin to suck, delicately at first, just enough to hear the first shuddering groan from Joel.

Joel Miller is a giver. Joel Miller doesn't know what it is to take from the people he loves, to have something for himself, a secret treasure of only his. But you'll show him and starting now because you have so much you want to give to him. If you could carve out your heart and carry on living you would do it, present it to him to safeguard.

"You don't have-"

You pull your mouth off of him slowly, watching him quiver. His eyes are open and he's looking down the length of his body to see you. 

"Joel, I love you but please shut the fuck up and let me do this," you say fake crossly, wet lower lip grazing his tip. "Just let me make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

Joel's eyes are glossy. "Say it again," 

"Shut the fuck up?"

His head jerks so slightly you're not sure you caught it. "No. The other thing."

You smile slyly before your flattened tongue slides from base to tip, your eyes on him the entire time. "Let me make you feel good?"

"The- the other-"Joel makes a strangled groaning noise and you move over the head again, kissing gently as it twitches before taking in his thickness deep into your warm mouth once more. 

As you lay there between his legs in the bed you're struck by the realization that you feel so relaxed. The bed is warm and Joel is warm and when you hear his groans you feel so impossibly good. 

You shut your eyes and just feel and taste and enjoy Joel. You've never wanted to do this for a man so much. Never wanted to take your time and explore them like this. With Joel every piece of him feels sacred, every part of him worthy of your intimate attention and every time he lets out a little moan or grunt you feel yourself grow giddy. You love making him feel good. 

Joel is squirming, his grunts hitting you right at your core. He can't think now, his entire body poised. Your mouth feels so fucking good, he needs more of it. 

Joel never thought that a blowjob could feel loving, but this does. He lays there watching you; your eyes shut so softly, mouth moving achingly slow around him. It feels tender, it's you wanting to take care of him, sweet and soft and oh fuck ... Joel feels his breath come out in a shudder. You feel so fucking good around him. Too good. 

Your hands are palm flat on his thighs, bracing there as you take more of him into your mouth, sighing happily and hollowing your cheeks. Before long you can hear the sound of him whimpering. Soft, gravely whimpers that make you feel heady because you're making Joel fucking Miller whimper. 

"Don't wanna finish in your mouth, baby," he rumbles, pressing your cheek gently. "Not tonight."

You understand, pulling gently off of him. Without pausing you crawl the length of him, coming to rest in his arms beside him. He pulls you flush against his chest, your hips meeting. He’s breathing in soft pants and you can feel him hard against your thigh your own lower half aching with need for him. 

He stares at you for a long time, a curiously long time considering what you'd just been in the middle of doing. His eyes are warm and open as he takes in how your face looks flushed and needy. Yet it's you who says it. 

"You're beautiful."

Joel immediately feels himself flush at your compliment. A guy being beautiful? He's never been called beautiful, and it makes him feel shy. You notice the shy way he looks away, tips of his ears pinking. 

"No," you insist, gripping his face in your hands. "Don't. I love looking at your face. Your beautiful, perfect face."

He smiles, all teeth and dimple which sets your heart racing. He props his head up with one hand, the other going to the back of your neck. He holds you there, one thumb stroking the side of your neck as he stares at you.

As you lay there, face tilted into Joel’s pillow you smile, inhaling gently. The scent of his shampoo and just him. It makes you feel calm, but it also makes you pull a face, cringing as you recall something from months ago. Joel can see it immediately in your face, his own features turning concerned.

"What?"

“Nothing.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on you even with yours closed.  You give an embarrassed smile. "Promise not to laugh?"

"No."

You bark out a surprised laugh, drawing an amused chuckle from Joel. You love making him smile like that, in that unguarded, playful way.  

"Never mind then," you say with a smug smirk, rolling away from him.

"C'mon," he needles you, nose brushing against your neck to tickle, drawing you back to face him again. "Don't be like that. No secrets."

He says it smiling, but you hear that underline in the last sentence. No secrets. No, you don't want any between you either. 

“It’s just a bit embarrassing.”

“I don’t mind,” Joel insists. “I’ll trade you an embarrassing story for yours.”

“You go first.”

“Once when I was eight I got caught stealing baseball cards from one of my friends at school. My mom got called down to the school and I had to apologize in front of everyone.” Joel looks so sheepish recalling this memory you want to laugh.

“Joel that’s barely embarrassing,” you say rolling your eyes.

“Ah ah, deals a deal,” Joel insists, gently tilting your chin so you face him. You sigh.

"Fine. It’s stupid. It's just. . . Back before, when you and I weren't together. . ." You trail off, this story not feeling funny anymore. If anything it makes you sad. 

"What?" Joel looks nervous. "Tell me."

"I snuck in here one time when I was babysitting,” you say in a rush, eyes closed. “And I uh, touched myself on your bed."

Joel looks like he's been electrocuted. He physically jerks. "What?"

You feel yourself going beet red all the way to your roots. Why did this seen like a good story too share? It's humiliating. You pull the sheets over your head, your voice coming out muffled. 

"I told you it was embarrassing!" 

"Jesus Christ," Joel growls. "You were touching yourself in my bed?"

You're silent under the sheets, your breathing unsteady. You'd expected him to laugh at you or even pity you. Neither is happening. His voice drops an octave. 

"Did you come?"

Your toes curl at the husky tinge in his voice. You're powerless when you feel him dragging the sheets down your face, exposing your face to him. His eyes are like furnaces, desire licking the edges. 

"Did you?" 

"Mhmm," you manage. 

"Show me," he rasps and it's like you're back in the kitchen, hands down your pants as Joel begs you to touch yourself for him. You feel him peeling off your panties under the sheets, rolling your hips so that he can remove them entirely.

"Please baby," Joel whispers, kissing your shoulder. Then he pauses to kiss you gently, so gently, reverently on the mouth, eyes searching yours. 

"But only if you want." 

Joel doesn't want what you won't give him freely. He has no desire to take and take like Paul and James. And because of this you want to give him everything. 

And so you nod, flushing when Joel removes the blankets from your body leaving your naked body tingling and exposed to the cool air.

He makes a  low sound in the back of his throat. He takes your hand gently in his, raising it to his mouth. You think he means to kiss you knuckles when his pillowy lips circle your fore and middle finger. Not breaking eye contact he sucks them into his wet, warm mouth, trailing his tongue over your digits, coating them in his spit. 

Satisfied, Joel drags them from his mouth, urging the damp digits along the seam of your throbbing pussy and gently pushing inside. You whimper at the contact, your eyes stuck on his as you begin to work your fingers on either side of your clit. You don't look away from Joel as you do. You simply flush under his heated gaze, your toes curling as you moan at the sensation of not only touching yourself, but by being watched by Joel as you do. He's thick and aching as he watches you but he makes no attempt to touch himself.

He rests his palm over yours loosely. He's not guiding, not moving, he wants to feel you touching yourself, wants to learn what turns you on. 

"I can't believe you're real," he whispers as you begin to rock against your hand. "So fucking perfect."

You're not perfect. Your body has flaws, many that you could point out to him. But when Joel looks at you, dark eyes melting along your curves you know he believes what he says. 

He removes his hand from over top yours, wanting to just watch you. He memorizes the way your lower lip quivers, the way your brows saddle as you stroke yourself. He’s never been so turned on in his life.

"What were you thinking about when you did it?" Joel asks you huskily. 

"You," you murmur, eyes lazily closed as your fingers work between your thighs. You can feel his eyes on you, raking over every part of your body.

"Yeah?" You can hear the smile in his voice. You both already knew the answer, but his ego likes hearing it out loud. 

"Fucking you," you groan, fingers working hurriedly over the pearl of your clit. "Your mouth, fuck your mouth is so sexy Joel."

Joel's (very sexy) mouth moves over your nipple, kissing there. His eyes are on you as he does. 

"And your tongue," you whisper, arching further into his mouth. 

His tongue laves at your straining nub, his teeth coming to graze and then gently nibble. That sends electric currents running through your entire body, your legs jerking out without thought or control.

Then he pulls back, his eyes roaming your flushed and naked body. Your eyes crack open to see him; mouth parted and fixed on your face as you squirm. You whimper his name, the taste of it sweet. He drops his head forward to kiss you, a tender thing. 

"C'mon baby," Joel urges against your temple. "Show me how you made yourself come on my sheets."

You cannot form words. When Joel talks like that, filthy and low and growled it hits directly between your legs. You can offer only a symphony of grunts and mewls and whimpers and you feel your entire body tighten and then blissfully release.

"Oh that's it," Joel murmurs lazily as he watches you come. "Oh fuck. ... Yeah baby... Just like that... All for me."

Always for you, you want to tell him. But you're too far gone, the bliss overwhelming you. And finally you come, coating your fingers as your head is thrown back into the pillow. 

Before you can say anything, Joel is between your legs, gently prying them apart. You make a surprised noise as he throws your legs over his broad shoulders, opening you to him. You watch as his fingers part you.

"Fuck if I'd known," Joel murmurs, licking a stripe up your pussy. He doesn't finish the thought, simply begins to kiss your cunt with wild, open mouthed kisses that have you arching back into the bed.

"Joel I -"

"C'mon baby," he groans, sucking on your clit languidly. "My mouth and my tongue remember? Be good and come on 'em now."

Jesus Christ. You’re already there. Already so close when he sucks your clit into his mouth, humming in delight as your thighs tremble around his head. And its only seconds when you feel yourself cresting. He feels it too, making encouraging humming noises as his hands come to hold you in place, spanning over your lower abdomen.

And then you feel your entire body release against his tongue, punching out groans as he laps between your legs, murmuring how good you taste, how much he’s missed your pussy, how he can’t believe how lucky he is.

You murmur his name, arms outstretched in his direction. He crawls to you, up the length of your naked body pressing glossy o’s on your exposed flesh as he ascends. Then his face gets near and you can see his eyes are unfocused. You sigh softly as his mouth finds yours. 

He kisses you long and slow, his tongue dancing with yours. It's not long before you feel his free hand sliding down from your neck, over your straining nipple, along your lower belly and then coming to cup your sex softly. 

You let out a small choked noise when his fingers slide down the seam, parting you. Brushing against your aching core. 

"Want you inside me," you urge, impatiently, his mouth still moving over yours. Joel chuckles, a warm, loving sound that feels like a cracking fireplace. 

"You nice and wet for me?" he asks even though as his fingers slowly curl around your swollen bud, he can tell you're absolutely soaked. He sinks the first finger in, finding absolutely no resistance. You're so ready, so open and you take him to the knuckle without hesitation, moaning. 

He watches the emotions flicker across your face as he adds a second finger, slowly working them in and then out. Sees the shuttering of your eyes as you lean into his hand whimpering. Your exquisite, your here, your his. 

"All mine," he rumbles against your jaw. 

