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macfrog · 5 months

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the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

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“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

#welp i didn't cry when i hit post. me? no. no way #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #cowboy like me

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 3 months

Note

please do something with peter parker for vday. I miss you writing for him

I started writing this one last year for Valentine's Day...forgive me for the long wait

—

‘’No, you don’t understand, Ned. It needs to be perfect,’’ Peter explained, turning to his best friend for help.

‘’My longest and only relationship lasted about sixty hours, so I’m not really the one to come to for Valentine’s Day gift ideas.’’

‘’Uncle Ben always gave May flowers and chocolate.’’ And Peter always tried to steal chocolate from the box. ‘’But Y/N is Mr. Stark’s daughter, I can’t just buy her flowers and chocolate. She’ll think I’m poor.’’

‘’Didn’t you tell me this morning that you only have five dollars in your pockets?’’ Ned recalled, taking one of the homemade cookies his lola had put into his lunch bag and taking a bite. There was one for Peter too, but he was too busy worrying and panicking.

Peter groaned and hid his face in his crossed arms, frustrated and desperate. Being broke was a second problem to his Valentine’s Day plan. ‘’What am I gonna do? Valentine’s Day is in two days. I can’t not get her anything.’’

‘’If you go back to the roots of Valentine’s Day, it’s about celebrating love. You don’t have to spend money to show someone you love them.’’ Peter opened his mouth, but Ned spoke first. ‘’Even if she’s a Stark and bathes in money,’’ he added. ‘’She didn’t fall in love with you because of your economic status, she fell in love because of who you are.’’

On the big day, Peter set everything up in his living room. May was on a date with Happy, so he had the apartment to himself — until 10pm. He didn’t have a projector, so he made one with a shoebox and a magnifying glass, and hung a sheet to one of the walls to turn into a screen. He made cheese pastas and brought over the single chocolate cupcake he was able to afford.

He was nervous, constantly checking his phone waiting for your ‘I’m here’ text. When he finally got it, Peter rushed to the door, smoothing his button up and fixing his hair before opening. If he was this nervous for Valentine’s Day, he didn’t want to imagine the nervous wreck he would be at his wedding.

Not that he was planning on getting married anytime soon.

‘’Happy Valentine’s Day,’’ you said with a smile on your glossy lips.

Peter said the words back and let you in, gulping when his eyes fell on the small gift bag you were holding. You set it down on the table to take off your coat and boots, revealing a pink sweater and a sparkly necklace that cost probably more than anything in May's apartment.

You followed Peter to the living room, excitement bubbling in your stomach when seeing the frozen image of your favorite rom-com projected on the wall. ‘’You made this?’’

Peter gave you a small nod. Projectors were easy to make. He learned how in a science book for kids when he was nine. May was so impressed when he showed her his ‘magic box’.

‘’It’s not much, but—’’ he started to say, but you shut him up with a kiss.

‘’Stop it,’’ you said, guessing his train of thoughts. ‘’This is the best Valentine’s Day gift ever.’’

You never had another valentine before him — beside the little boys in middle school who sent you cards and heart lollipops —, but Peter’s gift came from the heart. It was thoughtful and personal, therefore meant a lot to you.

After eating the pastas, you handed Peter the gift bag. He was nervous just from holding it.

He slowly pulled out the festive tissue papers and groaned when seeing a red and blue plush toy. ‘’Spiderman? Really?’’ Peter made an annoyed face. He didn't want to come off as ungrateful, but he was getting tired of the jokes with the Spiderman merch he had no control over.

‘’Press his chest,’’ you instructed, ignoring his complaints.

Peter gave you a confused look, but listened. ‘’I love you, my Spidey,’’ the toy said.

You watched his expressions shift from confusion to surprise, Peter’s eyes widening when he recognized the sound of your voice. A genuine smile spread across his face, the small plush taking a whole other meaning. ‘’That's your voice,’’ he whispered, still holding the talking Spiderman plush.

You nodded, the sparks in Peter’s eyes telling you that no expensive gift could have matched this one. He was truly touched. ‘’I know you don’t like when I get you expensive things, so I didn’t get you a new watch,’’ you explained, thinking back at the Cartier watch you hesitated on last week. He would have hated it.

Turning toward you, Peter enveloped you in a hug to properly thank you.

Your arms wrapped around him in return. ‘’Even when I’m not with you, you’ll always have something to remind you that I love you.’’

—

Marvel taglist: @xenasolos @chrizzierbsstuff @ayamenimthiriel @alina02 @turtleshavesoulmates @staygoldsquatchling02 @daemonslittlebitch @wetwilliam02 @haileyismoo @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @mxxny-lupin @sweeterheartxamerica @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag @katsukis1wife @amithesimpoffandoms @acornacreacure @chaotic-fangirl-blog @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation @aabananaa @starrrslove @angeliod @nmedina8611 @1stevelacyfan @yourfavdummy @laylasbunbunny @slytherhoes @pedrosprincess @luvvtxinityy @Eddiefrickenmunson @wandaswigglywoos @mikaelsonsstuff @tcddszn @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @popeheywardssecretgf @kattybug @loverofdrewstarkey @sl4sh3rfuck3r @luci1fer @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @t-candy @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @mymultiveres @hopeurokays @not-liah @beth-gallagher22 @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336 @arinexeisnotworking @rubyliquor @Danniackerman @angelxxrose @angelxxrose @upwritingallnight @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696 @aesthetixhoe @hoeforsirius @secretsthathauntus @sarcasm-and-stiles

All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker imagine #marvel #spiderman #tom!peter parker x reader

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suugarbabe · 3 months

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Hi! I have a request, which is if you could write a post where mattheo and the reader goes on a a one week school trip and somehow got paired up together in the same room with only one bed. They’re kinda hate each other but the reader actually has a huge crush on him. Also I know this might sound kinda weird but could there be a scene when he wears grey sweatpants or like when he just comes out of the shower with nothing but a low waisted towel. (And reader happens to have brought nothing but cute small pjs/clothes)

Thanks for the request lovie 🖤

He rubbed his hands over his face while you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Mattheo looked up, his eyes pleading, “Professor, please. There’s no way this is happening. Can we even stay in the same room? I mean…she’s a…she!?” You rolled your eyes, “I’m a she? You mean a woman, merlin, you’re unbearable,” you turned towards your professor, “there’s got to be another room or someone that can switch with us…I’m begging.” Mattheo snorted under his breath, “Never pegged you as one to beg.”

