#crunch time is.. so rough..
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
I will continue being gone for a few days, sadly my original al plan of releasing the newest chapter of The Consequence Of Imagination's Fear has also been delayed. My apologies
Can't go into detail because its hush hush not-legally-mentionable stuff but today is my fifth 12 hour no-break work day. I'm also packing to move too in a fortnight (which is a Big Yahoo!! Yippee!! I'll finally have access to a kitchen!! And no more mold others keep growing!!! So exciting!!!)
#syncrovoid.txt#delete later#OKAY SO! this makes it sound like i have a super important job but really we are understaffed and ive barely worked there a year now#graduated college a few years early 'cause i finished high school early (kinda? it's complicated)#now i am in a position where i am in the role of a whole Quality Assurance team (testing and write ups)#a Task Manager/Planner#Software Developer and maybe engineer? not sure the differences. lots of planning and programming and debugging ect ect#plus managing the coworker that messed up and doing his stuff because it just isnt good enough. which i WILL put in my end day notes#our team is like 4 people lol. we severely need more because rhe art department has like 10 people??#crunch time is.. so rough..#its weirdddddd thinking about this job since its like i did a speedrun into a high expectations job BUT in my defense i was hired before#i graduated. and like SURE my graduating class had literally 3 people so like there was a 86%-ish drop out rate??#did a four year course in 2 BY ACCIDENT!! i picked it on a whim. but haha i was picked to give advice and a breakdown on the course so it#could be reworked into a 3 year course (with teachers that dont tell you to learn everything yourself) so that was neat#im rambling again but i have silly little guy privileges and a whole lot of thoughts haha#anywho i am SO hyped to move!! I'll finally get away from the creepy guy upstairs (i could rant for days about him but he is 0/10 the worst)#it will be so cool having access to a kitchen!! and literally anything more than 1 singular room#(it isnt as bad as it sounds i just have a weird life. many strange happenings and phenomenons)#<- fun fact about me! because why not? no one knows where i came from and i dont 100% know if my birthday is my birthday#i just kinda. exist. @:P#i mean technically i was found somewhere and donated to some folks (they called some different people and whoever got there first got me)#but still i think it is very silly! i have no ties to a past not my lived one! i exist as a singularity!#anywho dont think about it too hard like i guess technically ive been orphaned like twice but shhhhhhhh#wow. i am so sleep deprived. i am so so sorry to anyone who may read this#i promise im normal#@:|
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
the epic highs and lows of rereading your own writing to seek out parts you disliked and analyze Why you disliked them to do better in the future
#personal stuff#delete later#just finished rereading fragments [shaky thumbs up]#been struggling with writing so what is there to do but reread my own stuff to learn from my mistakes 👍#man you can REALLY tell where i started getting crunched for time by a self-imposed deadline. like the quality is staggering#i could have stopped this fic at april and been content with it fr...#like if i had shuffled around some stuff in the later chapters to appear a little earlier. and actually had april be the resolution#might've gone a bit better. but alas.#anyway. the second half of the fic is rough for sure. but the early chapters. those kick ass. genuinely.#august is a good introduction!! i like the setup!!#and though i STILL clutch my head in my hands wrt september. the themes of the conversation at the end came off well#november i love you november. captures the feeling of anxiety Really well. still makes me cry whenever i reread it To This Day#the argument in december actually kinda goes hard?? i am always so shy abt writing confrontation bc it feels Bad but man it kinda kicked as#and february mwah mwah mwah. loove the atmosphere with that one. it's a little dramatic but ough. the vibes are off the charts#turns out. the bad parts of these earlier chapters were a lot smaller than i thought#and by ignoring the urge to cringe and instead looking my work in the face. i can learn from my mistakes. crazy#most of the later chapters though. don't look at me i was struggling.#trying to come up w ideas and arrange them around important dates was a fun concept but the novelty wore off#as i was like ughh but thematically this scene would work better here before this chapter...#i had suuuch a strong vision for april but i kinda stumbled with the execution as pointed out by one commenter#and that kinda put me off the chapter as a whole on rereads even after editing it. like whyyyy did i write it like that. head in hands#and it does not fit all that well after march. i think i relied a little too heavily on the timeskips for drama in both chapters#june was fine i guess but don't get me started on july. july was ass i had no idea what i was doing.#i think i wrapped up that chapter really well for what i had to work with but like. man#i don't even like Reading stuff like that why'd i write it.#what writing a chapter for the sake of posting it rather than for the sake of finishing up a fic does to you 😔#anyway yeah. i had a lot of fun rereading it but. mostly in the first half. i could stop reading at february and be content with that.#i think i took psychic damage from reading the later chapters. not bc they were bad but bc like. i remembered not having as much fun w them#and feeling stressed and crunched for time like they were a homework assignment that was due instead of a fun hobby for me#crazy. not doing that this time.
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
The last thing i should think of doing with my life is redraw the da2 tarot cards i did but ooouughgg they call to me like a moth to flame...
#i literally had to do all 12 of those in a time crunch of. 3 days.#i was drinking so many energy drinks i was shaking i was NOT having a good time#but now. im free of a graduation project deadline i feel like i could give them the care they really deserved#and the care i truly wanted to give them...#esp the anders ones. that romance tarot card... rough.#+ it's been. oh god its been almost 3 years.#i feel like i can expand upon my vision with the newer art skills ive developed idk
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Saw cool art IMMEDIATELY followed by that person rattling about the how 'bad the 2014 Thief gameplay is' and I'm sorry but that is the worst fucking take I've ever seen in my life.
I'm currently playing through the original trilogy and I won't be finishing the first two games because of how ass the controls are. Maybe it's just not for me and that's fine but that doesn't mean the entire game is bad. I'm so sick of this absolute garbage of an excuse not to give a game a chance because 9 out of 10 times they're not talking about the 'gameplay' and I don't think they are now because playing through Deadly Shadows literally made me go 'oh shit so that's where 2014 got it from' multiple times.
This goes for all videogames, stop being a dick. Stop being so unnecessarily aggressive in your opinion towards media because if you were a bit hit personally by me earlier calling the Thief 1 and 2 controls ass, that's my point, not fun is it? I've been saying this for YEARS but PLEASE just say 'I didn't like it' and keep it at that or slap it behind a read more or something. Just going 'it's bad it's bad' is not a review, feedback nor critique. People who love that thing don't wanna see it and to see it in a tag FOR that thing is worse. I go to that tag to find other people who like the same thing, not you ranting about how much you hate it.
#The first two are unplayable to me#They're not fun because the AI is clunky and finding all loot is a nightmare#They're old games so I'm hardly upset but I'm a little tired of people acting like a game with QOL chances is somehow worse#Im also sick of the rumor that the 2014 devs never played the trilogy#They CLEARLY DID#Yes the game is rough around the edges in sound design and cutscenes#Yes it's got a few bugs but I'm replaying on Master mode and in all my hours spent on it I found a whopping 4 bugs#None of them game breaking and one of them hilarious#If Skyrim can be SO MUCH WORSE but still get game of the year and get re-released into oblivion#Despite all of its GAME BREAKING bugs so bad the modding community had to fix it#Then you all SHOULD be more forgiving to Thief 2014#Hell if you cared at all you'd know the team was put through crunch time and bad management decisions#Have a little fucking sympathy towards your fellow artists
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Why Factoring can be a Lifeline for Truckers During Economic Downturns
A lot of truckers are familiar with factoring, but maybe you haven’t thought about how it could be a life saver during economy uncertainty. Everyone’s feeling the pinch with fewer loads, longer wait times, and the unpredictability of when payments are coming in. Right now, cash flow is more important than ever, and factoring could be the thing that keeps your business steady while you ride out…

View On WordPress
#"trucking cash flow solutions"#60#and cover other expenses without stressing about when your next check is coming. And let’s face it#and encouraging efficient driving habits among your drivers#and expenses like fuel and maintenance don’t stop just because you’re waiting on money. Factoring gives you immediate cash flow#and exploring new business opportunities#and it’s crucial that carriers prepare now. By managing cash flow#and make it through this rough patch without constantly worrying about when the next payment is coming. In this kind of crunch#and other operational costs rise. This will make it harder for carriers to maintain their margins. Suggestions for Carriers to Improve Cash#and that can put a real strain on your operations. So#and the unpredictability of when payments are coming in. Right now#and then you’re good to go. Once approved#and they get what you’re going through. They know that timing is everything#and they’ll work with you to make sure you’re paid quickly. Another thing to consider is the rates. Factoring isn’t free#and trucks sitting idle. However#and your business afloat. You won’t have to worry as much about when the money’s coming in#because with factoring#building strong#business#but it can be worth it for the peace of mind#but it can take a lot of the pressure off when it comes to cash flow. You’ll have the cash you need to keep moving#but it could save you from taking a big financial loss if someone fails to pay up during these tough times. At the end of the day#but it may also lead to congestion at distribution centers#but may not understand how it could make a difference for their businesses during this crunch. ChatGPT said: ChatGPT A lot of truckers are f#but maybe you haven’t thought about how it could be a game-changer during this port shutdown. Everyone’s feeling the pinch with fewer loads#but you don’t want to get hit with hidden charges or surprise costs. Look for a company that’s upfront about their fees and offers reasonabl#cash flow is everything. The recent port shutdown has made it even harder for truckers to get paid on time#cash flow is more important than ever#cash flow management#cash flow trucking industry
0 notes
Text
The moment Satoru found out his wife was pregnant, something shifted inside him — like an ancient spell breaking open in his chest, releasing light and warmth he hadn't known he'd been missing.
He’d stared at the little test in your shaking hands, blinking under the harsh bathroom light, and when you looked up at him — nervous, hopeful — he didn’t say a word at first. He just fell to his knees and pressed his forehead gently against your stomach, arms wrapping around your hips as if to say thank you to the tiny life just beginning there.
From then on, it was like the world had flipped upside down in the gentlest, most absurd way.
Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, was suddenly anxious about everything. He kept one hand behind your back every time you walked as if you'd tip over without it. He scowled at the stairs as if they’d personally offended him. He triple-checked the expiration date on everything you ate, even the fruits. Apples!
“Do you think our baby likes apples?” he’d asked one afternoon, watching you crunch into one while curled up on the couch.
“I think I like apples,” you laughed.
“Okay, but we’re a team now. You and the baby are a package deal. So I’m asking for both of you!”
You'd just rolled your eyes — but smiled the whole time.
He thought your cravings were adorable. Even the 2 AM “we need fried chicken right now” kind of cravings. There was no mountain he wouldn't climb for you — and in fact, he did climb one once to get a specific type of peach you said you wanted. He’d teleport to different prefectures if needed.
Your growing belly was his favorite thing in the world. He loved watching you rest your hand on it absentmindedly, like you were already cradling the baby. He’d trace soft patterns over your skin with his fingers, murmuring nonsense stories to the child who kicked like they already had opinions.
He was fascinated by everything. The sound of your baby's heartbeat on the monitor. The way you waddled and scolded him when he called it cute — but he did think it was cute. You were beautiful like the moon — soft, whole, glowing in a way that wasn’t meant to be touched but cherished from beside.
He kept a journal. Something he never told anyone.
It wasn’t elegant or poetic — it was full of rambling thoughts, doodles, little “today the baby kicked again” notes, and things he wanted to tell them when they were older. Sometimes he wrote about how scared he was. How the world was cruel. How much he wanted to protect them. How he was afraid he wouldn't be enough. But always, at the end of the entry, he’d write:
“But your mom is here. And that makes everything okay.”
Satoru was the kind of man who laughed too loud and talked too much, but around you lately, he’d gone soft and quiet in the evenings. He loved brushing your hair back behind your ear. Loved kissing your shoulder when you leaned into him. Loved pressing his cheek to your belly and just… being. No missions. No curses. No battles. Just you.
And despite all his fears — the world, the danger, the weight of who he was — he was happy. Genuinely, finally happy.
It hit him one night when you fell asleep on his chest, your hand loosely over his heart, your child nestled between you two.
He whispered into the silence, voice rough with awe, “I think… I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
And for once, Satoru Gojo didn't feel like the last one standing in a war-torn world. He felt like a man — loved, loving, waiting for a life to bloom.
#Yu writes#jjk writing#jjk drabbles#jjk x reader#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#jjk#jjk x y/n#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#satoru x you#satoru x reader#jjk writer#jjk satoru#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#writing#writers on tumblr
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
ೃ࿔:・ giving s1!rafe the silent treatment
he finds you at the party.
of course he does.
you’ve been avoiding him for three days. ignoring his calls, his texts, his knock at your window last night. now you’re here, at a kook party, in your cut-off denim skirt, lipgloss, and sipping from someone else’s red cup like rafe never existed.
he comes up behind you like he owns the place, like he owns you. his hand finds your lower back, his lips find the shell of your ear. “you mad at me or something?” his voice is that lazy kind of amused. as if this is all foreplay. as if he’s missed you but not enough to say it.
you don’t look at him. you just take another sip.
“hey.” his voice is a little sharper now. “i’m talking to you.”
you hum and smile a little—still not for him. then you hand your drink to a girl you barely know, turn, and walk away. no warning. no goodnight. no fuck you. you take the front steps like you’re floating and head down the road, not even checking if he’s following.
but you know he is.
two blocks down, headlights stretch long across the pavement. rafe’s truck slows beside you like it’s stalking prey. his windows are down, his face is absent of any amusement. “get in.”
you keep walking, not even sparing him a glance.
he coasts beside you, wheels crunching against gravel. “don’t be like this.”
your arms fold tighter. your jaw’s locked so hard it aches. the night’s hot and thick and you can smell him in the air—cologne, weed, whatever coldblooded thing keeps him moving.
“fine,” he mutters. you hear the engine shift and the brakes click. the door swings open, and before you can think to react, he’s there, grabbing you around the waist, hoisting you up like it’s nothing.
“rafe!” you snap, hitting his shoulder, kicking your legs. “put me down.”
“you wanna ignore me?” he grits, voice in your ear, strained and hot. “then you don’t get to choose when we talk.”
he tosses you into the passenger seat—not rough, but not gentle either. the door slams. he rounds the front and gets in, hands tight on the wheel like he’s keeping himself from doing something worse. “buckle up.”
you don’t. you sit there, arms crossed, glaring out the windshield. steam comes off of your exposed skin.
“you done?” he asks.
you don’t answer.
“you don’t get to shut down and disappear every time something goes wrong.”
“something?” you bark. “you were off your face and throwing shit at the wall and screaming.”
his head drops back on the seat. with his eyes closed, his hands rake through his hair. “i didn’t mean to.”
“i don’t care,” you say, voice flat. sharp. “i’m not your punching bag.”
a beat of silence passes. rafe continues to drive, taking turns sharper than usual. you continue to stare out of the window like your head is locked in place.
“you’re right.” he says it so low you swore that you made it up. you blink, brows furrowed, not in confusion, but in disbelief. he’s staring out the windshield, jaw flexing, and eyes dark. then he looks at you, really looks. his eyes bloodshot and angry and honest in that way he only ever is with you. “you’re the only person in my life who doesn’t lie to me.”
your throat tightens, but you don’t speak. you just buckle your seatbelt.
his fingers twitch against the gearshift. like he wants to say more, but he’s scared to wreck everything. so instead he drives. he slows down, taking corners with more care, not stopping short. when he parks in his driveway, and you won’t get out, he scoops you into his arms like he found the missing puzzle piece. he carries you bridal style into the house.
“you can ignore me, even yell at me, but don’t leave me like that,” he murmurs, holding you tight against his chest, scared to lose you. “it’ll ruin me.”
you realize he’s not lying when he holds you that night. he pulls you into his chest, skin on skin, leaving no room for any other thoughts.
some people bruise the world when they break. rafe cameron just bleeds into yours.
taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife
#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
family trip adrien ( deliquent oc ) x bttm m reader
ⓘ established relationship au
Through the excessive amount of visiting each other's houses almost everyday of the week, it was only natural that your families would grow close.
It wasn't a surprise when you received a pretty little invitation by Adrien to come join him and his family on a small trip to the coast. Since you had nothing better to do that weekend, you gladly accepted. Adrien brought up his family's van and offered you a ride in which you also agreed.
You never thought to ask Adrien about his family, assuming it was a topic he didn't particularly like as he never talked about them anyways. So seeing two little girls and a young boy that were the splitting image of Adrien if not his parents. They were a rather rowdy bunch as Adrien's mother rounded up the little troublemakers into the 2nd row of the van while her husband was busy packing things into the trunk.
“Why didn't you tell me you had siblings? And so many,” You question, turning to Adrien who seemed to be on his last straw trying to get his siblings to calm down.
“Didn't think I seemed like an only child,” he quipped.
You stop yourself from rolling your eyes when Adrien's mother walks up to you. She's gorgeous, straight nut brown hair, short and slim like a doe. It's strikingly different from Adrien's rough appearance.
“Oh dear, it seems like there's only one chair left,” Mrs Castillo's voice is like a hydrating balm to the soul as she places a hand on her cheek.
You open your mouth to propose a solution — as the responsible person you are — but you're acutely cut off by prince charming himself.
“He can sit on my lap, no problem.” You can see the relieved expression Adrien's mother carries before she walks off into the passenger's side of the van, leaving you absolutely speechless.
“Since when did I agree to that?” You sigh, but it's ultimately the only solution you can think of on the spot.
Adrien slips into the back seat first, getting himself comfortable before patting his thighs. There's a sour expression on your face as you climb in, settling yourself on Adrien's lap. He slips on the seatbelt from behind you and slides his arms around your waist, holding you close.
“Don't worry, I'll be your seatbelt.”
“I wasn't worrying.”
The ride was anything but smooth. You were profoundly aware of every single movement Adrien made underneath you, the soft thumping of his heart rattled against his chest every time you leaned back to rest.
Not to mention his demon-like siblings turning around to ask you bizarre questions.
“Did Adrien kidnap you?” “Do you think you can do a cartwheel and then the splits because I can.” “How much money did he pay you to be here?”
You couldn't even answer one question before another was interjected. Even Adrien seemed annoyed by this constant noise.
“Stop bothering him,” His tone caught you off-guard; it was harsh and grounded like he truly meant it. It didn't seem like the kids understood the message until Adrien swatted at them to turn around.
He sighed, leaning back into the car seat, pulling you down with him.
“They can be a damn handful sometimes,” He exhaled, letting his forehead rest on your shoulder.
The soft gesture, the heat radiating off his face to your shoulder, and his forearms locked tightly around your waist made something in your heart ache ever so slightly. Your fingers hesitantly move to rest on Adrien's arm, patting it gently like you're consoling him.
A few more hours pass by and the kids have already fallen asleep, not a sign of liveliness from the three. Your own eyelids start to grow heavy until the van drives over a rather large speed bump. From the scratchy sound of tires crunching along gravel, you can pretty much assume that the road is going to be filled with dents and bumps.
A barely audible groan comes out from Adrien's throat and you freeze up. Did you hurt him? Your movements are cautious as you turn your torso to look back at him, trying not to move so much so you don't hurt him further.
“Shit, are you okay?” Your eyes narrow and your nose crinkles in concern, Adrien has his head lowered before he lifts it up to meet your gaze.
The hands planted firmly around your body tighten and he pulls you back up against him.
“Just— Stay still,” he grunts out, forehead returning back to your shoulder.
You shuffle just back to get comfortable just enough that you practically grind against the tent growing in Adrien's pants. It takes you a moment to realize what was happening. A small gasp escapes your lips as you grip the flesh on his arm, keeping your head dipped.
The van drives over another bump and you feel it now. Adrien's hand clasps around your shoulder blade and he muffles a strangled grunt again. Your body grows hotter by the second, heat pooling in your lower half.
Now you were both hard.
“Ah shit, prez, you're gonna kill me,” He lets out a dry chuckle, hips twitching from underneath you. You crave it just as bad as you're rocking your body against his in a steady pace. There were too many people in the van, it was way too dangerous to fix the little problem.
“Wait it out,” You whisper, patting his arm once more like trying to calm down a dog.
He doesn't respond, instead, he grumbles into your shoulder.
The van finally comes to a stop. The engine whirrs off and the kids are hustled out of the doors before you and Adrien climb out behind them. There's a satisfying crackle and pop of your joints as you stretch, letting the good ol' sunlight kiss your deprived skin.
Getting the bags out of the trunk wasn't much work since you packed only for 3 days so you rolled your suitcase into the lobby alongside Adrien's family. A small notification pops up on your screen, a check-in from your family which you happily reply to.
Since it was such a large gathering, the family had split into different rooms with you and Adrien sharing one.
The reception hands Adrien's mother the keycard to each room and she hands them out, passing one to Adrien.
You turn your attention to him to see the guy already racing his way towards you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past his family. You can hear a brief exchange of words between him and his dad, picking up on the lousy excuse that you're 'tired.'