It feels so good. His wide fingers hit those perfect spots that you're fingers can never seem to reach. You crack your eyes open to see Joel staring at you, his eyes so dominated by his pupil they look black. He moans softly when you're eyes meet his. He's taking his time, so fucking slowly. 

"Please Joel," you whisper breathlessly. Your eyes are heavy with need, matching his. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

He nods and the bed creaks as he rolls gently over top of you. Another deep kiss is pressed to your mouth as his hips find yours. He notches himself at your entrance and instinctively your thighs go to bracket his hips. 

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Your entire body is trembling, and this is only soothed when you realize that Joel's is as well. His entire body has broken into small, shudders of aching need. Your eyes drift open and his heart swells as you grin up at him.

You need him. No more waiting. You lean forward, kissing him gently. He responds in kind, one hand against your lower back pulling you tighter to him. You think that you could spend your entire life kissing Joel and it wouldn't be nearly enough. 

He's braced on his forearms above you, one wide hand coming to brush the hair from your face. 

"Wanted this for so long," he tells you in a murmur and you know he doesn't just mean the sex. Your eyes are glassy as you nod up at him. 

"Me too." 

He moves slowly into you, your shifting hips leading him into your waiting core. You hiss slightly at the intrusion. He's bigger than Paul or James. 

"Easy," Joel whispers against your temple. "Don't have to rush it."

You nod as his mouth comes to meet yours, his body moving languidly against yours. His left hand finds yours gripping the sheets. He slips his palm over yours, lacing your fingers in his and holding you there. You feel your entire body melt into his. 

"Fuck, honey ... So good," Joel groans as he continues to sheaths himself in you, his head falling forward against your shoulder on the pillow. You whimper, needy and desperate for more. He feels so good. So right. "Those sounds."

He licks into your mouth, groaning as your hands come to rest under his arms, gripping his broad back as you urge him deeper and deeper.

“You’re so deep,” you groan, body jerking against his. The bed creaks gently, rhythmically as he fucks you. No, not fucking – he makes love to you. As if he thinks your body is as sacred as you think his is.

"Say the other thing," Joel whispers against your neck. "Please."

You feel his hips surge forward, filling both your body and heart. You smile, tilting your cheek so he looks at you. You won't say this next part until your gazes are locked. 

"I love you," you say, rolling your hips up against him, your body in communion with his. You see his eyebrows saddle, his eyes watery. 

"Again, please," he groans, his eyes never moving from your face. He didn't even need to ask because the words are already there, offered to him as they will always be offered to him. 

"I love you, Joel."

His mouth is on yours, and his hips plunge deeper into you and now he's rambling between deep kisses, speaking against your mouth. 

"I love you... so long... F-fuck, feel so… Wanna make you feel good, fucking l-love you so much."

His hips are snapping, his resolve unravelling as you cry out. He feels so good, so perfect between your thighs. You wonder if it is always supposed to feel this good, this easy. Desire licks at your belly, your hand coming to cup his cheek so he's looking at you. Something about his eyes, seeing them vacillate between dreamy and sharp makes you lose control. 

"You gonna come again baby?" Joel murmurs to himself, his body coiled. Joel is, as he was not so long ago that time when you rode his thigh, amazed at how quickly you do. How perfectly in synch your bodies are.

His voice is tinged with lust obviously, but also a deep affection that borders on awe. It makes your pulse spike and your body begins to spasm because you’re so fucking close, the pleasure building to an almost uncomfortable level. 

"J-joel-"

"S'okay," Joel tells you with a kiss. "I've got you. I've got you, baby, just let go."

These words, these gentle urging words are what send you cresting and you come with a sharp moan. Your body moves in time with his and you don't realize that you're crying until Joel's hips slow and he's peering into your face. 

"Do you want to stop? Are you okay?"

"What?! Don't stop!" You gasp, urging his hips with a small tap of your hand. It feels so good, you’re already on the precipice again.

He seems to understand because his movements restart in earnest and his mouth is kissing your tears away. You’re hiccup-crying but only because it feels so perfect, the bliss so intense and you're just so thankful for him. For existing. For loving you in a way you'd never thought possible. And you’re crying because you get to be the one to love Joel.

And soon you do come again; your cries are loud, jagged and needy as he thrusts against you over and over. You chant his name, kissing his mouth, arms around his shoulder for purchase as he seeks to bury himself further inside you.   

"I love you," you cry, your hips rolling against his, wanting to make him feel as good as you do. "Love you so fucking much, Joel."

He spills into you, his groans sharp in your ear as he groans out your name, long and low. It seems to go on forever, filling you so deeply. His body is still wrapped around you as his hips finally stutter to a stop. 

You stay like that, tangled against one another until Joel presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and gently eases himself from between your slick thighs. You both sigh as he rolls to your side, pulling you into his arms as if he’s terrified to let you go.

You want to go to sleep, snuggled like this in the warmth of his arms but you’re far too aware of the time.

"We should shower," you say with a pant. 

"Together?" Joel murmurs, raising a brow over the eye peering in your direction from the pillow. 

"Christ, Miller," you say with a breathy laugh. "If we do that we're never making it to the wedding."

And while there isn't time for a communal shower there is time for a soft "I love you". It’s whispered against one anothers' lips, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, before you leave hand in hand for the wedding a short while later. 

There will always be time for that.

///

Sarah has always been a grateful child. She's always been quick with her thank you's, never found it difficult to share her toys and loves seeing those she cares for happy.  

So when her fifth birthday wish of a mama had come true so perfectly in the form of you, she thought it only fair to use her sixth birthday wish for something more philanthropic. 

That day with her father at her side, whispering to make a wish she had done so with thought of Joel and he alone. 

I wish my daddy had a wife.

And now as she stands looking up from her basket of real flower petals to see you and her daddy walking hand in hand towards her, gazing at each other and then her. 

The two of you are trying so hard not to be too obvious and failing spectacularly. Daddy is smiling so widely Sarah actually smiles just looking at him. He's staring at you as the two of you walk, making your way to the ranch. 

You're all blushing, laughing at something Daddy said. You both look so beautiful with you in your dress and him in his suit. 

The two of you both look over and see Sarah at the same time and it's hard to say who looks more excited, you or daddy. 

"Hey bug!" "Hi babygirl!"

The two of you laugh at your mingled pet names as you reach her. You're the first to drop to your knees and Sarah doesn't miss the way her father stares at the back of your head with a sweet little smile. 

Sarah feels her tiny heart hammering as you look to her with arms outstretched and she runs into them, her tiny arms wrapping so tightly around your neck you give a grunt.

Sarah looks over your shoulder at her Daddy. She's confused when she sees his eyes are wet. But his smile is right, so she doesn't think much of it. She pulls back and is confused that your eyes are wet too. 

But maybe it's just allergies? Sarah heard one of the other bridesmaids talking about how an outdoor wedding was hell on hers at the salon earlier today. 

"Daddy can we have pancakes tomorrow morning?"

"'Course, babygirl."

"And you'll be there right?" Sarah says, looking to you imploring. You seem momentarily taken aback, glancing up at Joel suddenly anxious. 

"Yeah, she'll be there," Joel assures you both with a smile. "She's actually gonna be over a lot more often."

Sarah looks at your face breaking into a smile again. Sarah grins, wanting to scatter all the flower petals in the world right now. But then you sober, taking both of her little hands in yours. 

"If that's okay with you, Sarah," you say seriously, your eyes searching her face. "I don't want you feeling uncomfortable."

Sarah can tell there's no guile there. If Sarah told you no, you'd respect it. She can feel that. 

"S'okay with me," Sarah says. "I like you there."

"Thanks bug," you say and press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. Like a mom would. Sarah feels warmth blooming through her body. 

"Maybe you could have a sleepover at our house." Sarah looks over at her Daddy. "Daddy can she sleep over?" 

You give Daddy a funny look when he barks out a laugh.  

"Yep," Daddy says trying not to grin too wide. "She can sleepover whenever she wants."

You stand, taking his hand again, smirking and Sarah wants to say more but then the mean wedding lady is there. 

But Sarah doesn't care, because she's looking at Daddy kissing your head and all she can think is that she's so happy that her birthday wish came true. 

///

"You're late," Abby snaps as she approaches the three of you. "And are those grass stains?"

She looks over your dress with distaste, holding your bouquet and Sarah's flower girl basket. 

"Probably," you say giving her a level gaze. "Had to kick the shit out of someone before I got here."

You wince only when you realize Sarah might have heard that. But she looks distracted by the basket. 

Joel gives you a surprised look that matches Abby's. Abby thrusts the bouquet into your arms and murmurs an order of going to the barn as she hands Sarah the basket. 

You hold the bouquet at waist level, turning to Joel with an expectant look. He offers his arm and you take it. Sarah goes dashing excitedly ahead and you follow as Joel gives you a curious look. 

"Do I wanna know?"

"I'll tell you about it sometime," you with a wink. "Maybe."

You never will though, because if Joel knew half of what Paul did there would be a fine dusting of Paul scattered all over his new apartment in Leander. Your eyes scan for Maria and Tommy. 

"Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?" Joel murmurs, distracting you.

"Bullshit," you bite back with a smile. "I look like a sad piece of lettuce."

"Well, I always liked eatin' my vegetables," Joel whispers back. 

"Joel!"

You clap a hand over your mouth, holding in the bubble of laughter. You refuse to walk down this aisle collapsing into laughter again. You turn your head into his shoulder as you walk, hiding your laughter as Joel chuckles. 

He feels his heart swelling as he looks down at you tucked up against him, face pink. 

"I love you so fucking much," Joel whispers against the crown of your head. You look up, smiling bright. 

"Ditto, Miller."

///

When the two of you walk down the aisle, you try not to be too obvious. This is Maria and Tommy's day. You make sure you don't look at each other; you don't graze hips as you walk, you don’t smirk. You simply link arms, walking at the right pace for the band.

Tommy is at the end of the aisle with a new haircut looking at you and Joel with an inscrutable look. 

You've done well, you think. But then Joel gives everything away when you drop linked arms. Because instead of just walking in separate directions you feel his wide hand skate down your back, hitting your lower back, fingers curling before pulling slowly away, as if he can't stand not touching you. 

Just that contact is enough to have goosebumps rising all over your body. You duck your head, unable to meet Tommy's gaze as you walk past him. 

You stand across from one another on either side of the aisle, forcing yourself not to stare at one another. 

But you feel Joel's eyes on you, and you relent, dragging your gaze from the sea of faces and over to him. From here you can see just how good Joel looks. Dark navy suit, tailored, crisp white shirt underneath. He looks so sexy you actually have to force yourself to look away. 

You feel eyes on you and you glance over to see Frank smiling up at you in the crowd. You feel your face pink as he shoots you a waggle of his eyebrows. Bill isn't watching you, his eyes are on Joel. 