“Enough!” you both jumped at the volume of Professor McGonagall’s interruption, “If you did not want to get stuck in this predicament, then you both should have signed up for this extra credit when I first proposed it a month ago, not three days ago. Now. You are both legally adults, I’m sure you can manage with the arrangement. Cabin sixty-eight will be yours, here is the key. The class will meet tomorrow at 10am, hopefully you can both not kill each other by that time and we will see you down by the Diricawl pens.” She handed you the keys to the cabin before swiftly walking away towards her own cabin space.

You didn’t even attempt to hide the huff of frustration that slipped from your lips as you turned and started walking towards your assigned cabin. Mattheo followed quickly behind, “Too bad we’re not one cabin over, right?” You glanced at him slightly, one eyebrow quirked. He rolled his eyes, “Because then we’d be in cabin sixty-nine…get it? Like the sex position.” You groaned in frustration as you walked up the steps to your cabin, unlocking the door and walking in. “You’re the most immature out of all of your stupid little friends, I swear to Salazar.”

Mattheo scoffed, “Am not, that’s Berkshire. It’s not like you’re much better. You…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...” Mattheo’s sentence trailed off when you both entered the cabin coming face to face with your sleeping arrangement. “One bed, is she bloody serious?” Mattheo was quick to complain once again as you placed your overnight bag on top of the bed. “What are you doing?” He dropped his bag by the door. “I’m getting my pyjamas out, I’m going to shower and then I’m going to bed. Don’t know where you’re going to sleep but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You gave him a saccharine smile before heading into the bathroom to change.

Wiping the fog from the mirror, you looked at yourself, mentally berrading your choice in sleepwear. To your defense, you had not planned on staying in a cabin with a male student. Taking a deep breath, you opened the bathroom door only to see Mattheo cozied up on top of the bed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The sound of your voice made him jump slightly, “Oh, hi there, Princess. I’m just getting comfortable.” The smirk gracing his face only made more frustration boil in you, “Well get off, because I called the bed.” Mattheo only shook his head, “Yeah, and I also thought you grabbed your pyjamas, not your underwear.”

You looked down at your tank top and shorts, both of which could probably be considered smaller than average. But again, you planned on rooming with another girl, not the manwhore of Slytherin house. “These are my pyjamas, you wanker,” you walked to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet down and climbing in, the blankets being slightly restrained from Mattheo’s weight. “Are you going to move or are you going to be a pain in my ass all night long? Get off the bed.” You pulled on the blanket underneath him only for him to laugh, “I’m getting up, calm down, sweetheart. But it’s only to shower. I’m getting back in the bed when I’m done.”

“Yeah, my ass you are,” you rolled over, your back facing him. Once you heard the door close you rolled back flat, staring up at the ceiling. You had nearly dozed off when you heard the shower turn off and the door unlock. Turning your head slightly you caught glimpse of a sight girls in your class would kill for. Mattheo’s grey sweats are low on his hips as water still trails down his abdomen. A towel covers his eyes as he dries the curls on his head and you take full advantage to gawk. “Like what you see, Princess?”

You huff out a laugh before rolling over, “Not even close, Riddle.” You feel the bed dip and the covers shift. “What are you doing?” You sat up, watching as Mattheo snuggled deeper under the sheets. “I’m getting comfortable, obviously,” Mattheo tucked himself in, clearly unbothered by the situation. “C’mon, Princess. I promise I’m real warm,” the smirk on his face only proved to irritate you further. You remained stubborn, turning away from him once more.

Trying to sleep seemed futile, despite the soothing pitter patter of the rain that started to hit against the cabin window. You heard the sound of soft snores come from behind you. Slowly turning over, as to not disturb him, you stared at Mattheo sleeping soundly. One arm rested above his head on the pillow while the other laid flat against his chest. You subtly moved a little closer to him, not quite touching him but getting fairly close. He wasn’t lying about being warm. You could feel the heat radiating off his body already and you couldn’t help the yearning in your chest to move just slightly closer.

Those efforts weren’t needed by you as Mattheo suddenly turned in his sleep, the arm laying on his stomach reaching out and encircling your body, pulling you flush to his chest where your cheek was now pressed against his bare skin. A gasp left your lips at the action, Mattheo’s voice low and gravely, thick with sleep, “You tell anyone and I avada you.” You hummed in agreeance, burying you face deeper into him and relishing in his body heat. The sleep you got that night was the best you had in months, curled up and nestled close to Mattheo’s body you’d nearly forgotten how much he frustrated you when you’re awake.

A flash of light is what jolts you awake, but Mattheo’s hold on your body seemed to adjust throughout the night, one hand holding the meat of your thigh close around his hip with his other wrapped around your shoulders, your fronts pressed together tightly. The flash of light seemed to disturb Mattheo as well as you heard a grunt and moan of complaint while his grip on your thigh tightened. A brisk feeling of cold ran up your skin as the duvet seemed to be ripped from your form. Another flash of light causing you and Mattheo both to groan. “For Salazar’s fucking sake what the-” you turned your head towards the foot of the bed to see Malfoy shaking two Polaroids in his hand while Blaise stood next to him, trying (and failing) to cover his smile with his hand, “McGonagall told us to come wake you, fucking Godric I’m glad she did.”

Mattheo sat up quickly, finger pointing at Draco accusingly, “I’ll kill you, Cousin, give me those pictures.” Mattheo jumped from the bed, chasing Draco from the cabin still clad in just his sweatpants. You turned to Blaise sheepishly, a small smile on your face. The tall boy only shook his head, twisting his fingers next to his mouth like he was locking his lips before leaving, closing the door behind him.

#nonny bo bonny #fic requests #Mattheo riddle x reader #Mattheo riddle x you

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probablyasocialecologist · 6 months

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Following the rape and murder of Palestinian women at the onset of al-Nakba, Ben-Gurion in the 1950s turned his attention to the issue of Jewish women’s fertility, shaming Israeli women who did not bear at least four children as having “failed their Jewish mission,” and awarding those who bore ten children a special prize. The Zionist paranoia about the Palestinian “demographic threat,” the likelihood that Jews will once again be a demographic minority in Palestine, has always politicized Palestinian women’s reproductive issues, resulting in the many restrictions on their access to health care while pregnant. Thus, Palestinian women in labor have routinely been detained and delayed at checkpoints, and prevented from reaching a hospital. Many have given birth at checkpoints, or by the side of the road, and newborn infants have died for lack of neonatal care. A 2007 United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights report detailing sixty-nine such incidents remains unanswered by any Israeli officials.

