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spurbleu · 2 months

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rendezvous

ch.1 mother’s advice

[ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!stripper!reader ]

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S. mother left you with very little aside from her cat, calloused advice, and a legacy at your local brothel.

warnings. shameless men, customers service industry, mentions of abuse

a/n: lore drop and y'alls first meeting :) again, slowburn so be patient

word count: ~3.2k

‧︎༚︎☉°︎༚︎‧︎༚︎✳︎☉︎︎°︎‧︎༚︎‧︎

“Only eva’ let the good lookin’ ones get dirty wich ya, darlin,”

your mama had said rather plainly one night as you fixed her tea, voice coarse under cigarette,

“no use ina ugly fuck.”

Strange, how the only good advice she had given you (alive, at least. plenty of lessons from her dead), was about sex. She’d never been gentle enough with your hair to elicit the idea she might be with her words (but being a daughter meant you hoped). So, when you buried her, outdated ramblings and boorish tongue, most of what you took with you was boneless.

You packed the vulgar with the rest of the house, strapping it to the back of your truck and hoping it would nestle in the tobacco-less walls of your new apartment (a different shade of yellow- little kinder- absent of bile). Or maybe the newer wooden floors, eroded under boot heel, sturdy still.

On arrival you discovered it had found a less subtle home. Must have been some twisted fate (a mother’s memory- hardly sweet), that your new apartment was neighbors with your town’s brothel.

Funny, how a broke, orphaned woman like yourself, sun bleached elbows and sore neck, was given an opportunity to finally test the merit of a mother’s advice.

The withering building paralleled one of her last gifts to you, a lingerie set. Old brick red, lace trim gauze between blocks. Thick straps bridging bralette to panties like the iron beams holding up a raunchy sign- Rendezvous.

Stench of sex fogged up greasy windows, drunk mumblings of wifeless (or, a more depressing thought, married) men on its porch, wearing crucifixes in bogus devotion. The oak beneath their leather was rusting by their print of dust and the grooves beneath a bottle of beer- sorrel glass broken at the foot of creaky stairs.

Recently, your old church pews found their way back to your mind. You pushed the last of your boxes through the door, knees blushing purple with guilt. No, you had decided upon arrival- you wouldn’t even look at the place.

Pig stye, you’d convinced yourself, whore house. You turned your nose to it all, prissy and ornery even as they whistled from the railings, red knuckles itching for your attention. Hasty for the day they’d see you in dusk light, starting your shift. Only for you to leave them, day after day, cockdumb and unsatisfied.

And you had been doing so well, too.

That was until you opened the envelope- your mother’s allowance. The one useful thing that the drunken, deceased mess of a women could’ve given your hopeless soul. Magnum Opus of her faulty motherhood, forgiven with just some fucking money.

But she was always more complicated than that, wasn’t she. Peaking from the back of the white fold was, indeed, that wonderful, faded green of cash- but in front of it was a depressing beige- capitalized by black ink.

Girl,

Leave this apartment to you, take care of the old thing. That brothel knows me likes me; they’ll give you a job. Make yourself some real money, use my looks, darling. Be good. without me

Much love,

Mother.

You tossed the note aside before your hungry fingers tore the dip of the paper apart- revealing, and you counted a dozen times to be sure, sixteen dollars.

Sixteen dollars is what you’re worth. Cheap cattle at a fair, squalid men drooling as your mother snickers. Your scrawny legs buckled under the weight of the gold bell- which, you’ve now discovered, costs more than you do.

You’d be angrier if you were surprised. But you weren’t. Hell, sixteen wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been- with the way her money was spent on dozens of those cancer packs a day, cig smoke stealing your wages one stick at a time.

You plucked up her note, reading between the pen’s blood to find anything else. Searching, like you had in her for decades, for a little more. A secret message between your fiber taught liaison, written in the tone she had used with you (old spice on dry meat) up until she couldn’t anymore. You could hear it now, reading the note to you, and suddenly you were five again, tugging at her shawl as sleep nipped the last pages of your Goodnight Tales.

You didn’t fail to notice the way she signed it, either. Mother. You had always opted for the simpler, casual name, ‘mama’. It felt truer to what she was, an apparition of a parent spared by a younger nostalgia- lacking the reliance, the respect, of an actual mother.

Yet another opinion where the both of you seemed to diverge.

No, of course you weren’t surprised.

But you were now extremely aware she had limited your options to the worst one. No southern shop, built on dirt and sweat, was going to take a labor virgin without a foot in the door. Which meant the only place desperate enough to take soft, vestal hands and good hair was that ratty brothel.

So, stubborn oxen halting actual progress, you watched the bar for a week.

Perched on a chair by the sill, the last bags of honey tea in your cup as you observed the lulls in its busy. That way, when you eventually forced your ass from the dips it made in the old seat, you’d walk to the door with as little shame as possible.

As you scurried across the street at dawn, sunrise made the old cobble appear prettier than it was. Light finding the gaps between stone, serenity’s veil cast over the Dutch Gables in early morning. The birth of day scared off the grimier patrons, leaving you in the barren womb to watch it’s first breath. You paused there, relishing the one time the small market looked…worth it.

Seconds after you slide through the saloon doors, barely given enough time to drink up the sandy lighting and timber walls, a voice calls from behind the bar.

“We’re closed.”

She’s a natural blonde, you can tell by her lighter roots. Freckles contour a round face under eye bags- and you even catch the subtle crease of crows’ feet next to her grey eyes- blemished and old. Her lips screwed into what you think might be a permanent frown- that is until you speak,

“I’m here to apply.”

and it turns into a snarl, skin pitching at the bridge of her nostril, “We ain’t hirin’.”

Your mother’s note comes back to you, and you loosen the resentment in your voice as you say her name. “I’m her daughter. ‘Said I- you’d let me work here.”

The wrinkle laxed, and her snarl came down to a thin neutral line. “Did she finally kick the bucket?”

You nodded, unsure how to feel when her lips curled. “Damn. Y’had a firecracker of a mother. Worked alongside ‘er iner prime. Solid woman,” her eyes ran up your shoulders, “terrible mother, I reckon.”

You swallowed- she grinned. Her hand beckoned you to the stools, and you took a seat, shaking her outstretched hand. “You got ‘er looks. You’ll do fine ‘ere. Names Francesca.” Her eye narrowed to slits, “Nobody calls me Franny. Its Francesca, or Miss- got it?”

You nodded, and she flashed you another glimpse of her yellow teeth.

“I’ll start ya at the bar. See ‘ow long ya last.”

Turns out, you lasted a lot longer than she thought you would.

Swatting advances away as you gave patrons bottles, but smart enough to never get mouthy. You caught more flies with honey anyhow- so as your boots became comfortable in the mop-clean lumber floors, you’d occasionally entertain some of them.

“You single, sweetheart?” Slurred from a regular as you filled his tab. Grisly looking fellow, got years on you. Too many to be talking.

“Enough to work here.” You slid him a drink with a smile. Syrup on a glass rather than salt. The spread of his lips was telling- he tasted it.

Boisterous laughter- too loud to want just liquor- “’nough to sit on an old man’s lap?”

No. Not enough that they thought they’d get lucky- but that was the trick, wasn’t it? Just barely easy enough to send them wily looks over your shoulder, cover the spite in your voice with flirts- onion layered by a blushing red skin- weak enough that it kept them hoping. But never truly easy, moving to the next customer before the last could lean for a fat kiss.

You rolled your eyes with your back turned to him, jaw clicking in thin patience.

“Not over here. That’s for the other rooms.”

His eyes followed your pointer finger, attention sinking its dull teeth into the cardinal doors.

You pretended not to mind your position as the face of the brothel rather than the body of it. Why would you anyway? You’re sure the girls back there would kill for an easy job like yours- given the chance to politely navigate around advances rather than being forced to feed them. You only had to serve the dry slacks- and watch them as they left soiled. You didn’t have to see- no, make- that filthy in-between.

Church taught you enough. Nothing but festering confessionals behind that door.

But goodness, could you be childish. Curious mind, insecure heart- all of you greedy. You were positive they made bushels more than you- and all for some more skin, done up hair and lidded eyes?

You could do that.

Bitter, confusing envy. Makes you mad when Francesca gave you a hard no after asking for a promotion- but sorry as you curl in thin sheets before dreamless slumber.

(Did your greed weigh more than morals? Did church and your father’s absence teach you that little? Nothing should be this existential- but maybe that’s why it’s uprooting. Forked road- giving up a part of you either way.

You hate to admit you buried something of your own with your mother’s body, but what you hate more is that it’ll take this decision to figure out just what it was. Your innocence- daughterhood and a sweet virtue, or your hearth- the fight to survive and earn. Living for a little vice.

You’d dream in saturation on these nights, colors crisper than they’ve ever been- even young. You were never sure why the colors were so bright.)

So here you are, another night drawn as a sloppy line under a bar, marking…3 months? Sunrise and sunset look so similar nowadays, and it made the silhouette of an hourglass harder to etch in the tan pages of your moleskin.

However, it did give you more time to sketch out the pub.

The booths pulled the same wood of the wall forward in a curved seat, split by a table and cushioned by yellow pillows- filled with rice, those damn things must have been harder than the booths themselves.

Around them, dark oak tables and creaky chairs- makes any working man feel ten pounds heavier with the way they whine when sat on. A candle and 3 coasters in the center of every round table, beckoning more drinks as the day died. In fact- those wax sticks were everywhere along the tavern- even in a chandelier that dangled above the liquor shelf, occasionally dripping hot tears on the bar.

Just the kind of place you’d expect to see the men you do.

Seedy- dusting in the corner of your bar are built scrawny- diet of yeast and grass evident in the hollow of their back. Mouths they hide from their mothers, hands that hit harder than their fathers. But in the redness of their cheeks- bloated by the sun and the contents you served them- was a weakness.

Masculine insecurity that had them calling you a ‘pretty bitch’. A compliment, but derogatory enough their clam tongue wasn’t revealed under the folds of their shell. No pearl, no wealth- just a common, beached, animal.

“’nother round, for mah fellows, baby.”

You glanced up. Sullen face, grey beard- twisted lips that cracked under ale. He flashed crooked teeth, and you strained a smile, forcing the tired plump of your cheeks to spread. You slipped your journal beneath the bar, taking his cups and filling them until the clouds of foam kissed the rim.

He flipped a couple coins on the counter, and you slid them into your palm.

You sighed, running your tongue along the cast of your teeth. Late hours were so boring- never new- repetitive that even the loud, sudden laughter from that back corner didn’t phase you anymore.

There were no more surprises- because everyone was here.

Ned and his calloused farmer men. Not too much of a hassle, sat in the back and called you names- but let you work. Callum and his wallowing ass in the center tables, nursing his umpteenth glass of the evening ever since his wife left.

And Silas- sweet boy- young and excited to drink. He’s more often than not by himself, drunk silly as he draws. You liked him more than the rest- brother feeling about him. Kinder.

So, it surprises you when the bell rings, well into the night, and he walks in.

Brutish arms- hung by shoulders that nearly reach the door frame. The rest of him was just as big- military fed, you had to assume. Strong jaw, buzzed skull except for a well-trimmed bush down the center. He stood out like a sore thumb, the slender builds of farmer boys a third of the bull that stood in front of you.

You weren’t the only one who noticed, as you heard the laughter behind you hush and Callum’s wallowing come to a lull. He didn’t seem to mind- especially as he made his way to the bar- eyes and smile beguiling- and directed at you.

Now you weren’t easily charmed- but you knew a handsome man when you saw one. It’s the particular weight on their shoulders- making their feet come down heavier and gate smooth.

Nothing wrong with looking at them- just as long as you don’t get too comfortable. Just because they’re clams with nicer shells, maybe even a pearl between clean teeth, doesn’t mean they’re any less washed up.

“Welcome. What can I get’cha tonight.” You offered him the same smile you gave everyone.

“Aye. A pint ‘il do.”

The thick arches of gaelic in his voice caught you off guard. Deep timbers, pine rooted in his throat, leaves lime with humor. It pooled in the back of your mouth- an aftertaste you found yourself liking.

You filled his glass, rolling the shock off your shoulders. “We don’t get many scots ‘n here.”

He chuckled as you handed him a glass, blue eyes unwavering as he took a sip. “Nae? Though’ it’da be fool of ‘em.”

He pulled a genuine laugh out of you- the sound of sarcasm familiar- comforting. “What brings you here.”

“Work.” He said plainly- but the twitch on his knuckle told you he wanted you to ask more.

“Military?”

“What gave ye tha’ idea?”

You hummed, eyes running up his shoulders. You didn’t miss how they squared, conscious under your gaze. “You don’t look like a farmer. Too much of you.”

“Aye, ere’s neva too much of me, darl.”

You sucked in your bottom lip. Charmer.

“So, you are military, then?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You idled your hands with one of the many dirty glasses that blistered under old soap studs and dried foam. The rags bumpy fabric prickled your fingers- enough to keep them from trembling when he spoke.

“What branch of the military brings you out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Most of em.”

Your lips thin to an embarrassed line. Right, of course. “I…guess I’m really asking what branch you are.”

He took another swing of his beer, and you watched as he tipped his jaw back- revealing the catch of his throat as he swallowed. Must have been on purpose- show off. “SAS. On leave, yer place looked tidy,” his eyes gave you a once over, “good tae see ’m right.”

Turning to set the glass down gave you an excuse to avoid his eyes. Demin blue but not casual, deep-set and sharp. Military grade, you could tell by the way they really saw. Accessing you, ran up the hunch of your spine and the click of your wrist- aiming to find spare bullets and threats.

He’d come up empty, though. No, not in you. All he’d find was the jump of your heart against your cervical.

“Mmm,” you offered, “Its cute, I’ll give it that much. Good for the drinks.”

He nodded, “’N maybe somethin more…”

These are the moments when your mother’s voice comes back to you. Thick spit, coarse hair- tangled and suffocating- your lungs sting almost as much as the red print on your cheek.

“Foolish child.”

Your back was turned, so you thought maybe you’d finally been tempting enough to something pretty. That the lilt in his voice, the gravel as it went an octave deeper, accent blooming under light o’s and rolled r’s- meant for your company.

That maybe, the looks you had been told were your only asset, had finally done some good.

You were left disappointed when you turned back around, cheeks a hopeful rose, when his eyes had left you. Instead, past your shoulder, to the red doors.

You’d never seen what was actually behind them, Francesca made sure of that. You could only assume it was the collection of every mans desire painted pretty- shelves of toys, women in bright, expensive lingerie, red lips on rum ones. A childish image, really, but what else were you to do?

In a way, you were just as desperate to get behind those doors as every man here. Not necessarily in the same way- not to satisfy some sick desire, dig up a buried, old arousal that their poor wives didn’t anymore.

No, for you it was to satisfy your own insecurity. Hungry creature, eager to prove and ready to sweat. To be something- pretty, ugly, didn’t matter. As long as you had a place there, you’d be rich.

“Oh, yes,” you let your customer smile come back, editing the script you were given in your head, “pretty gals over there. If you wanted a-“

“Ye work tere?”

You choked on nothing. “What?”

“Do ye work ‘n ta brothel?”

Genuine curiosity. Maybe he was hiding something else behind thin lips, but the question came out too casual for its boldness that you wouldn’t’ve caught it. You found yourself unsure in your own body, standing stiff as your bones questioned whether to lean, sit, or run.

You chose none of the three, and instead you spoke.

“No.” Not yet. You wanted to add. He hummed, taking a last swig of his pint before placing the cup on the table with a…hefty tip. You opened your mouth to say something, but when your eyes met his you were quickly hushed.

Ripped denim, now razor blue. The yellow of the lights seemed to bring it out, and if you weren’t confident he had killed a man, you were now.

“Shame,” he said, standing, “Such a bloody waste.”