Through the lobby, past the pools, around the bar and to your shared room. Adrien smashes the key card against the reader and he slams the door open.
“Fucking finally,” he sighs, shutting the door behind himself and burying his hands into the back of your head. He's tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling it back before latching his mouth onto yours.
He's practically welding himself to you, devouring your lips in a heated kiss. He pulls back to look into your eyes before he goes in for a second serving. Adrien guides you towards the bedroom, lips never leaving yours as he gently pushes you back onto the bed.
“You know how hard it was to keep myself in line?” Adrien chuckled against your cheek, his hands beginning to descend your body, tracing all the way down to the waistband of your pants.
“That's your job baby, not mine.”
You have half the heart to complain when he's pulling off your pants, lifting your hips off the bed to help him slide your clothes off. He pulls both your legs up and over his shoulders before kneeling onto the ground beside the bed.
“Adrien,” you call out his name almost breathlessly, fingers finding purchase in his thick hair.
He responds with a small hum that causes his throat to vibrate ever so slightly. Adrien's hands are coiled around your thighs, palms laying flat on your lower stomach as he leans in to kiss your inner thigh.
His lips tickle your skin and you can't help but jerk your leg from the sensation—which you're prevented from doing so by his arms holding your legs hostage.
Warmth envelops your lower half as Adrien wraps his mouth around your cock. His breath is hot against your trembling skin and he forces the most obscene noises out his throat. Slick slurping sounds mixed with groans and sighs like he's been starved a hearty meal.
The hand on your stomach slides up, pushing your shirt further so he could feel the flat plane of your torso. Your squirms and thigh twitches are held down by his built arms—it honestly seems like he trains just for this.
“Could do this for days.” its hard to tell what he's saying since all his words and muffled and gurgled.
He pulls off for one second to fish out lubricant from the hotel drawers, applying a hefty amount to his fingers before returning back to you.
Sliding back down to his knees, he prods a finger to your winking hole, teasing and pushing past that ring of muscle and pulling it back out just to watch it shiver from the loss.
“Pervert,” You grumble under your breath.
“Who's the one who asked me out?”
You shoot Adrien an irked glare but the annoyance fades from your face the moment he wraps his mouth around your dick once more. Your eyes flutter as he finally pushes that finger in, sliding in a second to slowly scissor you loose.
He's more skilled than you with his tongue and you can't help but wonder what his past experiences were like; you dismiss that thought as quick as it came.
You look down at him from half-closed eyes, watching as he hollows his cheeks to take in more. You're practically whining and thrashing around in his grip. He's buried his face to the hilt, nose brushing against your pelvic bone. Its almost a ticklish sensation, feeling him breathe against your skin.
His fingers press and pressure your walls, pushing them apart to ready you for his cock. He's rhythmically pushing his fingers deeper, curling at the apex before pulling them back, repeating that process in a steady pace. You can feel them hit your prostate, sending jolts straight to your dick.
It's too much for you to handle; your hips are rising to meet the bob of his head, back arching off the satin white sheets.
“Wait— Adrien pull off I don't want you to—” Your words are all diced up, spoken in short gasps as you try to pry his head off from your aching cock.
You succeed—for a bit—before he's dipping all the way down again, holding your hips steady as he forces you down his throat. He's fucking loving it too, moaning with your dick in his mouth as his fingers speed up, pistioning two fingers into your hole.
Your hips raise even more and he encourages it.
His name comes spilling out of your mouth like a mantra as your muscles spasm from the intensity of your orgasm. Adrien keeps sucking like he's trying to wring every last drop from you. You feel his tongue swirl over your slit, lapping up your sweet fluids.
He slides himself off of you, letting you rest on the bed for a bit as he tilts his head back. His Adam's apple bobs while he swallows, and he lowers his head back down to smile at you.
“Don't tell me you're tired already, I haven't even taken off my pants yet,” he tsks at you, shaking his head disapprovingly while he joins you on the bed. You're still dazed from how hard you just came but a warm hand pulls you back down to earth.
Adrien's hand grazes over your cheek delicately as he hovers over you, caging you in with two arms on either side of your head.
“Just relax prez, I'll do all the work, 'kay?” He takes your little grunt as an 'okay,' rolling you onto your stomach and guiding your head to rest on the pillow. It smells so distinctly of freshly cleaned hotel sheets with a hint of citrus and bleach that you take a moment to close your eyes and enjoy the scent.
You can feel the mattress dip on either sides of your hips as he plants his knees there. He leans his head down to peek at your blissed-out face, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. You can feel his hands run down the curve of your spine, running over your lower back before he settles them on your waist.
“Are you relaxed?” He hums, leisurely rolling his hips against you. His tone is so sultry it causes your muscles to visibly relax under the siren call of his voice.
A hand moves down to where your leg meets the curve of your ass, parting the round flesh for him to comfortably slide in. He had stretched you out enough that it slipped in with ease, hugged by your warm velvet walls.
He sucks in air between his teeth while he steadily rocks his body back and forth, tuning into the wet squelching sound with each thrust.
“Feel it yet?” He chuckles, poking fun at the fact that you've been too dazed to respond to him. You nod against the pillow, your hair spilling over the silk case like spilt water. A small, shaky exhale leaves your nose as he begins to hasten his thrusts. It's almost bruising as he slams himself against your tailbone—you know you'll be whining about the soreness tomorrow morning.
Your voice gradually gets louder as he pounds you into the bed, fingers curled up in the sheets as he slams his pelvis against your ass. You can feel him throb from inside you, twitching and ready.
A particularly deep thrust has you crying out into the pillow but you can't squirm, not when Adrien is pinning you down with his body weight. He's pushing against your prostate over and over again and you can feel that familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up on you.
“Fuck, Adrien,” You hiccup, muffled by the fluff of the pillow, eyes flickering like you're struggling to keep them open.
“Yeah baby?” You can hear the smirk in his tone as he keeps at the rough pace. He's hitting all the right spots and your dick appreciates. You feel a hand dip under your neck, cupping the curve of your throat as Adrien lifts your head up to face him.
He moves in to kiss you, soft and gentle as he wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you in a tight grip while continuously slamming himself deeper into you. Your loud cries and moans are enveloped by Adrien's mouth, swallowed up.
“You gonna cum? Feels so good you just can't hold it in?” He cooes, chuckling against your swollen lips as he feels you tremble underneath him. You swear stars enter your vision and your eyes roll back, muscles jerking and tensing as you let out a string of whimpers while your orgasm comes crashing onto you.
Adrien buries himself to the hilt before emptying out all he's worth, coating your insides with his dna. He groans as he pulls out halfway just to watch his semen flood out of your hole, still tightly clenched around his cock.
He sits up, raking his fingers through his tousled hair and sighs with satisfaction like drinking an ice cold soda in a hot summer day.
“You tired prez?” He asks, smiling down at you. His eyes narrow and concern settles in when you don't move or answer him.
“Baby?” He quickly leans back down to look at your face only to see your peaceful expression, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He lets out a relieved chuckle before pulling out, sliding off the bed to grab a towel.
He figured he'd get you some fruit to replenish your energy, pulling on some of his clothes after cleaning you up and getting you comfortable in the bed. He makes his way to the buffet, piling all favorite fruits and sweets onto his plate before he spots his family.
“Where's your boyfriend?” Adrien's mother asks, also holding a plate of food. Seemed like the two of you missed lunch.
“He's uh—” Adrien tenses knowing that he can't just openly admit to his mother that he fucked the daylights out of you.
“Taking a nap.”
#servicpop — fics/drabbles#bottom male reader#sub male reader#x bottom male reader#x male reader#x male reader smut#amab reader#oc x male reader#mlm nsft#uke male reader#oc x reader
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
summer bummer - jake sim 𓈒ིུ ❤︎



₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
“In which reader and Jake see each other only in the summer, finding themselves between tangled sheets and filthy words. But this year, it’s not just sex anymore.”
⁺ ❤︎ ⊹ ₊ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI
fem! reader x jake, friends with benefits! to lovers, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m rec), riding, multiple positions, spitting, porn with a little emotional plot idk.
word count: 7.0k
hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!
The field by the lake hadn’t changed, same driftwood benches, same cooler of cheap beer half-buried in the dirt, same old Bluetooth speaker trying its best to fight against the crackle of the fire. A few faces had grown older, a few new ones floated in from the city for the summer, but the rhythm was the same.
You always traveled back to your hometown for vacation, where you could forget about your city girl live, where most of your childhood friends still lived, where you spent the days tanning under the burning sun and drinking margaritas.
You were perched on a log near the flames, cold drink in hand, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the breeze off the water, despite the thin fabric of your short flower dress. Your friends were around you, Jay had brought his guitar like always, Heeseung was already tipsy, throwing rocks into the lake and yelling about something stupid. It was light, fun and meaningless. But you couldn’t stop checking the curve of the dirt road, waiting.
He was coming tonight, you knew it. Jake Sim.
It was never official. Not a relationship or a fling. It was almost like a summer tradition, like fireworks and iced tea and peeling sunburnt skin. You came back every year, and so did he. Like gravity, something written in body. No goodbyes, no promises, just heat and hands and stolen nights that left you wrecked until fall. You’d known him for years at this point, same boy who almost drowned in your parent’s pool at twelve, same boy who kissed you in truth or dare, same boy who knew your body much better than yourself.
The thing is, you barely spoke the rest of the year. A couple likes on Instagram. A birthday text, maybe. But no late-night calls, no long conversations. It was easier that way. If you talked too much, it would start to feel real. If it felt real, you’d both ruin it.
But still, you knew what it meant when you saw his name light up your phone two weeks before summer.
Jake Sim: you coming back this year?
Your fingers trembled over the keyboard.
Me: of course, always.
Because it didn’t matter how much time passed. The second your eyes met again, everything came flooding back, the way he kissed you like he was starving, the roughness of his voice when he begged to stay inside just a little longer, the way your bodies fit like puzzle pieces designed by the sun itself.
You weren’t in love. But it was close enough to hurt when you had to go back to your city every year.
So you both kept a silent deal. You didn’t ask who he fucked in the winter. He didn’t ask if you missed him in the spring. You only cared about the here and now, the sticky, sacred months of July and August. You only cared about sweat-slicked skin and beach towels and his hand gripping your throat like it was the only way he knew how to say I missed you.
Your stomach twisted when you heard it.
Tires crunching over gravel, laughter, car doors slamming.
You didn’t even have to turn to know because you felt it.
He was here.
It had been eleven months, two weeks, and six days since he last fucked you against the wall of your aunt’s bathroom at the end-of-summer party. You’d cried after. Not because of him, but because leaving always felt like peeling your skin off and flying back to a world where Jake didn’t exist.
But now he walked in like he owned the night, as always, that soft and chill aura like he didn’t care about anything in the world. Sun-kissed and cocky, rings on his fingers, black tshirt clung to his chest like it was begging for your attention. Ni-ki was beside him, already tossing a grin toward the group by the cooler, but Jake?
Jake looked straight at you.
The air left your lungs like a punch. You hated that it still did this to you, turned your insides to syrup and your thighs to heat. One look, that’s all it took. You didn’t smile, or wave. Just sipped your drink and looked back like it didn’t matter, letting the breeze wave your hair against your face.
“Finally decided to show up.” Heeseung dabbed him up, but his eyes were still locked on your face.
He stopped a few feet away, slow steps bringing him just close enough to let your body register him, his smell, his shadow, the ghost of his hands already on your skin. His voice was casual when he finally spoke.
“City girl had the time to come this year” he said, the exact same thing he said last summer. The same damn line.
Your lips curved around your drink, glossy and shining under the warm light of the fire.
“I always come, Jake.”
He smiled like he wanted to say something filthy about that. Like he remembered every single time. Then his eyes trailed down your body, slow and intentional because of course he wanted you to notice. You squirmed a bit, flipping your hair over your shoulder.
The fire was crackling between you two. Ni-ki called his name, someone handed you another beer, which you rejected with a smile, Sunghoon yelled something about “going crazy this summer”, but it all blurred. The music was loud, but your heart was louder.
“You look good,” Jake added, voice low enough that only you could hear it.
You smiled softly, tilting your head, took in the curve of his arms, his thick lips, the gold chain glinting at his collarbone, the heat in his eyes.
“I always look good” you whispered back.
He chuckled, stepping back, walking away like he hadn’t just lit every nerve in your body on fire.
But you knew how this would end.
Because he was here looking at you like he hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the last time you moaned his name.
After a few hours, the fire started burning low. People had thinned out, some stumbling back to their parents’ houses, others crawling into tents by the lake or paired off under trees in the dark. The music had died to background static. Your drink was warm and half-full, forgotten in your hand. The air was still thick with smoke, beer, and heat that clung to your skin even after sundown.
You’d been sitting on the edge of a blanket, legs stretched out, staring into the dying embers and the star-full sky, when Ni-ki wandered over, car keys dangling from his finger, hair a bit messy.
“You need a ride?” he asked, voice lazy, smile crooked. “I’m sober, Jake’s coming to.”
You hesitated for only a second before you saw Jake trailing behind him.
One glance from him was enough. That slight tilt of his head, that litlle smile on his lips, the way his eyes dipped down to your mouth just for one second before biting his lips. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, eyes still on you.
“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Thanks, Ki”
Inside, Ni-ki’s father’s truck smelled like weed and cologne and dried lake water. The windows were halfway down, the music low and thumping with bass. You were pressed against the cool leather, the hem of your dress creeping up your thighs with every shift. Jake climbed in right beside you, not even pretending to leave space, it wasn’t even necessary for him to sit besides you, and his thigh brushed yours, firm and warm.
Neither of you said anything.
Ni-ki started the car and chatted from the front, his voice a cheerful hum against the dark. Something about the girls by the cooler. Someone puking behind the dock. You nodded, made a sound of agreement, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Jake. His arm was stretched lazily across the back of the seat, fingertips just grazing your shoulder, his touch already setting your skin on fire. He smelled like smoke and sweat perfume and him. Familiar and dangerous.
“Is school going well?” he asked under his breath, close enough that his mouth nearly touched your cheek.
You turned toward the window.
“Yeah, it’s been nice. You?”
He didn’t answer. Just smiled again and let his hand drop, light and casual, until the side of it was resting against your bare thigh. It wasn’t even obvious. Ni-ki didn’t notice, too busy driving and still talking, and Jake didn’t move. His fingers didn’t trail, just a slight pressure. But it was enough to remind you of every time he’d had you spread out in the back of a car like this before, drunk off each other, reckless and flushed.
The road dipped, and the jostle made his palm shift higher on your leg.
You bit your lip.
“Cute dress,” he murmured. “Little short, though.”
You pulse started to rush, and it was suddenly so hot inside the car. Then his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you felt your whole body clench.
“—right? So I told Heeseung not to piss his girlfriend off—” Ni-ki kept talking in the front seat, totally oblivious, laughing at his own story.
Meanwhile Jake’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of your panties, and exhaled through his nose.
“You wore these for me?” he whispered, dragging one finger slowly over the damp seam, right where you were already pulsing for him. “Or did I get you this wet just now?”
You swallowed hard. Your head hit the back of the seat.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to taste you this summer”
You squeezed your legs shut instinctively, but he just pushed his hand between them, forcing them apart again. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, hot and greedy and slow, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His middle finger circled your clit, gentle but focused, rhythm cruelly steady. Your hips twitched. You tried to keep your face blank, heart racing as Ni-ki kept talking about girlfriend drama and god knows what else. Jake leaned back in the seat like nothing was happening, laughing and his friend’s jokes, keeping the conversation, like he wasn’t making your thighs shake under the cover of your dress.
And all you could do was clutch the edge of your seat and pray your breathing didn’t give you away.
“Hey, Y/N” Ni-ki said. “You think your parents will let us throw the pool party this year?”
You could barely hear him, you couldn’t even answer. So you just hummed, but it came out more like a moan, and Jake chuckled besides you because he had two fingers inside you now, slow and shallow, more teasing than satisfying.Every twist of his hand dragged against your sweet spot and pulled a silent scream from your throat.
His lips brushed your ear again.
“You’re so tight, baby. You miss me?” he asked like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, like this was all small talk.
You nodded once, shaky and pathetic, and he smiled.
Ni-ki pulled up in front of your parent’s place, headlights sweeping over the front porch.
“You want us to walk you up?” he offered, turning in his seat.
You jolted, heart hammering.
Jake’s fingers slipped out of you just in time, slow and slick, leaving your panties soaked. He brought his hand to his mouth casually, like he was stretching, and sucked the tips of his fingers clean while staring you dead in the eyes.
“Nah,” Jake said smoothly, voice casual. “She’s good.”
“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the ride, Ki.”
But you weren’t. You were literally shaking.
You stepped out of the car on trembling legs, your thighs wet, your panties ruined, and Jake’s grin burned into your memory.
Your parent’s didn’t allow you to host the pool party this year, since the damages of last summer were still ghosting in the house. So Sunoo, being the good friend that he was, offered his pool.
The party was already in full swing by the time you showed up, loud music, wet footprints all over the tile, floats bobbing in the pool, and a cooler full of drinks that had long since lost their ice. The heat was sweltering. The sky was cloudless. And everything felt like it was pulsing with that hazy energy.
You found your friends by the pool, and smiled at them. You slipped off your sandals, dropped your towel on a sun chair, and waded straight into the pool, cool water wrapping around your body like a sigh.
Jake was there too.
He was across the pool, shirtless in red swim trunks, tan skin glistening wet, a beer bottle tipped to his lips as he leaned back against the edge with that lazy, devastating smirk. His hair was damp, curls pushed back, and he had that look in his eye. The one he only wore when you were in the room.
You hadn’t spoken since the night in the truck. Just a few glances, a look across the lake. He was busy this summer too, you knew that, his father needed help in his job, so you weren’t seeing him that often. But you still felt him every second since.
And now, he was watching you float through the water like he already had you pressed up against the pool wall, hand between your thighs, making you come so hard you’d choke on his name.
You kept your face blank, kept swimming. But your heart was going wild.
Everyone else was drunk and loud. Sunghoon was doing cannonballs, Jungwon was begging someone to make more margaritas, Ni-ki was DJing from the patio like his life depended on it, but your whole world narrowed every time Jake’s eyes dragged over your chest, your stomach, the way your bikini clung to your hips.
At one point, you reached for your drink from the edge and felt his presence behind you before you even heard his voice.
“You trying to kill me in that bikini?” Jake murmured, chest brushing your back in the water. His voice was low and close, mouth inches from your shoulder. “Or is this just for attention?”
You didn’t turn around.
“We both know i don’t need to ask for your attention.”
He chuckled, dark and quiet.
“You know i love when you get cocky.”
You don’t even remember who touched who first.
One second, Jake was behind you in the pool, his breath grazing your neck like a threat, and the next, your fingers brushed his underwate, just enough to say now. You didn’t look back, it wasn’t necessary because he followed.
You climbed out slowly, water cascading down your legs, your bikini clinging to your curves like a secret. Jake was only a step behind, eyes locked on the drip of water trailing down your spine. No one noticed, or maybe they did and didn’t care. This was how it always happened. One second, you were mingling, the next, you were gone.
Inside the house, the music got muffled by walls and closed doors. You walked past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the laundry room, and Jake’s hand caught yours. Pulled and turned. He shoved open the bathroom door and you stumbled inside, your back hitting the wall, cold tile kissing wet skin.
Then, his mouth was on yours.
He tasted like alcohol and fresh fruit and he kissed you like a man unhinged. His hot mouth devouring you, breathless and not giving but taking. Tongue deep, wet and sloppy, teeth sharp, pulling your lower lip and sucking it, no space between you. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was months of repression, of thinking about this exact moment, of remembering how tight you were around him, how loud you got when he hit just the right spot.
Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his hands were everywhere, palming your ass through your bikini bottoms, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, sliding up your spine to twist in your wet hair and tug your head back, like he was scared you’d disappear again. You felt his hard length beneath the damp fabric of his shorts, grinding into you like he couldn’t hold himself back.
Jake pulled back just long enough to look at you.
“You look fucking unreal right now,” he breathed, eyes blown. “I’ve been losing my mind all fucking year thinking about this pussy.”
His voice was hot and low and filthy, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your soaked bikini bottoms without hesitation.
“You missed me?” he murmured, middle finger dragging through your slit. “Huh, baby? You missed this cock?”
You moaned, too breathless to lie. Head spinning, eyes hazy and brain already shut down.
He grinned like he already knew.
“Of course you did. This pussy was made for me.”
He shoved your bottoms down, let them fall wet to the floor. Then, he dropped to his knees like it was instinct. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. Tongue hot, fast, messy and desperate. Jake moaned into your cunt like he’d been starving all year. You moaned into your hand and let your head fall against the wall as his tongue licked a wide, greedy stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, sloppy, shameless and relentless. His fingers dug into your thighs in case you’d pull away and he ate you out like this was his last meal.