Nada Elia, Greater Than the Sum of Our Parts: Feminism, Inter/nationalism, and Palestine

#palestine #israel #zionism #rape

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stvharrngton · 7 months

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kinktober: day twenty one

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: sixty nine

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, oral (f and m receiving)

word count: 0.5k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray @jjmaybankswifes-blog

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

It started off simple. Steve laying back on the bed, head resting against the pillows, you nestled between his legs. He was bare, you getting rid of his last piece of clothing long ago.

He couldn’t stop staring. You were busy, occupied with his stiff length in your mouth, putting your chest flat against the sheets, your hips raised in the air. You did it on purpose, the aim of your game to turn him on even more. And boy, did you succeed.

“Baby,” he rasped, giving you a soft tap on your shoulder, “why don’t you come up here?” Steve had asked you.

So you followed his lead, manoeuvring yourself on top of him so your pussy was level with Steve’s gaze. He let his large hands wander over your ass, his fingers squeezing at the flesh. He gripped your cheeks and pulled them apart, letting his eyes wander over your puckered hole down to your pussy.

You hummed around his cock as Steve let his tongue lie flat, licking a flat stripe up your cunt. The vibrations travelled through his skin, goosebumps erupting as he groaned into your heat.

“Taste so good, baby,” he breathed as he swirled his tongue over your clit. Lips wrapping around the bud now, sucking harshly.

Steve’s toes curled as you took him in as far as you could, the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat. The tightness of your throat mixed with the sound of you gagging on his shaft sent Steve reeling. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he stepped up his game, fully engulfing his mouth and tongue into your sopping cunt.

It was almost like a game of cat and mouse. A taunting, teasing contest of who could one up each other more. Who could send each other hurtling towards the edge the fastest. But as soon as you cupped Steve’s balls, rolling them in your palm it was game over.

Steve wrapped his strong arms around your waist, bending his knees on the bed as he began to fuck his cock into your mouth. He still ate your pussy like a man starved, his warm honey eyes screwed shut as the only thoughts circling his brain were you. Youyouyou.

It amazed you how he could stay focused whilst you gagged around him, your saliva coating his cock, a string of thick drool connecting your mouth to his length. But Steve was a generous lover and he’d be damned if he couldn’t make you cum no matter how good your mouth felt around him.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, taking a moment to kiss at the skin of your ass, his finger coming to tease your hole, “your mouth feels so, shit— so fuckin’ tight. Need you to cum, honey. Want you to cum all over my tongue.”

It didn’t take much more - Steve’s cock heavy in your mouth, the feeling of his tongue all over you in the right places, the muscle licking into your wet hole, it was all becoming too much to handle. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you whined around his shaft, feeling that familiar wave of pleasure roll throughout your body.

You came in a heap, your thighs clenching as you did your best not to let Steve’s cock slip from your mouth. You rutted your hips, grinding your pussy on Steve’s face, a mixture of his saliva and your juices making a total mess of his face.

But boy, was Steve in heaven.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #kinktober2023 #k.fic

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acapelladitty · 6 months

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Captain Boomerang/Female Reader - Unexpected Visit

Summary - Digger interrupts a 'private' moment and the fallout is more fun that you could have anticipated.

It wasn’t the fact that you were two fingers deep in your cunt - curled digits stroking along those sensitive parts within your walls that made your breath stutter as your toes curled against the sheets. It wasn’t even the fact that your bed directly faced the door which Digger was currently filling like he owned the place.

No.

The issue was the headshot of Digger which lay clenched in your free hand and the fact that the shit-eating grin on his face told you that he had heard you moaning his name as you stroked frantically along your aching clit.

“Thinking about old Digger, eh?” Digger announced, his laughter somewhere between a growl and a giggle as he palmed his rapidly-stiffening cock with his left hand. “Maybe, if ya ask nicely, I’ll see fit to replace those fingers with something almost twice as big and throbbin’ for a quick root.”

Shame burning across your face, the heat in your cheeks as your fingers pull free of your hole with an obscenely wet noise flares in an instant; your throat tightening across the moan which threatened to break free as he pulled his fat cock from his jeans and gave it a quick tug, readying it for a chance at your willing hole.

x-x-x-x-x

Not that he was bad at it. Far from it. What he lacked in practised technique he more than made up for in enthusiasm as he quickly read the signs of what movements made your thighs tighten around his ears as your lips moaned and vibrated around his fat cock. His beard and muttonchops even provided a wonderful sensation as the graze of the coarse hair on your thighs and soaked cunt added a layer of burning discomfort that made you writhe all the more desperately in place.

Following your embarrassing little impromptu show, Digger seemed determined to experiment with various positions and it had been his stellar idea to indulge in some mutual oral sex. His appetite was ravenous and even the very thorough fucking he had only just finished delivering didn't seem enough to appease him.

But still, even you had to admit that the man had a talent for suggesting amazing ideas which very quickly went awry.

So, no.

He wasn’t bad at it.

However, this did not prove to be the issue either.

But where Digger’s good idea went to die was in his decision to take the ‘below’ position in your sixty-nine adventure. A surprisingly gentlemanly choice given that he seemed to enjoy the sensation of you pinned beneath him, held in place by his thick frame while he railed you with a messy ferocity.

Being on top had suited you to begin with, the freedom of movement allowing you to set the pace as you hollowed out your cheeks and worked slowly around his pulsing shaft. His cock wasn’t the longest but the sheer girth of the thing made it a difficult task as any attempt at taking further into your mouth essentially plugged your throat entirely.

What Digger had failed to consider, when proposing this little game, was the impressive strength which you could muster with your inner thigh muscles and how tightly you were able to hold him – his face buried deep within your cunt as you rode your orgasm out on his thick features. In that wonderful moment, his natural need to breath was long disregarded and it wasn’t until his blunted nails dug bloodied crescents into your outer thighs that you recalled that little facet of the human condition and pulled yourself free of his face with a panting gasp.