Maybe Frank isn't the only one to think your boyfriend is cute.

Your boyfriend. Joel is your boyfriend.

It seems like everything and yet not enough.

Then the sound of the band starts up again and you both quickly look up to see Sarah with a serious look on her face. With amusement you watch as she delicately takes one petal from the basket, crouches and places it on the aisle runner atop the grass. She does this with the next petal. . . And the next one. . . Moving an inch at a time.

You see Joel giving a smirk accompanied by a wince as the crowd titters. At this rate you're all going to be here for hours. Inspired you call out to her over the music. 

"Make it colorful, bug."

She seems to understand, her face breaking into a wide smile. She nods, thrusting her hand into the basket and tossing handfuls of colorful petals into the air, moving quickly down the aisle.  

The crowd cheers as you and Joel laugh, watching her dance down the aisle tossing the flower remnants in every direction. Finally she reaches the end of the aisle, looking up to you expectantly.

"Was I good?"

"The best.”

Maria enters on her father's arm. You can see Sheila crying in the front row, blowing her nose as you hold in a giggle at this.

Maria is ethereal. The dress made for her. Ethereal isn't even enough to describe how angelic she looks in the off-white dress that clings to her hips and dances down over her knees. The sun is setting, casting everyone in the golden hue of the day. It feels magical. 

She double winks at you as she nears the end of the aisle and you return it. A code from your club days.

Two winks: you good?

Two winks back: I'm good.

She smiles and nods, handing you her large brides bouquet before turning to face Tommy who is staring at her in quite the same way Joel stares at you. 

The Minister waits for the band to conclude the last strains of the song before he begins. 

"Dearly beloved..."

///

You and Joel have done very well at keeping your hands to yourselves for the duration of the wedding. It was a bit difficult during wedding photos, but there were so many orders of where to stand and how to pose that you were both distracted.

It's easy during dinner because you're seated on either side of the couple at the head table. You're squished between Maria and an annoying cousin of hers that won't stop talking about her manicure. 

Joel is next to Tommy with Sarah next to him, her tiny feet kicking the air as she eats her pasta. 

The speeches are lovely with lots of laughter, lots of wine and lots of good food. The music is amazing as well, upbeat and fun and it gets the crowd dancing. When you look at the band you feel a little thrill go through you when you remember Joel singing to you. 

You watch him now, Sarah's hands in his as they dance together. She's giggling and saying something that makes Joel laugh. In a motion as old as dance itself, Sarah's tiny feet are atop her father's and he shuffles them around the dance floor. 

Bill and Frank are dancing, well, Bill is shuffling while Frank goes full out, arms in the air as he sings along with the vocalist.

Maria and Tommy are very good dancers, shockingly so. You love seeing the affection they have for one another, even when they're laughing and doing silly dances. 

It's the slow dance that brings a halt to your plans of restraint. You sit at your table, falling more in love with Joel every second.

You watch him stride to your table, popping Sarah into her chair with the coloring book and crayons Maria made sure were there for the kids attending the wedding (she thinks of everything!) she happily goes back to the Disney princess she was coloring. 

Then he's come to your chair and holds his large hand out to you.

"May I have this dance?"

As if you could refuse.

You beam up at him, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor. You admire the breath of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. And he's all yours. Because you are never letting Joel Miller go. 

Ever. 

The song is slow and sweet. You glance over to see Maria and Tommy kissing gently before her head nestles in the crook of his neck. 

You long to do the same with Joel, but you don't want to draw the extra attention. 

Instead you try and remain stoic as Joel's hand spans your lower back. One of your hands goes to curl over Joel's shoulder, your free hands in clasped in one anothers. 

You dance like this a while, trying so hard not to make it obvious that you're desperately in love with the man that holds you to him, swaying you gently to the music. You hear him gently humming the tune of the song under his breath. 

Joel is trying his hardest not to stare at you, but it's impossible. He's wished for you so long that it still seems surreal that your here in his arms and your staying.* it makes his stomach twist pleasantly. 

He looks down at you, mouth hitched in a boyish grin. 

"So, you still like me?"

"Nah," you reply, your eyes dancing. "Pretty sure I'm in love with you." 

"That's a relief," Joel murmurs, aching to kiss you. "Because I was thinking I'd like to marry you sometime pretty soon."

You feel your heart jump at this. Your entire body breaking out into a delicious shiver as Joel stares down at you.

"That's convenient," you reply just as smoothly. "Because I was thinking I'd really like to be your wife someday soon."

Joel grins widely, so handsome and so sexy that you feel overcome. The song ends and with reluctance you pull back. You can't go several more hours without feeling him against you. You tilt forward, dropping your voice.

"Outside. Five minutes." 

Joel nods, pretending to part from you. You walk back from the dance floor on your way to grab a drink when you spot Bill making his way back from the drink station. You call him over.

"Thank you for earlier," you tell him, heart swelling. "Both you and Frank. I don't know what I would have done."

"Was nothing," Bill says shyly. 

"It was everything," you correct gently. "But I think you know that." 

Bill's shrugging. "Saw you arrived with the contractor."

Now it's your turn to give a shy shrug. "Yeah."

"You told him," Bill observes. There's no emotion in his voice, good or bad. You suppose because then he'd feel responsible one way or the other. But his eyes give everything away.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I'm really glad I did." 

The corner of Bill's mouth curls ever so slightly under his beard. 

"Good."

You feel so much affection for Bill in this moment. Watching him stride over your lawn to protect you this morning. The advice he's given you. Baking cupcakes for Sarah. The way he's just there when you need him. Glowering or sullen yes, but he's there. 

"Bill.... I just... My dad was never... I just wanna," you're stumbling over the words, trying to find them. To thank him for being the father you always wanted without even realizing. To thank him for his steady, calming presence even when it didn't come naturally to him.

And in a move you'll swear was a dream, Bill pulls you with one arm into his barrel chest. He holds you there tightly only a moment and releases you.

"You know we're always here if you need."

And then he's gone before you can say more, striding away from you and back to Frank who is deep in conversation with Sarah. 

You're in a daze when you feel a hand glide over the small of your back. You watch as Joel moves past you and out into the warm night. 

He glances back just before ducking around the corner, just long enough to give you a sultry wink that hits you so hard you actually stumble walking.  Jesus, your entire body is thrumming. You need to get Joel back into bed as soon as possible. Maybe you won't ever leave it. There are worst fates.

You wait a few moments, trying to be discreet before you slip out from the loud party and outside. The cicadas reach you, the warm breeze dancing along your face as you step out the barn doors. 

"Hey pretty lady," a deep voice sounds from your left. "You single by any chance?"

You turn, giggling when you see Joel leaning against the outer wall of the barn. His jacket is off, his white button down sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looks delicious. 

"Nah I've got this big, strong boyfriend," you tease as you slink towards him. "And you better be careful ‘cuz he's got a real bad temper. He punched a guy in a McDonald's once."

Joel holds in a sharp laugh, reaching for you. "Yeah but he had it coming."

"Couldn't agree more," you nod, allowing Joel to pull you into his arms. 

You go boneless against him as he kisses you, his hands on either side of your face. He pauses only when he feels you tense up, his large eyes scanning your face.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm scared at how good this feels," you confess to him without hesitation. "I've lived a whole life of waiting for the other shoe to drop. This feels too good. I'm too happy."

"You don't have anything to worry about," Joel promises you. "No shoe droppin' with the Millers. We take care of each other."

"I'm not a Miller."

"Just a formality," Joel assures you between kisses. 

You grin through a watercolor blur and wrap your arms around his neck. 

"I love you," you say against his jaw, just because you can say it. You get to say this to Joel anytime you want. 

"Ditto."

Joel wedges a finger under your chin and tilts your face to him. He presses his mouth over yours once more. You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck. He's so wonderful.

His mouth finds yours again and again and your hips find his and before long he has you pressed against the barn with one of your thighs wrapped around his waist. His tongue is slipping slowly against yours as you whimper. 

You can't help it; kissing Joel is like a drug and you always want more. Your hands are at his collar, his hands at your lower back pressing you into him. 

"You gonna sleepover tonight?" Joel laughs, kissing you down your neck. The sleepover comment from earlier still amusing him.

"If you'll have me."

"Anytime," Joel promises, his body flush with yours against the side of the barn. "Need you in my bed as much as possible. Wanna take you there right now." 

If Joel has it his way you'll never leave his bed again. 

His kisses grow more insistent and he feels your body shuddering against his. Could you make it to his truck? Just for fifteen minutes? 

"Save it for after the cake cutting, would ya?"

The two of you break apart sheepishly at the sound of Tommy's voice. You glance behind you to see Tommy and Maria smirking at you as they come through the back of the barn. 

Joel feels Tommy's eyes on him, twinkling and merry. Joel's mouth twists into an embarrassed smirk. 

"Shut the fuck up."

Tommy moves over to his brother, somehow seeming to know that you and Maria need a quick chat. 

Maria's eyes are wet, and she's trying so hard not to grin too wide, for fear of creasing her very heavy wedding makeup. 

You think back to all the times she tried to warn you off Paul, all the times she tried to push you to Joel and you feel your face crumple. You wrap your oldest friend in your arms.

"Maria, I'm so-"

"Don't you dare apologize," Maria tells you firmly, pulling you back so she can peer into your face, wiping the tears that have escaped down your cheek. "Not for this. Never."

"Okay," you nod, knowing that this is what your friendship is. No recriminations, no long-standing grudges. Just two friends who want to see the best for one another. 

"I just wanted you to be happy," she says, eyes welling. "That's all I ever want for you."

"I am," you whisper, voice breaking. "I'm so fucking happy."

Sarah dashes over to you, wanting to show you and her aunt all the flowers from the tables she's collected into her flower girl basket. You hoist her onto your hip so you can all marvel at the colorful arrangements inside. 

"Next time listen to me when I tell you something," Maria says with faux irritation over the basket. "I'm never wrong."

"Except when you tried to tell me I looked good in leather pants," you reason. 

"I'll give you that one," Maria relents and you both dissolve into laughter. Despite having no idea what's so funny, Sarah joins in, one arm around your neck as she giggles. 

At the sound the Miller men glance over at you with stars in their eyes. Tommy places a hand on his older brother's shoulder, shaking his head as if you're the silliest bunch he's ever laid eyes on.  

"Well, that's our future, Joel."

"Yeah," Joel says, grinning at you as you catch his eye beaming.

"Yeah it is."

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Too Old to Trick-or-Treat

When the doorbell rang, I did not expect to be seeing an 18 year-old standing on the doorstep. Nevertheless, I grabbed my bowl of candy and greeted him with my best Transylvanian accent. The handsome young man flashed me a winning smile and stuck out his chest.

"Trick or treat!" he charmed, "It's Brandon from down the street. By the way, that vampire costume is sick!"