#john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #soap cod #soap x reader #soap mw2 #soap call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #cod x reader

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southern-gothic-comic · 3 months

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Page 68

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

Patreon 💜 Art Prints 🖤Books!

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: Nighttime. Pâté does a dance in accompaniment to Laudna’s singing by the light of a campfire.

Panel 2: They have made camp in the woods, Imogen lies on the bedroll with her chin cupped in her hands, watching the performance.

Imogen: Wanna know somethin' funny? This is my first real night away from home.

Laudna: Oh! Are you feeling homesick?

Imogen: No. Not yet, anyway.

Panel 3: The campfire scene transitions to a similar one, with a group of kids in scout uniforms, including Imogen at about 8 years old, gathered around the fire listening to a scout leader telling a story.

Imogen: (VO) One time when I was a li'l kid I went on this campin' trip with my Highlands Scout troop. I'd been excited about it for weeks, collectin' all the badges you had to earn to be allowed to go. We all stayed up late, listenin' to the Scout Masters tell stories about all the horrible things that happened in those very woods we were campin' in . . . you know, the bard who gambled away his soul to the antlered man at the crossroads, the weepin' woman with a snake body slitherin' around lookin’ for children to replace her own that she drowned, the three kids who went in the woods after their parents told 'em not to and got eaten by the mountain hag . . . that kinda thing.

Laudna: Sounds like my kind of party.

Panel 4: Later. Young Imogen is lying awake in her bedroll, petrified with fear.

Imogen: Well, I couldn't sleep for terror after that. One of the Scout Masters had to take me home to my dad. Never did live that one down at school.

Panel 5: Back in the present. Smiling at her warmly, Laudna snuggles down to sleep.

Laudna: And now here you are.

Imogen: Here I am.

Laudna: Sleeping in the woods next to a dead girl.

Imogen: Laudna, don't say that about yourself. And don't believe any of that horseshit they said about you back in Gelvaan, either. You're alive. (a pause, during which Laudna does not contradict her) You're alive!

Laudna: Goodnight, darling. I'm glad you're here with me.

#critical role #critical role fanart #critical role comic #imogen temult #laudna #pate de rolo #southerngothic #imodna #comics #webcomics on tumblr #a long road home #mintywolf

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peachesofteal · 9 months

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Help I'm Alive

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Threesome - M/M/F. Praise kink. Past relationship trauma. Mention of an accident, drunk driving. Pre-relationship, complicated feelings. Simon and Darling heavy. This is a flashback and takes place before Chapter 1, after Calculation Theme.

You’re decidedly not checking the clock.

It’s only five minutes. Five minutes late is not a huge deal. Traffic exists, so does minor inconvenience, little snafus that get in the way of making it somewhere on time. Five minutes, is not the end of the world. Be rational, you chide yourself. You’re a big girl. Still, they’re never late. Neither one of them. Your bag, primly sitting on the ground near where your foot taps impatiently, agrees. You packed me for what? For them not to show? For them to forget? Sure, it’s been nearly two weeks. Sure, they promised. But honestly. What did you expect? They’re in love with each other. Not you. You close your eyes, avoiding the screen of your phone. This is what happens, when you get ahead of yourself. When you act like a lunatic, instead of a rational human being. It’s fine, it's fine. You’re okay. You tap at it, waiting. Watching. Tap, tap, tap. Did you miss something, did you miss a call, did you read it wrong, get it wrong, hear it wrong, miss- Knuckles rap against your door. Your stomach unties itself, unloops from the twisted rollercoaster, and you release a long-held breath. See?

“H-hi.” The greeting comes out in a stumble, tongue tripping over itself doing nothing to hide your surprise. “I thought Johnny was picking me up?” Simon raises an eyebrow. “He ran into a complication. With dinner.” He motions to where you’re standing in the doorway, staring, and you balk. “Oh. Right. Yes, come in, sorry.” You glance around your flat. “It’s a bit of a mess, I’m sorry. I was busy this week and trying to paint in my downtime, I guess I kind of got distracted from like, normal day stuff you know? Like I-“ “Darling.” Simon calls, big body practically blocking out the frame of the door. It’s not just a pet name now. It’s something more. It’s a million different things, built into two syllables, and sometimes when he says it, the world stops. “Are you alright?” There's concern in the question, in his face, and you swallow. “Yeah.” You assure him, because you are. Today. This week. Last. You’ve been fine. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Simon.” You quip, with an eye roll, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind the mask, fire and metal and something you can’t explain flashing in his eyes. It forces your spine straight, your thighs together. “Are you packed?” He murmurs, stepping closer, leaning down, clothed lips pressing to the top of your head. “Yes.” You whisper, half pointing to the bag, half reaching for his jacket. “Let’s get you home, then. Johnny’s impatient.”

“How've ye been?” Johnny coos, mouth hovering over your ear. He's got you pressed to his body, coveted, chest to your back, curled over you like a mountain. He's warm, skin hot to the touch, and a little flushed, strands of grown out mohawk tickling your chin. He's been fussing over you for ten minutes, peppering you with kisses, lovely words, physical touch and affection. It feels so safe, so real. It's hard to remember that it's not, in these moments. That you're on the outside. That you're not a part of them. “Good.” You answer. “Missed you guys.” “We missed ye too, darling. So much. Ah thought about ye everyday.” Your eyes roll on instinct, trying to play it off, but your heart trips, mind and body working itself into a state over the idea that he was even thinking about you. “We both did.” Simon's finger trace over your shoulder, before they tilt your face upwards by your jaw. “We have a surprise for you.” “For me?” You squeak, and Johnny chuckles, mouth in your hair, on your neck, teeth against your earlobe. “Aye, love. For ye. Only for ye.” “What… what is it?” “You'll have to wait.” Simon tells you gently, and your face screws up into a pout. “Til when?” “Until I say.”

“Close yer eyes.” Johnny tells you, and your stomach tightens, storm brewing in your mind. What are they doing? What's going on? “D'ye trust us?” You nod. Simon cocks his head, brow furrowed, but stays quiet. He looks almost… stressed. Upset, even, and it does nothing to quell your anxiety. “You're not gonna like… do something… weird, right? We talked about boundaries and stuff…” Johnny chuckles, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your neck, achingly slow, slow enough that you can feel the imprint of his smile, the shiny flats of his teeth. “No, love. We'd never cross yer boundaries.” He promises, but it's not enough, and you fidget, shifting on your knees, fingers clenching into palms. You look to Simon. He's watching you now, very seriously, but with something softer in his eyes. Something almost sweet, something that feels like a tether, a rope, tied around your heart and tugged tight, something full of promise. Johnny mirrors it, but more openly, easily, and you take a deep breath. You trust them. You're okay. It's okay. You close your eyes. Johnny's hand covers your face, blocking out the residual light. It only last for a second or two before there are more hands on you, cupping your jaw, lifting your head backwards. Lips touch yours. Then they ask for more, and you meet it equally, parting to allow him exploration, tongue inside you, smell of his skin in your nose. Simon. The pressure across your face relents, light coming back to try to peek beneath your eyelids, but you keep them shut, almost tightly so, like you were asked. This, you can do. This, you can give them. “Open your eyes darling.” Simon asks, and your mouth draws downward. “It's alright.” When you do, you can't control the smile that stretches across your face. You're looking up at Simon's face. His whole face, no mask, no cover of darkness. You're looking at the scar on his cheek, the one near his lower lip, stories etched into his skin, sliced into his memory forever. You're looking at a twice broken nose, a five o'clock shadow. You're looking his jawline, etched from stone, plush lips that have brushed over your body in the night, quirked to the side into a small smile. You're looking at the man who made you feel seen, made you feel understood, all without ever letting you see his face. “Hi, Darling.” He murmurs, still cupping one of your cheeks, thumb working methodically across your skin. Johnny laughs, the sound surprising inside the intense moment, and you blink in near shock when Simon fully smiles, revealing his teeth. “Surprise.”

Simon’s face is not the last surprise of the night.

The next one comes decidedly quick, after he hauls you to your feet and Johnny carries you to the bedroom, sitting you upright on the edge of the bed. His hands don’t lose contact, continuing to skim over your clothes, your hair until Simon steps forward, bending over your body, two palms splayed across your thighs.

“You’re so good for us, darling.” He tells you at the same as he urges you onto your back, feet still dangling over the end of the mattress. “Such a good girl. We’re so happy we found you.”

Skilled fingers work the buttons of your pants, and a mouth, Johnny’s, lingers across your cheek, down to your neck. He’s shirtless now, a change you hadn’t even noticed, and you look at the two of them, trying to discern the direction. To understand. Johnny kisses you over and over, laughing with a whisper when you whine, the throaty chuckle warm, soft. Luxurious enough you could get lost in it, Simon smiling when he hears it, something you’re not used to seeing at all, the sight of making neurons light up across the switchboard in your head. His mouth notches to yours, and then to Johnny’s, and when he comes up for air, he licks his lips with a smirk. “Take off your pants.” You do, quickly. Johnny follows suit, and then so do the rest of your clothes, thong, boxers, shirts, your bra, until you’re both fully naked, on your back again, in the bed. The covers have been pulled down, so you’re between the sheets, Johnny on his side next to you, fingertip stroking patterns into your body, flicking over your nipples, your ears, bellybutton. He glances at Simon, the look too lingering to be inconsequential, and then his touch resumes, pattering over the scar on your hip. “What is this from?” Simon murmurs, lips dotting your throat, and your stomach tightens. Fuck.

“It’s from an accident.” You automatically move to cover it with your hand when he snatches it out of the air, pinning you by your wrist against the bed.

“Ye dinnae need to hide anything from us, love.” Johnny’s thumb traces over the puckered line, the raw, raised flesh that gnarly and disgusting, an awful thing. An awful reminder.

“I’m not it’s… it’s from a car accident. I was a passenger.”

“When?” Simon demands, but still manages to sound gentle.

“A few years ago. My- my ex-boyfriend was driving. He… was drunk.” You take a deep breath. “We were leaving a friend’s place. I didn’t want to get in the car with him, I thought… I thought he was too intoxicated. He convinced me, I guess. He was mean about it,” Johnny blows out a startled breath, and his hand flexes. “and then- he wrecked. Spun out into a guardrail, hit another car. I…” You trail off, Simon nodding to encourage you. “I lost consciousness and when I woke up, he was gone, and I was… bleeding. Pretty bad. Had to be transported to hospital.”

“He left you there?” You shrug. Something insane flickers across Simon’s face, something terrifying, and it’s enough to make you shift next to Johnny, instinctively seeking the heat of his body, Simon’s expression softening when he notices. “Thank you, for telling us darling. I know it’s not easy to talk about something like that.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why you say it, the oh. It kind of leaks out, sneaking past your lips. Oh, for the gratitude. Oh, for the acknowledgment, Oh, for the feelings that are spilling over inside your heart, mixing with lust and affection and something much deeper, more confusing.

“Are ye alright?” Johnny asks, cuddling you close with a kiss. You hum into it.

“Yes, I… it was a while ago, I’m okay.” It’s mostly true, but you consider yourself lucky when neither of them continues to push the subject, and Simon moves onto something else, teeth and tongue now painting a swath down your side, your hip. He kisses the healed gash, and your thighs press together.

“Open.” He taps, and you giggle, nervous, but move your heels wide, letting your knees fall open. Simon groans. “Look at you.” His face lowers to your cunt, mouth just over where your clit is aching, breath blowing across your skin in a warm, gentle way that feels nearly damp, more so when he licks a lengthy stripe from bottom to top, making you gasp, palm smacking down into the sheets.

“Isn’t she so perfect?” Johnny’s mouth sucks a mark into your chest between his words, and Simon’s tongue circles around your clit in response, your chest heaving, mind already starting to swim, lightly overwhelmed. Not perfect. Not good. The thoughts occur so rapidly, humiliatingly so, that you squirm a little, eyes opening to fix to on the ceiling. They don’t know you. They have no idea. Don’t get this confused. Don’t get lost in this, don’t-

“What is today’s date?” Simon interrupts the runaway train barreling through your skull, and you reel for a moment.

“Friday, it’s Friday.” He pauses, mouth hovering over your cunt, eyes fixed on yours.

“The date.” He prompts, and you rattle it off, Johnny cupping your cheek, tender concern in his eyes.

“How old are ye darling?” That one is simpler, it doesn’t require thinking, and you answer immediately, hoping to assuage the rising disquiet in the room.

“I’m okay.” You assure. Simon cocks his head and stands, rising over both you and Johnny, rubbing a thumb against your temple.

“Get lost for a bit? In here?” You nod. “Want us to turn it off?” Your eyes widen. How does he know?

“Yes. Please.” He kisses you under your neck, tonguing your pulse, slow and steady movement calming the rapidity of your heartbeat, the roar and rush of your blood becoming molasses, slowing down until it feels like you’re dying, like the world is grinding to a halt, everything in the room falling away until it’s just you, and Johnny, and Simon, bodies folded and melted together into a six armed monster, tongue and teeth and the gnashing of jaws. You wrap a hand around Johnny’s cock, tugging at him, thumb dabbing over the red, pulsing head, drips of precome smearing down his length as you stroke your fist up and down.

“Fuck.” You breathe when Simon plunges a finger, and then two, inside you, Johnny working his own fingers across your clit with aching accuracy, muscles seizing in fire and pleasure with every passing second. The world goes dark inside closed lids, and then Simon is cradling your face.

“Look at me.” Simon instructs, as Johnny moves, shifting so you’re more propped up in his arms, wide open mouth across your jaw, holding you. For what? He’s usually where Simon is, you muse, a little dazed, a little bit wondering. Everything feel feverish, imbalanced, like a scale is tipping, leaning too far to one side and taking you with it, until Simon climbs over your body, and you feel the blunt head of his cock against you.

Oh.

You gasp. It slips out, spurred on by the imbalance, and he freezes in response, eyes wondering, waiting.

He asks your name.

You give it before he gets a chance to finish speaking, and then he fucks you.

It’s slow, and wild, at the same time, your mind fracturing as your jaw drops open, fractured words fighting their way up your throat. He's so big, sting of the stretch searing inside your pussy, like he's burning you, lighting you on fire the same time as he's wringing delicious pleasure from your body.

“How does he feel, love?” Johnny whispers, a hand holding yours. Grounding you, letting you squeeze him, snarled breath spitting from your nose as Simon moves deeper and deeper, nearly kissing your cervix.

“Fu- big.” You hiss, Johnny nodding, brows knitted.

“Ah know, ah know. Ye can take him, darling. Ye were made for us.” Simon grinds to a halt when he bottoms out, and you keen, curling forward, looking up at where they kiss one another, tangling together and returning to you, Simon’s nose against yours, his lips against yours, your body adjusting to him, splinters of pain and pressure turning into sublime floating feelings, walls convulsing around him, squeezing him just like you’re still doing to Johnny’s cock.

“There you go.” He encourages. “Just like that. You’re so- bloody tight, fuck.” You trace his jaw, his naked, unmasked jaw, with your free hand, as Johnny reaches down between you, finding your clit again, wet fingers circling through the sopping mess, the slick and the slide of Simon slowly moving in and out of you, both of them building tension and pleasure through your body. Johnny nips at your throat, and you twitch, legs coming around Simon, eyes finding his in the low light.

“We’ve got you, love.” He keeps fucking you, harder and faster as he talks, words building a wave in your chest, emotion swelling beneath your skin. “We see you.” No. No, no. You close your eyes, trying to cinch them shut, block it all out, fight off the tears, but Simon stops at the same time, and so does Johnny. “Look at me.” He says, and when you do, your lashes are wet.

“P-please. Don’t stop.” He draws back, nearly all the way, Johnny’s finger hovering right over your swollen clit, your entire body aching.