“Not the worst way to go.” Digger exclaimed cheerily as he sucked in huge, desperate inhales of air. His lower face was a mess, glistening and visibly wet with your juices as his pink tongue lapped at his own lips like a particularly thirsty dog. “But I don’t think me old mum would appreciate a retellin' of the story at my eulogy.”

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #captain boomerang x reader #captain boomerang x you #digger harkness x reader #digger harkness x you #captain boomerang fic

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maple-the-awesome · 4 months

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Body Swap || Part 2/2

Part 1 ||

Pairings: Legend, Time, Twilight, Warrior x Reader

Overview: A wizard's spell leaves you both in a state of confusion, especially upon realizing you're no longer in your assigned bodies. No Wind for this one, so we'll just give him a cookie and spare him the trauma for today -.-/🍪 The other boys are at my mercy, though

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Panic ensues nearly the second your situation becomes realized. Legend frantically tugs at his hair and clothing, hoping this to be some sort of illusion cast by that wizard, however his senses only confirm his fears: you've switched bodies.

You're him and he's you which probably shouldn't be as big of a deal as he makes it out to be considering how much worse this could've gone, after all, a greater enemy might've caused actual harm, yet that doesn't stop him from being upset.

Out of everyone this could've happened with - out of all nine of his traveling companions - why did this have to happen with you, the only girl in the group?! Nevermind that you're also his crush!

"I can't believe this..." He groans, picking at another strand of hair and holding it in front of his face. Alas, the color isn't the same as his usual faded pink, "Give me back my body!"

You whip your head around at Legend's demand, finding yourself mildly offended by it which is shown through the placement of your hands on your hips, "Don't you think I would if I could? Like it or not, I think we're stuck like this –"

"- Are you kidding me -?!"

"- Until the spell either wears off or we find a way to reserve it," You narrow your eyes when he interrupts. Standing, you dust yourself while he copies the action except with some added complaints and curses mumbled under his breath.

"I can't believe this. Of course, this is how my day would end. I can't ever catch a break, can I?! The others are never going to let this go. It's all we're going to hear about for the next week!"

"Geeze, I didn't know a day in my body would be so terrible for you."

Legend frowns, not intending to make you feel bad. It's not like you asked for any of this yourself. You’re equally as inconvenienced. It's just...reeeally weird and uncomfortable knowing that he's technically you right now. He's currently in the body of the girl he finds most attractive and sometimes daydreams about –

"I'm sure you're not having any more fun than I am. Let's just get out of here and find a solution as fast as possible, okay?" Legend hastily grabs your hand, intending on getting you both out of this dungeon before you can notice the redness to his cheeks (at least, he's sure he'd be blushing if in his own body right now. Is it even visible on your cheeks, though?), however almost as soon as he pulls, he's nearly thrown back against your unmoving weight.

Kill him now. He isn't used to not having his power bracelets.

"Did you...want me to follow you?"

"...Obviously..."

"Do you also want me to hold your hand so you don't get lost?" You give his hand a squeeze, all the while wearing a shit-eating grin that makes his face even warmer than before.

"...Forget it and fuck off," With that, he drops your hand and marches off, yet you aren't far behind, chasing after him while clearly having too much fun with his reaction.

"You know, this is usually the point when you ask me if I'm on my time of month! Is that your problem, Vet? You're already hormonal after just a few minutes in a girl's body?"

Has his laugh always been this obnoxious? Does he owe Warrior an apology?

"...Well, this is troublesome."

Your eye twitches after Time's calm 'evaluation' of the situation, "...'Troublesome'? You THINK?! You know, when I woke up this morning, I did not expect to end up becoming a sixty-year-old man -!"

"- Sixty? Is that how old you think I am?"

"Well, you act like it sometimes!" You defend, huffing at the end of your sentence before trying to rise onto your feet which still feel wobbly due to that wizard's spell. It takes you a second - and you almost tumble forward like a newborn giraffe, causing you to start swinging your arms around in a desperate attempt to regain balance - but eventually you do succeed in the basic human function called 'standing', "We need to find the Veteran. This is his stupid world, so I'm blaming him for this happening!"

Time, meanwhile, takes pity upon you by letting your previous comment slide. Unlike you, he easily gets to his feet as if ending up in someone else's body is an everyday occurrence for him. His new height is something you take immediate notice of, mentally noting how strange it is to be looking down at someone – let alone him – from so far up. Is this how it always feels for him? No wonder he took on the mantel of being the 'dad' of the group so quickly. You all probably look like literal children to him!

"Thank Hylia we camped close to the dungeon. The others should be getting ready for dinner at this point, so they'll all be in attendance to take joy in our misery," You smile sarcastically with a wave of your hand, however you only take a few steps forward before turning around and realizing that Time isn't following you. His face also looks rather...alarmed?

"...You okay there?"

He hums and gives you an awkward thumbs up, yet that doesn't change his expression any nor does he immediately move to follow you. He simply stands there, his face bright with embarrassment until he finally clears his throat, "I...think I might've had an accident?"

"An 'accident'...?" You scrunch your nose, needing a moment to understand what he could possibly mean. Did he just piss himself as you? You would've thought he'd have more self-control even if he isn’t technically himself. Sure, it might be scary opening your eyes to find yourself in someone else's body, but it's not that scary to warrant - ...Oooh...You get what he means now...

When the realization sinks in, you can feel your own face grow warm. You had forgotten all about that, "Oh shit. I, um...Yeah that's not – It's harmless, really. You'll be fine, it's just -...You know what, just don't worry about, okay? Let's focus on getting ourselves switched back around first. You, uh...gonna be okay dealing with it for now?"

Sympathy laces your voice, however it isn’t exactly strong enough to hide your embarrassment. Seriously, could this get anymore modifying? You weren't trying to think about the whole 'my-crush-is-currently-in-my-body' thing, but you definitely can't ignore it now! Out of all the days of the month this could happen - How embarrassing for you both!

Fortunately, Time, ever the brave gentlemen, nods, that be it slowly and unsurely, "If you can do it your whole life, I can manage for a day..."

"That's the spirit!" Please, please, please say Legend knows a solution for this because you will absolutely die if you have to talk Time through a 'change' of certain materials tonight.