“God,” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “always so fucking sweet.”
You rocked your hips forward into his face, already breathless from how deep he was buried between your thighs. Your pussy dripping on him, pulsing and hot. His hair was damp from the pool, and now from sweat, his working like he was worshiping you.
Your fingers laced through his curls, pulling.
“Jake—oh my God.”
He didn’t stop. Just growled into you and pulled you closer, spreading you wider, tongue fucking into you as if he couldn’t decide whether to tease or devour. Then, his thumb slid up, wet from your slick, pressing soft tight circles against your clit as his tongue fucked in deeper.
You gasped, back arching.
“Jake, please—”
“You gonna come on my mouth?” he asked, almost sweetly. “You gonna make a mess on my face, baby?”
He was smiling against your sex, completely obsessed, like your shaking thighs and broken voice were exactly what he wanted to ruin. Like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you fell apart right here in the bathroom with his tongue buried inside you and your moans echoing off the tile.
You whimpered, trying to hold yourself up, but your knees were already buckling.
“Please, Jake—don’t stop—”
“Oh, I won’t,” he muttered against your clit, voice low and wrecked. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin.”
Then he sucked again. Hard, wet and loud. Totally obscene and shameless, his tongue flicking fast, his thumb grinding into your clit in tight circles, dragging your orgasm out of you like he was starving for it. You gasped, hips jolting forward as heat crashed through your spine and exploded in your belly.
Jake groaned into you, tongue lapping up every bit of your mess like it was his job. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place, making sure you felt every second of it, felt how messy you were, how wrecked, how much he loved it.
You came hard.
Your thighs clamped around his head, your toes curled, your hands scrabbling for the sink behind you as pleasure split you in half, hot and dizzying. Your whole body trembled, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy pulsed around nothing, empty but aching, soaking his mouth and chin.
Jake only pulled back when your legs gave out.
He caught you, barely, arms around your waist, eyes heavy and glazed as he looked up at you, his face glistening with your slick, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your hands in it.
“So fucking good” he said, voice ruined.
Then he kissed you again, messy, open, licking into your mouth like he wanted you to taste yourself on him. In one movement, he shoved down his trunks and grabbed your thigh, hiking it up against the wall.
“You ready?” he said, lining himself up and thrusting in all at once, bottoming out. You gasped. “Gonna fuck you just how you like it.”
He was thick and deep and so fucking hard, stretching you open like your body had been waiting for him all year. His length throbbed through your soaked walls, still senstive but still wanting more. You cried out, back arching as Jake buried himself to the hilt, brutal thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ruined in your ear. “You’re so tight around me. Like this pussy’s been waiting all year, just for my cock.”
You clenched around him at the words, helpless, already overwhelmed. Your nails dug into his biceps as he held you pinned between his chest and the cold edge of the bathroom counter, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide open. He moved deep, dragging strokes that made you choke on your breath. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls, making you tremble with every push.
Your head fell back, lips parted, completely at his mercy.
“God—fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Missed how you squeeze me. Missed these pretty fucking sounds. You make me insane.”
He grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto him harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as the bathroom filled with the sounds of filthy, frantic sex, wet, breathless, obsessed. The air inside was so hot, the mirror foggy, your body wet not only with water but with sweat and spit, every inch inside of you burning for him.
You wrapped your legs around him, holding on tight, body jerking with every thrust.
“Jake—oh my god—yes—fuck me, please—”
“I am, baby,” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucking you like you need.”
He kissed you, teeth and tongue and bruising need, before pulling back to spit the next words right against your mouth:
“That’s right. This pussy’s mine when you’re here. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”
A loud groan left his mouth, losing rhythm for a second, driving into you harder now, ruthless, like he wanted to fuck you so deep you’d still feel him tomorrow, his thrusts pounding into your soaked pussy, his body smacking against yours in loud, wet sounds that echoed off the walls. You moaned loud at that, barely holding back from coming again.
“I’m gonna fuck you all summer,” he hissed in your ear, fucking you harder. “Every night. Every morning. You understand?”
His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, aching clit, rubbing tight circles that helped the pressure on your stomach start to build with so much force.
“You wanna cry on my cock again like you did last year?” he taunted, thumb dragging up to your clit as he pounded into you harder. “Huh? Gonna make a mess for me like a good fucking girl?”
Your body didn’t hold back anymore. You came again, gasping, clenching around him so tight he cursed into your neck, hips jerking as he came with you with a thick moan, hot, deep, full. He spilled inside you so familiar and warm and good, and you whimpered at the feeling. God, you missed it so much.
You collapsed into him, slick and shaking, still pinned to the wall as he caught his breath, mouth dragging across your collarbone like he couldn’t stop touching you.
“God,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “I’m not letting you go a single night without this dick.”
Jake then pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper again, and his eyes lost between your legs watching how you dripped him down your thighs, he bit his lip at the view. Then kissed you again, fast but hot, helping you put on your bikini bottoms again, still a bit dazed from the strong orgasm.
“You never do, anyways.”
He chuckled softly, putting his shorts on and hissing at the sensitivity on his cock, then placed a kiss on your forehead, winking an eye.
“Summer’s just getting started, baby.”
The days passed with not much happening. Parties, nights by the lake, fishing, movie nights in someone’s old basement. Almost every night ending the same way, everyone either passed out or going home.
Except you.
And Jake.
It always started with a look. That same look. Then a brush of his hand at your hip while you were helping clean up. Then a muttered, “Come with me,” while the others weren’t looking.
And ended with the two of you tangled in the backseat of his father’s car, windows halfway fogged, leather seats squeaking under the shift of your weight. You straddling him, panties shoved to the side, Jake’s hands gripping your waist tight as you rocked your soaked pussy over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Him fully inside you, buried deep, sweat dripping from his hairline as he hissed through his teeth. The night quiet except for the sound of your skins slapping together.
“Fuck, baby—” his voice was hoarse, raw. “You feel so fucking good. Always so tight for me.”
His nasty words always making you come even harder around his length.
“I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he whispered, grabbing your ass and helping you move faster, harder. “Jacking off in my room like a fucking loser, imagining you bouncing on my cock just like this. Every fucking night.”
“Every summer,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”
Other times were lazy sundays in his room, after a wild night, makeup still on your face, mascara smuged, but he always told you you looked beautiful that way. The sheets clinging to your bodies thanks to the sweat and the heat, Jake leaning his back against the bedframe, legs parted and you between them.
Still lazy, but hungry.
His cock already hard. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip like it had been waiting for your mouth since the second he pulled you into the house.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed when you kissed the head, feeling him throb in your hand “You trying to ruin me, baby?”
You smiled, slow and wicked, as you licked a fat stripe up his shaft.
“I thought I already did.”
Jake’s head dropped back against the pillow, his hips twitching when you spat on his length, tongue swirled around the tip again, tasting the salty precum. You took your time, pressing kisses all over, teasing him, dragging your mouth down to his balls, licking and sucking until he was breathing through clenched teeth, abs tensing with every shift of your tongue.
“Shit—fuck” he gasped when you finally wrapped your lips around the head and sank down.
You moaned around him in response, and Jake swore, one hand flying into your hair.
“God, baby—your mouth is so fucking perfect.”
You bobbed your head slow, letting your tongue slide along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his face the whole time. You loved watching him fall apart, how his brows pulled together, how his lips parted in these breathless, broken moans. His whole body went tight under you, muscles flexing, thighs trembling with every stroke.
“You’re gonna make me come already,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re so fuckin’ nasty, just—shit—look at you.”
You pulled off with a wet pop, breath hot against his cock.
“Then come,” you whispered, stroking him slow, tongue flicking at the tip. “I want it. In my mouth. On my face. Wherever the fuck you want.”
Jake groaned.
“God, I almost forgot how filthy you are,” he muttered, hips lifting, fucking into your fist as your lips wrapped around him again.
But when you both were drunk, it was even more messy.
Laughing too loud, bumping into the hallway walls on the way upstairs, hands already all over each other before the door even closed.
Jake’s breath hot in your ear, mouth on your neck, his fingers tangled in the hem of your dress as you shoved at his chest, stumbling backwards into the room.
“I fucking want you,” he slurred, lips grazing your jaw, voice ragged. “I want you so bad it’s fucking sick.”
“You always want me,” you whispered, giggling breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and you both tripped into the mattress like lunatics. “You’re obsessed with me.”
He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down into the bed, kissing you hard, messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.
“I am obsessed with you,” he muttered against your mouth. “I think about you all year. Think about your moans, your thighs, your fucking cunt—”
“Jake—”
“I jerk off to the sound of your voice,” he hissed, already yanking your dress up over your hips. “To the memory of you riding me. You fuckin’ haunt me.”
You gasped when he tugged your panties down fast and rough, mouth hot on your throat. He didn’t even wait to undress himself properly, just unzipped, shoved his pants low, pushed your legs open and spat on your pussy like he couldn’t take it one second longer.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby—this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”
He shoved into you in one brutal thrust, no teasing, no warning, just full length, all of him, thick and throbbing, slamming into your soaked heat like he was making up for lost time. And you screamed, legs wrapping around him as he rutted into you without rhythm, just hunger and need.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. “You feel fucking insane. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”
His hands were under your ass, lifting you into every thrust, bed creaking under the pressure. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.
“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he whispered. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own fucking name.”
“You already do,” you moaned, nails dragging down his back.
Jake slammed deeper, taking every inch of your insides, pussy walls clenching around himc swallowing him like you were made for him, the room spinning not just from the alcohol but from the heat.
“You want it rough tonight, huh? Want me drunk and desperate, just using this pretty pussy ‘til I can’t even move?”
“Yes—fuck”
“You’re mine,” he spat, gripping your face, thumb sliding into your mouth. “Say it.”
“I’m yours—” you whined around his thumb, eyes rolling back.
He cursed, pulled out halfway, then slammed in again so hard you gasped.
“Say it louder.”
“I’m fucking yours!”
The air was thick with sweat, your bodies slick and tangled, the whole room smelling like sex and tequila and the kind of hunger you don’t come back from.
It was routine, it was habit. It was everything you could ask for. Because Jake didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped your body. Every thrust said mine. Every kiss felt dangerous. Every time he came inside you, it felt less like sex and more like surrender. He knew you so well, knew exactly what to say, where to touch, which speed to use. No other man had ever satisfied you the way he did.
And lately, he looked at you like you were a secret. Like you meant something. His touches were softer, his kisses more tender. He laid on your back and trailed his fingetips in slow circles and hummed songs in your ear.
But it scared you. You knew things with Jake wouldn’t be easy. He lived here, he belonged here, away, moving through calm days and quiet nights. You were different.
You were a city girl, you went to college, went to parties, woke up hangover on your friend’s penthouses.
It would never work. And never seeing him again, that really scared you.
So you kept your feelings tucked behind your tongue, hidden in the back of your throat behind every moan. You kissed him hard and pulled his hair and begged for more, but you never said please don’t fall for me.
Because sometimes, you thought maybe he already had.
And sometimes you thought maybe you had too.
Those thoughts were still consuming you days later, one morning in Jake’s bed.
You could hear the birds outside. The fan humming above. His slow, steady breath against your collarbone. Jake was still tangled around you, warm and heavy, like he’d melted into your skin overnight. His leg between yours. His arm around your waist. His hand—God, his hand—resting just under your breast, like it belonged there.
You wanted to stay there forever. In that golden, sleepy silence. Where nothing had to be said. Where everything could still be just sex and tequila and tradition. Where the feelings hadn’t spilled out yet.
But then he spoke.
“I don’t think I can do this again another year,” he said softly, voice hoarse with sleep.
You blinked slowly. Your body stiffened, but only just.
“What?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“This. Us. Fucking for a month and then going back to acting like we don’t know each other the rest of the year.”
You lifted your head, your heart already thudding in your chest. Jake was looking at you. Hair messy, lips still kiss-bitten, eyes swollen with everything he hadn’t said until now.
“I know we said this was casual,” he continued. “I know that’s what you want. But it’s not casual for me anymore.”
Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.
“I don’t want to wait eleven months to touch you again. I don’t want to only be yours in July. I want to wake up like this every day. I want to know what it feels like to take you out, not just sneak around.”
“Jake…”
“I want to know what it feels like to love you without pretending it’s just about sex.”
That word.
Love.
You sat up, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’d seen every inch of you a thousand times. Even though he had your come drying on his stomach, your moans still in his mouth.
“Don’t say that, Jake” you said, voice suddenly cold.
“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“Because this wasn’t supposed to be that. That’s not what we do.”
Jake sat up too, confused, bare chest rising and falling as he tried to read your face.
“You can say everything to me when my cock’s inside you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But the second I say I want more, you run?”
“I’m not running.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve been running since last summer. And the one before that.”
You stood from the bed, searching for your underwear like it was some kind of armor. The same scary thoughts in your head, the reality of it all hitting you.
“It’s not going to work, Jake. I told you since the beggining”
“No, you told me you didn’t want more.” He leaned forward, voice tighter now. “And I believed you. Until you started kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. Until you started holding me after like it meant something.”
You paused. Still facing the wall. Too afraid to look back.
“It’s safer this way,” you said quietly.
He laughed, bitter and humourless.
“Safer for you, maybe. But I’m the one who’s been waiting all year like a fucking idiot, hoping this time would be different.”
You turned to him finally, heart in your throat.
“I never asked you to wait.”
“No,” he said. “But you made it impossible not to.”
There was silence for a moment. And then Jake stood too. Naked, wrecked, still beautiful in the morning light. His eyes softer now. But sad. So fucking sad.
“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “I still would.”
You didn’t answer.
You just grabbed your dress, your phone, and walked out of the room with tears in your eyes and his name like a stone in your throat.
The city felt bigger than usual.
You stood in the middle of your room in a t-shirt that wasn’t yours—his, oversized and worn-in, somehow ended up in your suitcase, probably from the night you threw up in his lap—sleeves pushed up to your elbows. It smelled faintly of saltwater and sweat and the faded remnants of Jake’s cologne, like a scent memory you were scared would disappear the second you washed it.
Your suitcase was still half-open on the floor. You hadn’t unpacked.
Outside, the city roared like it always did, sirens in the distance, someone yelling two blocks away, a motorcycle growling past, but all you could think about was the way the crickets used to sing by the lake. How the air back there tasted like bonfire and beer and warm skin. How the quiet meant something when it was wrapped around Jake’s voice and his breath on your neck in the dark.
You padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water with shaking hands, but your stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.
Everything was fine.
But then you opened your phone.
And scrolled.
And there he was.
Jake, half-naked on the dock, laughing with Ni-ki, holding a beer, dripping wet from the lake. Jake, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your bare thigh, sunglasses low on his nose, smirking like he owned the world. Jake, leaning over you in the backseat after Sunoo’s pool party, whispering filth into your mouth while everyone else was drunk and distracted.
Your heart twisted, sharp and slow and sick.
You hadn’t seen him since that morning. Since you ripped yourself out of his sheets and out of his arms and walked away with your pride held like a shield across your chest.
He didn’t come to Sunghoon’s goodbye party, he didn’t come to the last movie night in Jungwon’s basement.
He didn’t text. He didn’t call. He didn’t even look at your story.
And you didn’t reach out.
And now, in the dim hush of your apartment, with the AC buzzing and your body wrapped in his old shirt, the weight of it crushed you.
You slid to the floor, back against the bedframe, phone in your lap, eyes burning.
Because you wanted to be the girl who could let go. The girl who could take the pleasure, take the heat, take the memory, and walk away untouched.
But this time you weren’t her.
This time, you wanted more.
You wanted mornings. You wanted winter. You wanted him.
But you were too scared to say it.
So now you sat in the silence you chose, surrounded by his ghost, with nothing left but a hundred memories that all smelled like sex and regret.
You hadn’t turned on the lights, letting the soft blue glow of the television flicker across the room, even though you weren’t really watching anything. Just letting sound fill the silence.
And then… A knock.
You blinked. Stilled. For a second, you thought maybe you imagined it.
Then it came again.
Three gentle raps against your apartment door.
Your heart flipped. Your chest tightened. You stood slowly, like moving too fast would make it disappear. And when you opened the door…
Jake was there.
In the hallway, under the soft yellow glow of the broken light overhead, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something worse, like maybe he hadn’t slept in days. Like maybe he’d replayed that morning in his head a hundred times, and it still broke him every time.
“Hi,” he said softly.
You stopped breathing.
He looked… wrecked.
And beautiful. Standing in front of you like he had no idea what he was supposed to say now that he’d actually come.
“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” he admitted, voice quiet.
You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
“I almost didn’t.”
Jake let out a soft breath. Nodded. Then looked up at you, eyes shining a little too much.
“I had to see you, i booked the cheapest ticket” he said. “I couldn’t just let it end like that.”
You said nothing. Just looked at him, bare, faced and trembling, still holding the doorknob like it was a weapon.
He took a tiny step forward.
“I fucked up. I should’ve let you have your space. I should’ve waited. But I couldn’t. I’ve been losing my fucking mind thinking about you.”
“Jake…”
“No,” he said gently. “Let me say it.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick now. Full with honesty and feelings.
“I meant everything I said. I meant it when I told you I wanted more. I meant it when I said I couldn’t keep doing this once-a-year bullshit. Because it’s not just summer to me anymore. It’s not just sex. It hasn’t been for a long time.”
Your chest ached. He looked straight at you, no shields, no teasing smile, just a boy standing at the edge of something terrifying, begging you to take a step toward him.
“I’m in love with you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, since the first time i fucked you. And I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”
You blinked fast, heart beating so loud it hurt.
“I didn’t know how to… I thought if I said it out loud it would ruin everything.”
He nodded.
“So did I.”
“But it didn’t,” you said, voice trembling. “It ruined everything not saying it.”
Jake gave the softest smile. Sad, but hopeful. Like he still wasn’t sure if you were going to slam the door or fall into his arms.
So you reached for him. You grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulled him inside, shut the door behind him. And when your mouth crashed into his, hot, desperate, full of all the things you hadn’t said, Jake knew.
You were his.
Not just in summer or just in bed.
Just completely his.
#enhypen smut#enhypen hard headcanons#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen x female reader#enhypen jake smut#enhypen jake#jake sim smut#jake sim#sim jaeyun smut#sim jaeyun#enha smut#enha hard thoughts#enha hard hours#enha x female reader#enha x reader#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fic#enha jake#jake smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere Trapper x Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy
The snow clung to your skirts, heavy and wet, weighing you down as you fled deeper into the woods. Each step sent a spray of powdery white into the air, your boots sinking through the crust of ice beneath. Your breath tore out of your throat in ragged bursts, misting the air, and your heart pounded so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. Behind you, growing fainter with every desperate stride, you could still hear the voices—your father’s low bellow, your brothers’ sharper cries.
“Come back! Damn it, girl, come back!”
But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. The thought of that man, that stranger, placing a ring on your finger, made your stomach turn. You’d rather freeze out here than return to the house, to the suffocating expectations that had closed in on you like iron bars.
The woods were silent save for your flight. Snow-laden branches groaned under their burdens, and somewhere far off, you thought you heard the mournful cry of a wolf. The cold bit through your coat, numbing your fingers, your cheeks, but you didn’t dare stop. Not until you were free. Not until—
SNAP.
Agony exploded through your leg, white-hot, blinding. You screamed. The world tilted as you collapsed, the ground rushing up to meet you. You clawed at the snow, heart racing in terror, and looked down to see the cruel, jagged steel teeth of a trap biting into your calf. Blood welled up, bright against the pale snow, seeping from between the metal jaws.
“No, no, no…” you gasped, hands trembling as you tried to pry it open, but it was no use. The trap was made for beasts larger and stronger than you. Panic rose in your throat, bitter as bile. The pain was like fire now, radiating up your leg, and the cold made it worse. You were trapped. Alone.
Or so you thought.
The sound of crunching snow reached your ears. A shadow fell over you. You froze, terror choking you. Was it one of your brothers? Had they found you? But when you forced yourself to look up, squinting through tears and the biting wind, it wasn’t a face you recognized.
The man was massive—tall, broad-shouldered, the bulk of him wrapped in a heavy fur coat. His hair was thick and dark brown, curling where it escaped his hood, and his eyes regarded you with a kind of quiet assessment. His skin was darkened by years of sun and wind, tanned deep against the snow’s harsh glare. His beard was rough, his face weathered. A stranger. A trapper, by the look of him.
He crouched beside you, his gaze dropping to the bloody trap. His brow furrowed. “Fool girl,” he rumbled, voice low, thick with an accent you couldn’t quite place. “What you doin’ runnin’ through these woods, eh? This no place for little dove like you.”