I rolled my eyes, "Brandon, aren't you a bit old for trick-or-treating?"

"What's it to you, dude? Aren't you a bit old to be dressing up?" Brandon laughed, "I'm just killing time 'till my friends pick me up."

A small sigh escaped my throat. Brandon's friends were as careless as he was. Countless mailboxes had been smashed over the last few months, and I had a sneaking suspicion of who was responsible. Brandon may put on a good performance during the day, but he was quite the rebellious vandal at night.

"Wait here, Brandon. I have something special for you..."

"Hope it's a king-sized candy bar!" he called as I slipped back into my house.

With quiet steps, I retreated back to my study, where I kept all my ancient texts and spell books. My family has practiced witchcraft for centuries, and I knew just the thing to help Brandon grow up.

"Here you are, Clark Kent," I said, handing the young man an enticing little pastry.

"Damn, that looks good," he gasped before scarfing the baked good down, "That was the best cookie I've ever had!"

I smiled inwardly and leaned against the doorpost to watch. Brandon looked confused when he suddenly noticed a stinging sensation in his stomach. He groaned in shock as his stomach rumbled louder and louder. He held his belly nervously and looked at me with panic.

"Woah, what was in that thing?"

A loud belch bubbled up his throat and sounded out of his mouth. All his thoughts and worries seemed to leave with the air from his stomach because his face slackened immediately after the burp. He kind of slumped back into a relaxed standing position, and a physical transformation began happening all over his young body.

His gut gurgled and bubbled outward as his spine stretched taller. Mass seemed to spawn all over his frame as his metabolism rapidly aged. The skin on his face seemed to sag and age as wiry hairs burst out of his cheeks.

"Wow, you've aged quite well," I noted, suddenly stunned by manly body wearing a tight costume in front of me.

Brandon seemed to snap out of his stupor, and glanced at his surroundings. Something seemed off to him. He was unaccustomed to his sudden change in height.

"What just happened?" a much deeper tone surprised the young man.

"You needed to grow up, Brandon."

"What?" he began to notice his new body with panic, "Why am I fat and hairy all over?"

"This is just your body in 20 years. I just made it come a lot faster."

"Woah! Dude, change me back," he begged, "This is gross! God, I look just like my dad."

I chuckled at the guy. It's not so often you see a grown man like this in a tight Superman costume, whining like a child. I decided I might have him stick around for a little bit.

"I'm not changing you back," I explained deviously, "But I will change your thoughts..."

"What?" he scoffed.

"... It'll be easier for you to accept your new body if you have a new mind to go with it. It's not like you can go back home or hang out with your friends looking ike this. Can you?"

"You can't change my thoughts-"

"Babe, get back inside!" I suddenly chastized him.

He looks confused for a moment. A whole minute passed where his brain seemed to be loading the new information, and then said, "Ok, babe."

"I love the costume on you, babe," I add, patting his round gut, "Even though you've packed on a few pounds since our wedding."

Brandon blushed beneath his hairy face and felt his chest self-consciously. He looked embarrassed about his heavy frame.

"You know I like a little pudge though," I added, "Hey, while I'm on candy duty, do you mind cleaning out the gutters in the back? The fall leaves clogged them up again, and I know how you love taking care of things around the house."

"Sure thing, babe," he gave me a peck on the cheek and steps down the hallway.

"You really are my superhero!" I called, watching his big ass move in those tight superhero pants.

"And you're my evil villain," he heartily laughed before stepping outside to do what I asked.

It was going to be nice having Brandon around for awhile. I was determined to teach him the pleasures of a mature and stable lifestyle. Sure, he' was taking care of all my yardwork and house chores for the next few weeks, but I really just did this for his own good.

I was ready to train him to be the perfect little husband, and part of that involved enjoying that tight superhero costume he's squeezed into at the moment.

[beloved-blaiddyd]

I LOVEEEE DOG GALLIGAR I NEED MORE

please read the rules and regulations next time anon cuz I'll ignore asks that don't follow format. Anyways I'm a big gallagher simp so I can't ignore a humble request. here's a quick sketch of farmer!reader and (yandere utc) dog!gallagher + extra brainrots cooked up 1 AM cuz I just finished a school output

Domestic Fluff/Crack:

You rarely buy chocolate after taking Gallagher in. Not because you're worried that the canine might randomly eat some and get a "lethal" dose— but because he simply looks disgruntled whenever you take a bite. He went on quite a long tangent about how it doesn't taste that great and you would much rather not hear it a second time.

In your first week together, you might've gone overboard and bought every dog care product you could think off. Gallagher heartily laughed when he saw you bought one of every shampoo— and then his heart dropped when you pulled out a pet razor next in the shopping bag. Needless to say, his silence saved his skin. Or well, in this case, fur.

You often pondered over the ethics of having a half-human in your home. It's not that you treat him poorly or bar him from opportunities elsewhere, but you remind him from time to time that he can leave the farm if he wants to. In which, he would either a) put a hand on your shoulder and earnestly decline or b) joke about how he's going to bite you if you ask again.

Speaking of jokes, he never tells you about his past— which was a decision you respected. However, it's become an inside joke for the two of you to make up his backstory and how you met. When your traveler friend Boothill once came to visit, you both told him that Gallagher was actually an ex-police dog who decided he's tired of snitching where the drugs were when "it's always hidden in cushions anyways". When the local innkeeper Siobhan asked where did he come from, he said he was once a bartender— and you made a convincing follow-up that it was the reason behind his distaste for SoulGlad. He even shocked everyone when he had the skills to back that lie up. You swear that every time, the story and people's reactions become more and more priceless.

Yandere:

But not everyone is elusive of his true nature.

That's why he hates whenever your neighbor "Sunday" visits.

Gallagher doesn't want it to happen, but that man seems to always discern the facade he's putting on. He doesn't like it at all. He always had to hold back a sharp stare and a growl whenever he's around. But that man. That hawk...

Why does he always cling to you like a pest?

He knows- he knows you're friends with him and that Robin girl since childhood- but shouldn't those numerous interactions suffice? Why does HE keep stealing your time together? That Sunday is a hybrid himself— he should know that someone has already marked this household territory.

Still, that bird perches on your porch, greeting you with a smile that you'll reciprocate. But the cunning glimpses he sends Gallagher indicates that they equally find the other person bothersome.

"What're you doing here?" Gallagher scoffed. "Don't you have a Family to go back to?"

Sunday smiled politely, though with how his hands are always hidden from the dog's view, he can only guess that it's clenched in a tight fist.

"And you don't?"

"(Y/n) is my Family."

"Before they were yours, they were mine."

That caught Gallagher's attention.

... Isn't that technically the truth? Even without papers, isn't the bond you, Robin, and that fiend share essentially a strong familial bond? He had only heard snippets in town and from yourself, but you three had known each other almost since birth.

So... What does that make him?

A pet?

A hound?

A friend?

A partner?

Or a mere passing memory?

Despite these thoughts, he steeled his resolve and shook his head, subconsciously holding his neck. There's no collar. Nothing that physically binds him to you. And, for reasons he didn't quite placed at the time, he hated the sensation of freedom.

He hated being free.

He hated being detached from you.

"With what to prove, huh?" Gallagher snarled. "Leave. They're asleep. Don't bother them today— or ever again."

He volunteered to patrol for the next nights to hide his insomnia. Gallagher did not understand where most these emotions stemmed from. Why would he wish to be shackled when he just got himself out or a cage? You were kind enough to supply him with basic necessities and allow him to do whatever he wants after work is done— so why this emptiness?

But when he came back home at dawn after unlocking the door with the spare key you gave him— he got his answer.

He felt his feet drag him to your door. Before he could even process what was happening, Gallagher was seated at a nearby chair, tenderly caressing your face.

This was the answer he was looking for. The raison d'etre. All resolved under three words:

"You... I want you."

And for a while, that was enough.

[vexwerewolf]

Felicitations, comrade! We had our session 0 for the IGF campaign im running, and one of my players wants to be a moonlighter pirate "infiltrating" Hell's Gate militia. He was initially thinking of being affiliated with the Hell Hounds, which for obvious reasons would present some challenges. Do you have any advice for making this happen, what with the very first mission putting him up against his true boss? I dont know that he'd have enough time to have truly built up camraderie with the rest of the SRT to truly make his character have conflicted loyalties.

I mean, he'd have to have been with the militia a while to build up enough trust to be seriously considered for the SRT.

But moreover, let me tell you what being a Hell Hound is like.

CW: psychological and physical abuse

So one thing I want to make it clear that the Hell Hounds are basically an incel cult without the weird gender-sexual overtones. I imagine there ARE women and enbies who join it but in essence Andros Capella is a creepy weirdo who preys on disaffected, primarily male youth with no prospects and indoctrinates them into his worldview of nihilistic violence.

Andros doesn't really have a philosophy, or at least not one that he could describe in words (and even if he could, he wouldn't), but it could be summed up as "the weak exist solely to create things for the strong to take." You are worthy of having things if you are strong enough to take them, but only so long as you're strong enough to keep them.

The closest political ideology I could ascribe to him would be "stateless fascism." Andros is certainly sadistic, devoid of empathy and believes himself to be supreme, but he's too intellectually lazy to bother engaging in justifying why he's supreme. He makes the most basic of naturalistic arguments (i.e. "this is just the way the world works") but feels it's beneath him to actually justify or provide evidence for his claims.

He hates the minutiae of day-to-day life, and derives no joy from anything that doesn't involve someone else's discomfort or pain. He will steal your food for the sheer thrill of having taken something that you wanted to eat, but he won't enjoy eating it because he despises the physical sensations of chewing and swallowing.

And if you are a Hell Hound who, god forbid, enjoys something, he will bully the shit out of you. He will verbally and physically abuse you until you learn to hate the thing you liked just to make the pain stop.

Lemme tell you what the average night on Fort Cerberus looks like when you're not on a raid: you and a couple hundred other sick fucks lurk around the corridors drinking and gambling but you sure as hell better not actually look like you're having fun because you're all desperately trying to avoid becoming the bossman's next chew toy.

Some poor fuck catches Andros' eye. You're not sure what for, but from the sounds of things he might've been counting his poker winnings too loud. He gets a hand on his shoulder from the big man, who tells him that he's being too selfish - gotta learn to share a bit more, yeah? Now, way Andros sees it, guy's got ten fingernails that he's keeping all to himself, so here's a set of pliers - redistribute.

You jeer along with the rest of the room, loud enough to drown out his screams, because you're so very, very relieved that it isn't you. But you fuck up. You look a little bit too enthusiastic, perhaps, or maybe it's the opposite, maybe you weren't forcing it enough. Either way, the bossman's eyes land on you and your blood turns to ice in your veins.

"You," he says. "C'mere."