“Don’t hide from us, and I won’t.” Fuck. You stare at him, hopelessly, tears continuing to swell, heavy, heartsick feelings thrumming through your veins, and he pinches your jaw between a thumb a forefinger when you try to turn away. “No.” He grunts, slamming into you, and you curl into Johnny, eyes wide. “Let me see them, darling.” Simon demands, grinding his hips against yours. See what? See- His tongue lavishes your cheek, licking where your tears track across your skin, and you choke, shocked, elated, confused… millions of things and feelings and forbidden moments exploding, erupting the same time Johnny presses harder against your clit, all of it shattering inside you.

“Ah, ah- fuck, I’m-“ You seize, coming with an intensity that makes your head spin, and Simon fucks you through it, Johnny still stroking your clit at a brutal pace through the peak.

“Bloody hell.” He falters briefly, before thrusting deep with such an intensity you can hardly breath, cock battering into your body, Johnny murmuring something sweet in your ear, while bucking into your relaxed fist, looking for friction around his cock. You tighten around him, at the same time Simon makes a strangled noise, his face buried in your neck, entire body trembling as he comes, fills you with himself, sealing his hips to yours with a huff.

“Darling.” He kisses you, knocking his forehead into yours, and wraps his hand around where your fist strokes Johnny. He’s close, panting, staring down at the two of you, one hand in Simon’s hair, the other on your cheek. It doesn’t take long, Simon’s hips jerking when Johnny’s do, and you moan, creamy spend spilling over your fingers.

“Christ.” He collapses, curling around you, around Simon, three of you linked together, three pieces of a puzzle you're not sure how to solve, Simon licking your hand clean, wet sloppy kisses swallowing Johnny’s come until he’s satisfied, and tucking you into his chest.

“Wow.” You breathe. They both chuckle, and you let your eyes close, falling into a white fluffy cloud, purely content, happy. You feel cherished, special, and Johnny rubs your back, little kisses against your ear as Simon runs a warm washcloth between your legs.

“Bathroom?” Simon asks, and you nod, but reach for him instead, pulling him close.

“Can we just, stay here for a second?” He wraps himself around your back, tucking you between his body and Johnny’s, mouth against your scalp.

“For a second.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghoap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #john soap mactavish #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish

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bisexual-horror-fan · 5 months

Note

Bexxx my darling. We’ve had the conversation, are horny for the concept so I’m pounding this into the ask box even harder than they’re gonna pound the damn reader.

AU!Billy, Stu, Mickey and Ethan x reader. All alive or as Ghosts whichever is best. All of them going full blown slut on the reader, Stu in the mouth, Billy in the cunt, Mickey in the ass and Ethan in the hand (until he’s not *wink*) . We’ve discussed a lot of it already so GIRL, I know how you’re going to go with this. In advance, poor, sweet Ethan, slutty teasing Billy, supportive icon Stu and Mickey with the GUIDING. I’m going to burst into flames.

I LOVE YOU DUDE!

BITCH, I LOVE YOU! I wrote this all tonight in one sitting, I hope you all enjoy this! Billy AND Stu AND Mickey AND Ethan?! I mean, say fucking less, that is a dream I need to experience. Multi-May continues! I hope you all love this straight-up nasty smut in the afterlife.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.2K. Poly!Ghostface. Billy Loomis/Stu Macher/Mickey Altieri/Ethan Landry/AFAB! Dead Victim Reader! She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Five-Some. Orgy. Hair Pulling. Gagging. Group Sex. Hand Job. Oral Sex. Blow Job. Triple Penetration. Vaginal Sex. Throat Fucking. Anal Sex. Pre-Mature Ejactualation. Sloppy Seconds. Multiple Orgasms.

---

"Four In One."

You have never been so fucking full. It was taken right out of your most depraved and wild fantasies, an impossibility and yet here you were, mouth, cunt, ass and one of your hands full.

In the vague haze of your mind, you are reminded of a phrase for being in this exact situation, that being “completely airtight”.

Some people might think that sex in the afterlife is not a thing, however it was one of the most beloved pass times, you have no physical limitations and nothing but time, it only makes sense.

You being a victim that had fallen to Ghostface most would assume you’d hate them. You did at one point. Eternity is a long fucking time, though.

So you got involved with the man who killed you and a few other previous Ghostface’s? It was your business, you were dead, you didn’t care if any other victims or whoever judged you, especially when it felt this fucking good.

They had managed to get you into a good position, and with all of them helping, you didn’t need to worry about holding yourself up, which is good because you were fucking boneless.

Billy was buried in your cunt, Stu was in your mouth, Mickey was in your ass, and you had a firm grip on Ethan. The smell was heady, the chorus of moans and skin on skin was obscene, and you were unable to stay still, being pushed and pulled in multiple directions, covered in sweat and thankful for the fact you didn’t have to worry about breathing.

Stu was pulling your hair, dragging you nearer, your nose pressed to coarse hair, his head tipping back with a moan, “Fuck yes, when you swallow around the head it feels fucking fantastic-” He pulled harder, and you gagged, you didn’t really, but you knew Stu liked when you did, so you mimic it, you feel him throb on your tongue and Billy groans.

“When she gags she clenches beautifully, man.” He breathed and Mickey agreed, “God yeah, she feels fucking perfect tonight.”

You are soaking up the praise, pleasure sinking into the very marrow of your bones, you manage to open your eyes, curious why Ethan was being so quiet, and he is staring right at you and oh no. The poor boy. His curls are sweat soaked, bottom lip tugged by his teeth, face flushed, and it is spreading down to his chest, when your eyes lock he moans, he is pulsing in your hand and Stu notices the moment you, and he were sharing.

“You alright there, Eth?” Stu asked, and the response came out strained, “Feels so good, too fuckin’ good, sh-she looks and God, how she sounds, I-I dunno if I can make it-”

Billy cuts in, his hips slowing, “Oh hey man, you gotta wait till you get in one of her holes at least.”

You nod as much as you are able to with Stu’s hand in your hair and his dick down your throat, you wanted that, you desperately wanted Ethan to cum in one of your holes, Hell you wanted all of them to cum either in you or on you, it was a deep and clawing craving that was refusing to leave.

Mickey’s pace was getting sloppy, he was thrusting harder and harder, faster and being totally selfish in the way only he can be when he is close, fully worried with chasing his own release, you say a silent prayer, happy that your ass could take the punishment he was doling out. “Fuck, fuck, you won’t have to wait long, Ethan.”

Mickey thrusts inside you three more times and then holds deep as he unloads inside of you with an utterance of your name. The rush of heat makes you choke and moan on Stu’s shaft with a shudder.

You stop stroking Ethan, worried that he is going to cum, your hand grips the base of his shaft tightly to ensure he wouldn’t spill over quite yet.

Mickey stays in you for a moment, barely grinding his hips, milking the aftershocks and every ounce of pleasure out of his orgasm. You feel his head tip, his forehead rests on your shoulder, you feel the press of his lips, a kiss, sweet, before he pulls out with a groan, and spreads you, he can see your wrecked looking hole, slowly leaking his cum.

Mickey looks over your body still being rocked between Billy and Stu, and he says easily, “Get over here, Ethan.”

You let go of him, and he practically scrambles to get behind you, almost falling over the tangle of the other boys limbs on the way. Stu and Billy laugh, Mickey shaking his head, “Bless him.”

“So cute.” Stu confirms.

Billy holds still and motions for Stu to do the same, “Ease up while he gets in there.”

The blonde complies and they all watch, Ethan’s hands rest on your ass, and he looks adorably nervous, he is practically shaking, breathing erratic, he looks painfully hard and is leaking so much pre-cum. It’s like he is almost rooted to the spot, staring down at your slowly leaking hole. You push on Stu’s hip, and he allows it, pulls out of your mouth, and you look over your shoulder at him, you clear your throat before saying, “C’mon Ethan, please?”

He curses quietly, and then you watch Mickey come up behind him, one hand on Ethan’s hip and the other reaches around him, grips the base of his cock and says, “Lemme help you out.”

Ethan almost jumps out of his skin, tenses but gives a single nod once, consenting with more than the action, he begs, “Please, yes, I-I want to so bad but, I can’t-.”

“I know man, it’s alright, I got you.” Mickey soothed, and he pushes forward on Ethan’s hip, his other hand guiding Ethan’s cock, the blunt head presses to your nearly raw and well lubed hole. When the tip breaches Ethan comes back to himself, fingers dig into ample flesh, and he pushes, you moan and encourage him, “Fuck yes, please-”

Mickey lets go, his grin is positively wolfish as he watches the show unfold.

Ethan curses again, and he shoves in roughly, about halfway before pulling out, the poor guy only gets less than ten pumps in, not even fully inserted, before he is cumming with a strangled cry, body a quaking, sweat slicked mess. He is apologizing over and over, gasping for breath, “M’ sorry, fuck, sorry, sorry, felt too fuckin’ good, couldn’t stop it-”

“S’ okay.” You reassure as he pulls out, “You’ll last longer next time.”

Billy is laughing and starting to thrust into you again, “Fuckin’ pathetic, man.”

Stu shoved Billy’s shoulder and said, “Oh lay off, you didn’t last much longer first time you got in that ass.”

You giggled, “He’s right, you know.” Stu taps your cheek and says, “Open up.”

Mouth falling open in compliance, he re-inserts, you still had to get the last two off and were eager to do so. You can hear Ethan trying to defend himself to Mickey, “I could feel Billy in her pussy when I was in there, and it was too much!”

“The extra friction will get you, it’s true.” Mickey sympathizes, and you suppress a laugh, trying to focus on sucking the dick in your mouth and moving your hips in time with Billy’s thrusts.

#Slasher x reader #Ghostface x read #Poly!Ghostface X reader #Billy Loomis x reader #Stu Macher x reader #Ethan Landry X reader #Mickey Altieri x reader #BHF writing #Multi-May #ENJOY

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deconstructthesoup · 3 months

Text

Looked at my Dead Boy Detectives swap AU, decided that it could be better, and ran with it. So... here ya go.

(For those of you who need a refresher---it's an AU where Crystal and Niko are the ghosts and Charles and Edwin are the alive ones. "Dead Girl Detectives," basically.)

Crystal is pretty much unchanged from the original concept---she died in the 1920's, she was a psychic socialite with absent parents, and she acted like the quintessential spoiled wild-child while secretly being fascinated by detective stories. She died when she got possessed by David the demon, who puppeted her body around for weeks... until she finally managed to wrench back some form of control, threw both of them off of a building, and wound up getting sent to Hell. Now that she's out and living free as a ghost, she's doing her level best to leave her old self behind and be a better person---partly for herself, but also so she can prove that she doesn't deserve eternal punishment if Hell ever comes for her again.

Niko's still an anime geek from the 1990's who was an outcast in life, but her death circumstances are different. Instead of dying from the dandelion sprites, she accepted an invitation to a party in an effort to try and socialize more after her father's death... and she got killed in a prank gone wrong, trapped in an abandoned mansion that used to belong to Crystal's family. She probably would've even moved on if it weren't for Crystal showing up and helping her out, giving Niko a reason to stick around. Niko's doing better now, but she still hasn't really processed her feelings surrounding her death. (Also, her hair's still white---she just dyed it that way, and it's never changed even after she died.)

Charles is also pretty much unchanged from the OG concept---he's still an irresponsible witch who got possessed by David and lost his memories as a result---with the added detail that he's one of many incredibly powerful magical people who David's possessed, wrecked havoc with their powers, and killed, though Charles thankfully survived the ordeal thanks to the Dead Girl Detectives. Also, I'm fairly certain that Charles is not only well aware that he's bisexual and out, but he and David were almost certainly dating. Or at least hooking up.

Edwin's still a socially awkward comics nerd and shut-in, but I decided to just have him get the paranormal parasite as a way for him to get involved with Charles and the Dead Girl Detectives---though, instead of a dandelion sprite that's all about soaking up attention, it's a hornet-themed sprite that feeds on people's insecurities and self-loathing. I think that he still butts heads with Crystal a little bit, but his bookish, studious nature winds up becoming incredibly helpful to the team, and he gets along great with Niko and Charles. Especially Charles.

Now, after thinking about it, I realized that if I was going to do a four-way swap with our main crew, it would probably make sense to do the same with our supporting cast. So:

The Night Nurse---or Minerva Knight, as I've tended to name her in my AUs---is in the place as Port Townsend's resident witch, though her motives are pretty different from Esther's. She has no need for any spells of eternal youth, having stopped aging a while ago, and she considers herself the protector of Port Townsend, keeping the forces of the supernatural at bay from the mundane residents... even if that means occasionally sacrificing a child or two to keep some of the more unsavory beings satisfied. Needless to say, Minerva has a very skewed view of morality, and unlike her canon counterpart, she can't really be swayed to change her mind. She's scary.

Esther, meanwhile, is in the lovely position as the Crow Queen, a charming and campy trickster being who exists to wear fabulous, over-the-top outfits, rule over her little feathered darlings, and to be a menace to everyone she meets. Her whole deal with Crystal isn't exactly flirtatious, but it's enough to give Crystal a gigantic bisexual awakening. And whether or not Esther's really all that interested and is just fucking with her, she's a lot of fun, and she's definitely instrumental in helping Crystal realize more about herself.

Thomas (the Cat King, but we're calling him by his first name) is Charles and Edwin's landlord---the owner of a queer bakery who's having a bit of a quarter-life crisis and is therefore a bit of an asshole to almost everyone he meets. Despite how prickly he is, though, he has an energy about him that makes him automatically endearing to every single misfit teen in a fifty-mile radius, and he's less than enthusiastic about it. Deep down, Thomas doesn't really mind, because he is a pretty lonely individual (not that he'd ever admit it).

And lastly, Jenny is the Night Guard On Duty in the Afterlife Lost & Found Department---overworked, burnt out, and thoroughly cynical when it comes to the affairs of the living. She's convinced that all she really needs is the big case that'll get her a promotion to a much less stressful position, and tracking down the Dead Girl Detectives seems to be just the thing. Of course, she's not as dedicated to her job as she appears to be, and even years of working in the most depressing place in the universe hasn't fully worn her down.

And, uh, other than the fact that I'm gonna have to figure out a stand-in for Monty... that's what I got!

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives au #crystal palace #niko sasaki #charles rowland #edwin payne #the night nurse #esther finch #the cat king #jenny green #crystiko #payneland

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at4zxx · 1 month

Text

Queen of ❤️s (angst)

Teen!BridgetHearts x reader.

( older Bridget x older reader?)

Genre: fluff-ish to angst💥

warning: readers death, before Red time travels. (Red is a little girl in this plot) , I DIDNT PROOF READ IT.

It’s badly written because I only had 2 hours of sleep :3

Summary: Bridget having a dream about her life as a teen once more. Wanting one more night with the reader, until waking up..

it felt the same. It looked the same.. it was her, it was you.

if this was a dream, I don’t ever want it to end. I want you to stay, stay with me.

Hand in hand, both Y/N and Bridget went back to Bridget’s dorm. A big smile on Bridget’s face as she pulls Y/N into the bed, hugging her tightly.

“You were gone forever!” Bridget whines jokingly, burying her face into the side of your shoulder.

All you could do was smile, pulling her close.

“Pinks, I was only gone for 2 hours, you know I had tourney.”

“I understand that, but why did you leave so soon? You should’ve said goodbye.”

“I was in a rush! Coach wanted me on the field ASAP. But Hey, you have me now. Is that better??”

Bridget thinks, yeah. It was better than you not being back at all. She nods.

“Yeah, it’s better than you not being back at all.”

Y/N sighs, kissing her on the forehead.

“I love you my dear.”

…

“I love you too darling, you won’t ever leave me, right?”

bringing Bridget’s hands up to your lips, gently pressing them against her palm.

“I promise.”

————

The sunlight shun down on Bridget’s eyes throw the windows. It was another reminder.. that you weren’t here anymore.

you were dead.

Why couldn’t you just stay alive a little bit longer.

if only she knew how sick you were.. maybe, just maybe..

you would still be here.