“I—I didn’t see it,” you stammered, breath hitching against sobs. “Please—help—”
He didn’t waste time with more questions. Big, scarred hands reached for the trap, and with a grunt of effort, he pried the steel jaws apart, freeing your leg. The sudden release of pressure sent a fresh wave of pain crashing through you, and you whimpered, clutching at your skirts. Blood flowed more freely now, staining the snow beneath you.
He didn’t hesitate. “Can’t leave you out here. You’ll freeze…or wolves’ll get you.” His words were blunt, matter-of-fact. He slid his arms beneath you, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. His coat smelled of smoke and pine and leather. You tried to protest, but he hushed you with a shake of his head. “Save your breath. Cabin’s not far.”
The world swayed as he carried you, every step jostling your injured leg, but you clung to him, too exhausted and frightened to do anything else. The snow fell heavier now, the sky darkening as night crept in. The woods seemed to close around you, but he moved through them with certainty.
At last, through the veil of trees, you saw it: a cabin, smoke curling from the chimney, its windows glowing faintly with firelight. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and strode inside, kicking it shut behind him. The warmth hit you like a wave, the scent of woodsmoke filling your lungs. He laid you down gently on a low cot by the fire.
“You’re lucky,” he said gruffly, pulling off his gloves. “Coulda bled out, out there. Coulda froze.”
You didn’t answer, too dazed from pain. He knelt beside you, retrieving a battered tin box from a shelf. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he rolled up your torn skirts and examined the wound.
“Bad, but I seen worse.” He met your gaze, those brown eyes steady and unflinching. “This’ll hurt.”
And it did. He cleaned the gash with cold water from a jug, wrapped it in clean linen, and bound it tight with a strip of leather. All the while, he worked in silence except for the occasional mutter in that thick, unfamiliar accent. When he finished, he sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on a rag.
“There. Won’t be walkin’ on it soon, but you’ll keep the leg.”
You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down your cheeks. Not just from pain, but from everything. The running, the fear, the trap, the cold.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
He only grunted, rising to hang a kettle over the fire. “Rest now, little dove. We’ll talk when you’re stronger. Safe here, with me.”
The kettle hissed softly as it heated, filling the cabin with the comforting scent of boiling water mingled with woodsmoke. The man busied himself with small tasks—adding a log to the fire, setting out a battered tin plate, slicing hard bread with a well-worn knife. His every motion was steady, unhurried, like the snow falling beyond the windows.
You lay still, too tired to move, too sore to try. The warmth of the cabin seeped into your bones, and though your leg throbbed with each beat of your heart, it was better than the numbing cold. Your eyes drifted to him as he worked. The firelight cast his face in flickering gold and shadow, carving deep lines into his features. He looked like the wilderness itself—rugged, weathered, and solid. A man apart from the world you’d fled.
Without a word, he tore off a piece of bread, dunked it into the steaming water to soften it, and brought it to you. He crouched by the cot, holding it out in his calloused hand. “Eat,” he said simply. “You need strength.”
Your fingers trembled as you took it. The bread was rough but warm, and you chewed slowly. He watched for a moment, as if to make sure you were truly eating, then sat back on a stool near the fire. From a pouch at his belt, he drew a small block of wood and a carving knife, and he began to work, the soft scrape of blade on wood filling the quiet.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. The storm outside howled against the walls, rattling the shutters.
Finally, unable to bear the weight of the silence, you spoke. Your voice was hoarse, but the words tumbled out in a rush.
“I ran away,” you said, staring at your hands in your lap. “My father…he—he arranged for me to marry a man I don’t even know. A man twice my age. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t—” Your voice cracked. “So I ran. I thought I could get far enough. Thought maybe I could find somewhere, someone who’d help. But I didn’t think about the traps. About the cold. I didn’t think about anything except getting away.”
The trapper said nothing at first. The knife kept scraping, shaping whatever it was he saw in that piece of wood. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his hands sure and steady.
When he did speak, his voice was low. “You thought right to run. A bird ain’t meant for a cage. Even if it’s a gilded one.” His brown eyes lifted to meet yours. “You’re safe here. No one’ll force you to nothin’. You stay ‘til you can walk. Longer, if you need.”
The fire popped, sending up a spray of sparks. You felt your throat tighten again, but this time it wasn’t from fear or grief. It was something else—something like relief, sharp and sudden, so fierce it brought fresh tears to your eyes.
“Why are you helping me?” you whispered.
He shrugged. “You’re hurt. Alone. Ain’t right, leaving you out there to die.”
—-
You slept fitfully that night, the pain in your leg throbbing. The storm raged on through the night, wind shrieking against the eaves, snow piling high against the walls of the little cabin. The fire crackled low, its warmth a fragile shield against the winter’s fury. And though you drifted in and out of uneasy dreams—faces from home, cold hands dragging you back, steel teeth snapping shut.
The night was long, and deep in its darkest hour, the pain flared anew. A searing, biting ache that woke you with a cry, torn from your throat before you could stop it. Your hands flew to your leg, trembling, and you sobbed. The cabin felt too small, the shadows too thick, the weight of everything—your injury, your fear, your sorrow—too heavy to bear.
The door to the other room creaked open almost at once. Heavy footsteps crossed the floorboards, and then he was there, crouching beside you. His face was shadowed by the dim glow of the fire, but his eyes were filled with concern.
“Shhh, little dove,” he murmured, voice low, rough with sleep but gentle all the same. “What’s this now? Pain too much?”
You couldn’t answer, only nodded through the tears that streamed down your cheeks. The sobs came harder, broken and helpless. You felt ashamed, weak, but you couldn’t stop.
He didn’t scold you or tell you to quiet. Instead, he lowered himself to sit beside the cot, the floor creaking beneath his weight. Slowly, like one might calm a frightened animal, he gathered you up, drawing you against him. His coat was rough wool and fur, his arms solid as oak. His chest was broad and warm beneath your cheek, his heart a slow, steady drum you could feel through the layers between you.
“There now,” he said, almost a whisper. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you here. You let it out. Ain’t no shame in cryin’, not after what you been through.”
His hand came up, big and sure, and smoothed over your hair. His palm was calloused, his touch surprisingly tender. He rocked you gently, not speaking further, just letting the storm outside howl its fury while he made a quiet, safe place for you in his arms.
Little by little, your sobs quieted. You realized, dimly, that he smelled of pine sap and smoke and leather, and there was something grounding in it, something real.
When your breathing slowed and the worst of the pain dulled again to that low, familiar throb, he shifted, adjusting the blankets around you, careful not to jostle your leg.
“You need sleep,” he said softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “I’ll stay here. You ain’t alone.”
And true to his word, he settled there, leaning back against the side of the cot, one arm resting lightly across you as if to shield you from the night.
—-
Spring came slow that year. The snow melted reluctantly beneath a pale sun, leaving behind a world of mud and waking green.
Your leg healed, but not fully. The wound the trap had left behind marked you deep—scar tissue that pulled tight, a stiffness that never quite eased. You limped now, favoring the leg, and though the pain had dulled to an ache on most days, you felt it with every step. Still, you moved through the cabin with purpose, unwilling to let the injury make you useless.
You’d grown used to the small world you shared with him. The soft creak of the cabin’s floorboards, the hiss of water boiling over the fire, the scent of pine smoke that clung to everything. You rose with the dawn most days, lighting the fire, sweeping the floor, chopping vegetables when there were any, or mending torn linens. You helped how you could, leaning on the stout cane he’d carved for you from ash wood, its handle worn smooth beneath your hand.
And when he came in from the woods at the end of the day—big and broad and ruddy from the cold—you always found yourself smiling. You couldn’t help it. There was comfort in the sight of him, in knowing he’d come back safe, in the warmth he carried in with him.
The door thudded shut behind him one evening as the last light of day bled out over the horizon. His arms were full, bundles of kindling, snares strung with rabbits, the fruits of his quiet, patient work. Snow still clung to the hem of his coat and the tips of his boots, though it melted fast in the cabin’s heat.
You straightened from the hearth where you’d been stirring a pot of stew, your limp slowing you but not stopping you. Your smiled. “You’re back.”
He grunted in that familiar way of his, his dark eyes flicking over you, lingering on your face. The corners of his mouth tugged up just a little—his version of a smile.
“Aye,” he said, setting down his load and stamping the snow from his boots. “Always come back, little dove. You know that by now.”
You watched as he shrugged out of his heavy coat, as he crossed the room in a few long strides to stand beside you. The warmth of him filled the small space between you. You tilted your face up to meet his gaze, and for a long, quiet moment, neither of you spoke. There was no need. The fire crackled. The stew bubbled. The world outside faded, until there was only the two of you in that circle of light and warmth.
At last, he lifted a hand, rough and calloused, and brushed a loose strand of hair from your brow. His fingers lingered for just a breath longer than they needed to.
“You been on your feet too long again,” he rumbled, his voice low, gentle in its bluntness. “Leg’s hurtin’. I can see it in your eyes.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head, already guiding you toward the chair by the fire. “Sit. I’ll finish the stew.”
You settled, leaning the cane against the chair, and watched him move about the cabin.
“Colm?”
“Aye?” he said, pausing with the ladle in hand, the steam from the stew rising between you.
You hesitated. The words felt heavy in your chest, tangled with everything you hadn’t said these past weeks—months, now. About the safety you’d found here. About the way the cabin no longer felt like a place you were hiding, but a place you belonged. About him. About how the sound of his voice when he called you ‘little dove’ warmed you more surely than any fire.
Your fingers curled into the folds of your skirt, the scar on your leg aching faintly with the movement. You drew in a slow breath, heart thudding, unsure if it was fear or hope that made it beat so hard.
“Thank you,” you said at last, though it wasn’t nearly enough. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “For everything. For saving me. For keeping me safe. For… not asking more than I could give.”
His brow furrowed. He set the ladle down and crossed the small space between you, crouching beside your chair so you were nearly eye to eye. His hand came to rest on the arm of the chair.
“You ain’t gotta thank me, dove,” he said quietly. “Was no trouble. And I’d do it again. Every bit of it.”
You swallowed hard. The cabin felt small around you, but not in the way it once had—not like a trap or a cage. It felt close. Shelter. His nearness was steadying, and yet it made your heart race all the same.
“I don’t want to go back,” you whispered, the truth of it spilling out. “I don’t want to leave. Even when my leg’s strong enough…I don’t want to go.”
Colm’s expression softened, his dark eyes warm as the embers behind him. His fingers brushed your knuckles, tentative at first, as if afraid of frightening you. When you didn’t pull away, his hand covered yours, rough and warm.
“Then don’t,” he said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. His thumb stroked gently over the back of your hand, and his voice dropped lower. “Ain’t no one chasin’ you here. Ain’t no one can make you leave. You stay as long as you want, little dove. Long as you need. Longer still, if you’ll have it.”
The firelight danced in his eyes.
—-
You stayed through spring’s slow thaw, through the melt of snow that revealed damp earth and pale green shoots. You stayed as your leg grew stronger, though the ache never fully left you. You stayed through mornings filled with birdsong and evenings thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke. And Colm stayed beside you—steadfast, quiet, always watching over you like he’d promised.
But safety, you learned, was fleeting.
It happened on a warm afternoon, the kind where the air buzzed with life and the world seemed at peace. You were outside, hanging a length of linen to dry in the breeze, when you heard the voices. Shouts, carried on the wind. Familiar voices. Their voices.
Your blood ran cold. The linen slipped from your fingers. You turned, heart hammering, just as Colm strode from the trees.
“Inside,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Go on, dove. Now.”
You stumbled back toward the cabin, but your legs felt heavy, your mind spinning. You heard your father’s voice—hoarse from shouting your name. Your brother’s angry curses. The sound of boots crashing through the underbrush.
They had found you.
Colm stood between you and the treeline, his broad frame unmoving as the figures emerged from the woods. Your father and brothers, grim and wild-eyed from their search. They stopped short at the sight of him, this stranger, this wall of a man who’d stolen you from them. Their hands went to their weapons—knives, an old musket, a length of rope.
“Step aside,” your father barked. “She’s ours. Blood. You’ve no right.”
Colm didn’t move. His voice, when it came, was soft, dangerous. “She ain’t yours. Not no more.”
Your eldest brother lunged first. The world blurred. There was the crack of bone, the thud of a body hitting the earth. A gun fired, wide and wild. Colm was faster. Brutal, efficient. The fight was short, bloody. When it was done, the clearing was still, save for your ragged breathing and the rush of wind through the pines.
Colm stood over them, chest heaving, his hands red. His dark eyes found yours, searching your face, as if afraid of what he’d see there.
“I told you,” he said, voice raw, broken with emotion. “Ain’t no one gonna take you, dove. Not while I draw breath.”
You stared at him, your breath shallow, your heart racing so fast it hurt. The clearing was quiet now, death thick in the air. His words hung between you, heavy as the bodies at his feet. You should have felt horror. You did. But it was tangled with something else. Relief. Safety. The terrible, aching knowledge that there was no going back. No more running.
And Colm? Colm saw that in your eyes. Saw the way you trembled, the way you stepped closer instead of away. His bloodied hand reached out, slow and gentle, and when you didn’t flinch, he cupped your cheek. His thumb traced your skin, leaving a faint smear of red.
“Shhh,” he murmured, voice soft as falling ash. “You’re safe now, little dove. Safe with me.”
—-
From that day on, the forest felt different. Wilder. The trees seemed to close in, hiding the two of you from the world. And Colm… Colm changed, too. Not in how he treated you—never harsh, never cruel—but in the way his eyes followed you, in the way his touch lingered, in the quiet, fierce devotion that burned hotter than ever.
Nights grew longer, darker. The world beyond your small cabin ceased to exist. And Colm, though he never spoke the fear aloud, knew—knew—that safety could slip through his fingers as fast as it came. That if you ever left him, he’d be left with nothing.
So he made sure you wouldn’t.
It started so gently, so carefully, that you didn’t see it for what it was. Colm became more attentive than ever, watching you with those dark, steady eyes like you were the only thing that kept him breathing. He’d brush your hair from your face with hands still rough from the axe, tuck the blanket tighter around your shoulders at night, bring you the choicest cuts of meat from his traps, the sweetest berries from deep in the woods. He doted on you.
And when the nights grew colder again—when the first hints of autumn whispered through the trees—he drew you closer. His touch was warm, his words softer still, full of promises he never spoke before. “Forever,”he whispered against your skin. “Mine. Always mine.”
It was easy to give in. Easy to let yourself believe in the safety of his arms, in the shelter of his devotion. You were so tired. Tired of running, tired of fear. Tired of wondering when someone else might come, might try to take you away again.
Colm saw that. Saw the way you leaned into him more each day, saw the way your defenses crumbled as the weeks passed. So he was patient. So patient.
Until the night he stopped waiting.
You woke warm beneath the furs, the fire low in the hearth, the weight of him beside you. His hand on your waist, his breath hot against your neck. And when you stirred, when you murmured his name, he only held you closer, his voice rough and thick with need.
“Don’t be afraid, dove,” he whispered. “You’ll see. This is right. This is how it’s meant to be.”
And you let him. Because what else was there? The world beyond your little cabin was gone, swallowed up by the wild. There was only Colm, and the terrible, tender love that bound him to you.
It wasn’t long before the change came. The sickness in the mornings, the strange, aching tiredness that settled deep in your bones. The way Colm’s eyes lit when you confessed it to him, his hands trembling as he cradled your face, as if he’d caught the sun itself.
“There now,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “You’re mine, little dove. Truly mine. Nothin’ in this world can take you from me now.”
And as he held you, as his fingers traced the curve of your belly where new life had begun, you felt it—the trap, sprung tight around you. No chains, no ropes. Just him. Just love, and the weight of it, and no way left to run.
Masterlist
#yandere oc#oc x reader#x reader#yandere x reader#yandere#male yandere#yandere x you#male yandere x reader#yandere fanfiction#yandere imagines#yandere x female reader#female reader#x yn#yandere male
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Spread
Male!Zombie x Fem!Reader
Bunni’s Monstertober Event
Oct 9th
Oct 8th
Oct 10th
summary: you’ve barely been surviving with your childhood friend during the zombie apocalypse, so when he gets bitten you’re ready to die along with him. But instead of eating you, he fights the urge to spread his virus… and instead pins you down and spreads his seed.
warning: dubcon, breeding, very rough sex, pregnancy hinted at the end
Human beings are social creatures. Living alone for too long can drive one insane, so you would imagine losing the last person you loved during a zombie apocalypse can really break your spirit.
It had been a normal scavenging trip. Lately the zombies had become slower and rotted faster due to the summer heat, so it made moving through town without harm a lot easier.
It was unfortunate though, the zombies trapped indoors were in much better condition than those exposed to the elements. This wasn’t something you had planned for, and it cost your friend his life.
The two of you had been searching through a grocery store, one that had been surrounded by zombies before. Now, only a few skeletal bodies remained outside the doors.
You knew you probably wouldn’t find much, but you both hoped for at least a few canned goods and powder milk…
While searching the store, you were suddenly shoved, a sickening crunch heard behind you.
“Go, run!”
You watched as your friend held off a zombie, his arm being bitten…
“No…”
Tears welled up in your eyes, your mind filled with images of life without him. You wouldn’t make it, you’d surely lose your mind with loneliness and go insane!
He was able to fight the zombie off and bash its head in, panting from the stress. All that movement caused his blood to pump faster and the virus to spread before he could yell for you to run again.
His mind felt fuzzy, his heart slowing before stopping completely. His limbs kept moving without his control, and he was approaching you, shambling.
‘Why isn’t she moving?’
He was stuck inside of his body, unable to do anything as he pinned you down. Tears were running down your chubby cheeks, and he could barely make out what you were saying…
“I won’t leave you! I don’t want… to be all alone!”
Drool fell from his dry lips, his pupils dilated as he stared down at you. Was there nothing he could do?
Memories played through his head, everything moving slowly as if he was pushing through something gelatinous.
He could picture you in your school uniform, the two of you skipping class to hang out at the arcade. He watched as you sobbed into his chest after discovering your parents were dead, and how you weakly pushed him back when he tried to kiss you a week ago.
Although he was now undead, his entire being ached for you. Since you were kids, you had always been someone he cared for, adored to no end. You held his hand, smiled at him, made his days so much brighter.
Of course he would push you out of the way when a zombie threatened to take your life… to take you away from him.
He loved you… and that was just enough for him to hold himself back from sinking his jaws into your soft flesh.
A low growl escaped his lips as he buried his face into your throat. He needed to do something, the urge to spread the virus and infect you was pulsing through his veins…
It’s when you whimpered that he regained some control. His body no longer had control of itself, so the erection he’d been barely holding back every time he smelled your sweet scent was pressing into your crotch.
“Please… don’t go… I don’t wanna… lose you…”
You were crying, his sweet girl that tried your best to keep a smile on your face even at the toughest of times was crying.
And it made him almost… feral.
He snapped his jaws around the strap of your backpack, needing to bite down on something as he rubbed his bulge against you. He was humping you like a horny mutt, the veins in his face visible through his now pale skin.
“M…m…ine…” he growled, struggling to get the word out.
Hearing your soft whines and embarrassed moans made his chest rumble with some strange, satisfied purr, and his fingers were down your pants and in your panties, fumbling around with your pussy lips before sinking into cunt.
It wasn’t great, he could barely control the speed and way his fingers moved, but you were wet enough that he felt he fuck you without hurting the most precious person in his life.
Or well, death.
He ripped your pants off, not having the mobility to elegantly pull them down. Part of him felt bad, he knew you didn’t have many pairs now that the world ended, but this was a matter of life or death.
His cock was now large and swollen, a purplish tint to it. His engorged tip pressed against your tight hole, and he was unable to hold himself back from fucking into you.
For years he had fantasized about taking your virginity. In his head, he had imagined it would be somewhere romantic and he’d kiss your head, being as gentle as he could be.
But in reality he was rough, groaning as his hips jerked forward into yours. The pace was uneven, leaving you whimpering out and begging for him to be more gentle.
He wanted to be, god he wished this could feel as good to you as it did for him, but the virus was telling him to breed, to fill you up until you were close to bursting with his cum.
It lasted so long, too long. By the end you were a mess of tears and snot, your face flushed with embarrassment after orgasming so much.
But part of you was happy. Your friend seemed a bit more lucid after pumping you full of his hot and sticky load. His fingers awkwardly traced over your bulging, chubby belly, his head resting on your chest.
You didn’t go home alone that night… instead you still had your friend, and another member of the family along the way in your belly.
You’d do anything to keep him with you, after all… he did care for you, didn’t he? The two of you had been friends since you could remember… and if having to sit through a few hours of rough sex meant you could keep him by your side, then you’d do it.
Humans are social creatures after all.