The room is dead silent all of a sudden, quiet enough that the pitiful whimpering of the first guy, (currently on his second thumbnail) is the only sound you can hear. You walk over, as a prisoner does to the place of execution.

He takes your hands, inspecting your fingernails, and then your hands, then your arms. "No ink yet? You not pulling your weight? Am I payin' to feed a fuckin' leech?"

You say you're not a leech.

"Those pricks over at the Gate are gettin' too clever. Learning too quick. Gettin' the jump on us too many times. I want someone over there learnin' what they know. You 'avin' no ink makes you a good choice. They'd sniff out any of these boys in a second, they would, but not you. You look soft. Don't he look soft, boys?"

The room jeers at you just as you jeered at the first guy (he's on his ninth nail, now, and his throat is so hoarse he can't make sounds anymore). You try your best to remain composed.

"Normally soft'd be fuckin' worthless. But soft'll let you blend right in with the Gaters."

So, to avoid whatever horrific torture he's currently ideating, you agree. The next time they go out on a raid, they pick a ship full of people who don't know each other and slip you in with the passengers when nobody's looking. You don't go to Hell's Gate directly - you do a couple of hops through the Thousand Habs, just to throw off suspicion.

You sue for residency on the station as a refugee from a failed habitat. They give you your own cabin, and they make sure you're fed and clothed. You smirk to yourself - they really are as soft as Andros said they'd be; they have food and water and clothes and they're just giving them away!

You don't have all that many marketable skills, so after a few rotations scrubbing air filters, you apply to take the militia aptitude test. You try to play it down so they don't get suspicious, but if nothing else you're a damn good pilot, so you get fast-tracked. These fucking idiots just give you a mech! God, it's gonna be so easy to tear them apart from the inside.

They put you in a team. You train together, building up hours in the simulators. Then something weird happens. They... trust you? They want to... spend time with you, outside the simulators. They want to drink with you, play games with you, hear about your life. Well, is it more suspicious if you say no? You have to maintain your cover.

You don't always fit in well. Sometimes you crack jokes that are... a little unpleasant, a little off, a little worrying, and you learn to bite those down because it's bad for your cover. You also have this odd air about you, like you're constantly on guard, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop (like somebody's gonna make you rip your fingernails out if you're too happy). People figure you must've gone through some trauma and are kind stupid enough not to pry.

You feed information about the militia back to Andros - carefully, so as not to blow your cover. Some members of your team get hurt - nobody dies, but they get hurt. You feel... bad. Why do you feel bad? They're soft, they're weak, they don't mean anything. They're not your real friends. You don't have any friends.

Months pass. Jerry says he wants to tap your team for a long-standing project he's working on. This is your chance. Sabotaging this will prove to Andros that you're strong, that you're not weak, that you're not a leech, that you can pull your weight.

Sure, a bunch of your team will have to die. The only people who've ever put their trust in you, the only people who've ever believed in you. But that's fine, right? They don't mean anything, they're not real people, right? They're idiots for trusting you, right? They deserve it, right?

Right?

... right?

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IX ║ Warmblood

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹

Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.

Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.

This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season. 

When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.

The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.

‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.

With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’

Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’

You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’

‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’

You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’

He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’

Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’

Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress.  ‘Oh, Poppy.’

‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’

Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’

You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’

Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.

When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.

The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar - 

‘Darlin’?’

You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.

Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.

Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’

He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’

With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’

‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.

‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.

He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’

You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real. 

But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.

Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.

When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.

It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.

Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.

There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes. 

He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’

Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth. 

‘Yes, cowboy.’

The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze. 

The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too. 

It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over. 

Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself. 

You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down. 

Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -

An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’

He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’

You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’

When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body. 

‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’

A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.

From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.

It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.

Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’ 

He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.

But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.

‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’

Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’

Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’

Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’ 

It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.

There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.

‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.

‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.

He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’

Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’

‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.

‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’

Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’

Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’

Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’

Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’

‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.

‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’

There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.

‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.

You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’

There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’

You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.

When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.

The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.

The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.

The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.

Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.

You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.

Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’

The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back. 

Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag. 

‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’

‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’

She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’

Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’

‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’

Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather. 

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’

Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.

‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.

‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’

Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’

Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek. 

The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.

‘Ready, darlin’?’

You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.

The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off. 

Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat. 

Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.

It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.

He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’

You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’

Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’

Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’

You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.

‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.

He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’

Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you. 

Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ‘Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’

Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.

The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact. 

Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’

‘Pull over. Now.’

He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition. 

You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.

The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’

He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.

‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’

Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’

‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’

Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.

Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.

‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’

‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.

‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’

From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.

In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.

‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’

The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.

‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’

Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.

Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.

His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’

Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’

Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’

You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.

‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’

‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.

‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.

‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’

There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.

He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’

‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’

His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips. 

‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’

‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.

‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’

Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -

And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.

A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.

Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.

His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’

You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’

The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.

‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.

He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’

And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.

‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.

‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.

You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.

You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.

‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.

Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’

You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’

‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.

Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’

‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’

‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.

He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.

All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon. 

Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.

You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.

But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.

Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’

Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.

That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’

‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.

He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest. 

‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’

‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.

‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’

You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’

‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’

Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’

He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’

‘Just for me?’

And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.

You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’

He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’

You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.

Then it hits him. 

You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.

You’re not going to be there.

Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.

The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’

He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’

Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.

He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’ 

Jack glances at him with a questioning look.

He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’

His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’

With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.

Empty. He feels empty.

The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.

Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.

The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.

I want to ride off on a palomino

Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go

Why the hell am I even looking back for?

For I know, where you go my love goes

For I know, where you go my love goes

He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up. 

As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds. 

He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.

Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -

The same country roads that brought you to him.

Fin

More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.

I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.

There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️

LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.

Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.

Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.

Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!

Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!

Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.

Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!

Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.

Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!

Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!

A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities

And needless to say, thank you for every single one of you (I wish I could tag everyone but we'll be here all day!), every comment, reblog, ask, tag for Palomino. You have been an absolutely joy to write for, your love and encouragement kept me going, I really don't know how I've been so lucky, y'all have my heart forever ❤️

Last but not least, thank you @saradika for these adorable dividers!

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | four

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: blood, bad language, talking about trauma, bad familiar relationships (King of hybern father of the year)

Sitting in that chair, Nimue did nothing but absorb everything she saw around her: the paintings hanging on the walls, the rugs covering the floor, every detail placed on the shelves, the books arranged alphabetically...

It was all perfect. She had never imagined what the physical representation of the word "home" would be like, yet she felt it should be like this. In every carefully placed thing, she saw the affection behind it.

She stopped daydreaming and returned to the most pressing matter: the fact that, for some reason, she was tied to that chair.

Bound, but without seeing the ropes. It was an invisible force that pushed her against the wood of the armrests and the cushion of the backrest. She tried to suppress a laugh with little success because she knew effortlessly she could free herself from those ties. But well, if it made them feel safer, so be it.

She looked up, first to that male: Azriel, as she had heard others call him.

She still felt that sensation pulsing right in the middle of her being, making her gaze involuntarily go to him even in that room full of people.

Azriel felt like he was going to explode. He stood, leaning against the back of one of the sofas in the living room, positioned between Rhysand and Amren. With his arms crossed over his chest, he tried to control his breathing, counting to ten and releasing the air, counting again.

His wings trembled upon hearing the small laugh that escaped from the lips of that stranger. "What the hell are you laughing at? Do you find the situation funny?" he barked at the girl. She seemed surprised as her expression changed abruptly.

"No," she replied, furrowing her brow. She could feel the man's anger through that invisible thread connecting her to him. She tried to clear her mind. "It's just amusing that you have me tied up here. I can free myself at any moment, and if I don't, it's because I know you're afraid of me."

Rhysand's face must have been a sight. Afraid of her? He reinforced even more the restraints binding the girl to the chair, and with a sly smile, he took a step forward. "Dare to let yourself go, and you'll see what happens."

Was that some kind of sarcasm? Nimue didn't understand, she was just used to people speaking to her clearly, if only to avoid being in her presence more than necessary.

So she stood up, crossing the restraints of the High Lord like someone walking against a gentle breeze. Everyone jumped in their seats, reaching for their weapons or preparing to defend themselves.

But Nimue simply stood there, scanning from one to another: from the High Lord to Azriel, from the petite woman to Cassian, as she had heard Rhysand call him.

"I know you don't understand what I am or who I am right now, but it's okay. I'll explain it calmly, but you have to be willing to listen to me. You need me more than I need you."

Cassian let out a mocking laugh, "And why did you help us if you say you don't need us?"

And then silence fell.

Why had she helped them?

She had acted without thinking, that's for sure. She had never contradicted her father, and for the first time it was under such circumstances that something didn't fit deep within her conscience. She could excuse it with those memories that weren't hers: seeing those two humans in the Cauldron had awakened in her those memories from twenty years ago. But it wasn't just that.

Yes, she knew that within her, that idea of killing her father, ending him, stopping that plan he wanted to carry out and doing good had always been germinating. But in between there was always that rotten and unconditional love she felt for the King of Hybern, which was written in every cell of her being from the day she emerged.

"I needed an excuse," she said aloud. All the attention of those present was on her, and she kept talking. "I always knew my father was never the good one. I'm missing pieces of the story, I only know what he told me through filters. I know there are people in Prythian, I know there's going to be a war, I know everything revolves around the Cauldron. But I don't know much more."

My father.

When the girl uttered those words, Azriel felt a surge rising from the depths of his throat. How could a monster like the King of Hybern have sired such a beautiful creature?

Yes, beautiful. She is beautiful.

He stopped his thoughts abruptly, trying to ignore his own shadow's whispers. He was hallucinating, again.

"I also know that my father expected me to fight for him in this war, to incinerate Prythian's forces. He counted on an easy victory, however now..." Nimue's hands couldn't stop playing with the fabric of the dress she was wearing. It was then that she realized the pristine white fabric of her skirt was stained with blood, the blood of the Illyrians. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, "He's not going to take it very well that I've done this. That I've... betrayed him.”

"Well, don't tell me."

Nimue looked up at Azriel. Was that irony again?

Rhysand gave the Shadowsinger a stern look, and everyone fell silent again, waiting for the girl to speak.

But she didn't know where to continue. What should she tell them about herself? Should she tell them what she was?

And in the midst of the prolonged silence, the High Lord spoke up, "No one knew of the existence of a princess of Hybern. If you claim to be so powerful, why did your father never boast about you?"

There was something that didn't add up in all of this and had Rhysand uneasy. He felt the presence of the female, a pale, pulsating white light in the middle of the room. It was a strange magic, something he couldn't quite categorize within the fae magic that flowed through his veins. His gaze shifted to Amren, hoping she could shed some light on the situation, but to his surprise, she looked just as bewildered as he did.

"My father never wanted my existence to be known. I..." Nimue bit her lip, weighing how much revealing everything to this group of strangers would be a good idea. "I've never left Hybern. In fact, I've never left the castle."

