expastic
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Cradled in his hold, perched on his thigh, forced to come because of the way he’s making you move, you rest your forehead against his and look down at his lap. He’s hard, a thick bulge reaching from the apex of his jeans up towards his hip, the lewd image forcing your lips to part with a pant –
His hand nudges your chin back up. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Keep ‘em up here. Right on mine.”
“Please,” you plead, begging. “Can I see it?”
The constant question, the thing he keeps denying you. You want it in your hand, in your mouth. You want to touch it, taste it, see it with your own eyes to know if it’s as big as it looks hidden beneath his fly or as thick as it feels when he’s pressed it against you. It’s a line he won’t cross, and though you ask him the same question every time, every time it seems to wage a war within his eyes.
“Let me make you feel good,” you push, hoping this will be the time he breaks. “Please.”
OR, after a brush with danger, Joel gives in to what you've been begging for...sort of.
Bookmarked by expastic
17 May 2026
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The Orange Peel Theory by netherfeildren
Fandoms: The Last of Us (Video Games), The Last of Us (TV)
11 Jan 2026
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On a lonely Friday night, Joel meets a young resident physician out searching for the answer to a sudden bout of existential angst. They both end up getting more than what they bargained for.
Bookmarked by expastic
12 May 2026
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He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains, trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today, make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night. He looks like someone who makes love to women.
You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.
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Bookmarked by expastic
04 Apr 2026
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The last time you wanted something so badly, you moved halfway across the country for it.
It's a good thing John Price is just next door.
or; your slice of life is a piece of blackberry pie you carefully curated over the course of a year.
Bookmarked by expastic
16 Mar 2026
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The thing is, she remembers him.
This hulking shadow in the frame of the doorway. A big, dusty duffle bag next to big, dusty, heavy boots.
A thick, silver ring, clinking against the neck of a beer bottle.
That’s all she can think about when they say his name the first time in the warm office of the group home. Just that clink of his ring against a brown bottle in the hazy blue glow of the TV. A droning laugh-track and her parents' laughter mixing in. His eyes sometimes, sliding to her, sitting in the hallway and peeking in.
She can’t remember him ever laughing.
Your father’s brother, Miss Andrea said. Logan.
Did you know about him?
Clink clink.
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Bookmarked by expastic
02 Mar 2026