If you want more, send me a Kofi! I really like this concept and would love to expand on it with my thoughts on how the relationship would progress :3
———————
NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat
#zombie smut#zombie x human#zombie x reader#zombie lover#monster fucker#monster lover#monster fudger#monster boyfriend#monster fic#chubby!reader#chubby reader#x reader#fem reader#monster fucking#monster oc#monster boy oc#monster bf#monster breeding#fat reader#plus size reader#terato#teraphilia#female reader#terat0philliac#exophelia#teratophillia#monster smut#monster imagine#monster x human
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Save a Horse, Ride a...
Joel Miller x f!reader 18+

Summary: You need to learn to ride a horse. Joel Miller is your grumpy instructor. Joel teaches you more than just the basics... One lesson you'll never forget.
Content Warning: Smut, MDI! Joel Miller basically talks you through it. No horses were harmed OR involved in the making of this. Vaginal Fingering. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praising, lots of it. Use of nickname, Cowgirl. Rough manhandling. Post outbreak.
Word Count: 5k
You were finally settling into Jackson. Earning your keep, proving yourself useful. Short patrols. Food runs. Assisting on the perimeter. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something.
But lately it hadn’t felt like enough. You could do more. Longer patrols, further routes, the kind of assignments that actually made a difference.
There was just one problem. In order to do that, you had to learn to ride a horse.
Which brought you here, grumbling under your breath as you headed for the stables to meet some guy named Jonathan who was supposed to show you the ropes.
What you weren’t expecting was him.
Joel Miller stood at the front end of the barn, leaning against the wooden fence with sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with dirt, and a glare like he’d rather be anywhere else. Your footsteps faltered.
At a community event, you tried to introduce yourself once. All polite smiles and an outstretched hand. He looked at you head to toe like you were nothing more than a bug under his boot, muttered something gruff and walked off.
The memory still made your jaw clench.
You didn’t mean to gasp, but you did. Just a little. You hoped he didn’t hear.
He did.
He looked up. Slowly. Dark eyes sharp, like he was weighing how much patience he had to spare today—and the answer was definitely none. “Somethin’ wrong?”
You shook your head, too fast. “No, I just—thought I was meeting Jonathan.”
His stormy eyes flicked up, pinning you in place like you were an inconvenience. “Yeah, well. Johnny dislocated his shoulder.” He said with a tone dry as dust. “Guess that makes me your lucky replacement.”
Nerves prickled beneath your skin. You shoved your hands into your back pockets, feigning nonchalance.
You swallowed hard, pulse doing way too much for this early in the morning. “Great,” you said, voice a little too chipper to be sincere. “Looking forward to it.”
He gave you a once-over, unimpressed. “Don’t get all excited at once.”
You could barely hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. So much for hoping he was just having a bad day when you met. Nope. This was just him. Rude, gruff, and annoyingly handsome.
But you didn’t survive all this time, due to your lack of persistence. So you try to make conversation.
“So… I didn't know you taught lessons.” You rocked back n’ forth on your heels.
“I don’t.” He pushed off the fence, walking past you without a glance. “Let's go.”
Well. That was short-lived.
You trailed behind him, glancing around at the empty stalls. Hooks lined the walls, holding faded ropes and well loved saddles. “Where are the horses?”
That's when he stopped and turned his head. Slowly. Like you’d just asked if horses came in blue.
“Horses?” His mouth twitched, just barely. “We’re not doing horses today.”
Your brows furrowed. “Then… What are we doing?”
He nodded towards the far end of the stables, where a beat-up wooden barrel sat with a brown leather saddle strapped to it. You blinked at it, then back at him.
“Really?”
“You’re gonna learn how to stay on before I waste a real animal's time.” His answer was flat, final.
You glared at him, “I wouldn’t be a waste of time.”
He raised a brow, not even trying to hide the way his gaze dragged over you, cool and assessing. “Then go on, Cowgirl. Let’s see what we're workin’ with.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already walking off towards the barrel, not bothering to check if you were following.
Clenching your fists, you rolled your eyes and muttered a curse. You trailed after him, boots crunching on the packed dirt and hay.
The air inside the barn was warm and smelled of leather and horses and something faintly masculine. Sun, sweat, and sawdust.
Golden rays spilled through the slats of the barn walls, bathing everything in a warm light, dust in the air catching it like glitter. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.
Until Joel slapped the top of the saddle with a sharp thwack. “Alright. Hop on.”
You scoffed, then shot him an exaggerated smile, “Are you always this charming, or just with me?”
"Only you." He leaned one arm on a post, that mouth twitching again, "Now stop stalling.”
“I'm not stalling,” You mumbled under your breath, clearly stalling. You eyed the saddle just now realizing how high the barrel sat. “You put this together?”
Joel crossed his arms, the material of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. “Been sittin’ like that for months.”
You squinted at it. “You realize horses are taller than this, right?”
He shrugged, lazy. “Then consider this a warm up.”
You stepped closer to the barrel with more confidence than you actually felt. “I’ve climbed fences taller than this.”
“Then this should be easy.” Joel tilted his head, just enough to unnerve you. His eyes taking you in from boots to brow, like he was waiting to see you fail.
It should have been easy. But when you reached for the saddle horn and tried to hoist yourself up, your boot slipped against some loose hay, and you stumbled back with a muttered curse.
Behind you, Joel didn’t laugh. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.
“Don’t” You warned, pointing a finger at him without looking back.
“Didn’t say a word, Cowgirl.”
“You were thinking it.”
That damn nickname again. It made your cheeks burn hotter than the sun outside.
It was discouraging to say the least. There was not much you couldn't do. So having a wooden barrel be your demise was frustrating.
You squared your shoulders, let out a sharp breath and tried again, this time determined to prove him wrong. This time you braced your foot against the barrel’s edge, gripping the saddle horn with both hands.
With a grunt that was more pride than grace, you hauled yourself up, swinging a leg over with questionable coordination.
The barrel wobbled beneath you as you stuck your landing. Sort of.
You exhaled through your nose, victorious. “See? Told you I could do it.” You looked over your shoulder at Joel.
Stepping away from the post, he gave you a slow look, annoyingly unreadable, “Well, let's hope any horse you ride doesn't mind someone climbin’ all over ‘em like that.”
Irritation flared up in your chest, “I'm up. That's all that matters.”
“Sure.” He stepped closer, boots crunching dirt and scattered hay. “Now let's see if you can stay up.”
And then, without warning, his hands were on you. One at the small of your back, the other nudging your shoulder blade with practiced pressure. You inhaled sharply, a gasp slipped out before you could stop it.
“Back straight.” His rough hands adjusted your posture, burning through your shirt like he’d branded you, “Good, just like that.”
His hands stayed exactly where they were, firm. Steady. Hot. You were too aware of every inch of contact, your heart thudding like it wanted to climb right into his palms.
“Shoulders back. Don’t slouch.”
You swallowed hard, feeling stubborn, “I wasn’t slouching.”
“You were.” He said simply, breath ghosting close to your ear. “But that's alright. We’ll break the habit.”
Your cheeks flushed, heat curling in your stomach. You tighten every muscle to keep your spine straight, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of correcting you again. But then he shoved, just enough to tilt your balance.
You gasped, grabbing the saddle horn to steady yourself.
Joel clicked his tongue. “Keep your balance, Cowgirl. If you fall, I ain’t catchin’ you.”
Then his hands moved to yours, guiding your grip on the reins. Rough hands against softer skin. Calloused, capable fingers curling around yours.
You shouldn’t have wondered how those hands might feel somewhere else. But you did.
“Now grab the pommel tighter–Jesus, not that tight.” He gritted out. “I feel bad for whatever poor fella your seein’.”
You loosened your grip, cheeks blushed from the insult. “No ones complained, yet.”
That made something flicker in his eyes. His gaze dropped to where your hands wrapped around the horn of the saddle. His next breath came slow. Measured. Like he was biting down on whatever response nearly escaped.
“Sit straighter.” He said at last, voice rougher now. “You’re leanin’ like you're about to fall asleep up there.”
You blinked, “Well maybe if–”
“Leg’s snug,” He cut in, voice rough, “Right now you’d bounce clean off the second that horse moved.”
Then you felt him behind you again. His breath tickled your neck just before his hands slid down, fingers settling at the tops of your thighs.“Keep ‘em like this–” He pulled your knees inward, guiding them against the barrel. “Yeah, just like that. Feel the pressure of the saddle?”
You nodded, barely breathing, feeling more than just the saddle. You felt him. Felt the way his voice, gravel thick with heat, settled beneath your skin.
“I asked you a question.” His tone was dark and impatient.
“Yes.” You nodded, throat dry, “I feel it.”
He adjusted your legs a little further, pressing them in just enough, thumbs brushing the inside of your knees, “Good, right there.”
You turned to face him. The height of the barrel leveled your gaze with his. Up close you could see it all. The silver dusting his beard, the rough lines of his face, and the tightness in his jaw. Like he was holding back more than just words.
Joel stepped in front of you now, closer than necessary. You tensed when his hands settled on your hips. His fingers pressed into the curve of your body, firm and unbothered by boundaries.
“You’re leanin’ too far forward.” He said, like it was a fact.
No warning. No gentleness. He pushed, not hard, but unyielding. His strong grip coaxed your torso into place. The rough handling, controlled and confident, sparked heat low in your belly.
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound.
“Atta girl,” he said, voice low and approving. “Right there. You feel that?”
“Yes,” You whispered, barely trusting yourself to speak. With Joel this close, there was nowhere to look but at him. You noticed the small things, like the soft dip at the center of his lip. Or the way his lower lip is just a little fuller.
“Good.” He murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Now stop starin’ at me like that.”
“I’m not.” You shot back, too quick, too breathy.
“Yeah?” He stared at you like he could read every thought you didn’t want to have. A smirk tugged at his lips, “Could’ve fooled me.”
Heat climbed up your neck like a guilty confession. “What’s next?” You asked, desperate for a subject that wasn’t him.
Then he stepped back, arms crossed like nothing happened. Like you weren't threatening to melt, from a single touch. He sized you up like a piece of wood. His eyebrows furrowed as he analyzed your form.
You stiffened under the scrutiny, spine already straight, legs tight around the barrel. His brow furrowed like something still wasn’t right.
Noticing his scowl you said, “Alright, Cowboy.” You tacked on the nickname with just enough venom to cover the nerves. “What's wrong with my form now?”
“You’re tense." He said, flatly, "That’s not gonna work for ridin’... or much else.”
You scoffed, trying to ignore the way ‘much else’ stuck to your chest like a splinter. “Of course I am.”
Slowly, Joel approached, like a predator closing in on its prey. His hands returned to your hips like they belonged there. There was nothing hesitant about the way he touched you. Those hands knew what they were doing.
Rough and confident, his calloused fingers dug into the softness of your sides, molding your body the way he wanted. Every touch seemed to have a purpose, but it also felt like he was pushing you further, into something much more than a simple lesson.
“Right here.” He guided your hips into the saddle, fingers burning through your denim. “Gotta move with the horse, not against it.”
Your body trembled slightly, as his palms pushed you into the seat, each press of his hands like a command, a reminder that he was in control.
“Kinda hard to move with the horse when this one doesn’t move at all.” Your breathless voice betrayed you.
“Wanna get thrown on your ass? ‘Cause if you can’t sit on a barrel, don't expect to survive a buckin’ saddle.”
The words come out, fast and sharp, before you can stop them. “Maybe I don’t mind getting thrown around a little.”
That made him stop. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
“Yeah?” His voice dropped dangerously, “You say that like you know what it means.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” You snapped.
He leaned in just enough, like he was whispering a secret. “I know you can’t stop starin’ at my mouth when I talk.”
A breath passed between you.
His voice was deliberate, like he had you all figured out. “Know you get all flustered when I so much as touch your back. Or adjust your hips."
“And I hear those sweet little sounds you make," he added, voice dipped in sin, "every time I get close.”
His eyes were dark… dangerous, like he was daring you to deny.
You returned his stare with defiance, even as heat stirred low in your belly, traitorous and slow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Joel.”
“I don’t have to,” he said, the smirk returning. “You’re doin’ a real good job of that yourself.”
“Maybe I am,” Your eyes flicked down to his hands still gripping your hips, a little too tightly for a man claiming innocence. His thumbs pressed in just enough to remind you they were still there. “But you’re the one still touching me.”
His thumbs dragged just a little higher, right at the curve where denim met skin. Instruction was long gone. This was something else.
Joel’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Do you want me to stop?”
You tilted your head, heard pounding against your ribcage, “I was just waiting to see what else you could teach me.”
With a low growl, he dragged you forward on the barrel just an inch, just enough to send heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched and you held back a whimper.
“You’re already breathin’ heavy–” His hands tightened on your hips, possessive. “–And I ain’t even touched you proper yet.”
He stepped closer, the air between you taut like a pulled thread. “Think you’re ready for this lesson?”
“I learn fast,” You breathed out, voice tight with anticipation.
His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then slow and wicked, a carnal smile curled into place, dangerous like a drawn weapon. He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your lips. If you moved even an inch, you’d taste him.
Without thinking, you tilted your chin to close the space, but he pulled back just enough, the barest retreat.
“So impatient,” He tsked, “A good rider learns control.”
“I'm not a good rider yet though, am I?”
“No, I guess you're not,” His voice was rough with unspent desire. “But we’ll fix that.”
“How?” The words came out so soft, they were barely audible.
Your hands tighten on the pommel like a lifeline, trembling with the effort not to close the distance yourself.
Then finally, he gave in.
With a growl, his lips came down on yours. Hot. Sharp. Like a punishment.
He dominated the kiss, with the same rough authority he used adjusting your posture. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was primal.
You whimpered, arching into him as he deepened it. You open your mouth for his tongue. He licks at your lips, before sliding it into his mouth to meet yours.
His hands gripped your hips again like they were his to guide. “There we go,” His voice growled low against your lips, wrecked and approving. “That’s it. Move with it.”
And you did. You couldn’t help it. You moved with him before you even realized, rolling your hips forward and backward with a slow grind. Your heart begins to beat between your thighs quickly becoming an incessant throbbing, that becomes more and more intense with every movement.
“Good girl.” He whispers against your lips.
The words, thick with praise, felt like heat, poured straight into your veins.
You shuddered, body rolling under his guidance, shamefully eager to please. Not because you wanted to get the saddle right anymore. No, it was because he was the one telling you how.
“Just like that.” His thumbs dug in, guiding another rough grind against the saddle. “Now we're gettin’ somewhere.”
The friction of your denim against the old saddle, sent waves of pleasure low in your belly. Your fingers tighten on the saddle horn, clinging on to something solid as everything else threatened to unravel.
Then his calloused hands left your hips, sliding up your waist, his thumbs barely brushing the underside of your breasts. Your hips struggled to keep moving in their absence. You were too focused on the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the feel of him.
He pulled back, lips swollen, “Did I say stop?” He snapped, “You keep going, till I say so. You understand?”
You nodded your head, frantic. But he wasn’t having that.
“Use your words, Cowgirl,” He warned. “Say it.”
“Yes,” You breathed out. “I understand.”
You don’t know what you craved more. The need for release or the praise you’d get for earning it.
Either way, you obeyed, riding harder, hips snapping forward. You were chasing the rhythm he carved into you. You let out a soft moan as friction met the saddle just right. A slow burn sparked low and deep.
“Knew you’d be a fast learner.” He growled, satisfied. "Look at you, movin’ just like I want.”
One palm slid up your spine, igniting every nerve on its path up. His fingers threaded into the back of your hair. He tugged your head back, firm and commanding, exposing your throat.
“You gonna take what I give you?” His grip tightened.
“Yes.” You cried out, the word somewhere between a plea and a promise.
Joel’s fingers pulled your hair.
The sharp edge of pain only made the pleasure coil tighter and deeper.
His mouth was hot on your neck now, velvety tongue painting your skin. His teeth scraped just enough to make your hips stutter, movements slowing.
“Keep going,” he demanded against your throat, showing you no sympathy.
You headed his command and ground your hips down. His other hand came up rough and demanding, gripping your jaw forcing you to face him. It was clear who was in control.
Your lips crashed together again, unforgiving. It was all raw hunger and heat.
Desperation spilled into the kiss, mess and unrestrained, like you both had been starving for years and just now found something worth sinking your teeth into.
He pulled your lower lip between his and gave it a little tug. He released your jaw, sliding his hand down your throat, fingers dragging possessively along your skin, claiming every inch.
Joel’s touch didn’t stop.
It drifted lower, over your collarbones, across the line of your chest, fingers grazing over the softest parts of you with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.
Your nipples ached, hard and sensitive, straining through the material of your shirt.
You arched your back. Chest brushing his, aching for more. The space between you felt unbearable, like your skin was screaming for contact. He could feel it. You knew he could feel it.
He chuckled low against your throat, the sound dark and indulgent. “That desperate, huh Cowgirl?”
There was no room left for shame.
Especially when his thumb grazed over your nipple and your whole body jolted like you’d been struck. He hadn’t even undressed you. Not a single piece of clothing had been removed… yet you were still unraveling for him.
You became a panting mess, as he thumbed and pinched your nipple, like you were his to toy with. Your thighs tightened around the saddle with every spark of pleasure.
“You want more?” he asked.
You should've said no. Should've reminded him this was supposed to be a riding lesson. Or that you were outside and anyone could walk by. But his thumb was still teasing circles over your nipple, and you couldn't focus on anything other than his hands.
"Yes," You breathed out.
Joel's eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the brown. “Then use your words.”
For someone who barely uttered a word to you before, he sure has a lot to say now.
“I want more,” It took great effort to speak. The throbbing between your legs was becoming painful. "I want you to touch me like you mean it."
A low sound left his throat, half-grow, half-moan. "You sure?" With tortuous speed, his palm slid down, hot and heavy, landing at the top of your jeans. His fingers slipped just barely under the denim. "'Cause once I start, I ain't gonna stop 'till your beggin'."
Your breath shuddered as your hips rocked slowly. "Then don't stop."
A sound of approval left his throat. Half-growl, half-moan. His mouth was on yours again. The kiss turned messy fast. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.
One of his hands slid down between your thighs, pressing against the seam of your jeans, right where the ache had started building. His palm ground slow and hard between your thighs.
You gasped into his mouth, grinding on his hand, hips moving like he showed you.
"That's it." He muttered. "All worked up and we barely started."
A needy whimper left your lips, from the friction. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache he’d built inside of you. You needed more. You needed him.
But Joel… Joel was in no rush.
His hand dragged up and teased the edge of your underwear, warm fingers curling at the edge.
He didn’t move lower. Not yet. He just watched you from under dark lashes, expression wild. Hungry.
“Joel.” You said his name like it hurt. Like just needing him was its own kind of agony.
“Shhh,” he hushed, almost tender. His fingers slipped past that threshold, dipping into your underwear, slow and steady like he had all the time in the goddamn world. “You’re okay. I got you.”
You were soaked, aching with want. Completely wrecked and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. The sound he made when he realized it was dark, filthy, and far too pleased. The rough noise of approval sent a wave of heat pulsing through your core.
“Christ. So fuckin’ wet.”
The pads of his fingers circled your clit. Soft at first, coaxing. You shuddered, every nerve sparked under his touch, hips twitching without permission.
You let go of the pommel and tried to muffle your desperate cries, but the hand in your hair was quick to grab your wrist.
“No.” He growled. “Let me hear how pretty you sound when you ride my fingers.”
A needy whimper was all you could muster in response.
As if rewarding you, his fingers sank into your slick heat. One, then two. You clenched around him, hips bucking at the sudden stretch. Your whole body bowed forward, forehead dropping to the saddle as a ragged moan slipped from your lips.
“Ngh–” You cried out pathetically, as his fingers thrust deep inside of you. His thumb found your clit with cruel precision, brushing in slow, maddening circles. The only thing you could do was helplessly ride his fingers closer to euphoria.
“Doin’ so good for me,” He grunted into your ear. His voice went straight to your core. The praise, the authority, the way he said it like it was a fact. "Such a good girl."
You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut, shamelessly rubbing against him.
“Let me hear you.” Joel’s teeth nipped at your earlobe.
“Joel.” You moaned, hips rolling with reckless need. “Feels so good–”
You were a sinful sight. Temptation itself, perched on that rusted saddle. Joel’s restraint was hanging by a thread, evident in the way his fingers bit into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself or lose it entirely.
Suddenly, you slumped forward with a gasp, hips stuttering to a halt. Overwhelmed by the way his fingers curled just right, nudging that spot deep inside of you it sent a shiver ripping through you, all the way down to your toes. The only thing keeping you upright was your white-knuckled grip on the horn.
“What, that's all you got, Cowgirl?”
Your body wasn't listening to you anymore. It only listened to him. Your body rocked fast now, chasing that edge with wild bucking desperation.