“Oh no…”

“What do you mean by ‘oh no’? What happened? Are you hurt?” Twilight’s voice – which doesn’t really sound like his own – gets progressively more concerned by each question until he finally manages to escape the wall of smoke around him. Once finally receiving a clear view of his hands, he suddenly understands the meaning behind your less-than-thrilled expression.

“That’s what I mean by ‘oh no’,” You frown, watching as he flips his hands around front and back to confirm the notable difference he sees. It would be difficult to ignore how much smaller and smoother they’ve gotten…or to turn a blind eye to all the other major variations throughout the entirely of his body.

“Has anything like this happened to you before?” Whatever surprise you have towards your shared predicament is either quickly recovered from or masked well, because you don’t hesitate to pick yourself up and start collecting your fallen belongings – or rather Twilight’s – from the ground.

“Can’t say it has. I’m guessin’ you’re in the same boat?”

“Yeah, this is the first time I can knock ‘switching bodies’ off the bingo board,” You shake your head, pausing to watch him stand as well, “I know Wind mentioned being able to control other people’s bodies or something like that before. ‘not sure if it’s the same or if he’d know how to fix this.”

“Even if not, we’re in Legend’s world. He’d have to know some kind of solution,” Twilight sighs, going to place a hand on his hip out of habit, but he instantly decides against it in a quick movement he hopes wasn't too obviously. Even if he's consciously in this body, it's still yours. Touching his hip now would be no different from touching your hip any other time which is NOT a friendly place for hands to be! At least that's what his awkward brain tells him.

Trying not to dwell too much on any of that, he makes himself useful by plucking your dropped sword off the ground and returning it to your scabbard the same way you had done with his before reaching down to grab -

“- Don’t touch that!” You’re startled to a halt by Twilight’s sudden shout and turn to give him a puzzled look as he gulps while eyeing the shadow shard you were inches away from picking up next, “It, uh…It’s sharp.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, and for a second he’s worried he might just have to tackle you to prevent you from touching the object in question (which now that he’s considering it, would probably only be as effective as a sparrow attacking a horse seeing as you’ve switched bodies not to mention you’d only have more reason to question him in that case but -)

“- All you Links are such terrible liars,” You huff after a minute. Nevertheless, you step aside and allow Twilight to pick up the necklace himself. He’s careful to only touch the string and tuck it securely in a pocket because the very last thing he needs added to this day is you finding out one of his greatest secrets by literally becoming it yourself which would then undoubtably lead to his second greatest secret being discovered, after all, it's one thing for a random wolf to let you give him kisses free of charge, but there'll be a lot more to unravel there if you find out it's been your travel companion the whole time.

"Okay. Try not to panic. There has to be some way to reverse this - ARE YOU CHECKING ME OUT RIGHT NOW?!"

Warrior jumps with a start after having been caught, although he must not be too embarrassed because he doesn’t immediately remove his hands from their place on his hips nor does he show much shame in currently having his body turned at an angle to look at his – or more importantly – your back side, “What?! You do it to yourself all the time!”

"T-That’s not - When I'm in my own body!” You stammer, blushing at the realization that you apparently haven’t been as subtle with your habit of checking your own appearance here and there, “Excuse me if I don’t want to walk around looking like a mess with dirt and leaves stuck to my backside! I’m not over here looking at your dick!”

"I hardly think you can equate that to an ass," He deadpans.

"Well, I'm not looking at your ass, either, pervert!"

At last, something you say seems to get to him, your words causing Warrior to bow his head with a pout and that shared discomfort he should’ve had from the beginning, “I’m not a pervert. If it’s such a big deal, then you can come over here and fix the backside of this tunic. It’s riding up on me and it’s driving me crazy.”

You blink then glance around him to notice that your tunic is indeed all out of sorts, one end lifted and tucked in your belt. It must’ve gotten stuck that way during your fight with that wizard…Now you just feel like an idiot…

“…Oh.”

“Oh,” Warrior mocks with a roll of his eyes, not saying much else – perhaps out of pity - as he waits for you to help fix the tunic correctly, although truthfully he’s just busy redirecting his eyes and cursing himself internally for not having explained the situation from the start. He maybe-kinda spaced the fact that he’s currently in your body and didn’t consider the implications of what it would look like for you to see him fussing over your back end. How were you to know he was simply fixing your tunic? He really did probably look like a massive pervert.

“There,” You finally step away.

“Thanks,” He coughs into his fist awkwardly with his opposite hand rubbing the back of his neck. Even in a different body, he carries the same nervous habits, “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to –“

“- No. No, you’re fine. I, uh, should’ve had more trust in you," You mumble, running a hand over your hot face before shaking your head. You need to get it together, "Come on. Let's just get out of here and find a way to fix this before any other misunderstandings can happen."

Warrior nod and follows after you out of the dungeon without another word to be said. He won't say it aloud - He refuses to even admit it to himself because he's supposed to be a gentleman and what if you've suddenly become a mind reader?...But if you were to for some reason ask his opinion, you do in fact have a fine ass.

#x reader #reader insert #linked universe x reader #linked universe #link x reader #lu legend x reader #lu time x reader #lu twilight x reader #lu warrior x reader #legend of zelda x reader

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 2 months

Text

This is a direct follow up to Story #387, Story #389, and Story #394. It is strongly advised that you read those stories first.

#400

“There he is! Timothy Stone, get on up here!... Welcome aboard! Welcome to the Zelus. I see you are impressed with my tiny tugboat. Ha! Ha! I love looking at reactions of new passengers. You ever been on a yacht this big?

“It’s sixty-nine feet, and enough power to get us around the entire Bahamas and back here to West Palm Beach. It has four staterooms and two crew quarters. You get one of them. Sorry, with the entire executive team here each of us will get our own stateroom.

“Let me text Lloyd to take us out of the marina. All of us have been here for some time. No, don’t worry about it. I told you to be here at three, and it’s five ‘til three. No, we’ve been having fun with our new faggot we got tied up….

“You want a drink?... I have this cognac that I was given in Vegas the other day by a potential client. I haven’t tried it yet.

“Ahh we are moving. We should be out of the marina in a few minutes.