The door opens, it was one of the guards.

“good morning your majesty- duties awaits.” They hesitate. Obviously they were scared of the Queen of Hearts.

Bridget gives a firm nod, standing up with her red robe wrapped around her.

“Very well, I’ll see to it after I get ready.”

The guard nods, walking out of the room and closing the door shut behind them.

It felt like a blink of an eye and she was already in the corridor of the castle. Little Red following her, staying as quiet as a mouse.

As Bridget walked out to the backyard garden. She walked to a more private areas. Covered in beautiful colourful flowers. Despite the entire castle not allowed to have anything but the colour red.

“Mama, what does that say?” Red asks, gently tugging on her gown.

Bridget looked down at Red, before looking towards where she was looking.

the tombstone.

‘Y/N/N’

‘loving friend, sister, aunt, niece, and lover. You will forever be missed.’

“.. her name was Y/N, she was very close to your mother.” Bridget responds, grabbing the picture they took of you during senior photos. It was the only photo she had of you after all..

“She’s pretty mama” red mumbles, looking over at the picture.

She nods in agreement.

“Yeah.”

“She is.. isn’t she.”

“You would’ve loved her my dear, I know she would’ve loved you.”

IM GOING BACK TO YELLOWJACKETS?? BRO WHAT THE HECK-⬇️⬇️ (courtney eaton is so AAA)

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rainystarters · 7 months

Text

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.

dialogue :

are you sure you want to marry him?

oh! how you must want me!

soon.

i had never been vain until i met you.

anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

all the better to see you.

what is that key? the key to your heart?

every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.

all is yours, everywhere is open to you.

but now... what shall i do now?

my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.

there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

you are in some great distress.

any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.

oh god. i can smell the blood.

i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!

can't it wait until morning, my darling?

who can say what i deserve or no?

i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.

good fellow? i am no good fellow.

forgive me for robbing your garden!

all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.

and what else was there to be done?

they are the death of any tender herbivore.

so late! you will want sleep.

you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.

i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.

i am sick and i must die.

if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.

i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.

i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.

if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.

for all my pride, my heart is heavy.

if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.

i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.

you are a woman of honor.

nothing human lives here.

we have dispensed with servants.

take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?

all cats are cynics.

you read my thoughts, my love.

the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.

all will fall still, all lapse.

it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.

there are some eyes can eat you.

sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.

eat me, drink me.

dive in and fetch it for me.

now you are at the place of annihilation.

and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.

can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?

beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.

a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.

be he alive or be he dead.

coffee. you must have coffee.

welcome. welcome to my chateau.

i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.

this place is so lonely.

now the village is deserted.

often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.

i must apologize for the lack of light.

you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.

i am condemned to solitude and dark.

i do not mean to hurt you.

i will be very gentle.

and could love free me from the shadows?

i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.

you will feel no pain, my darling.

so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.

the end of exile is the end of being.

it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.

the devil is as real as you or i.

do not leave the path.

you are always in danger in the forest.

they are as unkind as plague.

fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.

besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?

actions :

clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.

opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.

choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.

carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.

spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.

cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.

ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.

keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.

harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.

lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.

call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.

note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.

death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.

hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.

servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.

hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.

hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.

bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.

reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.

bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.

voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.

powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.

stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.

weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.

dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.

flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.

prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.

song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.

caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.

green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.

tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.

stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.

wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.

thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.

china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.

blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.

wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.

muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.

#rp memes #action rp memes #fantasy rp memes #rp sentence starters #sentence starters #rp prompts #rp starters #action prompts

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saintlucretia · 1 month

Text

Wrong Company For A Teenage Girl

Pairings: James Patrick March x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence. Death. Mentions of rape. Attempted rape. Alcohol. Smoking. Blood. Murder. Gore. The one and only James Patrick March.

Summary: Y/N is meeting Mr. March who wants her to become his protégé.

A/N: You can read this as a prequel to Melancholy Of A Sinner or as an independent work.

I wasn’t planning to kill him. It's not that I haven't thought about it though. But it still was an accident. It was his fault, not mine.

He was almost begging to be killed. I mean, I saw it in his eyes. Anyway, he should have watched his mouth. And hands. It’s not my fault that he was a jerk. You can’t harass a girl and think there would be no consequences.

So there I was, standing in the hotel room with a knife in my hands and the dead body of my brother on the floor. We weren’t blood-related though. I had never known my real parents. I never really had a family. So I guess it’s not a big deal that I killed him. The world should say ‘thank you’ because I rid it of such a bastard.

He looked pretty dead, but I decided to check his pulse in advance. I stepped closer and bent over the body. Dark blood was still flowing pulsatingly from the wound, where I stabbed him, right into the throat. It looked fascinating. He wasn’t breathing. I watched his face for a few seconds and spit on it. He died too quickly. Maybe I should have cut out his tongue while he was still alive? It would be symbolic. Or perhaps I should have chopped off his arms? It would probably satisfy me.

I leaned closer and plunged the knife into his chest with both of my hands. I pressed it with my whole body and the knife went into his solar plexus with a squelch. There was no actual sense, I just wanted to pierce this motherfucker once again. I took a few steps away from his body. Masterpiece.

“If you wanted to reach his heart, you should have struck a little to the right.” A deep voice behind me said, making me jump in place. I quickly turned around and saw a man, dressed like he just walked out of the black-and-white movie.

The man smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “I am impressed.” He said as his eyes scanned my body “You handled this whole situation quite well for a little girl like you.”

I felt myself shaking a little, as I looked him up and down. Pale skin, black hair, a pencil mustache, perfectly ironed clothes. And this odd accent. He didn’t seem like a cop.

“Who are you?” I demanded, taking a step back.

“My name is James March, I own this hotel.” He smiled charmingly, stepping closer. “And can I know the name of the lady?”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to tell him my name. How the hell did he enter? He was tall, towering above me, but it wasn’t his height that made me nervous, it was his eyes. They were dark and intense, like two pools of cold black water. No, I can’t go to jail.

“It was an accident, sir, I swear.” I managed to mumble weakly glancing at the body. “I was so scared-”

“Oh, don’t act coy, I saw the whole scene. You shoved the dagger into his throat with animalistic hunger.” He was enjoying himself. I felt my body tense up at his words. It sounded like he relished in my violence like he was admiring a great work of art.

“You’re sick,” I said, more to myself than to him.

He laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed in the empty room. “Oh, darling, I don’t think you are in a situation to say that. Look at you, you are head to toe covered in blood.”

I looked down at my body. My clothes were stained with drops of red, blood made my hands sticky.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, almost whimpering. Maybe a fake hysteria could convince him of my innocence.

He took another step closer, and I could smell his scent. It was a mix of tobacco and something else, something unfamiliar, masculine, and intoxicating. I felt dizzy.

“No need to be scared, darling,” He said in a low, soothing voice. “I want to help you.”

“Help me? Why?” I watched him intently.

“Because I appreciate great work.” He nodded toward the dead body. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, that pathetic parody of a man deserved such fate.”

“You think it was a great work?” I asked, my voice a bit trembling. It wasn’t fear, it was shock.

“Indeed.” He chuckled softly. “Now, let’s clean the mess.”

He whistled and in a few moments, a maid walked into the room. “Did you call me, sir?”

“Please, Ms. Evers, get rid of the body, while I am taking care of our guest,” said James, gently taking me by my shoulders and pushing me toward the door.

He led me out of the room with a firm grip. I was too stunned to protest.

I stumbled after him, my knees trembling like jelly. The hotel hallway was deserted. The sound of our footsteps echoed between the walls.

“Where are you taking me?” I croaked, finally finding my voice.

“Room, where we can discuss the whole situation. You don’t have to worry, darling, I have no intention of hurting you.”

I wanted to believe him, he sounded convincing. I had nowhere to go anyway. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

I followed him meekly as he led me through the elegant corridors of the hotel. The silence was deafening. Well, at least they didn’t call the cops. Probably, Cortez had a reputation as a killer-hotel for a reason.

Finally, we arrived at the room and James opened the door. He ushered me inside.

“Please sit down, darling,” He said gesturing toward the armchair, as he closed the door.

The room was spacious and luxurious, with dark red walls and a large four-poster bed covered with silky black-and-silver bedding. It was filled with vintage furniture. Quiet jazz music was coming out of the record player. I sat down, feeling small and insignificant.

James walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Eighteen,” I answered slowly, gaining confidence.

“Ah, you truly are a miracle. Such a fire in a fragile body. You are ravishing, my dear.”

I glanced at the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. My blood-stained “AC/DC” t-shirt and jean shorts made my reflection look comic in such a luxurious atmosphere.

James smiled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Are you... uncomfortable?”

I clutched the fabric of my shorts nervously, feeling self-conscious. “I should change my clothes-”

"Don't be silly, darling. You look just fine." He purred, pulling out a cigar.

“What is going to happen?” I asked, carefully looking around the room. I spotted a little knife on the desk. Envelope opener. Bingo.

“I want to talk with you. It’s rare to meet such a person. You intrigue me.” He answered, giving me a charming smile. He looked like a sick pervert. Handsome and gentle, but yet.

“Can I have a glass of water?” I tried to sound pitiful.

“Of course.” James walked to a small table in the far corner of the room, turning his back to me.

I silently rose from my chair. My sneakers didn't make a sound on the terry carpet. I took a few steps and reached for the knife on a desk already turning to return to my seat. I grabbed the knife and hid it behind my back. My heart was pounding in my chest as I quickly settled back in my chair.

James turned around, a glass of water in his hand, and walked toward me. He handed me a glass and took a seat in front of me.

He leaned back in his armchair, and took a sip of his whiskey, watching me intently. He didn't say a word, he just watched me.

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“No.”

"So it’s your first time. My congratulations." He chuckled, his eyes scanning me again. “And so eager to kill again, hm?”

“What-”

“Darling, I saw you taking the knife. I’m not stupid.” He smiled, taking a drag of his cigar.

I tensed, my heart rate increasing as he called me out. I gripped the envelope opener tightly in my hand, feeling a pang of panic.

"I..." I began, trying to come up with a lie. “I’m scared…”

James chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey.

"You are incredible," he said, his eyes never leaving my face. "Such talent of manipulation in a fragile little body. I think you are just the right one."

I swallowed hard, looking down. He was smarter than I expected.

“Right one?” I repeated.

James nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Yes, my dear. I have a... proposition for you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his gaze unwavering.

"You have a certain talent, darling. A talent that needs to be nurtured, not wasted. You can become a legend." He continued. “In your tiny little heart, you know, you are a killer.”

James' eyes glistened with excitement, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze. There was something dark and dangerous in how he looked at me.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked, his voice low and almost intimate. "Did you enjoy the thrill of watching the life drain from his eyes?"

I glanced at him. His voice was hypnotizing. I nodded carefully, I didn’t want to admit it out loud. James chuckled, noticing my reaction.

"Yes, you did," he said, sipping his whiskey. "But let me ask you this, darling, do you feel like it’s not enough?"

He leaned forward again, his eyes fixing me. James smiled as if he had seen something in my gaze.

"Yes, darling," He said, his voice soft and soothing. "It's never enough, is it? The first killing gave you satisfaction for a few moments, but the adrenaline and the rush faded quickly."

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cigar. I felt a chill run down my spine. How could he know so much? I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“How can you know that I felt that way?” I whispered.

“Because you are just like me.” There was something in the way he said it that made me shiver. I slowly looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Like you?" I repeated, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

James chuckled.

"Yes, darling, just like me," he said, his voice low and sultry. "We both have a taste for violence and destruction."

He stood up and walked over to me, looking down at me with a dark smile. I felt intimidated by his proximity, but I didn't move. I kept my eyes firmly on his, trying not to show my nervousness.

“I had it all once. Fortune, fame. But nothing satisfied.” He placed his hand on the back of my chair. “But I found a way to stimulate. It's rather an odd one, but… exhilarating. Murder.”

I could smell the whiskey and cigar smoke on his breath. I felt trapped, yet his words sounded intriguing.

“How many people have you killed?” I asked.

“More than you would believe, darling.” James chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I began my career in early 20’s-”

“How is that possible?” I interrupted him.

“Well, dear, technically I am not alive. A ghost, if you prefer.”

I frowned.

“I was forced to end my life in 1930, due to problems with the police and since that day I am a spirit of this fine establishment.”

I was too tired to argue. But I suddenly remembered something.

“Wait… are you saying you are The 10 Commandment killer?”

He smiled. “I’m flattered that you heard about me.”

Of course, it was him. That's why he seemed so odd. I read a few articles about him in high school. James Patrick March. A notorious serial killer, who lived in the Golden Age of American crime. Dubbed 'The 10 Commandment Killer' because he killed his victims on the basis of the Ten Commandments, as a form of destruction of religion. Extremely wealthy and charismatic, a true psychopath.

For some reason, he didn’t seem dangerous. I was alone in the room with the ghost of a serial killer, yet I had never felt safer in my whole life. Sign of a really shitty life.

“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked, my voice low and uncertain.

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on me.

"If you heard about me, you probably heard that I unfortunately hadn’t finished my… work." He took another drag on his cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke. The room was filled with the heavy scent of it. “And I’ve spent the whole time after my death, finding a protege.”

“You are telling me that in almost a hundred years you couldn’t find anyone better than me?” I looked up at him skeptically.

“You remind me of myself when I was your age." He smiled. “Very feisty… Returning to your question. Of course, I had my amount of successors, but they are no longer with us. So now the place is vacant.” He chuckled.

“Are you trying to...recruit me?” I asked, feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

James puffed on his cigar, contemplating my question. He looked like a living, breathing enigma, a shade of the past. It was hard to believe that he was a ghost. But it was James Patrick March, no doubt.

“Not exactly. Think of it as a...mentorship.”

I frowned, processing his words.

“Mentorship?” I asked.

“I offer you my unique knowledge. If you are worried about money, I can provide you with anything you might need. Food, clothes, equipment, pocket money.” He circled my chair, hands behind his back. “It would be better if you lived here, in one of the rooms, but if you insist, I can consider you living outside.”

“I am an orphan. I have a small bag of belongings and 60 bucks. Your offer sounds more than just good for me.”

James smiled with a satisfied smile.

“Good.” He walked back to his seat and settled back into it, looking at me intently. “You wouldn't survive for long out there in the cold, cruel world. You should be here, under my... protection.”

I shifted in my seat, still on edge. But his words made sense. I had no one who would even look for me. And staying here sounded like a dream, a much better alternative to the streets or some dirty motel with bed bugs and men ready to have fun with young meat. Also, he already spared me from hiding the body. That’s a great start. He seemed pretty nice.

I relaxed a little, the fear subsiding. I looked at him, trying to appear calm and composed.

"So you want to mentor me…" I said slowly. "Teach me to be a killer like you. Finish your work."

James chuckled, sipping his whiskey.

"That is correct, my dear. I will guide you and show you the way. I have plenty of experiences to share.”

I nodded, feeling a strange excitement bubbling up inside me.

“So, darling, tell me. Men or women?” James asked, boring his gaze into me.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

He chuckled. “No need to become so tensed up. I meant killings. With whom would you like to start? Or do you have no preferences?”

I frowned, feeling stupid and hoping he didn’t notice my confusion.

“No need to feel flustered, dear. It’s a simple question.”

“Men.”

He smirked. “Why?”

I shrugged, struggling to find words “I don’t know. Feels like they are more… They usually deserve this.”

James leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips.

“You are surprisingly observant, young lady,” he said, swirling his glass of whiskey. “Men tend to underestimate the threat of younger women. It is a common mistake, one that can prove to be quite lethal. Especially when dealing with you."

I met his gaze, not sure if I should be pleased or concerned by his words.

"You make me sound like some sort of dangerous predator," I said.

James chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh, you are, darling. You just haven't realized it yet."