But as you got close, too close, your form faltered. Your thighs trembled. Ankles slipped against the rusted stirrups.
In response, he removed his fingers completely and he halted your movements. You cried as your body clenched on nothing, pleasure dwindling away. “Ah–uh uh.” His tone was firm, unrelenting, “Fix your form.”
Of course he still wanted you to have proper form, even like this. The bastard was going to drag it out of you, keep you right at the edge, just to make you learn.
You do your best to obey, but oh god, it's so difficult.
You whined, hips twitching, “It's too-” Your head fell forward, “feels too–too good–” You tried to move against his restraint, but his hands were unyielding in letting you chase any friction he didn’t warrant.
Not until you earned it.
“What was that?” He chuckled darkly. "Thought you learned fast."
"I-I can't." An exasperated sound came low from your throat.
"You can." His voice was low and coaxing. “Back straight, legs tight.”
The words struck something deep… Need, pride, maybe both. You wanted to give him what he asked for. To hear the way his voice dropped when you got it right.
With frustrated tears hot in your eyes, you forced your trembling thighs to steady, dragging strength from somewhere deep in your core.
Slowly, you realigned your spine, shoulders pulling back hips grinding into position exactly like he taught you.
“There she is.” He murmured, approval slipping into his tone, rich and hot. “Knew you had it in you.”
As if rewarding you, he slipped his two fingers back inside, thrusting in and out, stretching you wide. Your body moved right this time. Controlled and powerful.
There's a hitch in your breath when you shift forwards, your clit hitting his calloused thumb with every thrust. You cried as his fingers hit just right, again and again.
“Look at you, so pretty riding my fingers.” He let the praise land heavy, voice warm like the Wyoming sun.
Your head was thrown back, mouth parted in a silent moan, shamelessly riding his fingers. He watched you, full of hunger you know he is fighting.
“Oh god,” You whisper, lashes fluttering. His fingers are the finest torture you’ve ever experienced. Mercilessly working to get you higher and higher with every deliberate curl.
“You gonna come for me?” His fingers move furiously, forearm brushing against your breasts at this angle. It was all happening too fast.
“Yes. Yes, Joel–” A string of broken, desperate sounds spilled from your lips. Words lost. You were teetering right on the edge, trembling with it.
“Go ahead,” His words went directly to your core and your body headed his command before your mind could catch up.
Joels name left your lips, over and over, like a chant as your orgasm slammed into you, stealing every bit of oxygen from your lungs. Every inch of you shook as you unraveled. There was no way your form was holding. Not anymore.
“That’s it, squeezin’ my fingers so tight–” He cooed in your ear. “Fuck, look at you...”
Your body locked up for a beat and your vision blurred. You were helpless against the wave of pleasure he’d drawn from you with nothing but his touch.
But Joel doesn’t let up. He’s relentless. His fingers move faster, intensifying the feeling.
It's too much. Too overwhelming.Your chest heaved up and down in a frantic rhythm, lungs barely keeping pace with the fire burning through your body. You buck in the seat, trying to ease off his fingers.
“Just like that,” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, chest heaving as much as yours. “That's how you ride.”
Your body shook with aftershocks, thighs quivering. You were stunned, reeling at just how hard you came for him.
"Did so good for me."
You didn’t even realize it was his arm keeping you from collapsing entirely. Strong and steady, wrapped around your waist. Your fingers clutched at his forearm, nails digging into the sun-kissed skin, marking the moment.
Neither of you moved. The barn fell quiet, save for your uneven breaths mingling together. Birdsong drifted lazily through the dusty slats of the old barn. Nature's calm, a cruel contrast to the wildfire that just tore through you.
Every muscle in your body buzzed. Your legs were jelly, trembling and utterly useless.
The saddle suddenly felt miles too high. The thought of climbing down made your stomach dip. But you couldn’t sit atop the rusted saddle forever.
You released his arm to get off, and he went to help but you shook your head. Pride was a stubborn thing.
“I-I got it.” You muttered, trying to swing one leg over.
Joel didn't move, at first. Just watched with one eyebrow raised. Arms folded.
Balance wavered. Your legs felt like water, and your foot slipped.
And in the space between one breath and the next, his hands caught your waist.
“Easy now,” he murmured, “I got you.”
Before you could argue, he lifted you off the saddle, like you were nothing. Your boneless limbs curled instinctively towards him.
Your boots met the hay covered ground and you were hauled fully into him, one arm bracing behind your back. You gasped and planted your hands against his chest, realizing this was the first time you intentionally put your hands on him, the whole lesson.
“I said I got it.” You protested weakly.
“Can’t have my best student fallin’ off the horse.”
“I’m your only student.” You tried to scoff, but your voice was sleep-soft. “And it's a barrel.”
Meaning to push away, you shifted. But then you felt him. Hard and hot pressed up against your stomach through the rough denim of his jeans. Your breath hitched. He’d been holding himself back this whole time.
Instinct had your hand moving before you could stop it. But Joel caught your wrist in a tight burning grip.
“We'll save that for that next lesson."
You pulled your lip between your teeth. "You think I'm ready for the horse now?"
Joel's eyes raked down your body and his lips curled slow and dangerous. "I think your ready for a hell of a lot more than that, Cowgirl."
God help you. You could not wait for the next lesson.
#Pedro pascal#Joel Miller#TLOU#Joel Miller x reader#Joel Miller Smut#Pedro Pascal Smut#TLOU Smut#Joel Miller x female!reader#Blueberrykefir writes
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
little rabbit 𐙚 b.b
pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, primal play, chasing, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, oral sex (f rec), light degradation, loads of aftercare (please take care to read the warnings)
summary: you wanted to play prey and bucky was more than happy to hunt.
word count: 2.3k
author's note: hi loves! this fic reminds me of the foot pursuit challenge on tiktok, where partners get their significant other to chase and catch them and my gosh, i get why being chased (consensually) is a kink. based on this request | requests are open!
and suddenly my pants are gone
The forest swallowed you whole.
Dusk draped itself over the trees like a velvet veil, thick and breathless, shrouding everything in deepening shadow. Every snapped twig beneath your bare feet echoed loud in the quiet.
Still, you ran. Low branches clawed at your arms. Thorns kissed your legs. The thin fabric of your dress snagged and fluttered behind you, a ghost of surrender, but you didn’t stop.
You couldn’t. Not when you could feel him.
The weight of his presence stalked you from behind—unseen, but undeniable. The almost inaudible crunch of leaves. A shift in the air. That creeping prickle along your spine that told you that he’s close.
Bucky had given you a five-minute head start. It was a mercy. Time enough to let your pulse spike, to feel the adrenaline kick into your bloodstream. Not fear—never fear. This was anticipation, sharpened to a razor’s edge. Because you had asked for this. Planned it, begged for it. Every line, every rule, every dark little detail etched in the safety of shared trust.
He would chase. You would run.
And when he caught you… you were his.
You ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, stumbling over roots slick with moss. Your breath came in short, frantic bursts, chest heaving as sweat kissed your skin. The air felt electric, every sound amplified—every rustle, every breeze, every bird gone silent.
Then— A sound. Too heavy. Too close. Intentional.
You twisted mid-step, eyes wide, just in time to catch a blur of movement before something crashed into you, full force.
Not something. Someone.
You hit the ground hard, bark and soil tearing at your skin, the wind knocked from your lungs in a startled gasp. But even before you could react, you knew. His weight settled over you—solid, hot, commanding. Breath brushed your ear. A metal hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged it over your head, pinning it into the dirt. His other hand found your waist, gripping hard, keeping you still.
“Got you,” Bucky growled, his voice ragged and low, more breath than sound.
The sound of him went straight to your core.
You squirmed beneath him—reflex, instinct, desire. “You said five minutes,” you panted.
He leaned down, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw. “You had four.”
A breathless laugh escaped you, cut short the moment his hand slid up and curled around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to anchor you. Enough to make your breath catch.
His other hand traced down the torn side seam of your dress, slow, deliberate. Fingertips dragging fire across your skin. His touch was reverent and rough all at once, equal parts worship and promise.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Mouth open like you’re already fucked.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. He didn’t want you to.
Instead, he kissed you—if it could be called that. It was teeth and tongue and breathless desperation. His stubble burned your chin. His mouth stole the air from your lungs. It was a claiming, not a kiss. And when he pulled away, you were already dizzy.
“Get up,” he said roughly.
Your brows furrowed. “What—?”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t explain. Just hauled you to your feet and spun you around so your chest hit the nearest tree trunk with a thud. His hand flattened between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward, and you barely caught yourself before your knees gave out.
Then you felt him.
His cock, already hard, already leaking pressed hot and heavy against your ass through his pants. He rutted against you once, slow and deliberate, making sure you felt it. The power. The possession.
“You made me chase you,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You made me earn this. You think I’m just gonna take it easy on you now?”
His teeth scraped your neck, and your head dropped forward against the bark with a shudder.
“I’m gonna take my time,” he growled, fingers already hiking your dress up around your hips, exposing your thighs to the night air. “And you’re gonna take everything I give you.”
Your breath hitched as rough bark scraped against your chest, grounding you. The tree was unyielding, but so was he—pressed flush behind you like a furnace, all sharp heat and coiled restraint on the verge of snapping. You barely had time to catch up before his hands were on you—gripping, dragging, claiming. One curled possessively around your hip. The other fisted the neckline of your ruined dress.
And tore.
The sound of fabric splitting echoed in the dark like a gasp. Cold air kissed your bare skin, sending a shudder through you—part from the chill, mostly from the anticipation. The dress fell in tatters around your waist, exposing your breasts to the open night.
Bucky made a low, guttural sound behind you. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained and rough with hunger. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too busy shaking as he dropped to his knees behind you, slow and heavy, like a man worshiping at an altar. His metal fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them apart with forceful ease until you had no choice but to brace yourself against the tree.
Then—his mouth.
A single, filthy lick dragged up your center, and your whole body jolted like you’d been shocked. You cried out, loud and unfiltered, legs already trembling.
His breath hitched against you, rough and heavy, sending vibrations through your core that made your legs tremble.
And then he devoured you.
His tongue was relentless—sloppy, fast, desperate. Every stroke made your knees weaken, every flick against your clit sent stars dancing behind your eyes. He sucked, licked, teased, and when he pushed a metal finger into your dripping heat, you almost collapsed.
“Bucky—fuck, please—”
He didn’t stop. Just added a second finger, thrusting deep, curling up until your thighs started to quake. His other hand held your ass in place, keeping you pinned as you instinctively tried to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure.
“Too much,” you gasped. “I—I can’t—”
But he didn’t stop. Not until he chose to.
But when he finally pulled back, your whine of protest was almost pitiful.
He stood, chest rising fast. You could feel the tension rolling off him in waves—his breathing uneven, hands rough now as they grabbed your hips again.
His voice was a low snarl against your ear. “You think you get to come?”
Your whole body clenched, heat rushing to your core like you hadn’t just been on the edge of release.
“You ran,” he continued, biting down on your shoulder. “You teased me. And now you think you get to fall apart without permission?”
You whimpered. “Please…”
He grabbed your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “You begged for this. Remember?”
You nodded weakly.
“Said you wanted to be used.”
Then you felt it. The thick, hot weight of his cock nudging against your entrance—bare, leaking, ready.
“Then take it.”
He slammed into you with a single, brutal thrust.
Your scream tore through the woods, raw and involuntary. There was no gentleness. No easing in. Just the full length of him stretching you, filling you, splitting you open as your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered shut.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t let you adjust. Just snapped his hips into yours, over and over, fucking you hard enough to make your body jerk forward against the tree.
His grip bruised. His rhythm was punishing.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tight little cunt—jesus—meant for this.”
Every thrust forced a choked moan from your lips, your forehead scraping against the bark. His metal hand snaked around to grab your breast, pinching your nipple between cold fingers until you sobbed.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You—Bucky, you.”
His mouth found your neck, biting hard, and that was it. You shattered. The orgasm hit you like a freight train—violent, sharp, sudden. You cry out as you clenched around him, body going rigid, stars bursting behind your eyes.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept fucking you through it, deep and fast, chasing his own release. You were limp, barely holding yourself upright, when he finally slammed into you one last time with a grunt, his cock pulsing as he filled you. Warmth spread between your thighs, dripping down as your muscles twitched.
And then, for a long moment—silence.
Only his breathing. Only yours. The wind through the trees.
He stayed pressed to you, his chest against your back, forehead resting on your shoulder. When he finally moved, it wasn’t rough. It was careful.
He pulled out slowly as you whimpered. His hands smoothed over your waist, then wrapped around you, holding you upright.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, lips brushing your skin. You nodded, too dazed to speak.
“Still with me?” A hum was all you could manage.
He didn’t move at first. Just stayed close, breath still ragged against your neck, one hand on your waist like he was grounding himself with the feel of you.
The heat of him clung to your skin, everywhere, your chest, your thighs, the slick mess between your legs. Your pulse hadn’t steadied yet, and neither had his.
His forehead came to rest against your shoulder. “You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded, your voice slow and slurred. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”
He didn’t rush you. Just waited. His hands softened where they held you—no more grip, no pressure. Only presence. Only warmth.
“I didn’t go too far?” he asked after a pause, quieter now. Like he needed to hear it.
“No,” you said softly, eyes closed. “You didn’t.”
He let out a slow breath, tension finally slipping out of his frame. Behind you, he shifted carefully, pulling out with a gentleness that made your breath catch. The stretch still ached, your thighs trembling from exertion, and the cool night air wrapped around the places he’d left warm and ruined.
You pressed a hand to the tree, steadying yourself.
“Come here,” he said gently, and when he turned you around, you didn’t resist.
Your legs were unsteady, but he was solid. You let yourself fall into him, cheek to his chest, breath still shallow. He held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell beneath your face in a steady rhythm, anchoring you.
It was quiet for a moment. Then, without letting go, he said, “So… I take it that worked for you.”
A soft laugh escaped you, hoarse and tired. “That was insane.”
“You sure?” His tone was light, but you felt the nerves under it. “Didn’t think I was gonna find you that fast.”
“You nearly tackled me.”
“You said run,” he said, lips brushing the side of your head. “I took that personally.”
You smiled, breath catching slightly. “You were scarily good at that. Honestly.”
His fingers threaded gently through your hair, grounding you. “You weren’t exactly innocent either. All wide-eyed and breathless. The dress helped.”
You huffed a laugh. “Told you it’d rip.”
“And I said I wouldn’t tear it.” “You absolutely tore it.”
He grinned into your hair. “I’ll buy you another one.”
You nodded, letting silence settle again, warm between your bodies. Then, softer, he asked, “You really okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, and this time you met his eyes. “I liked it.”
His expression shifted—something softer in the lines of his face, something quieter. “Good,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Because I didn’t know how to stop once I had you.”
The confession hit low in your chest, but not in a bad way. It settled deep.
“I know,” you said.
For a while, you just stood there. Breathing. Letting the night move around you while everything inside you slowed.
Eventually, he shifted. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up.”
You blinked, then grimaced. “My legs feel like jelly.”
“I’ll carry you,” he offered, already crouching.
“You don’t have to—”
But he didn’t let you finish. Just swept you up without effort, arms secure beneath your legs and back. You looped your arms around his neck and let your head rest on his shoulder as he started the walk back through the woods.
The world was still and dark around you. The crunch of leaves beneath his boots was steady, the rhythm of it soothing. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, and his grip on you never wavered. It was careful. Thoughtful. Safe.
After a while, you brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw. “Thanks for doing this,” you murmured.
He glanced down at you. “For what? Nearly fucking you into a tree?”
You let out a tired exhale, half a laugh. “For making it feel real. And then making it feel safe again.”
His eyes softened, and he didn’t hesitate. “You never weren’t.”
You nodded, eyes closing. You knew that, but still, it meant something to hear it out loud.
The compund's lights came into view, glowing soft and golden through the trees. He shifted you slightly in his arms, settling your weight.
“I’ll run you a bath,” he said. “You want food?” You groaned. “God, yes.”
He smirked. “Didn’t know primal play gave you an appetite.”
“It’s the trauma,” you deadpanned, and he laughed, a real one, low and warm and full.
You smiled, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“Next time,” you murmured, voice already slipping toward sleep, “you better give me more than five minutes.”
He huffed. “You barely lasted four.” You smirked, eyes still closed. “Didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”
His hand moved in slow circles along your back. “Yeah? Because I’d do it again. However you want.”
You just nodded, the edge of sleep tugging at you now, soft and easy. “Just like that,” you whispered. “Don’t change a thing.”
He pressed a kiss to your hair, steady and certain. “Wasn’t planning to.”
a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! i love you all, and please stay safe out there!
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes smut#bucky smut#bucky barnes angst#bucky angst#bucky fanfic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes au#bucky x you#james bucky barnes#thunderbolts*#james buchanan barnes#bucky fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fluff#sebastian stan#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan fluff#sebastian stan angst#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan fanfiction#mcu#marvel au#marvel
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝕲𝖎𝖇𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕲𝖎𝖗𝖑
Summary: During the day, the Boston Quarantine Zone buzzed with life. People worked, slaving away under the military grip that kept order. But at night, deep in the underbelly of a crumbling hotel, was an entirely different ecosystem that thrived in the dark. One that was draped in lace and velvet, thick with smoke, sweat and secrets. And Joel Miller could always be found in the same room at the same time every night, though he never touched and he barely spoke. But he made sure that he was the only man you ever saw. || smut MDNI 18+ dark!joel x reader, QZ!Joel, reader is a sex worker (though there is only 1 scene with any semblance of 'work' with a customer that isn't joel), joel goes by 'hazel eyes', reader goes by the stage name 'kitty', dark themes, brothel, power imbalance, size difference, kind of innocent!reader, possessive!joel, jealous!joel, angst?, joel miller is a dangerous man, actually he's pretty scary too, touch her look at her and you die, pinv, grinding, lap dancing, fingering, f!recieving oral, some rough sex, missionary, stoic joel but he gets a filthy mouth when he's turned on, pet names, reader has no physical description but is starving from poverty, reader is afab, tension tension tension || a/n: where my dark joel girlies at? this is completely a self indulgent fic because all I want is joel miller to be obsessed w me inspired by ethel cain's gibson girl word count: 12k (got a bittttt carried away)
To the untrained eye, the Boston Quarantine Zone looked dead in the middle of the night.
Not quiet, but dead. The kind of darkness that pressed against your eyesight, the stillness of not a soul to be seen. Up in the dark windows of the buildings, curtains were pulled shut and lamps turned low. Burn piles still steamed into the late hours, the flickering buzz of lamplight the only relief from the night. There was no chatter, no footsteps, just the hum of rotting infrastructure as the last signs of life slipped from sight.
It wasn’t really empty, of course not. FEDRA trucks groaned past every five minutes like clockwork, their engines coughing and tires crunching on debris that littered the cracked pavement. Headlights broke through the darkness and swept across the concrete walls still stained with blood and protest graffiti that the painting crew had yet to cover. Soldiers sat in their trucks with their machine guns at the ready across their laps, eyes heavy from long shifts but nonetheless always watching.
Sometimes you wondered if they secretly hoped for someone to catch.
Most people knew better than to be out after curfew, that’s how you stayed breathing, after all. That was how you kept what little you had—your rations, your apartment, your teeth. You didn’t wander, didn’t make noise. You didn’t exist.
But underneath it all, in a velvet-walled hotel basement on the east side of the city, was an entirely different world. One that came alive at night.
It wasn’t exactly a secret. Even off-duty soldiers were easy to spot—feet kicked up, watching girls sway under low red lights, the walls draped in black and crimson fabric. The place still smelled like mold and musk, but there was something else too. Something smokey and warm. Almost inviting.
You remember the first time you were brought down there, and how it felt like stepping into another world.
You’d noticed the girl before, usually she was casually propped against a brick wall or street lamp, soldiers flirting with her and leaning into her as she smirked up at them. She was cleaner than most, her cheeks full, a softness to her stomach that only came from regular meals and hot water. Her raven hair caught the light in a way that made it gleam indigo in the sun. But you never saw her when the sun went down.
Until tonight.
Hiding in the darkness as she headed in the same direction as you, she moved with purpose. Her gait was graceful if not a little rushed to get out of sight. So, with all the courage and desperation you could muster, you matched her pace, asking her where she was from, where she got her nice clothes. She smirked at your questions, eyes raking over you, and tipped her chin to keep up.
She told you about how you could make good income if you were willing. Ration cards by the day, sometimes pills and booze. Even new clothes, if you earned them.
And so, desperate and dizzy, minutes before curfew when your options would shrink even further, you followed her.
You hadn’t expected the noise. It had been so long since you’d heard music like this, and it blasted from rusted speakers while men laughed and yelled and clapped as girls twirled on tiny stages or dropped into their laps. You watched black market currency being exchanged, a man flaunting a rolled cigarette for a girl to take from his fingers with her mouth, a few extra ration cards pushed into a black bralette, an unmarked bottle sliding across a table to another.