"How old are you, girl? Have you been locked up in there your whole life?" Amren asked.

"It's hard to say how old I am. In this body, I've lived twenty years of yours. Before that... my memories are clouded."

"In this body? Before that?" Azriel inquired. He felt like he was going crazy, wanting to pull his hair out and scream. What was happening? Of all the outcomes he had predicted for today, this was certainly one he wouldn't have even dreamed of. "Tell us the truth, or I swear I'll slit your throat."

Nimue smiled, a poisonous smile she had learned from her father.

"I doubt it. If I have to kick your ass again like I did out there, I will," she held Azriel's gaze. And added, "And with pleasure."

Azriel snorted, baring his teeth in an aggressive gesture and reaching for his dagger. Nimue simply smiled, holding his gaze without flinching.

With that mask she had learned to wear.

Rhysand rolled his eyes and brought his hands to his face, trying to process everything that was happening.

They hadn't obtained the Cauldron, they had learned of Tamlin's betrayal, they had transformed his mate's sisters, and now this. It had been a very eventful day, to say the least.

"So you're trying to tell us that you've been in this world for twenty years, but before that, you were somewhere else, right? Do you remember where?"

"Yes," said Nimue. She tried to hold back another laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "In the Cauldron."

And they fell silent again.

The expressions on everyone's faces were like something out of a painting, and Nimue let out a quiet laugh.

She had never had to explain who or what she was; everyone where she came from knew. They all knew her.

"Well," she began calmly, "we all know my father, the King of Hybern. The fanatic, lunatic and power-hungry one."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"He impregnated one of his royal concubines, and in the midst of that madness, he decided to put her in the Cauldron. I don't know if it was under coercion from the Cauldron itself, if it was a demand my father made, or what. But the woman died instantly, and in exchange for her life, I came out of the Cauldron."

"So, you're telling me that the Cauldron not only has the power to turn humans into fae, as we've seen with Feyre's sisters. You're telling me," Rhysand took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts, "that the Cauldron granted the King a daughter in exchange for a sacrifice, no more, no less."

"Yes, but it's not something that will happen again. The Cauldron created me as its own whim, just as it has done with those two humans you mentioned. Feyre’s sisters…"

“Elain and Nesta.”

"Yes," said Nimue. "What it has done with them won't happen again. Not for a long time, at least. The Cauldron only responds to its own impulses, and I don't even understand them myself. Our fae minds aren't made to understand what the Cauldron is or how it acts. Not even the mind of that creature."

Nimue pointed at Amren, who crossed her arms with a sly smile.

"Well, on that you're right. Not even this creature," she said, pointing to herself, "is capable of understanding under what desires that pot acts."

And they all fell silent again, weighing the situation and assimilating what the girl had said.

Azriel was simply angry, furious. He couldn't feel anything else at that moment. He didn't care much about the Cauldron's affairs, nor did he lose sleep over trying to understand how it worked.

He just wanted to know why he had the misfortune of finding out that his mate, whom he had been waiting to meet since he was a child, had to be the damn daughter of the King of Hybern.

"And regarding your problem," Nimue continued, this time addressing only Azriel, "well, our problem. I never knew what a mate was, as you called it. I knew that the Cauldron forged the souls of people to be incomplete, so that if they were lucky, they would find the other half they were missing during their life. But when I saw you, when I felt it, I was able to understand. I'm sorry if it's been a disappointment, but it is what it is."

Azriel frowned, his arms crossed and the hair on his arms bristling. He felt like he was trembling with rage.

"I didn't ask for this, princess."

Nimue didn't want to admit it, but the pull of disdain she felt on the other side of the bond made her heart shrink.

"Great, neither did I."

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @donttellthecats @annblvd

[pickingupmymercedes]

And just like the sun, we will rise - Lewis Hamilton

warnings: slight mentions of nudity, w14, Mercedes team post 2021, angsty

wordcount: + 1k

a/n: This is my first fic here. I have been reading somethings here for a while now, but never quite really had the courage to post. So, kind of doing something I never thought I would.

Please, do send me thoughts, notes, ideas, corrections, anything really, I would love to hear you guys.

You walked into the en-suite defeated, head hanging low, throwing your shoes, bag and computer in the nearest surface, deep breath finally leaving your lungs after what felt like a lifetime of holding it in.

You all went into Sunday on a high, Lewis’ pole felt like a dream finally coming true after 2 years. Your promise to him finally a reality. A light at the end of a very dark and twisty tunnel, at last, shinning bright enough to be followed.

But, like it had happened for the past 2 seasons, the race came and the car showed its true colors.

A meeting with Toto and the legal team of AMG got you stuck on track longer than Lewis, so a quick hug and hushed kiss before telling him to go rest was all you two shared in the very public and busy garage.

You got to your hotel only hours later and in need of a good shower, a crappy tv show, a snack and something to make the guilt less pungent. 

You found him laying peacefully asleep in the sofa set in the corner of your bedroom, still in the pants he left the circuit. His phone, open on Instagram, on his hand. After tough races he’d usually crash like that, especially the ones neither of you would return home the same day, that night in hotel rooms reserved to the both of you only, you and him and whatever it was that was weighting on your minds and hearts.

You lightly ran your fingertips in his arm, watching as his eyes fought to open and focus on you, a lazy smile spreading through all his features.

“Hey, go to bed”

“Hi there, stranger”

“Things took longer than expected, I’m sorry”

“It’s okay.” He mumbled while getting up and pulling you tightly into his arms the second he steadied himself, that was before he felt you stiffing up at his touch.

“Hey, you good?”

“Not really, but I’ll be better after a shower, promise.” You pleaded into his neck, cutting him mid-sentence, hoping he would let it go, just this once, and ignore the unbearable ability he had to read right through you.

You sneaked from those strong arms, with quite some resistance, and gave him a sad smile in return before heading to the quietness of the bathroom, the safety of the shower pouring scorching water on your skin until the prickling sensation numbed your mind.

He was so quiet you only really realized he had gotten into the shower with you when he cleared his throat behind you. You sighed; you knew he wouldn’t let it go that easily, not after today.

 “I can’t promise to have all the answers, but please let me in” his voice made even smaller by the sound of water hitting the stone flooring.

 “I got way in over my head” You whispered after a while, turning to him and letting him really see you for the first time since that morning. He was met with a serene look on your features, a certainty he was certainly not expecting.

“I promised you something I can’t physically give you Lew. I can’t guarantee the team’s going to be back in winning ways, I’m sorry, I really am.”

Your statement didn’t really shock him, he had contemplated that quietly a few times before. But for the first time since he’s met you were openly admitting to him, in the secrecy of that bathroom in a hotel somewhere, that you were giving up.

“Talk to me.” He knew how to handle with angry, moody, sassy, overjoyed, happy you, but his fiercely headstrong girlfriend giving up wasn’t something he was used to.

You had thought about that from the moment the w14 got beaten right after the first corner of the race and it had eaten at you for hours until you couldn’t hold it in anymore and had talked to Toto in between meetings. He didn’t look surprise by it, he didn’t even seem sad, he had known from the get go in 2022 Mercedes wouldn’t be able to breach the gap and give Lewis the title he’d been stolen, at least not in the time the AMG board had set for Lewis.

“We don’t know where to go from here, losing those 3 positions at the beginning just showed we don’t have a p1 car anymore. We haven’t had one in a while huh?! I – I’m not sure we’ll get one in time… for you.” You serenely put you realization before him, looking at his features and posture, trying to read his reactions before he shook his head and took the step to close the distance between you two, bringing you out of the water and into his naked torso.

“That title dream was lost in 2021 babe. I told you that already. I’m in the sport for something bigger, and we – I, I need you with me on that, okay?”

“Okay” You whispered looking up at him, the certainty in his features enough to get you by that night.

Hours later, in the mess of the sheets, his warmth and the first rays of sunshine signaled the worst was over, and the tattoo on his back made sure to remember you that someday you two would, eventually, still rise.

[lightseoul]

this with hawks or katsuki 😭🗣https://youtube.com/shorts/nAARZhCZydk?feature=share

link

a/n. OKAY first of all, i apologize for taking so long to respond to this ask! second of all, i modified the prompt from it being a childhood friends to lovers trope to an au where reader is bakugou's long-term sidekick of two years, just so that we won't diverge too much from canon! (part 2)

word count. 1.4k

"hey, dumbass."

you look up from the mission report you've been sticking your nose in for the past half hour. "i thought i told you to stop calling me that."

at that, he smirks. "you'd rather i call you 'extra'?"

"i'd prefer it if you called me by my hero name, Mr. Dynamight."

his eyebrow twitches at the sound of his moniker. "i thought i told you to stop calling me 'mister'."

you shrug. if he's playing the game, you will too.

"well," you cock your head to the side, "tough luck, huh?"

you drop your gaze back to the document before you can catch the infamous scowl that is indubitably directed at you. not that you're actually comprehending anything, though.

lately, being around the pro-hero has made it almost impossible to focus on your work.

which is stupid, because he's your boss and your his sidekick. focused, flawless teamwork is supposed to be the point.

what's more, the physical sensations are getting dangerously near the what-you-would-exprience-if-you-were-smitten area: sweaty palms, racing heartbeat, and your eyes darting towards wherever he is in a room.

or...you could just be scared of him, right? if there's anyone who can trigger your fight-or-flight mode, it's bakugou katsuki.

"you're lucky your my sidekick," he sneers.

you dare not look at him. you can almost feel him sporting that boyish smirk, and you know your heart can't take that.

what the fuck.

"hey, extra."

you look over your shoulder only to see bakugou decked in his hero gear, covered in dirt and grime from the day's work—eyebrows furrowed. you ignore him, directing your attention back to the front, where you're walking towards.

but he pipes up with: "i'm talking to you!"

you scoff. spinning on your feet to face him, you shoot him a glare. "would it really kill you to just call me by my hero name? heck, i'd even let you call me by my first name!"

at that, bakugou's eyebrows shoot up so minutely. "you serious?"

"does it look like i'm joking?" you ask, exasperated.

a few seconds pass before he responds.

"well, then," he shifts on his feet like he usually does. "i guess i'll call you Y/N."

your stomach flips at the sound of your name tumbling from his lips. you mentally chastise yourself before saying: "okay."

"great."

you're staring at your ceiling; the clock reads 2:34 AM.

with a huff, you turn to your side, feeling awake now more than ever.

the past week has been grueling—on top of the back-to-back missions that you had to work on with bakugou as his sole sidekick (he refuses to add another one, says the candidates are all just extras), you had to deal with these confusing feelings, which, no matter how much you try to extinguish them, will not go away.

it's affecting your performance now, too. one particular stealth mission forced proximity between the two of you, and you almost blew it with how you freaked out at having bakugou only a few inches away.

luckily, bakugou didn't say anything about it.

but a part of you—the part that's struggling so much because of him—wishes he did.

you're in his office when you decide to drop the bomb.