“It was self-defense.” I reminded him in a harsh tone.

“Of course, dear. You had no other choice. I understand.”

James' voice was smooth, soothing even. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.

"You are a survivor. Don't be ashamed of it." He continued, his eyes never leaving my face. “Be proud.”

"Proud," I repeated, testing the word on my lips.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

“Excuse me.” James stood up and went to the door. I also got up to see who could come this late. It was the maid that was supposed to get rid of the body. She looked somewhat nervous, keeping her gaze low, focused on the floor. I could see her hands trembling a little.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice calm and carefree.

“Everything is done, sir.”

“Great. Now tell me, do we have any loner male guests on this floor?” By his tone, it was obvious that he was excited.

“There is a middle-aged gentleman in room 70. Probably waiting for his mistress.”

“Thank you, Ms. Evers, you are free to go.” James chuckled and turned to me. “Time for your first lesson, darling.” He walked to the wooden drawer and opened it. I watched him pull out different objects from the drawer and lay them on the table. There were a few knives, a couple of sets of keys, some tools, a bottle of liquid, and a black leather bag.

“Come here, dear,” James said, gesturing to the table.

I approached him, feeling a sudden mixture of excitement and nervousness. He looked at the tools on the table and then back at me.

“Pick one.”

I looked down at the table, my eyes flickering over the assortment of tools. For a moment, I considered the small knife, its blade glistening in the dim light. But then I spotted something else that caught my attention.

"What about this one?" I asked, picking up a black stiletto.

James chuckled. “Ah, I see you have a taste for the more elegant weapons. Good choice.”

I examined the stiletto, feeling its weight in my hands. It was a beautiful weapon, slender and deadly.

"Now, let me show you something." James picked up the black leather bag and undid the strap, revealing a collection of small glass bottles.

“What’s that?”

"Tools of the trade." He smirked, “This one is chloroform, it works wonders with the weaker types.” March picked up a bottle of clear colorless liquid and placed it in my hand. I studied it carefully.

“And other bottles?”

“This one is a sedative. It has a much swifter effect than chloroform. And this one,” He picked up a small blue bottle, “is a mixture of drugs. A perfect choice for heavier sleep.”

“But be careful with it," He added, “Use too much and you might end up with a very dead man before the fun even starts.”

He looked me up and down “Do you have clean clothes with you? I'm afraid our friend from room 70 won't be happy if he sees you covered in blood sooner than we want him to.”

I shook my head. I only had a few pairs of spare underwear with me. I remembered that my bag was still in that room.

“I need to take my bag-”

“Worry not, my dear, Ms. Evers will bring you everything you might need.” He suddenly stopped and looked me up and down. “How tall are you?”

“About 5’4.”

“That’s just great.”

I stood there confused but didn’t ask any questions. I just stared at him stupidly. Probably women threw themselves at his feet when he was alive.

March walked to the door and shouted. “Ms. Evers!”

In a couple of seconds, the maid appeared in the doorway again. She didn’t look annoyed or tired, it looked like she was very glad to please him.

“Bring a set of clean clothes for our young friend here. And her bag. You will find something suitable in Elizabeth’s old dresses.”

The maid glanced at me, her look seemed contemptuous to me. Then she nodded and quickly vanished behind the door.

I stood there, a little flustered by the whole situation.

“Who is Elizabeth?” I asked James.

“My wife.” He answered, his smile faltered.

“Oh…” I said, not sure if I should say something else. That was unexpected.

“Don’t worry, darling,” James said, his voice back to its usual cheerful tone. “You’ll look wonderful in her things. Much better than the current generation girls.”

Huh.

I said nothing and just waited for the maid to return. The silence wasn’t awkward though, rather soothing.

In a few minutes, the maid returned with my stuff. Quick.

“The young lady's belongings.” She said, her hands trembling slightly as she handed me my bag and a pile of folded clothes.

“Thank you, Ms. Evers,” James said, dismissing her with a nod. The maid gave me one last glance and left.

“You should try them on, darling,” James said, pointing to a half-ajar door, suggesting a bathroom behind it.

I closed the door behind me and inspected my clothes. It was an old-fashioned black dress, mid-length.

I took off my clothes, washed blood stains from my skin, and slipped into the dress. It was a little tight in the hips and was loose on top. His wife had great boobs. Despite the old-fashioned look, it was actually very flattering. It hugged my figure in all the right places, showing off my, well, curves. The black color gave it a touch of elegance. I twirled in front of the mirror feeling a little silly and excited at the same time.

I fixed my makeup with tissues. My eyeliner was smudged, so it looked like smokey eyes. I looked like a young rich socialite, except instead of Gucci shoes I was wearing red Vans.

I smiled at my reflection, feeling the adrenaline rush. I looked damn good in this dress. I was a predator. At least I felt like it.

I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, seeing James still sitting in the armchair. His eyes fixed on me as I walked out.

I saw his gaze wandering all over my body, as though trying to memorize every inch of it. I wasn’t sure if I should feel creeped out or flattered.

“You look marvelous, my dear,” he said, standing up. “Ready for the hunt?”

I nodded, feeling my heart beating faster. I was ready. Ready to prove myself to him, to show that I wasn't some scared little girl who happened to kill someone. I was wild. I was dangerous. I was a hunter too.

I took the stiletto and folded it.

“You’re going to do just fine. Shall we go and make our friend acquaintance?” He chuckled, extending his hand to me. I took it. The touch of his cold dead skin felt strangely reassuring.

We walked down the long corridor in silence. I could still feel the adrenaline rushing through me, making my hands tremble slightly. Maybe I was dreaming? It could be a dream. A nice dream.

“You have complete freedom of action, darling. Now we are just testing your abilities. And don’t even think about feeling guilty, good people never stay in Cortez.”

Finishing the sentence, he suddenly disappeared. I looked around, finding myself in front of door number 70. With the stiletto hidden in my palm, I raised my other hand and knocked on the door.

A few moments passed, and then I heard footsteps inside. My heart skipped a beat. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was standing outside an unknown man's room in an evening dress.

Seconds later, the door slowly opened, revealing a middle-aged man standing in the doorway. He was tall and quite attractive to my surprise. He looked like a stereotype of an “older guy” from Pinterest.

“How can I help you?” he asked, looking me up and down.

I put on a polite smile and looked up at the man, trying to hide my nerves. “Good evening, sir. I'm terribly sorry to bother you so late in the night, but I seem to be having some trouble. May I come in for a moment?”

The man looked at me for a few moments, his eyes wandering over my figure in the tight dress. I could see his mind working to make a decision. Probably not a typical sight in this hotel.

“Of course,” he finally answered, stepping back to let me in. “Are you alright?”

“Someone was following me, I was so scared…” I said with a trembling voice, entering the room.

The man led me into the room and closed the door behind him.

"That's terrible," he said, sounding sympathetic. "Can I offer you a drink?"

I smiled.

"It would be lovely, thank you."

The man poured us both a glass of whiskey and handed me a drink. I could sense his eyes fixed on me as I took the glass.

“Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the coach. “Can I know your name, love?”

“Myranda,” I answered taking a sip. I had no idea why I chose this name.

“You alone here, Myranda?” He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my exposed legs.

“Yes, unfortunately,” I answered. “My friends ditched me at the last moment.”

“It can be very unsafe in a place like this, especially for a young girl.”

I pretended to look worried at his words.

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm so glad I ran into you," I said, my voice slightly trembling. "I was so terrified."

To my surprise, he looked worried. “I can call you a cab or give you some money. Do you have someone to walk you home?” I was almost taken aback by the genuine concern in his voice. It wasn't what I expected. I shook my head.

“No, it's fine,” I answered, giving him a small smile. “I just need a place to rest for a bit. You know... to calm my nerves. Thank you.”

“Of course, you can stay here for as long as you need.”

"You're being so kind to me." I smiled gratefully, taking another sip of whiskey. It was burning my throat, but I kept a straight face.

“My daughter is about your age, I know it can be harsh to be a young girl, love.”

His words brought back memories of my stepfather. I hoped he was burning in hell.

"Your daughter is lucky to have you," I said, my voice a bit more emotional this time. God, how should I kill him? He is just a good man.

He looked a bit surprised to hear the suddenly emotional tone in my voice.

"Oh, thank you," he answered, a look of sadness passing across his face momentarily. "We don’t see each other too often now."

He smiled sadly, taking another sip of his drink. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

“I’m 18.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprise in his eyes.

"Only 18? That's even more reason for you to be careful, love."

He got up from his chair and walked over to the minibar, refilling his glass.

I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him.

I bit my lip, watching as he topped up his drink. He was probably a good person, a decent man. That thought was driving me crazy.

I could just leave, walk out of the room, and pretend none of this ever happened. James would probably be mad. I couldn’t kill him, not now, not after he had been so nice to me.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked quietly, my voice a little shaky.

He looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he took a seat next to me on the coach.

“Of course, love. You can ask me anything.”

I took a deep breath, trying to sound as natural as possible.

“I don't mean to be rude, but... why are you here alone? You don't have a wife or something?”

His expression darkened slightly, a sad smile appearing on his face.

“Ah, my wife…” he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink. “We've been divorced for quite some time now. It wasn't a good marriage, to be honest.”

He looked at me and smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You know how it is, love. People change, they grow apart. Though I miss having someone to love me."

I nodded.

“Can I use the bathroom?”

“Of course.”

He pointed to a door on the other end of the room.

I smiled, standing up and walking towards the bathroom. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I leaned against the cold surface, taking a deep breath.

How the hell was I going to do this?

I glanced around the bathroom, my eyes scanning the small space. My gaze landed on the mirror above the sink. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection - a young girl pretending to be a femme fatale, wearing a ridiculous black dress and holding a stiletto. Maybe I was in a coma? Maybe I was dead? I hoped so.

I felt dizzy. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. But the reality of the situation was still there, mocking me cruelly.

"I can't do this," I whispered to my reflection. "I'll go insane." I already was.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I looked at my reflection again, the cold water dripping down my face. It was my own face staring back at me, but it felt like I was looking at a stranger.

I will walk out and pretend it never happened. I took one last glance at the cold stiletto in my hand, then quickly hid it in the tight sleeve of the dress. I felt nauseous for no reason. My legs felt bubbly. I took another deep breath before walking out of the bathroom, forcing a smile on my face.

As I walked out the room was empty. I froze for a moment, looking around the room. The man was nowhere to be seen.

Before I managed to turn around something grabbed me from behind. I let out a gasp, startled by the sudden movement. A hand covered my mouth, muffling any sound I was about to make. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly in place.

“Be quiet, love.”

The man's voice was a quiet hiss in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. I could feel his body pressed against mine, trapping me completely. What the fuck?

I tried to struggle, but it was useless. Alcohol made me weak, or maybe he mixed something in my drink. Anyway, he was much bigger and stronger than me. I let out a muffled scream against his hand, which was still covering my mouth.

“You better stop fighting or I will have to hurt you,”

I whined. Stupid stupid stupid. I never hated myself more in my life. I started crying.

He pushed me roughly. My face pressed into the bed. I felt his weight on my back.

“Please,” I begged.

“Shut up. You think you can walk to the man during the night dressed like the slut and drink here with no consequences?”

I managed to pull out the knife out of my sleeve, but he was faster, grabbing my hand, and making me drop the weapon.

“What a bitch you are.”

He unzipped my dress. I regretted that I pulled out the knife in front of him, I should have stuck it into my throat. He wouldn't have time to stop me. That way, at least I wouldn’t have to suffer. I shut my eyes.

In a second I heard the sound of flesh being pierced. I felt something hot and wet on my back. Blood. The grip on my body loosened and I immediately turned around.

James was standing there with a dagger in his hands. The man was lying dead on the floor. I felt so relieved that I couldn’t even say a word.

“You alright, darling?”

I nodded, my body trembling. He helped me to get up.

“It’s okay. You did quite well for the first time, don’t worry, you are safe now.”

My legs seemed to refuse to hold my weight, my knees buckled and I almost fell. James’ hand wrapped around my waist, supporting me.

"He seemed nice," I whispered.

“Well, don’t let fool yourself next time. Won’t you?”

I shook my head.

“What now?” I mumbled, my voice still shaking. I guess I was in shock.

I leaned against him, my head resting on his chest.

“You should rest.”

I nodded. I felt like I might pass out at any moment.

“Okay," I whispered. “I guess I failed the first task.”

James chuckled softly, his hand caressing my head.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, dear, everyone can feel hesitation," he said gently. "You did well, considering the circumstances. You'll get another chance. There are plenty of men here."

He walked me out of the room. I followed him without a word, still clinging to him for support. The corridor outside the room was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioning.

“Just remember to never drink anything from others, okay?”

“Mhm,” I mumbled as we walked into another guest room. It wasn't as luxurious as his room, but I would be grateful even for a storeroom.

“You can stay here. I promise it’s safe. Ms. Evers will bring you anything you might need.”

I nodded, still feeling quite shaken. I sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to steady my breathing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

“You watched me in his room...” I began, my voice quiet and a little shaky. “Why didn’t you step in sooner? You could have saved me from the beginning.”

"Well, I wanted you to have a chance to save yourself. You had chances, darling. Just remember this: never let your guard down. Always be prepared, even when you're surrounded by comfort. It's a harsh world, but you should be harsher."

I nodded slowly, understanding his words.

"I won't make the same mistake again," I said remembering the eyes of the dead man.

My mind was slowly drifting away from me. I laid on my back. Everything was spinning. He planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Sleep well.” The last thing I heard before falling into the darkness.

I hope you enjoyed! Have a nice day/night <3

A/N: I am thinking about making this a series, but I dunno yet.

tags: @jazz-berry , @madmagicalheathen , @dustypastelrose

let me know if you want to be tagged in the next works!!

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

Sunday Scaries

(Pre!outbreak Joel Miller x female reader)

A/N: this is for my darling, @loquaciousferret as she deals with her ‘Sunday Scaries’ after a fun weekend out (;

Summary: after a long night out with your girlfriends, you’re suffering through the worst hangover of your life. Your boyfriend Joel is there by your side taking care of you all day long.

~word count: 2.7k~

Warnings: mentions of drinking, established relationship, soft! Joel, he’s so sweet your teeth are going to rot out! Joel, comforting themes, caring for you while you’re hungover, light teasing, praise kink, nicknames, very very light smut, whole lot of fluff! It’s so stinkin cute. (+18) minors dni !

You weren’t sure what time it was exactly when you sent your boyfriend Joel a text message with zero context. You knew by now that he wasn’t the best at reading between the lines. Your text to him was one word: dying. You must have not even realized you had hit send before your head flopped back down on the pillow. You were out late last night with your girlfriends out drinking. You had a few too many vodka-crans, and by the time you had gotten home, you were too drunk, and too tired to even bother taking your little skimpy dress off.

You were rudely awoken by someone banging heavily on your apartment door the following morning. Unbeknownst to you, behind the door was your incredibly concerned boyfriend. When Joel woke up to your text, he didn’t waste any time with quickly getting dressed and snatching his keys to his truck and driving to your apartment. He was definitely driving way over the speed limit but did he care? Not one fucking bit.

You let out a groan as you pulled your pillow over your head to block out the incessant banging. When it didn’t cease, you wrapped yourself up in your thick quilt and forced yourself out from under the covers. You nearly tripped over your discarded strappy heels from the night before as you trudged out of your room. You looked, and felt like the living dead.

After reaching your apartment door, you unlocked it with a grumble and you stepped back slightly as it swung open, revealing your worried out of his fucking mind boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck, Joel. What are you doing here?” Your voice was raw from all the singing you had done with your friends as you rubbed your temples with the pads of your fingers. Your brain was pounding painfully in your skull.

Joel had let out a visible sigh of relief when he saw that you were very much alive in front of him. “What am I doin’ here? Baby, you texted me at like the crack ass of fuckin’ dawn, sayin’ you were dyin’! I raced over here as fast as I fuckin’ could. Thought somethin’ terrible had happened..”