“Here you go…. Cheers! …Ahhh! Smooth. I’m not a fan of cognac, but this is pretty good. It should be. Courvoisier Mizunara is supposed to be one of the best out there. On the shelves it’s worth $2,500. But shit, I couldn’t tell that from a $100 bottle. Bourbon is more my thing.

“Growing up in Tennessee, my Uncle Jimmy used to make his own. Everyone in a five-mile radius of his home had a bottle of his bourbon. I used to help him out in his garage in the evening when his son went off to college. Uncle Jimmy showed me everything, but we always wound-up drinking. I was sixteen at the time. I’d plow his ass at the end of the night. After a few times, he didn’t even wait until we started drinking. He had one of the best pieces of ass I ever had.

“His bourbon lives on with my cousin once my uncle passed. I have a bottle of it here. I may break it out sometime during this trip. My cousin fucked it up when he went ran the company. It’s definitely not as good as it was before. Some boys just don’t have a mind for business.

“Speaking of boys in business, your son Michael is doing great. From what Lloyd was telling me, he’s really taking to his new role as intern. I know he finds it a challenge, but Lloyd, Ben, and Gary think he’s handling it better than anyone they have seen in a long time. Apparently, he has a gift for adapting, kinda rolling with the punches.

“What I like about him—I met him this morning—is his ability to take directions without complaints. That is such a difficult characteristic to find in boys these days. Lloyd and Gary were indicating they want to keep him around after his initial internship. I left him earlier working hard trying to impress me.

“…Oh you hear that cabin tone? That’s Lloyd telling everyone that we’ve cleared the marina and are out at sea. This is your first time on the Zelus. When we are in open water, we strip naked. All of us.

“I told you the other day when we were talking about promoting you to lead our European expansion, that we are a close group of men—of four gay men. We share our conquests, our lusts, our dark needs with each other. I trust these men like I would trust my brother, if not more. We have been in countless gang bangs tearing up some faggot’s cunt. I have seen their cocks and asses so much that it’s awkward to see them clothed. The other two on board are faggots. Naturally those two are going to be kept naked.

“So strip. This is not an option. You can jump overboard and swim back to shore if you would like.

“Good.

“You can leave them on the couch. Ben’s boy will put them in your cabin. If you go out on deck you can keep your sunglasses and baseball cap on.

“You have got to realize that the four of us have known each other for years. Lloyd and I go back to our time in the Corps. What connects us is our love for using and abusing faggots.

“Right now, as I was saying there are two faggots on board. One is Ben’s boy. While Ben has taken him on as a partner of sorts, he’s still a faggot at heart.

“…I guess I should ask, do you know the difference between a gay man and a faggot? A faggot is a gay man who has a need, an urge, a longing to submit to the whims of superior men. The more humiliating, degrading, cruel the better. Faggots live for the cum of its superiors. It loves to degrade itself in order for the man to be elevated. It needs the beatings, the piss, the bondage, the punishment to feel complete.

“I don’t know why you were hesitating about stripping. You have a great body, average sized dick, nice long foreskin, and holy shit… Those balls are huge! Let me hold on to them….

“Hey don’t hesitate. We are all physical with each other as well. Look, I’m standing here in front of you naked. I already saw you check out my dick. Yes, it’s very fat. If you want to touch it, go right ahead.

“You know, as a man who says he bisexual, you certainly seem apprehensive…. Or is it the fact that I’m your boss telling you to take a hold of my cock. I get it. If you are going to be a part of this team, you are going to have to drop those pretenses. When you walk around you should let those low hangers swing free and guide your every step.

“Let me check out your ass. Hey, what can I say? I’m an ass man. I’m going to see it anyways, might as well be now.

“Solid and meaty, just as I would have guessed. Nice and hairy. Faggots seem to love licking a hairy crack. You ever have your ass eaten out?... There may be some ass eating ahead.

“Speaking of which, right now that faggot is down below. It is tied down, blindfolded with a noise cancelling headset on, ass up. The four of us have already bred it. You will be up next.

“Your cock doesn’t seem like it wants to get hard…. Do you need something? We have Viagra, Cialis, Levitra, Muse, Tri-mix. Well, I need a shot of Tri-Mix. After this morning’s big load, I don’t think I could get hard again until tomorrow.

“You ever do Tri-Mix? I use it when I want to fuck for a long time. It keeps me boned up for a few hours. You want to try it? After a few minutes have passed you will be rock, and I mean rock hard.

“If you are nervous, this being your first time with me on the Zelus, just do it. Let me get it. It’s kept cold. Don’t worry, I have a doctor that gives me whatever I want.

“Just stand right there. Don’t worry. I’ve done this many times. Yes it’s an injectable. And it’s injected into the shaft. Aww, don’t turn into a pussy on me.

“I brought two syringes. Let me do it to myself. Here watch…. It goes in, I plunge, and it comes out. Like that. It’s over quick. Now a few tugs and I can already feel it working. I’m not going to get completely rigid for about 15-20 minutes.

“Look, you say you are bisexual, but I’m thinking that you are making up the gay side of it because you want to impress us. You want this promotion so fucking bad you are willing to fuck some faggot in front of us. You wouldn’t be the first straight man to shoot up his cock to fuck fags. There’s a whole term for it: gay-for-pay.

“You want to be part of this team, you are going to need to learn to love using faggots, that includes dumping a load into them. To do that you need to get hard. This injection will do that for you.

“Here feel my cock again. Grab a hold of it…. Feel that? It’s harder than a few minutes ago. Here let me inject you.

“Come here. Just look up. On the count of three. One! See, it went in…. And now you are done. Give it a few tugs and you will start to feel it.

“You’ll be hard for the rest of the night. Lots of fucking in your future tonight.

“When we had our conversation in Vegas, I told you that I was pissed off at your skimming the profits but was very intrigued at the process you used to do so. It took some serious creativity to pull that off. I was impressed. The guys too. We set this cruise out to a remote island in the Bahamas to get to know you—to get to know you as a fag fucker. Besides, the shit we do… man, we wouldn’t take on anyone who had a shred of decency.

“Do you feel your cock getting larger? I can see it growing. Yeah, once we go downstairs into the media room that doubles as a dungeon, you will see the faggot cunt secured to the sling or fuck bench. Your cock will slide into its cunt. And it should be silky smooth. Better than any woman’s pussy.