"the fuck is this?" he gestures to the document in front of him.

you steel yourself. it's now or never.

"it's my resignation letter," you say as calmly as you can.

a whirlwind of emotions dances across his features, before it turns into an all-too-familiar scowl. "what?"

"i'm resigning," you repeat.

"i heard you," he spits, "i just couldn't believe such ludicrousness can come from your mouth."

at that, you can't help but scoff. "even until my last day here you're still trying to pick a fight with me?"

"who said i'm trying to pick a fight?" he counters.

"i am!" you exclaim.

you contemplate whether or not to tell him he's been doing so ever since your first mission together, ultimately deciding against it. the last thing you need is to add anger to the long list of emotions you feel around your boss.

adoration and longing are already a huge pain in the ass.

"look," you lower your voice in an attempt to be civil. "i signed a contract which says i have the right to terminate my employment anytime, provided that i give you a heads up and a proper resignation letter."

you point to the document in front of you, "well, here it is."

before bakugou can even get a word in, you spin on your heel and march towards his office's exit.

your phone is ringing.

you hit pause on the Netflix show that you're currently binging before lifting your phone to your ear. "hello?"

"hey, Y/N?"

"that's me."

"oh hey!" the man on the other side of the line says again. "this is kirishima."

kirishima as in red riot kirishima? "hi," you parrot back lamely. "what's up?"

"i know this is a tall order," he starts, "but would it be possible for you to pick bakugou up? he's super drunk and asking for you."

your breath hitches. you must be hearing things yet you can't refrain yourself from prodding. "asking for me?"

"yeah. we have denki as our designated driver but bakugou refuses to go with him. he just keeps mumbling your name."

"you can drive, right?" he asks when you don't say anything.

"um, yes." you say, unsure if admitting it is the right decision.

"then please pick your ex-boss up," kirishima pleads, "he's refusing to go with anyone but you."

kaminari and kirishima are the ones that haul bakugou up to the passenger seat when you arrive nine minutes later. sure enough, bakugou, who's dressed to the 9s that it's fucking ridiculous how good he still looks, reeks of alcohol.

once they got him situated and secured in his seat belt, they circle the front of your car and knock on your window, which you promptly open.

kirishima's sheepish when he says, "we owe you one, bro."

"yeah," kaminari adds, "sorry for calling you up this late."

you smile at their genuineness, "it's no problem. i guess i can do him one favor after resigning so abruptly."

"why did you resign?" kaminari asks almost immediately.

"dude," kirishima chastises the man. bakugou remains passed out beside you.

"sorry," kaminari rubs the back of neck. "it's just that you guys were such a good team together."

"yeah," kirishima joins in. "we used to say you were the key to him becoming number one. you guys were that good together."

despite yourself, your face flames at his words. "yeah, well..."

"we understand if you don't want to talk about it, though," kirishima says.

"we're just a bit bummed out that you parted ways," kaminari adds. "he liked you a lot."

that earns him a slap on the arm and a pointed look from kirishima.

your heart is now thrumming at a ridiculously fast pace.

"well, we better go," you change the topic.

"of course! sorry for keeping you," kirishima says before proceeding. "oh, and here's his address."

turns out bakugou is heaver than he looks.

you're standing outside the car thinking about how to haul him up to his unit alone—with the passenger door wide open—when he stirs awake.

almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace.

"bakugou?" you try, voice small.

his eyes dart open when he realizes he doesn't know where he is. he looks panicked as he looks around, until he spots you and visibly stills.

"Y/N."

your stomach flips—again—the second he utters your name. "i'm here."

"where am i?" he asks groggily.

you glance toward the building behind you. "we're at your place."

it takes him a moment to register what you just said, brain probably still foggy from the alcohol.

"can you stand?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

he shakes his head. "i don't want to go yet."

"but you're drunk," you reason. "you have to sleep it off."

bakugou doesn't say anything in response. he merely studies your face—or is trying his best while drunk—and you find yourself hoping he can't feel the warmth emanating from your face.

but when he does say something, it knocks you off your feet and pulls all the air out of you.

"i want to kiss you right now."

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik

as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated! ˖⁺‧₊

[barleyo]

Pollen.

Recom! Miles Quaritch X Fem! Reader

A/N: I finished this is 3 hours, so this might seem a little rushed, but I am obsessed with this man in a life-consuming, unhealthy, scary way. I just feel the need to share the goings on of my mind with you all via my writing, so prepare for a LOT of Miles Quaritch posts. When I say a lot... I mean it.

(PART TWO IS OUT)

Wordcount: 1.4k

TAGS: Age difference, phone sex, public masturbation, solo fem and male masturbation, mutual masturbation, voice fetish, sex pollen, phone sex with a stranger, interspecies relationship

Solo missions were not uncommon for Miles. Any one-man job immediately went to him, as a colonel he could hold his own, however, the forests of Pandora were not kind to lone wolves. Everything and anything out in the wild posed a threat, animals and natives. Plants.

He was confident in his physical abilities, and even though he didn’t like to admit it, he was ignorant to the flora and fauna of this world, so in his mind, everything was blended together into a pool of danger and death. Any sound in the still forest was a red flag to him, any leaf crunching or branch shifting caught his attention. That’s why he was so quick to turn around when a loud rustling of leaves sounded behind him.

“Ha!” Quaritch turned around, gun held up in defense, ready to shoot. He held the gun steadily as the sound continued. He slowly brought his gun back into its proper place, strapped over his bare, azure shoulder.

Just as his guard fell, a small wisp of color lunged past him, knocking him onto the forest floor. He looked up, not seeing the creature, whatever it had been. Pushing himself up, he noticed that he had touched a mushroom-like plant. It was bioluminescent, and left a powdery dust on his palm.

“This fuckin’ place,” he sighed, wiping the white dust off onto his cargos. His face scrunched up in discomfort  as an itching sensation ticked at his hand. He scratched at it to no avail. The feeling built quickly from a small itch to a flaming burn. 

The heat spread from his hands to his arms, then to his chest, and soon coated his entire body. It felt as if he were submerged into a body of boiling water like he was being cooked, simmered and stewed in a pot.

“What was that shit?” He groaned, feeling the slick of his sweat drench through his shirt. Quaritch dug through his pant’s pockets and grabbed his walkie talkie, speaking into the front of it. “Colonel to Blue Team, over.” The line was dangerously quiet, the only sound being the fizzing of the radio. “Blue Team? Lyle?” He cursed, not receiving a response. “Forgot how bad the connection was on these things.”

He smacked the device, hoping it would offer him a clear connection. With his slicked palms, he dropped the walkie talkie, muttering profanities to himself. He snatched it and held it to his ear as a final pathetic attempt to connect to his team. “Hello? Anyone there, for God’s sake?” 

To his surprise, there was an answer. Not just any answer, but a soft, clear one.

“Hello? Hello, are you there? This is (Y/N).” 

He shuddered. From relief, maybe, but the warmth spreading to his crotch pointed towards arousal. It confused him, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard a voice as beautiful as this one, but instead of dwelling on it, he frantically spoke back. 

“Yeah, ‘m here, Colonel Miles Quaritch, over.” His mouth was dry and his tongue felt far too large,

“Colonel? Uhm, well, what has you tuned into the lab department’s line? Can I help you?”

Such a beautiful voice, even for a science puke, he thought. “Damn radio won't connect to my team line, but I’m out in the middle of nowhere in this God forsaken forest. I fell on some weird mushroom lookin’ thing and now I’m so itchy and sweaty that I can’t even fuckin’ think straight,” he said into the device, “Hell, I can barely walk. It’s starting to hurt too.” He stretched the fingers on his aching palm, trying to soothe it. It did not work and the pain only shot through the rest of his body, just as the itching and burning had as well.

“Oh, Mr. Quaritch, I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman replied, urgency in her voice, “can you tell me what this ‘mushroom’ looked like more specifically?” There was a twinge of excitement in her voice that pissed him off.

“What’s that gonna do? Damn it, can you just put me on with my team?”

“Please, calm down. If I can figure out what you have interacted with, I can tell you how to fix it.”

He sighed. “I already told you, it was like a mushroom. It left this weird powdery shit on my hand.”

“Powder? Oh my,” she sucked in a breath, “Colonel, I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to answer me. Are you, uh, are you–”

“Miss, can you spit it out already? I don’t have time for this, if you’ve forgotten, I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere and sweating buckets right now.”

“Are you hard right now? Your– your dick, is it hard?”

Quaritch swallowed thickly, feeling the bulge in his pants twitch again.

“Yes, really hard. What does that have to do with anything?”

“The plant that you had touched, it is known to release pollen that arouses one to an extreme, if you do not satisfy yourself soon, the pain will be unbearable.” Miles could hear panic in the woman’s voice and the click of a door as if it were being locked. “You understand, don’t you, Colonel?”

“It’s already awful.” A groan reverberated in his chest as he spoke, “So I’m supposed to jerk myself off in the middle of the forest, right in the open?”

“I’m afraid so, please you must start now, the pain will be much worse without stimulation.” 

He nodded, even though he knew she would not know and unbuttoned his pants, pulled his boxers down, and freed his dick. It was striped, just like the rest of his Na’vi body that he was slowly getting used to. 

Miles nervously grabbed his own length. This wasn’t the first time he had touched himself in his Na’vi form, it was second nature to him now, but this was the first time he had done it out in the open, and the first time he had done it with a woman talking him through it. 

He pumped slowly, fucking his fist. He couldn’t help but imagine his hand being the warm, tight cunt of the woman on the other line. A trembling moan strained from his mouth as he picked up the pace, seeking more friction in his palm. “(Y/N)--”

“I’m still here, sir, don’t worry,” she said, comfortingly.

His face flushed with a purple tint, not realizing she was still there. Obviously she was still on the line, it’s not like she could just leave, he rationalized it in his head. “It still hurts so bad, darlin’, fucking my hand ain’t helping,” he groaned.

“Just try, you must do it. You must cum, Colonel, please. Do it for me,” she whispered into the walkie talkie, embarrassed yet aroused by her own words.

“Fuck,” he hissed, sharp teeth barring down. “Need ya’ to touch yourself too, not fair if it’s only me.” Pre-cum oozed from his fat, leaky tip, beading at his hole.

“O-oh, I’m not sure..” her hands rested on the band of her panties, undecidedly fiddling with the elastic. 

“Can’t cum unless you do it with me, missy, c’mon, need it bad.” His hips bucked into his hand again, moans catching in his throat.

(Y/N) hummed and slipped her hand into her pants. She slid the tips of her fingers through her wet folds, rubbing past her clit with gentle strokes. Focusing on the peaked bud, she drew tight, neat circles over it and felt her thighs try to close over her hand. “Oh, Christ, Mr. Quaritch, it feels good, mm.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know. Tell me when you’re ready, wanna cum with you.”