“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry baby I don’t even remember sending you that message honestly. I’m sorry. I was super fucking drunk when I got home last night and I must have sent it around that time. I’m okay, Joel. Just suffering through the worst hangover of my life is all.”

Joel took in your full appearance then. He saw the makeup streaks under your eyes and the smeared left over lipstick. Your hair looked like an absolute rat's nest. Despite looking like hell, you were still the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

“Oh, honey..it’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize, okay? I just wanted to make sure that you were alright..did the vodka crans get to ya again?” he teasingly asked as he leaned against the doorjamb of your apartment door.

“Shuddup Joel. My head is pounding and I really wanna just curl up and fucking die in a hole somewhere..” you grumbled as you turned on your heel and started to head over to the couch. You wasted no time to plop down, face first, with your head buried in one of the pillows.

Joel let out a soft sigh as he watched you plop down onto the couch. He stepped inside your cozy little apartment, closing the door behind him softly as he hung his coat up alongside yours. “I’m sorry you’re havin’ a rough time right now baby. Hangovers can be real fuckin’ nasty.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I’m regretting all of my decisions right now.” You grumbled into the pillow

You could hear his footsteps approaching where you laid on the couch as he slowly sank down along the corner of the cushion. He gently placed his hand along the small of your back, through the thick quilt that was wrapped around you. “I’m gonna take care of ya, okay? Will you let me do that my sweet girl?” He spoke softly.

“That sounds wonderful. I’d love it if you did.” You turned your cheek to the side so you could see his face before you slowly sat up and brought your arms around him, hugging him tightly with your cheek pressed against his warm chest.

“Let’s get your makeup off first, yeah? You don’t wanna go walkin’ around with raccoon eyes baby.” He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you as he held you close and kissed the top of your head.

“Don’t make me punch you in the fucking balls right now cowboy.” You warned him.

“Shhh. Don’t go sayin’ stuff like that okay honey? Where are your makeup wipes, my love? Bathroom..under the sink yeah?”

“Mhmm..”

“Alright, sugar. You sit tight, okay? Gonna go grab them. You still in your clothes from last night?”

“I was too drunk to take them off. I don’t even know how I got my heels off either. They were an absolute bitch to take off.”

He chuckled softly as he gently rubbed soothing circles against your lower back before he reluctantly released you from his grasp. “M’proud that you made it home in one piece and took them off by yourself. Good job baby.”

You let out a huff when he was no longer holding you and you kinda just flopped back down against the side of the couch like a dead fish.

“Gonna take your makeup off, and run you a nice hot bath. Kay? Then we’re gonna get you out of those clothes and into something much more comfortable.” He gently patted your exposed knee from under the blanket before he walked over to your bathroom.

He easily found your makeup wipes from the cabinet under the sink. He returned to you minutes later, setting the bag of makeup wipes on the coffee table before he was gently grasping your thighs in his warm hands and coaxing you to sit up. “You gotta work with me a ‘lil here. Okay honey? Would it be more comfortable if you sat in my lap?”

“How the fuck did I get so lucky?” You mumbled as you sat up, scooting over so you were close enough to wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms draped around his back, interlocking your hands together as you held yourself against him.

“Mmm. Shouldn’t that be the other way around sugar? I’m the lucky one here. Wouldn't want to spend my Sunday any other way than here, takin’ care of ya.” He said with a small grin creeping onto his lips as he looked at you lovingly, with those big brown puppy dog eyes that you loved so tenderly.

You watched as he pulled out a couple makeup wipes, and he grasped your face in one hand, gently holding you still as he began to wipe away at leftover residue of your makeup along your skin. “You’re such a fucking sap, Miller. I love you.”

“Ditto, honey. Now close those pretty eyes for me, okay sugar? I don’t wanna get this stuff in ‘em. That would really fuckin’ hurt.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his request because he was just too damn adorable right now. Your lashes fluttered shut as he gently wiped away what was left of your eyeshadow. His tongue was poking out between his lips slightly as he was extremely focused on the task at hand.

Once he finished getting most of your makeup off, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. Nibbling on it lightly as he elicited a sweet giggle to slip past your lips. “Does that feel a little better baby? Man, that stuff is a pain to get off huh? Let’s go run that bath for you now sweet girl.”

He was gently scooping you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom while you clung to his strong, broad frame like a koala.

He set you down on the edge of the toilet seat and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before he started the water for your bath. He checked the temperature periodically to make sure that it wasn’t too hot for you.

You watched him with complete adoration in your eyes. Joel Miller was what any girl would want in a boyfriend. God, you were so lucky that he was yours.

“Can feel ya starin’ at me.” He looked over his shoulder at you and shot you a playful wink. “Enjoyin’ the view darlin’?”

“Absolutely. I love seeing my man bent over my tub like that.” You giggled.

“You’re adorable.” He mused as he straightened his back and walked back over to where you were sitting. He gently unwrapped your thick quilt from around your body. “Gonna get you out of the dress okay? It’s so pretty..but I can imagine it was uncomfortable to sleep in all night.”

“I couldn’t get the damn zipper down, Joel. I tried multiple times and it wouldn’t fucking budge.”

“I know honey. It’s okay, I’m here now, pretty girl.” He spoke as he gently coaxed you to your feet. He reached around you, grasping the zipper between his fingers before he slowly dragged the metal down, as the material pooled at your ankles, along with your panties. He had you step out from it before he bent down and picked it up, hanging the dress along the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

“Will you hold me in the tub please?” You asked him softly.

“Of course honey..I was gonna be a gentleman and ask. I didn’t wanna go and assume y’know?”

“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you more than I already have? Cause if that’s the case..it’s totally working.” You watched as he effortlessly pulled his shirt over his head.

“Gasp. You really think I’d do such a thing like that?” He chuckled.

“Don’t lie Miller. You absolutely would do something like that baby.”

“Yeahh, alright. You got me there darlin’”

He scooped you up once more as he carried you to the tub and gently set you down into the soothing water. He discarded the rest of his clothing in a pile before he climbed in behind you. He gently wrapped his arms around you as he brought your back against his chest so you were comfortably laying between his strong thighs. “This alright for you baby?”

“This is perfect.” You let out a content sigh as you rested your head against his chest and placed your hands over his under the water, where they rested comfortably along your stomach.

“M’happy to hear that my sweet girl.” He spoke softly as he rested his chin along your shoulder. “You want me to wash your hair for you as well or just hold you?”

“Oh, please. That would be wonderful, thank you.”

He hummed in response as he reached around you and grabbed your favorite bottle of shampoo. Shortly after, you could feel his fingers working the suds into your hair. He was giving you a full on scalp massage as your eyes fluttered shut.

He had continued to softly hum as he gently scraped his nails against your scalp. He loved these little moments of intimacy that he got to share with you.

Once your hair was washed, he gently tipped your head back into the water before he washed the shampoo suds out of your hair.

You were in a state of complete bliss with your boyfriend taking care of you like this. It was wonderful to have him here with you. Your head still pounded painfully but it was nothing a little aspirin couldn’t fix. “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah baby? What’s up?”

“Never let me go out drinking like that again.”

“Baby..you said the same thing last weekend..” he chuckled.

You muttered something incoherent under your breath as you turned around between his legs to look up at him. “Shhh. I know what I said last weekend but I’m serious. Don’t let me do that again because I feel like dog shit.”

He was gently grasping your chin between his fingers, brushing the pad of his thumb across your plush lower lip. “M’sorry you’re still feelin’ like shit baby. You and I both know your girlfriends are gonna be textin’ you next weekend and askin’ you to go out. Maybe just don’t drink as many vodka crans next time?”

“Hmm..next time I’ll bring you out with me. You can be my moral support..” you said with a grin, leaning in for a kiss.

“Ohh I’d love that. I’ll make sure you’re being good. Still want you to have fun though..Kay sugar?” He removed the pad of his thumb from your lips and replaced it with a kiss.

His kiss was sweet, warm, and comforting.

“If your head is still hurtin’ real bad..I think I might have a solution for you baby. Only if you’re interested..”

“What did you have in mind, baby?” You mumbled against his lips, kissing him languidly.

“Considerin’ I’m a real gentleman and don’t wanna see my girl in any pain at all, I can ease your mind off of it..”

You breathed a soft sigh against his lips as you relaxed against his warm chest. “You wanna get my head spinning in a different way?..”

“Yeah. I’d love to if you’d let me.” He breathed out as he gently cupped your cheek in his warm palm, stroking his thumb against your cheekbone comfortingly.

“Yes please.” You whispered

“Sit back between my thighs, baby. Get nice and comfortable, okay? Gonna take care of you..” he whispered as he broke away from the kiss.

You slowly turned back around so you were resting against his chest once more. You could feel his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he pressed a soft kiss to your pulse point.

Your eyes slowly fluttered shut as you felt the pad of his fingertips dip down between the valley of your breasts and over your navel. Your thighs instinctively fell open as his fingers brushed over your clit, eliciting a soft sigh to slip past your lips.

His fingers began to move in gentle circles against your clit as he continued to press soft kisses along your neck.

He didn’t apply nearly as much pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he usually would. His movements were gentle, tender as he coaxed you into a soothing orgasm with just his fingers alone. “Shh..that’s it. That’s my good girl. I’ve got you baby, it's okay. You’re such a good girl for me.” He whispered against your skin as your hips bucked up against his hand as you chased your impending orgasm.

“Joellll.” You let out a sweet, soft moan as your eyes rolled back into your skull.

“I know baby..I know. Feels good doesn’t it? I love playing with your pretty little pussy like this..always know how to get her purring for me..”

“You’re the devil..” you breathed out as he continued to gently ruin you with his fingers. Once the sensation became too much and your thighs were trembling, you grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers together as you came down from your high. Your mind was all fuzzy and didn’t hurt nearly as much now.

“Too much?” He let out a soft chuckle seeing that you were spent in his arms.

“Just a little..but I loved it. Thank you baby.”

“Anything for my girl.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Once the water was no longer comfortable, and yours and Joel’s skin was pruning up, he gently helped you out of the tub and wrapped a nice fluffy towel around your body.

He had some comfy sweats and a hoodie waiting for you as he helped you get dressed and carried you back to the couch. He let you sit between his thighs once more while you used him as your own personal pillow. You napped together for the rest of the afternoon. He made sure you drank water every now and then and when you were feeling a little better, he even made you some soup.

Joel Miller made your hangover, and the Sunday Scaries, not so scary anymore. Despite this, you still called off work the next morning, and your boyfriend happily spent the night at your place with you between his arms.

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brighttears · 1 year

Text

Finally

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description except female sex organs and having hair, no use of y/n

Summary: After losing contact with your lover Joel and his brother for five years, Tommy finds you and brings you into Jackson. You reunite with Joel but it doesn't take long for him to project his insecurity onto you. You talk to Tommy about it until Joel comes and finds you. You have make up sex/five years overdue sex, and end with a shower that eases some feelings out of you as you relax in your new home with Joel

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: (18+, MINORS DNI) PIV unprotected sex, creampie, mating press, slight hair pulling, slight edging, dirty talk, Joel has a big ol weiner, pet names (baby, babygirl, good girl, sweet girl, darling, my love), you and Joel have an argument, ‘slut’ used derogatorily, accused cheating, brief drinking, kind of insecure!Joel, Tess doesn’t exist

A/n: this is the longest it’s ever taken me to post anything lol (and also the longest thing i’ve written i think?). the quality will not correlate I was messing around with like four other ideas this is the just the only one that got somewhere, also been having way less time to write and that will probably continue 3: also finally did smut (for the one person who has said they want me to lol love u)

—

Riding up to the gates of Jackson, you feel like a teenager on their first day of high school, distractingly nervous but drifted forward by hopeful butterflies. You grip the leather reins and look to Tommy riding beside you, he grants you a reassuring grin. In front of you, the gates, made of lines of thick logs with a large rusty lock, start to groan open. Tommy slips through before you and you follow him into a different world—a ghost and dream, lit up by string lights, appearing warm despite the winter, healthy and alive. Your focus, however, concentrates on the faces, many of which are looking back at your new one. Flicking from one to the next, your heart rises and falls with every one that isn’t Joel’s. Tommy’s promise has your senses perked up like an animal.

Ahead of you on the road, you double take a man with his back to you. Despite this and his hair being too gray, his posture and step are unmistakable.

“Joel,” you utter, soft, a reaction rather than a call out; it croaks out of your throat, dusty from all its time stuck there. Awakened, his name erupts from you then, “Joel,”

The man stops dead, then whirls around, and you stop breathing because it is him. Unable to look away, you stumble off of your horse and begin to walk towards him. It’s silent, almost frighteningly so, even if it’s just in your head, because it makes it feel like a dream, like if you so much as blink he’ll be gone or you’ll be awake.

Joel mirrors you, then jogs, you feel hot tears behind your eyes, and then you collide, grabbing at each other like you’re making up for every lost embrace from the past five years apart. He makes a sound, holding you with his cheek on the side of your head. You shake once with a cry, a mixture of shock that keeps your eyes wide open, though blind, actualization flowing through you and into your fingers digging into his thick coat and tangling in his hair, dregs of sorrow and resentment against time finally detaching like leeches, and love, powerfully swirling around everything inside of you.

Then you hear his voice for the first time, “Oh, baby,” and your eyes squeeze shut and you start to cry, and he holds you tighter. You can’t stop it, fueled by relief in the intense familiarity of the pressure of his arms, his scent, his voice, the way he breathes.

Once you’re breathing properly, Joel pulls away, holding your waist. He looks you over, making sure you’re real and here, and when you are, he slips a hand under your jaw and pulls your wet face into a kiss. For a moment your lips are simply pressed, frozen, overwhelmed, and then they move, and you kiss starved, revived. The feeling of sanctuary rekindling floods you, your face quivering with tears, and you have to pull apart for a breath.

And Joel is still here, and you hold his face in your hands because he’s so beautiful and he’s finally here. You take in each other’s new features—wrinkles, grays, scars. You slide your thumb over his cheek, feeling his rough skin, and then you meet in the stars in each other’s blown out pupils.

Simultaneously, you start to giggle, giddy, and then you guffaw, holding each other, and Joel pulls you back in. Tightly, he sways you like a doll, and you feel his laughter through his body like against a speaker playing heavy base. Being in his arms feels like life being unpaused.

“Tommy!” He cries over your shoulder, still laughing, “Where the fuck did’you find ‘er?” Still held tightly against him, you can’t hear Tommy’s response, but then Joel repeats “Oh, baby.” and leans his head down to loudly kiss the side of your face.

You pull away and admire him. No image that you’d drawn up in your imagination compares to Joel in the flesh. Running your hand through his longer, silvered hair, you realize just how much you were missing out on.

“I found you.” You whisper.

He chuckles with a wide smile, “You found me.” And then takes you back to him, “I missed you so much, baby.”

“I missed you to death.” You mumble into him.

Tommy’s voice sounds nearby, chuckling “Don’t smother ‘er to death, we just got ‘er back!” You part and turn to look at him with a rawly genuine grin. A sincere smile curves back. You thank him through your eyes and he nods. Joel strides past you to hug his brother, long and meaningful.

Then he turns to you, hand still on Tommy’s shoulder, and looks you up and down. “Come on, you must be freezin’, I’ll take you up to the house.”

“The house?” You question as he guides you back up the road.

“The house.” He confirms with an amiable smirk, hugging you to his side by an arm wrapped around you.

—

“I know, I know!” Joel enthuses as he closes the door behind you, watching you turn in a circle, mouth agape, taking in the house, which is actually fully intact, walls and furniture alike, basically clean. It smells like Joel and his jacket hangs on the pegboard on the wall next to the door. An acoustic guitar leans against the couch, which has a blanket hung over the back, there’s a mug out on the table, probably still half full and cold—this is Joel’s house.