“Stay here,” the raven haired girl said, holding her finger up.
As soon as she left your side, you felt it. A presence, a pair of eyes on you.
Most of the men were too drunk or high to care, but someone was watching like a ghost in the shadows. You turned slowly, gaze scanning the dark corners of the room, but you saw nothing. Still, there was a prickle at the back of your neck that wouldn’t go away.
Then the girl returned with a man trailing behind her. Tall, lean, arms like coiled rope. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, not with that sandy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. But there was something sour under the surface. Something that made you tense.
You knew a rat when you saw one.
“This is Gage,” she said. “Gage, this is my new friend. Cute, right?”
His eyes dragged down your body, slow and assessing.
“Very cute,” he said. “Though it’s hard to tell under all that shit on her face.”
You grimaced, knowing you must’ve looked rough. You hadn’t bathed in days because you couldn’t afford the bathhouse, not even close. You probably stank. Probably looked like hell.
“She wants to work,” the girl added, smiling at you with something sly in her eyes.
“Does she now?” Gage purred, hands on his hips. “You ever been here before, doll? Know what we do?”
You had a pretty good idea, but you still shook your head as you looked up at him.
“You got a name?” he asked, amused at your wide eyes.
You told him, and the girl giggled. The man reached out to you, and you cowered slightly, realizing now what this was, “That won’t do,” he said, twirling a piece of hair between his fingers, “But we’ll think of somethin’ for ya. Somethin’ real cute.”
He jerked his head toward a hallway lined with curtains. “Come on. Let’s talk.”
And for whatever god awful reason that probably had everything to do with the hunger twisting your guts, you followed.
By the first week in the place, you were already in debt.
A long, scalding bath, clean clothes, makeup, a bed to sleep in had all come at a cost. You hadn’t even had a warm meal yet, and already you owed.
But it was better than where you came from, and so you stayed.
Trixie, you’d come to learn was the girl’s name, or, at least her given name, taught you the basics as she tailored you into the perfect succubus. She waxed and tweezed every inch of hair left on your body until you were raw and smooth like you hadn’t been in years. She said smooth sold better. So you let her. You let her show you how to apply eyeliner without shaking, how to paint on a smile that looked nearly real. She even shared a few bites of her lukewarm oatmeal when you were close to fainting.
Now, on your first working night, you stood in front of the chipped mirror in the communal girl’s waiting area, pink gloss shaking in your hand as you brought it to your lips. You didn’t recognize your reflection anymore, though you often tried to avoid it anyway. Everything about you had been softened, plucked, painted. Your sweatshirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a thin slip the color of wine.
Trixie appeared behind you, her fingers settling lightly on your shoulders. Her eyes met yours in the glass, dark and rimmed in smoky shadow. The corner of her lips lifted with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You have a customer.”
Your hand froze. “Already?” You hadn’t even gone out to line up for the potential suitors. You hadn’t been seen by anyone since you arrived a few days ago.
She nodded once, then leaned in closer, like she didn’t want the other girls to hear what she was about to say.
“I need you to listen to me.” Her voice had lost its usual lilt, the teasing edge flattened out as she spoke with her lips to your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind it. “You do not fuck around with this one. Don’t play dumb, don’t try to be cute. He doesn’t like games, and he definitely doesn’t like the whole bambi thing you’re giving me right now.”
Your stomach turned as you trembled, searching her darkening eyes in the mirror. “W-what does he like?”
Her gaze never left yours, “Quiet, obedience, and no talking. Not unless he speaks first.”
You swallowed hard. “How—? It’s my first day. How did he even know I’m here?”
Trixie’s voice dropped lower. “Gage says he saw you when I brought you in. Asked when you’d be ready.”
The ghost in the shadows. The eyes you felt, but never saw.
“Kitty!”
Gage’s voice cracked through the room, sudden and booming. Everyone flinched, heads turning. His eyes were locked on you.
Right. The new name.
You stood, hands clammy as you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress.
Trixie reached out, her thumb swiping gently at the corner of your mouth where your gloss had smudged.
“Be a good girl,” she said, soft and sweet, like this wasn’t your initiation by fire.
The light was dim out in the hallway, humming overhead with a sickly yellow buzz. You followed the narrow corridor past drawn curtains and closed doors, the floor sticky in places, soft in others. You wished you could afford some shoes after they took your crappy canvas sneakers. Another thing to be earned.
Your eyes stayed locked on the planes of Gage’s back as he led you further in, stopping outside a door near the end of the hall. He knocked twice, then opened it. He didn’t step inside, didn’t speak, only gave a nod for you to go in.
The air in the room was warmer than the hallway. Still and thick with a mix of smoke and something sweeter like candle wax, maybe cologne. A few small candles burned low on the tables around the couch, casting flickering yellow light across the room just enough to see.
You stopped in the doorway, breath catching.
A man sat at the center of the room like it was built around him. Like it was waiting for him to fill it. Legs spread, boots planted wide on the rug. One arm rested along the back of the loveseat, fingers curling slightly over the worn wood, the other loose beside his thigh. He didn’t move when you entered. Didn’t shift or adjust. He took up the space without question.
His shirt was black, the fabric thinned and faded, stretched slightly over the broad cut of his chest. It hugged the curve of muscle beneath his arms, which were thick and heavy with the kind of strength that didn’t come from anything but hard manual labor.
He was equally terrifying and beautiful all at once.
As you stepped inside, you traced him in pieces. The width of his shoulders, the slope of his neck. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You weren’t sure why you were doing it. Maybe to delay the moment when his attention reached you. Maybe to understand the shape of something that could so easily break you in half.
His face was hewn from earth and fire, no softness or youth left in him. Features strong and severe, cut from time and consequence. A thick beard framed his jaw, dark with streaks of gray that caught in the candlelight. And a scar, jagged across the bridge of his nose only made him more striking. The sudden thought of running the tip of your finger across it flitted in your mind. Of asking him where he got it. If the other guy got to walk away.
Quiet. Obedient. Don’t speak unless spoken to.
So you gathered the courage to look at his eyes instead.
They were already on you. You hadn’t even noticed when they landed. Deep and shadowed, colored with something in between green and gold and something even darker. They moved slowly across you. He didn’t leer or oggle. They were empty, void of emotion or feeling.
And still, he said nothing.
So you stood there. Letting him look. Letting him see.
You tried to hold his gaze while your stomach coiled tighter, while your knees threatened to buckle. You drank him in like he was the only thing left in the room. And as his eyes met yours, steady and unblinking, you got the feeling he was doing the same.
“Close the door.”
Even his voice was low and controlled, vibrating in his throat like gravel and honey. You obeyed without hesitation, grateful for the excuse to break his gaze. Turning slowly, your shaking fingers found the knob, pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click.
When you turned back, you didn’t meet his eyes. Your hands fidgeted at the hem of your dress, nerves coiling through your stomach until you thought you might be sick.
“Sit.”
You blinked, glancing up at him. He gave a slight tilt of his head, and only then did you notice the chair across the room—plain, wooden, placed just far enough from him to maybe let you breathe. You hadn’t noticed it before. You hadn’t seen anything but him.
Slowly, knees wobbling, you took a seat, crossing your ankles in the demure fashion Trixie taught you, fingers intertwined with each other in your lap.
You sat like that for a while. So long, in fact, you had to uncross and recross your legs multiple times, pins and needles vibrating through your muscles each time from lack of use. He stayed in his seated position, eyes on you, arm still hooked behind the back of the loveseat, never saying another word.
It was odd. You were warned about him, about this brutish, intimidating man, and yet… he did nothing. You knew what this job was—the physical aspects of it. And you’re certain he knew as well, since everyone seemed to know who he was, what he was capable of.
An hour later, three short knocks rapped on the door. You had been taught different knocks meant different things, and this one, short and quick, meant you needed to wrap up, that the buyer only had a few more minutes left with their purchase.
That was the first time he moved. He leaned forward, arm sliding down to reach for his pocket, eyes finally leaving your figure. You watched him closely, barely breathing. There was a grace to it, an ease that didn’t match his size. Like a predator stretching after a long rest.
He pulled out a few ration cards, and stood. His boots crossed the floor in slow, solid steps towards you, and your back locked straight against the groaning wood of the chair. He stopped in front of you and held the cards out.
“I–” your throat cracked with lack of use, and you gently cleared it. Don’t speak unless spoken to. But he hadn’t spoken to you.
“I’m not supposed to take p-payment.” you managed to say quietly, head ducking.
“I’d rather not give that prick anything I don’t have to.” he ground out, and you looked up at him then, at the clear disdain for the man who clothed you and put you to work, and his eyes were burning into you as he added, “Take it.”
“I didn’t…do anything.”
He still held out his hand with the cards.
After a beat, you gave in and reached for the cards, careful, trying not to touch him. But your fingertips just barely brushed his, and you flinched like you’d been burned.
If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he was just used to it.
You sat frozen, heart hammering, heat crawling up your neck. Your legs pressed together beneath your dress, muscles tight with something you weren’t sure how to explain. Embarrassment. Tension. Fear, probably.
When you looked up at him again, his eyes were as unreadable as ever.
And without another word, he walked toward the door.
But the next morning, you had your first warm meal in weeks.
The next night, Gage came for you again.
He didn’t say who was waiting. Just jerked his chin like before and started walking, expecting you to fall into step. You did.
The corridor hadn’t changed. Same buzzing yellow lights overhead, same warped floor beneath your bare feet. The walls felt closer than they had the night before. Closer, or maybe just quieter. No voices behind the curtains. No music bleeding from the lounge. Just that thick, stale air.
When you reached the door, Gage opened it and gestured you inside. He didn’t follow. And this time, he shut the door behind you.
You turned, and froze.
He was already watching from the same position on the couch. His legs were spread, the faded denim stretched along his broad lap, posture relaxed as his arms bracketed the couch behind him. His gaze was steady on yours, though just as unreadable as ever.
“You again.” you said before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t sharp or even shy, just curious. You could almost swear there was a twitch of his lips. Nearly a smile.
You didn’t wait to be told. You crossed the room, the creak of the floorboards the only sound beneath the moth eaten rug, and sat in the wooden chair facing him. You kept your knees close together, hands folded tight in your lap.
“I was told not to speak to you,” you said, keeping your voice steady. Testing the line again, just to see if it would hold. You wondered how far you could push, how much you could get him to say. Since, after all, if this was going to be the same as last time, you’d be sitting in an hour’s worth of silence.
He didn’t look away. “That so?”
You nodded once.
His hand lifted to his face, slow and deliberate, scratching at his beard. The sound was rough, a scrape in the silence.
“Probably for the best,” he said. He was so hard to read. You couldn’t tell if it was amusement or dismissal, but clearly an end to the conversation. You pressed your lips together and didn’t say anything else.
So, you sat there while he watched you. Your skin burned with the feeling of his eyes on you, though they weren’t necessarily invasive. He seemed to be taking inventory, a slow assessment of the woman in front of him. The way one might watch a trapped animal so it would stay calm instead of bolting at the first sign of movement.
You didn’t speak for the rest of the time together.
But when he got up to leave at the sound of the three knocks, he walked across the room to you once again, and offered you more ration cards.
“Get some damn shoes.”
For the next week, he became part of your daily life.
The hazel-eyed man would come and sit with you. No touching or requests. Just silence stretched over an hour while his eyes stayed steady on you.
You learned to use the time as best you could. Some days, you let your mind drift, finding stillness in the quiet. Other times, you watched him in return—studied the slope of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the way his hand always curled slightly when it rested on his thigh. When your eyes needed a break, you counted the amount of sun baked flies in the tiny window, the uneven cracks in the wall. Anything to keep from unraveling beneath the weight of his gaze.
At the end of every visit, without fail, he would stand, walk over, and hand you a small stack of ration cards.
And you would eat.
Every day now. Real food. Enough to soften your stomach, enough to put color back in your cheeks. The blush Trixie used to paint on was barely necessary anymore. Some of that was from the food. Some of it was from something else entirely.
Sometimes you caught yourself flushing before you even entered the room.
Because somewhere along the way, you started thinking about him in the hours outside of your time together.
Not obsessively. Just… quietly. The way you might recall a scent or a line of music. A flicker. A shadow. He’d become part of the rhythm of your days, and you didn’t know what that meant. At least, not in a place like this, doing a job like yours.
But you didn’t worry about other clients anymore. Gage hadn’t sent you to anyone else. Maybe because this man paid every day, maybe because he never asked for someone else.
Still, for all the time you spent together, he hardly spoke.
You’d managed to learn that he was from Texas. That he had a brother. But that was it. Two facts about him. Not even a name, no stories he was willing to tell. Nothing you could hold onto. He was a sealed vault, and you hadn’t even touched the lock.
“I’m putting you out in the lounge tonight,” Gage said, barely glancing at you as he counted the ration cards from your last session with your new regular. You always went straight to him after, paying down your debt of the room and board, of your clothes and makeup used each night. There was always something hanging over your head.
“In… the lounge?” you echoed, eyes widening, heart sinking as you stood in his office that night. The lounge was where women danced in scantily clad lingerie, music blaring and contraband was traded. You’d seen it the first night you were here, but never ventured out on the nights since. It felt…nerve wracking. So many eyes, so many wandering hands and snake-like smiles.
Gage gave a quick glance up, just long enough to show his annoyance before settling back into the creaking chair behind his desk.
“Yes, the lounge,” he said, bored. “You’ll need something new to wear.”
Then his eyes lifted again—this time slower, meaner. He held up the stack of ration cards between two fingers and smiled, all teeth.
“Guess that means I’ll keep these.”
He chuckled at your silence.
“Whatever tips you make tonight, those are yours. If you can manage to catch any of those creeps’ attention.”
You nodded. What else could you do?
He waved you off like a nuisance, and you left, swallowing against the lump in your throat, blinking hard to keep the tears from coming. That money had been your first real hope of paying anything down. Now it was gone.
More currency lost. Which meant the longer you had to stay here.
This place was a pit you were never crawling out of. But it was still a bed. Still a place to bathe. Now that you were eating regularly thanks to Hazel Eyes, it didn’t always feel so bad. Especially since you hadn’t needed to use what god gave you to make the money.
That night, Trixie came to your room with a bundle of black fabric draped over her arm.
“Suit up,” she said, tossing it to you.
You unfolded it, blinking. Your fingers ran over lace, sheer flowery mesh, and thin straps that tangled like spiderwebs.
“I-I’m supposed to wear this?” you stammered.
“It’s lingerie,” Trixie said with a sigh, already annoyed. “You’ve seen the other girls. Don’t shoot the messenger. Gage said you’re in the lounge tonight, so I brought you something to wear.”
Your skin prickled at the thought of putting it on. Of walking out there with nothing to hide behind. Dancing in the least amount of fabric you’d ever seen. Being seen.
Trixie rolled her eyes, grabbed you by the shoulders, and turned you toward the folding divider in the corner of your room. “Change. Now. We still have to fix your face.”
You ducked behind the divider, fumbling with the fabric, trying to figure out where each strap belonged and how to stretch it over your skin. Your hands shook as you hooked it around your waist, tugged it high over your hips. It barely covered anything, every inch of you feeling exposed.
“What’s wrong with my face?” you called out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.
“Nothing,” Trixie snapped. “But hurry the fuck up. Since when did you get an attitude?”
“Since when are you so stressed?” you muttered more to yourself.
When you finally stepped out, she let out a low whistle.
“Oh hell yes.” she said with a smile.
You tried to return it, but it was more of a grimace. Your stomach twisted as her gaze swept over you, and instinctively your arms came up to cover yourself. She pulled you in front of the large cracked and dusty mirror, smiling over your shoulder as you looked at the reflection.
You were downright sinful.
The black bodysuit clung to you like it had been sewn in place. Lace traced every inch of the bodice, delicate patterns sweeping across your ribs and dipping down the center of your chest. It tapered high at the hips, the fabric thinning until it disappeared between your legs. Thin straps hugged your waist, another set wrapping around your hips like they were the only things keeping the sheer fabric attached to your skin. (inspo)
But Trixie’s smile faltered. Her brows pinched.
“What?” you asked quickly, covering your chest with both hands. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her hands dropped to her hips as she studied you.
“Haven’t you had the same customer these past few days? The one I warned you about?”
You nodded, turning around. “Y-yes.”
“It’s just…” She tilted her head, lips pursing.
Your heart thudded. Had you done something wrong? Was there a mark on your skin? Something that gave you away?
She shook her head. “Let me just say—every other girl I’ve seen come out of a room with him? They never walk out without bruises.”
Your eyes flicked down your own body. No black and blue hues, no soreness. Nothing but nervous sweat and hollow hunger.
“Bruises?” you asked.
Trixie raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “On their hips, their waists. Their legs and arms. I’m sure in more in places that I don’t want to see.”
Your stomach turned.
She leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You know. From him.”
But you didn’t. Your face must’ve said as much.
“He’s not exactly gentle,” she added, blunt now. “Well… at least not with the others.”
You didn’t know how to respond.
Because you hadn’t told a soul. Not a single person in this place knew that he’d never laid a hand on you. That he barely spoke. That every time you stepped into that room, he looked at you for a while… and then handed you cards when it was time to leave.
You didn’t understand it. And you weren’t sure you wanted to. Because it’s not like it was a bad deal. You didn’t have to trade your dignity for the payment, and he wasn’t terrible company, although he was mostly silent. But still, there was something in the back of your mind that wriggled, that taunted you, that begged the question.
Why hadn’t he wanted you like he wanted them?
Trixie squinted, like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was running a tally in her head you couldn’t see.
But you just stood there in your little black nothing, skin flushed, heart pounding.
“Oh,” you finally said, voice quiet.
That was all there was to say.
You’d forgotten how loud the music was in the lounge. It throbbed through the floor and up your legs, filling your chest and head with a hazy, heavy rhythm. Red light drenched everything—the stage, the couches, your own skin. It pooled in corners and spilled across the leather, catching in the smoke that hung like a veil over the room. Everything smelled like sweat and perfume, sticky-sweet and cloying, with something sharper underneath.
You were pulled onto one of the smaller stages by a girl whose name you couldn’t remember. Some kind of gem. Ruby? Diamond? Probably Ruby. She always wore that firetruck red lipstick that smelled like cherry wax.
She pressed against you, laughing into your ear, her hips rolling as she ground herself into your lap. You held onto the cold metal pole behind you, using it more for balance than performance. The heat of her body against yours, the rhythm of the music, the way your knees brushed together, all blurred together in the dim light.
You weren’t sure if you were supposed to enjoy it or just make it look like you did. She was so good at pretending, her smile never slipped, and her eyes glinted in the dim lighting with a look that said you were doing fine. You weren’t, but she let you have it, and you appreciated the lie.
Ruby flipped her hair over one shoulder, hands skimming your waist. But then her attention snagged on something behind you. Her eyes lit up, lips parting in a sly grin.
You followed her gaze just in time to see a man leaning against one of the couches, waving a hand in the air, fingers pinched with a freshly rolled cigarette, mouth grinning like he already knew she’d come.
“Kitty,” she purred, breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll be right back. Keep dancing.”
She didn’t wait for your answer. She slipped off the stage, hips swaying as she sauntered over to him, arms already lifting to drape around his neck as she threw her leg over his lap. He welcomed her with a hand at her waist and a toothy grin.
And just like that, you were alone.
The red spotlight shifted slightly, catching on your skin, suddenly feeling like a heat lamp above you, all exposed and alone. You adjusted your grip on the pole and swallowed thickly. You didn’t know where to look. The stage felt too high. The eyes in the crowd felt too sharp.
You started to slide toward the edge, ready to duck off the platform and disappear into the hallway. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe you could vanish before someone else pulled you back up.
But then you saw him.
He was a shape at first—broad, still, shadowed. But then your eyes adjusted, and the shape became a man. Him. Sitting low in one of the booths, half-lit by the glow from the bar, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Watching.
He wasn’t relaxed. Not like he was behind closed doors with you, in that worn-out loveseat that creaked under his weight. No. He looked different here. Bigger, hardened, his mouth in a flat line and his jaw was tight.
And he did not look pleased.
Heat crawled up your throat, settling in your cheeks as you began to cross the room, hips dipping gently with each step. Your new shoes caught the light overhead, glittering with every movement. The lounge pulsed around you, smoke in the air, bass in your chest, but your focus tunneled on him, on the weight of his gaze and the line of his mouth.
Every step felt so loud. So heavy. You didn’t know what this was, what you were walking into, but at least he was familiar, and right now, that felt like enough.
When you finally stopped in front of him, his gaze never left you, and you said, voice shy and quiet, “Hi.”