“We have been training this faggot for a couple of weeks. Lloyd secured him about the time when you and I went to Vegas. He was an easy target. What you probably don’t realize being essentially straight is that there are faggots out there that will do just about anything to serve men like us—brutal men like us. Lloyd has a good talent for reading a potential faggot. He says things that just seems to work on getting that faggot to be collared.

“Once that happens then it’s only a matter of time that they submit to whatever we want to do to them. And all it took was this. See this little fob? This is the tool we use. Here, press the number one button.

“Do it again. And again. What you did, is you sent a shock to the faggot down below. The collar we put on him is wired up, like a collar for a dog to get it to stop barking. Once they feel that, total submission is almost immediate. With this particular faggot, he turned into a whipping post for Ben and toilet paper for Gary in no time.

“Where we keep the faggot is wired up for numerous cameras. So we can see what the faggot is doing and send a shock from anywhere in the world. I even sent one from Vegas when you were looking up some number from some report.

“Look at your cock. It’s starting to get rigid. Damn! You are a grower!

“You know, let’s go see the faggot. The guys will be down there. We are certainly far from shore so Lloyd will have the autopilot on.

“This way…. Doesn’t it feel right to be walking around buck naked? Trust me you’ll get used to it, and soon enough you’ll be naked pretty much all the time. If you need to piss and you don’t have a faggot nearby, just aim off the side and go. The one thing you’ll learn is pissing with a hard-on will take some time, which is great for loading up a faggot’s toilet cunt.

“And here we are. Before we go in, I want to point out that you can see the men are enjoying themselves. In general, we casually use faggots’ holes. It’s about pleasure and not so much about busting a nut, although busting a nut happens a lot.

“Look at how the men are enjoying what’s going on. Ben is balls deep in his boy, while the boy is tongue fucking Gary’s shitter. Lloyd is pile driving the faggot over on the fuck bench, stirring up the cum stew.

“This is the life we created. This is what you are coming into. Let’s go in.

“Gentlemen! I got Timothy here. His cock has been shot up and he’s ready to fuck.

“Damn Tim! You really are a grower. I should have expected that when I saw your long foreskin. Now only the tip shows. Skin it back; I want to see how big your head is.

“Shit! Do you ever clean that thing? Look at that dick cheese…. Come here. Stick your dickhead in the faggot’s mouth. He’ll clean you off.

“The faggot is blindfolded and has noise canceling headset under his hood. He won’t know what to do until you use the handle on his hood to pull his head back. Then just shove your dick in his mouth. The faggot knows to clean off dick cheese; I’m sure Gary made sure of that.

“There you go…. I see that smile. Feels good, doesn’t it? Better than any woman. A well-trained faggot is better than anything a woman can do.

“Well you got Gary and Ben to stop and watch you.

“Oh you see his welts. Yeah, a well-trained faggot also takes a beating. We punish faggot slaves appropriately, but they also are made to understand that sometimes the beatings are for our enjoyment. Ben and Lloyd certainly like to have their fun.

“This faggot has been trained to do so much. He’s going to fetch us a good price. Yeah, we plan on selling him. There are men around the world that pay top dollar for a well-trained faggot slave.

“Pull out. I said pull out. I told you that you will enjoy this.

“Lloyd, move the faggot to the sling. I think Tim here is ready to fuck.

“While he’s doing that, care for another drink? Or would you like a cigar? No? Ok.

“Boy. Go upstairs and pour Tim here a glass of the Courvoisier Mizunara cognac. The bottle should be sitting out. Hell, bring the whole bottle down.

“That’ll help you adapt and sink into everything to come. So have you ever been to a gang bang, or fucked a woman who has several loads in her? The feeling on your cock is amazing. Yes it’s sloppy, but it also feels silky smooth.

“That’s a sight, isn’t it? That cunt has been trained to take cock after cock and still remain tight to give pleasure and loose enough to not cause your dick to struggle to fuck.

“Here’s your cognac. Might as well down it.

“Now go on. Step up. Slide it in. Trust me, this is going to be a fuck you will never forget.

“…Good. You ready?

“There you go! There’s the smile. Now FUCK!

“Give that faggot what he deserves. Slam into him. Faggots were made to be fucked not made love to.

“Hell yes! Look, we are all stroking our dicks for you. You have no idea how hot this is….

“Guys, gather around. You should see this up close.

“…Go for it! Don’t hold back. Breed the faggot.

“FUCK YEAH! FUCK!

“…You did it! In record time! Well done! Don’t pull out yet. Let the rest of your body calm down first. Savor the feeling. Savor the moment.

“You did good. Now, I need for you to pull out slowly. The faggot is trained to clamp down. Good. Good!

“Look at that slime on your cock. That’s all our juices. How do you feel? I know. Words elude you?... Ha!

“Get on your knees…. You heard me. I want you to look at this faggot’s cunt.

“Gary, pull apart the fag’s cheeks. Let’s really see that cunt hole.

“On your knees…. There you go.

“Ben. Lloyd. Now.

“…They move fast, don’t they? You have the same shock collar on you as the faggot does. Now pay attention. This is a level one zap.

“…Hurts like a motherfucker, right? There are ten settings, and you had the weakest. I don’t think another demonstration is needed. Do you understand your situation?

“…Shut up. I don’t want to hear your babble. That was a ‘Yes Sir’/’No Sir’ question….

“OK. You really thought you could skim money from us and be rewarded with a promotion? Please! You need some sort of punishment. That begins with your lips kissing the faggot’s cunt lips. Go on! Lean in.

“…That was level two…. There you go!

“Now keep your mouth open. The faggot may be wearing a noise cancelling headset, but we can speak to him. He’s going to be told to shit some of his cunt slop into your mouth. Do not swallow it. Nod if you understand. Good.

“Whew! That was a messy fart! Remember don’t swallow. Now pull back. Look up at us. Show us the load. Now gargle it. Like mouthwash!

“Two minutes ago, you were a man, but now you are a gargler of cum gobs. Now don’t swallow. Stop gargling.

“Get up and go share that in the faggot’s mouth. Get up…. You know I hate having to repeat myself. If I have to do it again, you will experience level three. Now go and have a deep passionate kiss with the faggot.

“Hold his head and swap spit. Pretend he’s a woman. Hell, pretend it’s your son Michael’s mother. I don’t care.