“Look, look,” he calls and rushes to the kitchen sink. He turns the handle and water flows out in a powerful stream, and you stride over, mouth still open in astonishment. You put your hand under the faucet and feel the water heating up.

“Hot water!?” You cry, and you both burst out laughing again in joyful gratitude. You stop suddenly and Joel turns off the faucet. “Does this mean… shower?” Joel gives you a dramatic frown, raising his brows and shrugging, then nods his head to the stairs. Tugging at his arm, you cry out his name, thrilled. He takes off and you race him up the steps.

“I can get’chou some clean clothes easy—how long you been wearing those?”

“Disturbingly long.”

Joel laughs. “You meet Tommy’s wife yet?” He looks back at you shaking your head as he opens his bedroom door, “Well, she’ll take care a ya’.” He steps into the middle of the room and turns back to you and you magnetize, holding each other by your arms. “Man, when I first got here I just kept thinkin’ how much you’d love this place.”

The image of that almost makes you blush and your heart swells, knowing that he was still yours while you were gone, playing house with an imaginary you. “Damn straight I do. Fuck, you’ve just been livin’ it up.” Looking over his face, you’re beginning to relearn it.

“Well, I am now.” His expression shifts from excitement into contentment and he murmurs, “I missed you so much, baby,”

Fitting together comfortably, you join for a kiss.

The calm of the room allows you to experience your feelings wholly, inside and out; thus, a shared heat is overt and you strip your jackets, not parting lips and hurriedly reattaching your bodies.

“Shit,” you breathe out, craving him and finally being satisfied at the same time as his warm, powerful hands move over you, sliding up and down your sides, your back, up your forearm as your hand brushes over his face and into his hair and with your other you squeeze his thick bicep. He walks you into the wall, clutching your middle to him with an arm wrapped around you. His other hand drags from your face down your neck, flush against your skin as he continues slowly lowering it further, past your collarbone. Your chest expanding in a deep breath lifts it into his hand and Joel swears, then repeats in a murmur, “I missed you so much baby.” You respond with a whimper and wetter kiss, pulling him ever closer, and he swears again, the hand on your back clenching the fabric of your shirt. Then he moves it to the underside of your leg, between your thigh and your ass, and lifts, holding your thigh next to his leg with your foot dangling, toes curling in your boot. Truth is, no one has touched you since Joel, save for yourself, so he’s driving you crazy right now.

Your mouths together compose a natural melody, one motion rolling into the next, constantly finding and looking for more and you’re obsessed again with his flavor. If this lasted forever you wouldn’t even notice. But, just as he moans into your lips, Joel suddenly pulls back and holds you away by your waist.

You rest your hands on his forearms. “Joel?” You inquire, catching your breath, and then slide a hand over his cheek and under his chin to lift his head, looking for some kind of communication from his expression. He meets your eyes for only a second before he lets go of you completely, turning away and walking to the other side of the room.

You stay where you are, granting him space. “Joel? What’s wrong?” He turns to you but his head is bowed. “…Joel?” Anxiety scratches at your heart and you wipe your mouth.

Sighing heavily, he slowly rubs his hand over his face before finally speaking up, “Look… before we… go any further, I gotta ask…” he leans his hand on the short dresser and when he looks up his expression is unexpectedly serious. “Is there someone else?”

It takes you a couple seconds to put it together, but you ask anyway, just to make sure, “…What do you mean?”

Instantly, he replies, “You know what I mean.” Firmer this time, he repeats, “Is there someone else?” Confounded, you’re tongue tied, and he takes it as confirmation of his suspicions. “There is, isn’t there?” He almost sneers.

The atmosphere has shifted dramatically; just a few minutes ago he was laughing brightly with you, and about thirty seconds ago he was caressing you, amorous and loving.

“Are you joking?” Joel’s face says ‘what do you think?’ and you screw your own face up. “Are you asking me if I have some secret partner?” You ask once again just to be sure. He says nothing, only looks on unrelentingly and puts his hands on his hips, bent knee sticking out. You laugh coldly. “Holy shit.”

Near monotone, he asks, “Why’s that funny?”

“I just—wasn’t expecting this, at all, I mean this is just… do you realize how much of a jackass you’re being right now?” You pause, he says nothing. “Well, I’m not having a fucking affair. Okay? Jesus.”

Joel huffs, keeping stoney eye contact, and grinds his teeth. You let him brew in the silence. Still, after all this time, you can read him like a book—he has convinced himself that you found someone better while he was gone and have come back only to blow sand in his eyes, and then you’re going to run off to your new, superior lover, leaving him on his ass in the mud. And although he doesn’t want it to be true, he always puts so much faith into awful assumptions, and he hates being wrong.

You sigh in understanding but speak to him sternly, “Joel, you are making this shit up in your head and just putting it on me. That’s not fair. Don’t do this. There’s no reason to do this.”

Defensively, he suddenly raises his voice, “I jus’ wanna make sure I’m not steppin’ on any toes.” With a bite, he finishes, “I’m jus’ sayin’, if there is someone else, now’s the time to leave.”

Your expression turns unsympathetic, brow pinched and mouth parted in amazement, and then you counter venomously, “I don’t know who you think I am. I don’t know what kind of twisted version of me you’ve created in your head. Are you trying to call me a fucking slut? That’s the kind of narrative you've thought up? That’s what you’ve been thinking about while I’ve been gone—me betraying you?”

Joel’s eyes are closed and his head is shaking before you even finish, pinching his brow with two fingers, “No, no,”

You cut right back in, “Alright, well that’s what it fucking sounds like to me so I am going to leave now—not to run off to some paramour,” you spit, “but because you’re being a fucking asshole and need to run this one back through before you talk to me again.”

“W–wait,” He tries, but you’ve already spun on your heel, snatching up your jacket, and rush out with heavy footsteps. You don’t bother closing his front door behind you and don’t look back, not hearing anything either.

You don’t know this town yet, but you keep the same pace you left Joel’s with and just follow the road, packed white with hard snow. The sharp air makes your eyes water and you swipe your hands at them blurring your vision. Your breaths, fast with your fiery heartbeat, blow steamy clouds like puffs of white smoke.

You stop the first passerby you see, “There’s a bar here, right?” Your tongue hasn’t fully cooled yet and you try not to sound harsh. You’re almost out of breath.

“Yeah,” the tall woman’s voice is mousy and she tucks stray black hair into her hat, then turns and points, “just follow this road, you’ll come to Main Street, it’ll be on your right.” As she turns her head back to you she adds, “It’s called the Tispy Bison.”

“Thank you.” you nod, do your best to smile, and continue on.

—

A rush of warm air blows out through the door swinging open and your nose starts to run as you step into the Tipsy Bison. It appears very ‘American’ themed, with its warm, inoffensively red walls, everything country–style wood, and taxidermy wall mounts. Crowning bright soda fridges are neon red Coca–Cola logos. A few lively groups are scattered about, talking and laughing. Blinking into the reality of the massive dining hall, you wipe your nose with your sleeve; it’s so much like the world before and for some reason it intimidates you. As you scan the room, you spot Tommy at the bar and remember you’re thirsty.

He smiles when he notices you approaching but it fades and he furrows his brow as he regards your expression. You slip into the chair next to him and he turns his torso to face you, one arm resting over the back of his seat, the other on the bar with a beer in his hand.

A gravelly voice from behind the bar asks, “What can I get ya?” and you turn to a friendly looking woman with thick, coily hair and dark teeth.

“Surprise me.”

“Gotcha. Comin’ right up.” She smiles and moves away.

Turning your attention back to Tommy, his brow is still furrowed, as it is most of the time, really, and he bites his lip. “Trouble in paradise?”

You turn forward to rest your elbows on the bar and slide your head through your hands, pulling your cheeks, then resting them on the sides of your head. “Your brother’s being a little shit.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, he’s pretty good at that. What’e’do?”

During the time you’d been with Joel, you became close with his brother, too. Tommy has always been easy to talk to and you pick right up where you left off. It’s nice to have someone to talk candidly to about Joel, and you’re sure he feels the same.

“Same kind of shit he always does—assume the worst in everyone and stick them with it for no fucking reason.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty classic Joel.” He sips his beer and smacks his lips. “You know he does really love you, though.”

“No, I know, I mean, I can tell even with this,” you remove your hands from your head and turn to him, “he’s accusing me of having ‘someone else’,” you air quote as you confide, “like I’m having a fucking affair. Came outta nowhere.” Looking to the side to blow out a breath, your eyes automatically flick around your surroundings.

“He’s just insecure.”

“I know. It’s not like I’m cutting him off or anything, and I want to stay in Jackson, I just told him to… cool off, in so many words. You know I love him too, I just had to fucking leave.”

Just then, the voice sounds again beside you, “Here’s that surprise for ya.” She places a short, ribbed glass in front of you, a blood orange drink on the rocks.

“Thank you.” You immediately take a swig and it’s bittersweet and smooth.

As you do, Tommy says, “Yeah, good call. He just needs to get checked sometimes, y’know? He’ll figure it out. He’s just… yeah, he’s insecure.”

Looking down into your drink, you add, “He hates himself.” and spin the glass over the smooth bar. “That’s his worst quality. That’s the only thing I would change about him.”

Tommy sighs. “I think what makes it worse for him is how much he loves you.” He shakes his head, “He just gets so damn scared. He has no idea how strong he is, how good he is… I think we see a real different version of him than he does.” You nod. There’s a beat of silence before he continues, “It’s just… loss, y’know? It’s like he just wants’t’ beat it to the punch. He always feels like he’s doin’ sum’n wrong. Always thinkin’ it’s his fault.”

You nod again. “You said it: he sees a real different version of himself than we do. I just wish I could…” you suck your teeth and turn to him, “I keep trying to talk him out of it, you know? Do you think that works?”

He looks down to think for a while, then looks back at you and concludes, “I think… it’s gotta be him.”

You nod, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

To lighten the mood, Tommy smiles, “Well, don’tchou worry, he’ll be crawlin’ back t’you with his tail between his legs any second now.” You ‘psh’, looking ahead and admiring the warm-toned colored bottles shelved on the wall. Then he adds, “You’ll never lose ‘im, you know.”

You sip your drink and roll his words around with it, full, mellow, but strongly bittersweet. You and Joel had been separated for a long time, wherein all you had was faith, and you gripped that rope tight and never let go, just like he would for you, just like he did for Tommy. Joel has yet to let you down—he’s fucked up many times, but he’s never let you down, because he puts his heart into everything he does; it’s maybe his most admirable and most troubling trait. He loves so hard it hurts, sometimes not just him. You’ll never run out of patience though, because he’s your Joel, and you love him to death. He hit you like a bullet, quick and good, and he’s lodged somewhere inside of you, unretrievable.

“Speak a the devil.” Tommy’s voice breaks you out of reflection, looking past you, and you turn to see Joel, halfway in the doorway, devastating eyes and all. For a moment you just watch him, awkward in the doorway, admiring his presence, but you keep a straight, neutral face. You look back at Tommy as you take a last swig of your drink and he smiles with understanding eyes.

Hopping down from your stool and strolling towards Joel, you have to bite hard back a smile, though you’re still pissed. Catching him doing the same, you briefly question why you have to do this dance instead of just leaping back into each other, mixing into your color and staying like that in his bed, which must be so soft and comfortable and warm with him in it. He is so god damn beautiful and it’s been so long that your hands twist nervously behind your back and you feel yourself blushing, so you turn your head down as you near him. You have good reason to show him you’re upset, though—the dance is important.

“Can we talk?” He asks you, voice entirely soft.

You look up at him, pause, and then nod. Joel turns back outside slowly and does more than he needs to to hold the door for you.

Winter is near its end but you’ve arrived just in time for a cold snap; the wind has picked up significantly in the short time you’ve been inside, icey and sharp, and you bend your head down against it and hug yourself. Joel starts to put his arm around you but pulls away, glancing at you with awkward steps towards his house.

“Hold me.” You answer, so he does, arm around your shoulders, curving himself around you as the wind whips. The man is a living furnace, you can feel it even like this.

—

It’s silent until you’re back in Joel’s house, too cold and windy for any kind of conversation. Adjusting to the indoors, you both blow out sighs, and Joel impulsively helps you out of your coat and hangs it on the peg next to his on the wall by the door. Then he just stands awkwardly; he’s never been good at this. What’s important, though, is that he’s trying. Waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts, you lean against a wall with your hands behind your back. After a moment, he looks around, sucking his teeth, and then moves ungainly to sit in a chair at the table. You follow and sit across from him. More silence, he fiddles with his hands on the table in front of him and grinds his teeth. Under the table, you run a finger back and forth over the wood’s grooves on its apron.

“Okay,” he starts, then pauses, keeping his gaze on his hands. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounds rehearsed, like he said ‘I’m sorry’ in his head twenty times before he spoke it. “I was wrong. I didn’t mean t’… I mean I’d be pissed too, if you said sum’n like that to me. I know that’s not you. I was jus’… scared,” he wills the word out, looking off to some spot on the floor, “You’re right, I,” he pauses, then motions his hand up in circles next to his head, “I jus’, made this whole story up in my head. I mean we haven’t even talked about, y’know, what’s happened in the past five years. I have no idea what you did or didn’t do, and it’s not my business unless you want it to be. I jus’, I don’t know,” he shifts back in his chair and fiddles with his hands again, “I was just afraid that y’d… forgott’n about me or found someone better or, uhh…y–y–”

Watching him start to fumble over his words, you decide that now is an ok time to cut in, starting quiet and gentle, “I didn’t.” Joel looks at you as you speak, his brow furrowed up. “I never forgot about you. I thought about you every day. I was scared, too, I didn’t know anything about how you were doing or where you were, I didn’t know if I was ever gonna see you again, but I just lived like I would. I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t, I wasn’t able to. And there’s no one better, Joel,” you slide your hand over the table to take one of his. He unclasps them to fold it in and watches his thumb stroke over your hand. “You are the only one. What I feel for you can’t be touched. Even if I tried, I don’t think I could be with anyone else. But I didn’t try. All I did was miss you.”

At that, Joel takes your hand with both of his, taking a deep breath, and then leans in to place soft kisses over your knuckles, peering up at you as he does. A bolt in your core throbs heat into the rest of your body and you feel slightly dizzy. Again, you haven't had any kind of touch like this since the last time you were with Joel, so you’re starving for it, but above all, for Joel. His lips are gentle, his hands are warm and burly folded around yours.

You slip your hand out of his and get up from the table. He watches you walk to his side to fix your level of separation and he stands and joins you back into an embrace.

You sink into each other, bodies and minds fusing as if you were never apart. You match temperatures so all you feel is the pressure of his hands sliding up your back, under your shirt. In his hold, your back is arched and your hips are met; there’s barely any space between your bodies at all. You hold onto his face, running your hands over it, messing up his hair, focusing on his lips, letting him do the work on your body. Joel places a hand on the front of your thigh and starts slowly dragging it up. You twitch under it, desire like a lightning storm around under his touch. You nearly jerk into it and he finally slides his broad hand flush between your thighs. Your head falls back and he doesn’t miss a beat, moving his lips on your neck, and it forces a moan out of you.

“You like that?” He says into your skin, barely out of a kiss, nose pressed against it.

“Yes,” you whine, “please, oh my god.”