Lazily slowing down, Miles gave (Y/N) a chance to catch up with him. When he could hear breathy, needy moans from the line, he continued at his earlier pace, slamming his hips into his hand. Her whines were sweet to his ears, he could practically smell her, taste her. He threw his head back and huffed. 

“Close, ‘m really close.”

“Gonna cum, baby girl? C’mon, cum like you’d cum all over my cock,” he rutted into his fist, feeling his balls tighten and stomach coil.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” she drawled out a messy, noisy moan, “Cummin’ now, sir, ah–”

“Good job, baby,” he said through gritted teeth as he spilled his seed on the ground, fucking himself through his fading orgasm.

There was a long, comfortable silence on each line as they each caught their breath. Miles was the one to break the silence. 

“Thank you for helping out, bunny, but it just wasn’t enough. Still hurting. Gonna help me when I get back to base?”

“Yes, sir. Let me find some proper directions so you can come home.”

“Be ready for me when I get there, I wanna see you as soon as I get there, girl.”

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Beach Bod Swap

"Tyler, hurry up you lameass!"

I quickly ran through the crowded beach to the shallow water where my fraternity brothers were about to take a group picture. I've always hated them but I really can't leave because it'd ruin my reputation. Once you're pledged to a fraternity, you can’t just easily leave and with the way my brothers are, they’d get revenge if I tried. So I'm stuck with a bunch of assholes. I don't even know why I joined in the first place, I should've known I wouldn't fit in.

"Hurry up and take the pic so we can get on with our lives!" One of the brothers yelled.

"All right, all right."

They set up a tripod, one guy placed a phone on it, we all got into position, but a second before it snapped, the guy on my right shoved me into the water.

"Hey!" Upon seeing the photo, everyone laughed their asses off at me flying through the air.

"Ha! We're keeping this one!"

We went to the beach to have some fun but all I felt was misery. While it's true the frat did encourage me to better myself physically, giving me a diet plan and exercise program in order to look my best, it was all for their reputation, not for me. All I have for myself is a pretty sick bod with abs. It's one of the only things I'm proud of.

I walked over to my beach towel, intending to relax the rest of the trip when a fat old guy approached me as I sat down.

"I saw that you know."

"Saw what?" I looked up at him but could barely see his face past the enormous belly and man tits.

"The way they treated you. Sounds like a bunch of assholes."

"Yeah well I'm stuck with them so..." I thought he would walk away after that but instead he stood for a minute.

"I may have something that will help you, if you want?”

“Whatever.”

“Then here lay down." He pointed at my towel. I had no idea what he was talking about but I laid down on my towel, only because I was going to do that in the first place. Maybe he'll go away now. I closed my eyes and started to relax. After a minute I decided he was gone...until I felt someone put their hands on mine.

I got up suddenly, ready to throw punches at this pot-bellied weirdo, who was probably about to violate me, when I realized something was off. I...couldn't. It felt like there was a heavy weight on my chest preventing me from getting up. The man was nowhere to be seen so I looked at my chest to see what was weighing me down, my eyes widening at the sight.

There was no weight on it, I AM the weight! My abs were completely gone and had been replaced with a flabby mass. I could see my nipples rolled to the side facing outward, since they were now attached to a saggy pair of man tits. They were kinda big too, and stuck out way further than my old ones ever did. Without hesitation, I went and touched them. It was wild. I didn't expect my nipples to be so sensitive since they were so far out from the rest of my body, but the sensation was like a surge that went straight to my dick...oh shit my dick! I couldn't even see my own swimsuit anymore! This chubby gut is completely blocking me from seeing my own dick! I tried sitting back up, but couldn't.

I ended up rolling over, feeling the gravity force me onto my stomach, only it didn't feel like I was on my stomach. It felt like I was laying on a marshmallow, while still being able to feel the sand on my torso. I groggily got up on all fours and managed to get onto my feet.

I stood there, still feeling weird. Suddenly, I felt a rush of humiliation and awkwardness. Everyone else looked so thin and full of energy, and I'm just that fat guy on the beach. The kind of guy I was always kinda silently judging. How did this happen though? And where did that old man go? I-oh god. It can’t be?

I rushed to the nearby restroom, feeling my belly and tits flopping around all over, a pretty disgusting sight that felt unsettling. I walked over to the mirror and found my horrors had come true. I AM the fat old guy! I leaned in closer and touched my face all over. I pinched my double chin, wiggling it back and forth. I ran my fingers through my colorless hair and found that most of it was in patches, as the bald spots almost took over completely. I opened my mouth to find all yellowing teeth, with shiny aluminum crowns replacing a few of them. I looked down at my body once again, now being able to see it in the mirror, and played with my tits as I watched them wobble and sag. I did the same with my belly, feeling the jiggle as I shook it up and down.

I can't believe this is actually happening. Is this that guy's way of helping me? Turning me into a different person to escape my fraternity brothers? I may not have liked my life but I did like my body! Suddenly I felt a vibration from my pocket. I reached in to find my own phone...not this old man's. An unknown number was calling me.

"Hello?"

"Hey man!" The voice sounded awfully familiar.

"Who are you?"

"It's me! You! Well, you now! This was my way of helping you!"

Oh god, he not only transformed me, he swapped our bodies entirely! That voice is my voice! He's trying to copy my way of speaking but it sounds all wrong.

"How is this helping me at all? I was a young fit college student. You turned me into a fat old man!"

"You didn't like your fraternity brothers did you? I swapped our bodies so you can escape. Shame that I had to be so ugly though...that hurts."

"Hey, look I'm sorry! But swap me back!"

"Sorry, no can do...at least not right now. I think I can do a much better job at standing up for myself than you ever could. How many more years of college do you have? Two? See you in two years then! Oh, and I'm sure you've noticed already but those nipples are extremely sensitive. I've been pumping them for awhile in order to get a more sensual experience. Maybe you can continue that!" He immediately hung up after he finished his sentence.

I'm sure my frat brothers are still on the beach, but if I try to return to them looking like this, they won't believe it's me! Maybe that guy's right. 2 years doesn't sound so bad actually. I won't have to deal with them anymore and if what he said was true, he could give me a much more assertive reputation for after I graduate!

"I guess that's a deal then." I said, absentmindedly rubbing one of my nipples. God that does feel good though. I headed into the stall and starting jerking. I couldn't see my dick and it was a little hard to reach anyway, but rubbing just one nipple was enough to give me all the pleasure I needed to reach max stiffness. The nipples were so sensitive that I actually stopped jerking entirely to rub both of them with my hands, feeling my man tits jiggle with every rub. I didn't stop getting hard even for a second and was able to cum without my hand even touching my dick! I was never able to reach a nipple orgasm with my old body! I could get used to this...

[bas-writes]

Promised Lullaby

a/n: 1.5h of sleep, sheer awe of battle mode Gojo design, trauma after chapter 236 leaks... it couldn't end only one way - and for once it's not smut 😂 canon timeline is nothing but a bad dream and Gojo himself is here to reassure us everything is going to be alright!

Character: Gojo Satoru Reader: gender neutral (no gendered pronouns, ambiguous body descriptions) Word Count: ~700 CW: manga spoilers past chapter 223, canon divergence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, Gojo has tons of unprocessed guilt, I lost count which arm in the end he lost, sorry!

"Are you crying?"

No darkness can deceive Gojo's eyes. But even blind and powerless he would recognize the desperate clutch of your fingers, clenched on his shirt so hard he feels your nails scratching at his skin. Tangled in sheets, you're nuzzling to his side like a little bird, curled, pressed into the tight space between his chest and stump. 

"Hey, Y/N, are you awake?" Gently, he nudges your shoulder, looks for your eyes amidst the night but he doesn't find a satisfying answer. Groaning at stiffened muscles, he reaches over you, for the switch-key of the bed stand lamp. He almost fails and falls on top of you—his disability is fresh, he's still not used to different balance and the lack of arm by the right side. 

"Y/N?" He tries again, voice soft and full of concern. With some squirming, he manages to roll on side without pushing you away; he scoops you closer, fingers soothingly tracing at your scalp and the back of your head. As always, his heart melts at the soft sensation of the size difference between you two; you're an adult but in comparison to his huge hands—hand you sometimes seem fragile like a child.

It does feel like cuddling a child at that moment, with your dry sobs cutting through grave silence, and trembling of your curled shoulders. And like with children, Gojo is patient with you, untying the knots of your nightmares one after one, until your breath eases and tension melts into oblivion. You're pressed so close to him he feels your eyes opening, your lashes tickling his neck when you blink the sandy numbness away.

"I'm here." He reassures you and kisses the top of your head. "I got you."

With a loud gasp you jerk in his embrace, both hands reaching for his face, frantically tracing scattered scars, tangling into soft locks falling far past his eyebrows. Shock fades into relief, relief into ecstatic happiness, tears pooling in your eyes, and soon falling all over your cheeks, all over his t-shirt and scarred chest underneath. 

The sight breaks his heart into a thousand little pieces.

"You're—" Another sob cuts through your words, turning them into unintelligible wailing, soon muffled by his chest. He welcomes you with a low, sensuous hum, big, warm hand at the back of your neck, thumb drawing aimless lines and circles down your spine. 

Gojo doesn't need your words. He knows, he always knew even without choked-out extracts of your nightmares you sometimes shared. You've been like this since you reunited; he can only imagine what you went through when he's been gone—and with each tear he feels falling on his chest, he just hates himself and his weakness more.

He swore to protect you, to protect everyone, and even if in the end he came out on top, he hasn't been with you for too long. Way too long.

"Yes, I am here. I'm real." Gojo promises and peppers your head with more kisses, his voice calm and warm in reverse to the state of his soul. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Liar, liar, liar a hundred times—and the most honest he's ever been in his life. It will not repeat, Gojo is sure of that, and repeats his promise with each slow and gentle stroke against your back. The mistakes won't be repeated, brecks in the plans won't be overlooked. As you are safe in his embrace now, you will be wherever you go, with him by your side, physically or not. 

Your sobs eventually fade, fatigue wins over anxiety and torturous remains of nightmares. Gojo listens to your breathing easing, doesn't cease with soft touch and reassuring praises until go limp against him, swallowed by peaceful, or at least blank, dreams now. Not until then he dares to roll on back, pulling you with him, and covering the both of you with a blanket. Whispering his name, you rub your nose against his collarbone, your hand blindly looking for his.

He squeezes it, reassuring. It's so small, so fragile against his palm… Oh, if his soul wasn't already shattered, it would crumble this very moment. How could he let go of that beloved hand? How could he make you think he was gone?

To your last breath, at any cost, he won't leave you alone like this ever again.