“Fuck yeah! I didn’t realize that you are an excellent kisser. Pull off. There will be more kissing. Get back to kneeling at the faggot’s cunt.

“You are going to repeat the process exactly the same, except for the gargling. You can skip that. Any hesitation will be met with level three for triple the length. You understand. Just nod.

“Good. Oh, I forgot to tell you one thing. You need to hear it before you go back to eating another splatter fart out of your son’s ass….

“…Oh yeah! The faggot here is your son Michael. This is the internship we set him up with. Oh yeah. Your son was a faggot before us. It was easy for us to pluck him.

“Now, remember level 3. You are to do the exact same thing with the same level of passion.... I'm fucking serious. Go!

“…Damn! That was close. A split second longer in hesitating and you would have been shocked. Keep licking. While you wait to receive your gift from your son’s cunt, Lloyd here is removing your son’s hood. He still has his blindfold and headset on. We will be removing those shortly. You probably won’t recognize him initially because Ben had removed all this body hair even on his head.

“Did you hear that? Gary just busted a nut watching you felch out our loads from your son’s cunt.

“Pull off when your mouth is full. Good. Now go French kiss your son.

“Just like before. Go on now…. Fuck yeah!

“This is so hot.

“Now go back to his cunt. But this time remain standing.

“Stick your slime covered cock back into your boy’s cunt. And fuck him. That Tri-mix I injected you with should keep you hard for a long time. You’ve already fucked a load into him. Now just fuck.

“You really should see yourself. Oh wait, you can. Look over at that TV. Yes, we have been filming you. See your face. There’s panic, fear, guilt, regret, and even a little disgust. All the good emotions. And over on the TV to your right, you can see how your son became a faggot with each of us. Oh yeah, he wasn’t coerced into being a faggot like you were. No, he was totally into sperm burping and pole riding. The fear you had that he might be gay turned out to be true in the most glorious way.

“DO NOT STOP FUCKING.

“And now, we get to see shame you have in him and in yourself, by taking the headset off first.

“Faggot, it is imperative that you do not say a word. If either you or the shithead fucking you say one word, you both will get shocked at level 3. This includes screaming. I want both of you to nod that you understand.

“Good. Now Tim, remove the blindfold.

“Look into your son’s eyes. Let him see just how much your fuck up has cost him. All this is because you had arrogance and ambition. You tried to fuck us over, you tried to steal from us, and you believed that we would be ok with it and promote you as well? Fuck that!

“Are you crying? You are!... Do not stop fucking your son.

“Faggots! That was level 3. Yes! The both of you got shocked. That’s how punishments will be going forward. One fucks up, then both gets shocked.

“Now get back to fucking your son.

“Here’s the situation. We still have about four hours to go. And you have a hard on that will last another three to six. You will be fucking him non-stop until we get to where we are going. Until then, you will not say one word to each other. Remember those shock collars we have padlocked on you were meant for barking dogs. If you say one thing, the sensors will register sounds and you two will be shocked. Also, that sling has a sensor that will monitor for movement. If that movement stops or even slows down—say due to stopping fucking—you two will be shocked. Tim, if your collar should go more than 6 feet away from your faggot son’s collar, you two will be shocked. If any one of us bring up one of our video feeds and see that your cock is not inside your faggot son’s cunt, you two will be shocked. I will free the faggot’s hands. I want the two of you to enjoy playing with each other’s chest. What can I say? I’m a nice guy.

“That’s a lot of fucking between the two of you between now and when we reach the island. But here’s one thing before we leave you both to go have dinner. That island is a small private island, about two to three acres. There’s a small dock and a metal shed to shield from the elements. The owner of the island always has a box stocked with water bottles and something to eat. Last time we sold a faggot there, they put in a hammock between two of the four trees on the island.

“Faggot, you will be left on the dock. The island owners will send carriers to pick you up either tomorrow or the next day. From there, they will arrange delivery to your new owners.

“Until then you are free to roam the small island. Swim. Whatever. If you want to swim to the next island, it’s about 7 miles in open ocean, and that island is about ten times larger, but still uninhabited.

“So that’s the life your dad has caused you to have. Look at him. He’s a failure, and he knows it.

“Well Tim. While you cry, keep fucking your son. This will be the last few hours with him. What do you have to say? Oh, let me turn off your noise sensor….

“…No we can’t simply forget all this. You stole a lot of money from us, it needs to be paid. We paid a lot in fuel to get us out here. We paid for a pick up on the island. They expect a faggot. Now, if you want to switch places with your son, that can be arranged.

“You want to do that? You want to be sold into sex slavery instead of your faggot son?...

“…Well fuck! I wasn’t expecting that! You didn’t waste any time in shaking your head no.

“Faggot, did you see how fast your dad just gave you up? Shit!

“These past weeks have been carefully planned. Every word, every detail. From the Vegas trip where we had our talk, to Lloyd convincing faggot here to sign up to be our intern, to the strip club dancer I paid to have sex with you so that a potential buyer could see you in action, to the tri-mix dose on hand, to the video feeds cued up, and to me handing the shock remote to dear old dad to get him to shock his son three times. The one thing I was expecting you to do was the fatherly thing and offer to go instead of your son.

“Nope. You chose to sacrifice your son. Didn’t even think twice. That’s fucking brutal. Just when I think you can’t be more of a piece of shit, you surprise me.

“No YOU are going to be sold, not your faggot son. Your new owner saw you fuck that stripper, and he wanted you. He’s into hairy middle-aged straight men as his sex slaves. He doesn’t want your hairless faggot son.

“So you are going to be sold. But I wonder. Hmm. I’m going to contact your new owner and see if he’s interested in the pair of you two as a set. Yeah, that is a great idea, to sell your son into slavery as well. If you had just offered yourself up instead of your son, he would have been spared. But no.

“If you have anything to say, save it. I just put your noise sensor back on. Get back to fucking your son.

“Gentlemen let’s go have some dinner. Ben, I see your boy is gone. To start cooking I presume. You are one step ahead, as always. Let’s leave these two have some private time. They have lots to talk about, too bad they can’t say anything. Lloyd, I know you have been eying that cognac. Go ahead and grab it. It’s yours for all the hard work you put in. Actually, you all did good. I’m proud of you all. That was fun.”

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