You feel Joel smile into your neck and he nips it. “Jump up.” You do, his hands out and ready to catch your thighs. This was a regular trick of yours and apparently your bodies haven’t forgotten it. As he starts for the stairs, you lean yourself over his shoulder. The placement of his hands are in both the best and worst spot, splayed just barely over every area you want him to touch. You hold onto his neck as he brings you upstairs and laugh when he kicks his bedroom door open, making it bang loudly against the wall. Once you drop back down to the ground, you connect your mouths again and immediately start to strip. While you struggle with the buttons on his shirt he undoes his belt and jeans and then yours. You rip his flannel off of him, annoyed at it, and then slide your hands under his shirt. You feel over his chest, around his back, and up his sides, relishing in it, and he chuckles into your lips before helping you pull it off. He wastes no time on your shirt, loving that you’re braless, caressing your chest, and then pulls you in, pressing your bare fronts together. You moan in the satisfaction of feeling him like this again. His calloused hands run smoothly up your back and on their way down pass briefly under your waistband. You raise him by slipping your hand all the way into his jeans, cupping his hardening cock. He swears into your mouth as you find hold of it. It electrifies you further, having forgotten about this part of him. Quickening breaths deepen the rise and fall of your chest against his.

He pulls his lips from yours and his voice is gruff when he says, “You’re killin’ me darlin’.”

The tone and the way he’s hardening in your hands is driving you wildly lustful and you tell him frankly, voice pitched high, “I want you so bad Joel I love your cock I need you to fuck me,” all of this wet into his lips.

Immediately, Joel tugs down your pants, but when they’re at your knees, he pulls away to look at you and he says “Boots.” You both laugh breathily and sit down on the edge of his bed—your pants still halfway down—undoing your laces hastily. He finishes first and then helps you untie the laces of your other shoe, both of you chuckling with heavy breaths. You kick them off and then Joel moves in front of you, taking hold of the cuffs of your jeans to pull them off. Once they are, in one swift motion, he opens your legs up with his in between them, and, still standing but leaning over you on the bed, he slips his hand back between your legs. He places it flush against you through your underwear, which would be embarrassingly dirty, but who fucking cares? They’ll be gone soon anyway. Joel’s mouth opens amorously, watching your eyes as you let out a long, embarrassingly pornographic moan at the raw enough contact. He slides down deeper, the heel of his hand pressing lightly and thrillingly on your clit and you gasp into another moan. He grins and then leans his head down to your neck, dragging his tongue up its full length.

“Fuck,” you drawl involuntarily as a shiver runs through you and you hook your arms under his to claw his back. When Joel slides his hand back up between your legs, wetness seeps from your slit. Joel chuckles erotically, his breath over the line of his saliva on your neck making it worse and your legs open wider. The heat under his hand matches that in your chest and your breaths are more desperate in want of him.

Fed up of him taking it so slow, you slide your hands under him and push him up, holding onto his biceps to pull you up with him as he stands, and lick into his mouth. Your other hand goes straight into his pants and under his briefs, teasing him like he had you. When he moans into your mouth you squeeze only slightly and then slowly move your hand up until your thumb comes to the spot just before the underside of his tip. You begin working it like that, teasing him wet and sensitive in your hand.

Joel pulls his face away from yours, eyes closed, and breathes out “Shit.” He squeezes the arm reached down and moves his hips into your hand. You keep at it, biting your lip watching him. “Ah, oh, fuck,” he mumbles, almost sluring his words, and warns, “If you don’t stop I’m gonna cum,” when you do stop, he groans.

Bringing your hand away from him, you settle it on his belly and wrap your other arm around his neck to nuzzle your face into it and mumble, “I missed your cock so much, I miss feeling it, I wanna see you cum,”

“Fuck.” Joel states, then commands, “Lay back on the bed.” You do as you’re told, propping yourself up with your forearms behind you on the bed and watch him drop his pants. Finally naked, his cock bounces to flip onto his stomach, reaching just under his belly button; dark curls hide everything else. Your sigh is almost a moan just looking at him, like a meaty roman sculpture of the exemplary man. His brow shadows sultry eyes and, like an animal in heat, you open your legs, peering up at him needily.

He slowly crawls over you and whispers, “Move up for me darlin’,” nodding his head to the side for you to lay properly on the bed, head on his pillow. He reaches past you to click on the bedside lamp and then sits up on his knees, admiring you under the golden–yellow light. He places a large hand on your stomach, adding pressure as he slivers it up to fondle your chest.

You appreciate the sentiment, but you have plenty of time for slow, worship sex, and right now, “Joel please I need you to fuck me,”

Smirking, he growls, “Since you asked so nice,” and lowers himself onto you, kissing sluggishly. He doesn’t bother to remove his face from against yours to take your underwear off, just tugs at them until they find their way to slip off. Then, as he positions himself, your thigh slides over his—it’s small, but something about it makes you sigh sensually.

“You ready for me baby?” Joel asks, hovering his lips over yours.

You could come up with some clever remark but now is not the time, so you simply whine, “Yes, Joel, please, I need you,”

“Yeah?” He says, low and lazy, and then moans softly as he eases his thick length into you. Deep satisfaction flows through you as he fills you up, humming and moaning. Your foreheads press together as you adjust, both your mouths wide open, and Joel’s fist clutches the sheets next to your head. He brings himself back out slowly until only his tip is inside you, and then his free hand clutches your side as if to hold you in place as he reinserts himself and begins thrusting, now only barely pulling any length out before plunging back in. Your lungs jump and clumsy moans pour out of you as the force of it rocks your hips.

Joel licks your cheek and then, grabbing hold of your hips to keep himself inside you, pulls himself to sit on his knees. Stretching your arms up, you bear yourself to him, and his mouth has yet to close. He bites his lip before starting to fuck you again, both harder and faster, holding your lower back completely off of the bed.

“Only me, huh?” He says, breaths bumping as he drives himself into you, “I’m the only one that touches you?”

“Yes,” you moan out.

“You touched yourself, though did’n you?” You answer in the same way, “You thought about me while you did, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you sound, high pitched as he starts to fuck you harder.

“Did it feel this good?”

“No,” your drawn out answer catches with the force of his hips pounding against you.

Joel’s head falls back as he speeds up and you already feel yourself start to constrict around him.

“Shit,” he looks back down at you, hums aggressively, and slows his pace dramatically. “No baby, not yet, not yet.” As he pulls out fully, precum flicks onto your stomach and he drops your hips. Back down on top of you, your body weighs into the bed under his and your mouths bond again.

Joel can’t keep his cock out of you for long, though, keeping up messy kisses, each rolling into the next in a flux, he shoves his hand down to slip back into you and fucks a quick tempo that makes the bed creak. One of his hands stays planted on the bed next to your head and the other goes back to hold your hip, pulling you into him with each of his thrusts. Angled slightly up inside of you, he hits a spot that produces a guttural moan from you, and while your mouth is wide open with it, Joel doesn’t quit biting and licking at your lips.

Your body reacts without you, your hand slithering over him—up his arms, his torso, his back, one landing to grip his hair and the other reaching at his hip. The way he bucks into you now hinders your ability to kiss but your faces rub and touch, sharing the same hot air, moaning over each other.

After one loud, long moan, Joel pulls out of you again in a swift motion, moaning through pants.

“Joel why the fuck do you keep stopping,” you slap your palms on his chest in frustration, legs still spread under him.

“Well I js’ don’t wanna cum too fast,” he answers innocently.

“Joel I have been waiting five years…” he starts to chuckle and you smile, “for you to cum.” You slap his chest again and then decide to take this matter into your own hands, pushing him up to get yourself on top. You straddle him, his cock resting stiff and shining on his stomach. Back up at his face, you look into dark eyes, his lips parted with heavy breaths, and you slide your fingers through his hair, gripping a bunch, silver strands highlighted in the light. Keeping eye contact, Joel’s fingers trail lightly down either of your sides as you sit up, sliding his joystick into your hold, and he hums as you sit down on it. After adjusting to his throbbing size, you come up and back down slowly a few times, and then begin swinging your hips to fuck him. A loud, long moan cracks out of him and he closes his eyes and seizes your hips. You release his hair and instead hold into his thick, veiny forearms like handlebars as you accelerate. He moans, long and loud again, and, keeping up a beat with your hips, you lay down on him, pressing your body against his, and eat the moans from his mouth. He adjusts his hold by wrapping an arm around the middle of your back to hold you down and squeezing your ass with the other as if to help your hips along. To keep yourself stabilized enough to keep your mouths together—you could barely call it kissing anymore, just sliding tongues and lips however you can—you plant your hands on the bed with your arms like you would doing a pushup.

Even though you’re on top, Joel is in control now, holding you to fuck up into you.

He angles his head down so that your foreheads stay pressed but he can speak, “Fuck babygirl you feel so good, so fuckin’ tight, I fill you up so good, huh? Pussy’s just for me to cum in, huh? All fr’ me? All mine? Can you tell me you’re all mine?” His words and breaths catch with the rhythm of the surging flux of your bodies rolling together. You feel his muscles jolting in his lower abdomen as he drives in and out and those in his arm twitching against your back with the force of it. The way he fills you is carnally satisfying and overdue and you never want it to stop.

“Yes, yes, all yours, all for you, my pussy’s all for you—fuuck—yours, my pussy belongs to you,”

“Thas’ right, babygirl, you belong to me.” He takes your bottom lip with his teeth and pulls your mouth back to roll his tongue into and unfurls his arm around you to grasp a bundle of hair.

Suddenly, he maneuvers you to flump your back on the bed, bringing himself back on top, and immediately stuffs himself back into you. He grips your hips again to fuck you like he was before, controlling you like a doll, and you grab onto his wrists.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he continues, fucking with an immediately brutal pace, hitting you somewhere deep and perfect but he’s talking over you too much to be able to tell him you’re going to cum, “I was so spolied, I didn’ realize how spoiled I was with this lil’ pussy,” he bumps you hard and rough a couple times to emphasize, “perfect lil’ pussy on my perfect lil’ girl, my sweet girl, so good to me,” Joel tilts forward, keeping himself securely deep between your legs, and releases one of your hips—which you would not be surprised to be bruised exactly in the form of his fingers—to stroke his hand over your cheek, and then gently hooks his thumb in your mouth, pulling your lip out to the side. “Now I get t’ fuck you every fuckin’ night, cause you’re all mine n’ I’m all yours, gonna make you cum every fuckin’ night,” your hips inadvertently lurch against him and you bark a moan and his thumb trails out of your mouth as your head leans back onto the bed. You haven’t had your body move like this in awhile, an animal in and of itself, innately greedy for its mate. Joel sounds almost excited when he says, “Ooh, oh, you gonna cum babygirl?” He sits back on his calves rather than standing on his knees and readjusts his hold on your hips, hands digging into the flesh defining your waist to your hips, and pulls you into his rough, uncoordinated thrusts, driving the entirety of his shaft into you so deep that you feel pressure pushing up in your stomach with each rocking tug. He pants out moans, watching you attentively as your face screws up while you reach your personal crescendo.

The only time you feel this desperate for something is when you’re about to die—such a blind need, a moment stretched out that you will to continue until you are satiated, and oh does Joel deliver.

“Go on babygirl, go on n’ cum for me, cum around my cock, be a good girl an’ show me you’re mine, I wanna make you cum, baby cum for me, cum for me,”

His pleading encouragement is more than enough to pierce the balloon swelling in your stomach, already being bumped rapturously by his manhood. One of your hands is thrown back, grasping at the sheets, the other remaining around his wrist. Your eyes roll back in your head, you suck in a breath and there is a moment of silence, save for the creaking bed, before you break it with a ridiculous, long moan, perceiving only the bursts of ecstasy from Joel’s messy pace, which he quickens with breathy moans. Your contractions around him are dramatic, essentially sucking his dick inside of you like instinct. He pulls you against him and is mostly still besides his hips, which rapidly lurch, drawing out your orgasm to overlap with his. He falls silent again, mouth open and his brow furrowed, eyes also nearly rolled back in his head, as he mechanically glides short in and outs, nearly all of him buried inside of you, pulling back an inch at a time at most as he uses your trembling, sheathlike pussy to stroke out his cum. Then, as his hips jerk forward, leaning into you, and then jerk in again, moans squeeze out of his throat, and he finishes pressed into you.

Panting, you stay pressed and gaze at each other, more or less astonished.

“God damn.” Joel is the first to comment.

You laugh, out of breath, feeling him ooze inside of you. “We really get to do that every night.”

“My god I’m in heaven.” He half jokes with a smile, then relaxes your position with a huff, letting his softening length fall out and rest over you. Joel runs his hands up and down your body in two broad strokes, looking you over, then smirks and chuckles breathily. Then he slaps your thighs and simply offers, “Shower?” and laughs as your face lights up.

“Fuck I almost forgot about that!” You grin with wide, excited eyes, and follow him off the bed, squeezing your legs together a little, still filled with his cum, as you walk to the bathroom attached to Joel’s room. You admire the back of him as he turns the squeaky knobs. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve gotten this kind of full view of him; as many times as you’ve been naked with each other, it’s almost always had to have been somewhat ducked and rushed. His back is casually muscular and he has ever so slight love handles. A knee bent outwards shows off a round ass.

Hearing the water start to spray, you can’t help a giggle, eager, and he twists to you with a smirking grin and laughs.

“Oh man,” he chuckles as he turns his back, meticulously adjusting the temperature, then twists his head again, looking at you expectantly, “Well come on, then,” and you patter over. He gently takes your hand to lead you into the square stall, and moves behind you to slide the glass door shut.

There is no need for him to walk you through the process of taking a shower, but he slowly guides you under the spray anyway, and you gasp as it hits you, still heating up, not used to the sensation. You hadn't realized that it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten how a shower feels and it disturbs you slightly, feeling a little feral versus Joel’s domesticated cleanliness, but his light, absent minded smile eases the thoughts out as he walks in a few slow steps, backing you up to join you under the showerhead’s broad spray. He leans his head back, closes his eyes under the water, and lets go of you to smooth his hair back as the water soaks it. When he opens his eyes again, he smiles at you and smoothes his hands over your wet face.

“Turn around,” he nods, and you do. He stops touching you, leaving you unnerved for only a moment until his hands come back over your upper back, cool soap gliding them over your skin. He squeezes your shoulders lightly and it makes you sigh, then slides his hands over your shoulders, up and down each arm individually, adding more slight, relaxing pressure, and then his hands follow the personal downward design of your body as he shifts his body against your back. Stubble tickles your neck and you giggle as he nudges in to place innocent kisses over your neck while he washes your chest, then slipping soapy hands down your sides to your waist, hips, and what he can reach of your thighs. Humming out a deep sigh, you feel dazed and limp under the hot, deeply relaxing water. Joel embraces you from behind, just resting his face in your neck, standing still with his arms around you.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the urge to cry. This is the safest you’ve felt in a long, long time. Not only are you in Jackson, a secure compound where you can go see a friend for a drink and take a hot shower with the promise of fresh clothes, but your love is finally with you, solid and warm, holding you with strong arms and gentle lips. You can’t hold it back, and when Joel feels it he removes himself and turns you around. “What’s wrong babygirl?” concern contorts his face.

Smiling as much as your crying allows, you answer, “Nothing.”

Understanding, Joel pouts his lips in an emotional smile and pulls you back in, hooking his arms under yours to support your weight, and your arms follow up around his neck. “I know.” You let it go and weep quietly against him. “It’s alright baby. I got’chou. You’re alright, darlin’.” He reassures you. After a couple minutes, you calm, suddenly very tired, barely opening your eyes when Joel pulls away. “Oh, baby,” he chuckles, “don’t go to sleep in the shower. Lemme finish you up real quick, then you can go to bed n’ I’ll get you some new clothes from Maria.”

“No,” you murmur, “don’t leave me.”

“Alright, alright,” he pulls you back in, “I’ll stay with you. I’ll never leave you.” He sighs serenely into the crook of your neck. “You can just borrow some’m my clothes, n’ I’ll talk to Maria in the mornin’. Okay?” You nod. “Alright, baby,” he readjusts his embrace around you, “let’s just get into bed, we can give you a proper shower later. Plenty a time. You can take a shower every day if you want, a hot shower every day. An’ I’ll stay with you every night. Jus’ like like this.” Joel’s hands rub up and down your body, “Warm like this. Every day will be warm jus’ like this now, my love.”

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