He leaned back, slow and steady, pressing his hands into the velvet cushion on either side of him. His knees spread slightly, posture settling into something wider. Bigger. And still, he said nothing.
Maybe this was a mistake.
You cleared your throat, fingers fidgeting with the dainty lace edge at your hips. His gaze flicked away for just a moment—scanning the room, taking in the space around him like he was cataloguing exits. Then his eyes came back to you, sharper than anything before.
“Sit.”
You hesitated. Because, truthfully, there were two ways you could go about this. Since there was no familiar wooden chair for you to place yourself, to cross your legs and wait for your timer to go off. No, you had the couch beside him…or his lap.
The smoke in the air curled in your lungs, the lights felt too warm, and a strange heat swam just under your skin. You weren’t sure if it was courage or just a lack of sense.
You knew him. Well enough. And it was time to push boundaries and see if it got you killed.
So, you climbed on top of him. Your legs bracketed his denim clad thighs, just hovering, poised just above his lap, waiting for a reaction.
But one never came. If anything, you saw the muscle of his jaw tick, but other than that, he stayed locked on you, not giving anything away. So you hovered there for a moment, uncertain.
You wanted something. So you let your hands slide up his shoulders, fingertips brushing the coarse fabric of his shirt. He was so warm, so broad and strong, and your fingers felt so dainty against the black of his shirt. You started to move, slowly rolling your hips in a soft rhythm against his lap. Testing the waters. Testing him.
His expression didn’t change. But his eyes stayed on yours, sharp and heavy, drinking in every breath you took.
"You’re mad at me." you stated, though you meant it more as a question, a tether. Your voice was barely audible above the music and you leaned in a little closer, pretending not to notice the way your heart kicked in your chest.
Still, no answer. Just that stare.
You swallowed and let your hands trail down his arms, forcing your voice to stay light even as your mouth went dry, continuing to dance on him.
“I’m not afraid of you, you know.”
A lie.
And you both knew it.
Slowly, his wide, warm hands found your hips.
The contact was light at first, barely there. But the moment he touched you, your breath hitched.
It was like every nerve in your body lit up at once.
Broad fingertips pressed into the bare skin of your hips, rough and warm and impossibly steady. It wasn’t a grab or anything forced like a warning. It was a claim. Quiet, controlled, and unmistakable.
You felt the heat of it crawl up your spine.
And your body—stupid, traitorous thing—moved into it. You shifted closer, just a fraction, your thighs tightening where they straddled him. Your hands slid onto his chest without thinking, palms flat, searching for something to hold onto.
Every other girl that comes out of that room never walks out without bruises.
And suddenly, the green eyed monster that lived dormant in your body roared to life.
You wanted them. You wanted to feel what it was like to have his fingers digging into your flesh, taking you, making it clear who you’d been with, keeping you there for hours instead of just staring and never saying anything.
You felt his thumb brush against the skin of your exposed ribs, thick and calloused, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
He leaned up a little, lips at the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle like it had been licked by flame. You didn’t dare move.
“Seventeen.”
His voice was low, nearly drowned out by the bass, but the words sliced clean through the noise. You froze.
He didn’t shift or raise his voice, just spoke like he was telling you about the weather, like the number didn’t matter. But his hand flexed once on your hip tighter.
“I counted seventeen men who looked at you like they’d already paid for a turn.”
He paused, letting it sink in, making all the blood in your body roar in your ears.
“I’ve been sittin’ here,” he went on, his mouth near your ear, so close the heat of it crawled down your neck, “wonderin’ how many of ‘em I could blind with my bare hands before anyone got the nerve to stop me.”
His breath ghosted over your cheek, warm against your skin, sinking into your hair, trailing down the curve of your throat.
“Would you be scared then, darlin’?”
Your throat went dry, your tongue sitting heavy behind your teeth as something kicked heavy in your chest, close to panic but you kept still above him.
Your mind felt like it was pulled by the jaws of two creatures. One was the lamb– the instinctual, fearful part of you that whispered to run, to scramble off of him and race back to your room, bolting the door locked and staying there, never to see or speak to him again. The lamb that cowered like a scared little cat. Like a Kitty.
But then, there was the panther. The thing with yellow eyes and gleaming teeth, the darkness you’d never quite understood but always felt. The one who curled its tail around your desire and need. The one who dreamed of him, hands between her legs, waking slick and aching in the dark.
You felt his hands move on you then, not restraining or trapping, but actually loosening. Like he was offering you a window out, letting that stray cat out who cowered and ran out into the street where she belonged. You could’ve moved, could’ve bolted like your instinct told you to.
But you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve.
Instead, you leaned forward an inch, your breath caught between your ribs as your heart constricted on itself. Every part of you was too warm, too aware of how close he was. He felt larger than life beneath you, your thighs aching with tension, a thrum in your legs that had turned molten.
You rocked your hips against him. This time, slower, firmer. No longer that teasing hover from before.
Your voice was a thread when it came. “No.”
Maybe a lie, maybe a partial truth. You knew, for a fact, as if it was clear all along, that he’d never hurt you. No matter how many girls he’d bruised or bent in half, you were different. He coveted you, protected you, watched you.
He didn’t break the silence again for a while, and so you moved again, letting your hips sway over him, lowering into his lap further and further until you could feel him beneath you, hot solid and growing. Something you’d imagined so many nights, chasing the ghost of it with your own fingers. And now, it was real. Now, your skin was burning, your breath turning shallow. That pulse between your legs grew meaner with every second of silence, every beat of his eyes locked on you, every time your body tried to interpret the weight of his attention.
When you finally dared to glance up again, his eyes were already on you. Nearly blown black with his widening pupils, drinking you in. And there was something else. Something that crinkled at the corners of his eyes, that glinted in the light.
A smile.
Crooked and proud, he grinned up at you and his fingers suddenly tightened where they laid against your hot skin, so broad and warm and rough to the touch. His half lidded eyes were sparkling with something like pride. Like satisfaction. Or maybe it was just the pleasure of watching you shivering above him.
His touch stayed steady on you, though it didn’t guide or move you. Just held you there while you moved on your own, swaying in his lap, brushing soft lace against rough cotton. Your nipples stiffened from the friction, every pass of fabric sending heat crawling across your chest.
“Go on then, pretty girl.” he murmured, “Show me you ain’t scared.”
You’d been thinking about him all day.
The weight of his hands on your hips. The quiet threat in his voice. The way his mouth had tugged into that barely-there smile, like he was just starting to enjoy watching you come undone.
It had been days since you’d seen him, but your body still remembered the heat of his touch. The pressure, and every inch of skin still hummed with the ghost of him. You’d been dreaming of him just last night; waking up with your thighs pressed together, breath shallow, shame curling low in your stomach. Not because of what you’d done, but because of what you wanted next.
You hadn’t seen him since. He’d tipped you enough to cover your room for days without working. That should’ve been a gift.
But instead, you missed him.
And tonight, you had a feeling. A curl of something low in your stomach told you it would be him again. That maybe this time, he’d say more. Maybe he’d touch you again. Maybe he’d let you touch him back. Maybe—stupidly, hopelessly—you’d learn his name.
You pictured the way it would happen.
He’d already be there when you walked in, sitting back in that same seat, legs spread, arms loose, watching you like he always did: like no one else in the world existed. You’d climb into his lap again, more confident this time, ready to feel him shift beneath you, ready to let things go just a little further. His hands would find you without hesitation. Maybe he’d speak to you, really speak to you. Let you hear more than one line at a time. Let you know something real.
And if he smiled again, that crooked one he had shown you in the lounge, you were pretty sure you’d come apart without him even having to try.
So when Gage leaned through the door to the girl’s communal area and called your name, voice sharp and flat, your pulse kicked up.
“Kitty, let's go.”
You stood too quickly and smoothed your hands over your maroon slip dress. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath came in short gasps, already walking toward the hallway, already picturing him on the other side of that door.
You opened it with your heart halfway in your throat.
But it wasn’t him.
It wasn’t Hazel Eyes.
It was a stranger.
Thin, wiry, and twitchy-looking, like he couldn’t sit still for long. His shirt clung to him from sweat, not size, and his fingers rubbed obsessively over his thighs like he was trying to wear holes into them. He grinned when he saw you—a crooked, eager smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.
Your stomach twisted.
He sat in the same place he always had, lounging back like he thought the pose gave him power. But there was nothing intimidating or steady about him, nothing nearly as controlled. His eyes darted all over you as you stood in the doorway, to your neck, your chest, your bare legs. His pupils widened as they moved quickly over you, so eager that you felt stripped bare before you’d even taken a step. He wasn’t much older than you, but he still was like a nasty stray dog with a piece of juicy steak held in front of his nose.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, patting the spot beside him on the velvet couch. His voice had that high, weaselly edge, “Come sit.”
You blinked, frozen. Your hand was still on the doorknob, and for a second, the thought of shutting it again flashed through your mind.
But instead, you stepped inside.
You walked like you were sinking through water, slow and stiff, every step a betrayal of what you'd hoped for. Gage hadn’t said who was waiting, but you hadn’t needed him to. You’d assumed. You’d hoped.
How stupid.
How foolish of you to think this job would ever be anything but what it was. You weren’t special. You weren’t different.
What were you expecting? That the man with hazel eyes would be waiting for you every night like it meant something? That your bravery and the slow, desperate grinding had gotten to him somehow? That behind those sharp eyes was a heart that cared?
He had a life outside of this place, unlike you.
You sat on the far edge of the couch, keeping a careful space between you. Hands folded, spine stiff, your eyes stayed on the curtain pooling in the corner of the room.
The man’s gaze didn’t leave you.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said, his grin tightening. “Promise I’ll be real nice.”
You didn’t answer. Just kept your eyes fixed on the corner of the room, on the red velvet curtain pooling on the floor.
He laughed, a jittery sound. “Shy one, huh? That’s alright. I like shy.”
His hand moved before you saw it coming, just a light touch on your arm, but enough to send a bolt of discomfort straight through you. His fingers were cold, too light, too lingering. You tensed, but didn’t pull away.
This was the job. You reminded yourself again. Over and over.
You stayed still. Because that’s what you were supposed to do.
He must’ve taken it as permission.
His hand drifted higher, fingers brushing your shoulder, fumbling awkwardly against your collarbone. Then, with one finger, he hooked the strap of your slip and pulled it down, slow and teasing, letting it slide along your skin until it fell limp against your upper arm. Not enough to show anything, but easy enough to pull down if he wanted to.
You swallowed hard, throat bobbing, the sound loud in the tight silence. Your skin crawled.
“MILLER!”
The shout cracked through the hallway like a gunshot.
You jumped so hard you nearly knocked the man’s hand away from your chest, your whole body stiffening as the hair stood up on the back of your neck.
The man jolted too. “What the fuck?”
The voice echoed again, louder, angrier.
“She’s with a customer, jackass! BACK OFF!”
It was Gage’s voice, pissed and scrambling. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Suddenly, the door burst open so hard it bounced off the wall with a groan of the hinges.
It was him.
Hazel Eyes was in the doorway. Big and broad and absolutely fuming. He looked like he was burning from the inside out. His chest heaved beneath his flannel, shoulders rising and falling like he was holding something back with every ounce of strength he had. His eyes landed on the hand that was hovering just over your arm, fingers touching where the strap had been pulled down.
He didn’t speak, he barely even paused. But instead, he moved. Crossing the room in three long strides, he grabbed the man’s collar with a brutal grip, yanking him up off the couch like he weighed nothing.
The man barely got a yelp out before he was slammed into the wall hard. The plaster cracked on impact, the entire room shaking. Candles toppled from the tables, wax spilling across the floor as a side table crashed and splintered.
You barely could move, hands gripping the edge of the sofa seat as your heart flew to your throat.
The man stammered, trying to raise his hands. “Hey! What the–what the fuck, man?!”
But then Hazel Eyes grabbed the man’s wrist, fingers wrapping around his hand. The one that had touched your skin.
And without a word, without a warning, he snapped it.
The sound was sickening. Bone against bone, cartilage tearing, sharp, wet and strong.
The man screamed a high, pathetic sound as he crumpled at his feet, clutching his wrist with the other hand, body folding inward like he might disappear from the pain.
Hazel Eyes didn’t even blink.
“Jesus!” Gage gasped from the doorway, and your eyes darted between them, panic and something else spiraling through you—terror and relief tangled too tightly to separate.
He stood over him, chest heaving, jaw locked, face dark with fury that wasn’t theatrical, it was real. It was ancient and seething.
In the doorway, Gage still stood frozen, his eyes wide and mouth half-open like he was considering stepping in, but wasn’t nearly stupid enough to try.
“Next time you touch her,” he spat, “I’ll crush the whole fuckin’ arm. Now get the hell out.”
The man scrambled. Clutching his ruined wrist, he stumbled through the doorway, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to escape. Gage chased after him, still muttering something useless like an apology.
Then, Hazel Eyes turned to you.
You felt like you couldn’t breathe.
His eyes were still burning, his chest still rising and falling. He crossed the room again, slower this time, not saying a word. You stared up at him, your heart trapped in your throat.
His fingers, those same ones that had just broken a man’s hand, reached out. And gently, almost reverently, he lifted your strap. He pulled it back into place on your shoulder, and instead of pulling away, his fingers brushed over your cheekbone with the barest graze.
And despite it all, you leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. His hands were warm and rough. Capable of so much violence, and yet touched you with gentleness.
His eyes moved over your face, taking in every part of you, but giving nothing away. He looked unreadable, steady as ever. As if he was unmoved by what had just happened.
Then his voice came, low and even.
“You’re done here.”
You stared up at him. The words didn’t make sense at first. Your brain caught on them like fabric on a nail.
“What?”
His jaw twitched, but his gaze didn’t shift, “I’m takin’ you out of here.”
You blinked, the words hitting harder the second time, but they still didn’t land right. You shook your head once, slowly, not understanding.
“You can’t. That’s not—”
“I can,” he said, cutting through your protest with the same cold certainty that had shattered a man’s hand only minutes before. “I did.”
He stepped back just enough to reach into his back pocket. The motion was calm, deliberate. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, and dropped it beside you on the couch. You stared at it without moving.
“Debt’s paid,” he said. “Room, contract, clothing and late fees. All of it.”
You didn’t touch the paper. Your chest rose and fell, shallow and fast.
“They’ll come after me,” you said, hating how small your voice sounded. “You don’t get to just walk out of a place like this.”
“I’d like to see them try.”
Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t look away from him. His presence filled the entire room. The walls felt smaller with him standing there, blocking the door, shoulders squared like he’d made peace with violence a long time ago.
“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”
He looked at you for a long moment. You could see it behind his eyes, the thoughts moving like slow machinery, everything measured, deliberate, exact.
Finally, he spoke.
“You don’t belong here.”
“W-where…where am I supposed to go?”
His eyes softened a bit. You were slowly realizing this was the most he’d ever spoken to you before.
He turned toward the door, glancing into the hallway. It was quiet now. The chaos from earlier had died down. Gage was probably still occupied with damage control, or maybe trying to figure out if anyone would report what happened. Hazel Eye’s hand hovered just above your shoulder, not touching, but close enough to guide.
“Come on,” he said.
And so, you followed him.
The city air was cold and wet outside, heavy with the stink of rain and smoke. You walked close to him as he led you through the side streets, cutting between buildings and sticking to alleys, always with one eye on the shadows. He knew the back alleys, knew how to hide from the FEDRA trucks that grumbled by in the dead of the night. It was so dead, like the city was holding its breath right along with you.
Eventually, he stopped in front of a building that looked abandoned from the outside. The windows were dark, one of them cracked. The metal door was rusted at the hinges. He pushed it open with the weight of his shoulder, held it for you without speaking and led you up the stairs.
You made your way down the dark hall and he opened the door to an apartment. It was clean but bare. The furniture was minimal, just a couch, coffee table and a small radio in the corner. The kitchen was small but organized. There were bottles of booze littered around and bags of contraband. But it was still homely, with boots by the door and a jacket hanging to dry from the rain.
He locked the door behind you, then turned the bolt. You stood in the center of the room, your body suddenly aware of how thin your dress was, how quiet the space had become.
“You’re safe here,” he said, “You can…stay as long as you want.”
You nodded numbly, arms crossing over your chest and rubbing your bare arms.
Seeing you shiver made him move toward the closet at the far wall and pulled the door open. You could hear the scrape of hangers, the rustle of fabric. He offered you a plain black t-shirt. Faded and worn, it looked enormous in his hands. He crossed the room and handed it to you, then turned to rummage in a drawer. When he came back, he was holding a pair of loose cotton boxers, the waistband stretched from wear.
“They’ll do for tonight,” he said. “I’ll get you somethin’ better tomorrow.”
He turned his back without asking, giving you a quiet moment to change. You slipped the dress off slowly, your body still running hot and cold, nerves frayed and pulsing. You pulled his shirt over your head, fabric falling to your mid-thigh. It swallowed your frame completely, the sleeves hanging low on your arms. The boxers were baggy and soft at your hips, barely visible under the cotton shirt. You smelled like him now. Like woodsmoke and earthy musk, it was intoxicating against your skin.
When you turned around, he was waiting for you to move, his back to you. But as he turned, his eyes were a different shade of darkness.
His jaw was tight. His mouth didn’t move, but his stare dragged over every inch of you like a hand. He didn’t speak or compliment. He just looked. Like he had no language for what he was seeing, like it made something burn in his chest he didn’t know how to smother.
You felt your cheeks go hot.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said finally, voice low and strained as he turned away to walk to the sofa in the middle of the room.
You shook your head, reaching out for his wrist, “No, please.”
He looked down at where your fingers wrapped around his skin, then back up at you.
“Please,” you said again, quieter this time after releasing his wrist. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
Maybe that was what finally broke something in him. You couldn’t tell for sure. His expression didn’t change in any obvious way, but his shoulders dropped slightly, his posture shifting as if he had let go of something he’d been holding in too long. He didn’t answer you aloud, just turned and led you through the doorway to the right. The bedroom was simple, almost austere. A mattress sat on a metal frame just high enough to keep it off the floor, with a small table at the side and a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. It didn’t feel like a space made for comfort, but it was clean, private, and quiet.
You climbed in first, sliding under the blanket and pulling it up over your legs. The sheets were cold at first, but soft from repeated washing. You lay on your side, leaving space beside you, waiting without looking to see if he would follow. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, watching you. Then he sat down slowly, lowering himself onto the mattress with a weight that made it shift beneath you. He didn’t press against you right away. He lay still, close but not touching, his back against the pillows. But the silence stretched too long, and the ache in your chest pushed you to move first. You shifted closer to him, slowly, inch by inch, until you could curl into the crook of his shoulder and let your head rest against the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Surprisingly, his arm came around you with ease. There was no urgency in the way he held you, no claim, no demand. Just heat and pressure and stillness. His hand settled low on your stomach, warm and broad, his palm covering the soft cotton of his shirt stretched over your skin. You didn’t tense. Your muscles, for the first time in days, started to release. Your breathing began to steady. You felt the weight of your bones return to your body in a way that told you you’d been floating for too long without realizing it. The room was quiet except for your joined breathing, the low hum of something electric behind the walls, and the rustle of fabric where your legs shifted to tangle lightly with his.
After a long stretch of silence, your voice came barely above a whisper. “What’s your name?”
Because how long had it been since you met him? And you had no idea who he really was, not beyond the heat of his stare or the weight of his hands or the way he watched you. You wondered briefly if he even knew your name, or if it was just Kitty to him, like everyone else.
“Joel,” he said finally, his voice quiet, rough at the edges.
“Joel.” you repeated, testing it on your tongue. His fingers moved lazily against your side, tracing light strokes through the thin cotton of your borrowed shirt, and you looked up at him with a small, tired smile.
“Pleasure to meet you,” you said, and then offered your own name. Your real one. The one almost no one used anymore.
He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, his fingers shifted to your chin, rough fingertips catching gently beneath it, angling your face back toward his. His eyes lingered on your mouth for a moment longer, heavy with something you didn’t quite have a name for yet. Then, slowly, with no rush at all, he leaned down.
His lips brushed yours, warm and soft despite the roughness of everything else about him. You felt the scratch of his beard, the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his body as he held himself still. You kissed him back, just as softly at first, your hand lifting to find his face, your palm resting against the edge of his cheek where his beard was sharpest. The moment stretched, quiet and close and steady. Not desperate or greedy. Just two people locked in something real for the first time, with no one watching and no price on your time.
And when you pulled away, breath catching in your throat, your lungs were already straining like they couldn’t get enough air.
But then, his mouth followed yours again, like he couldn’t get enough, catching your next inhale with another kiss. This was more urgent, deeper and needier. His hand lifted, cupping the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair. The pressure was firm was still so careful, thumb brushing the curve of your skull and angling you just the way he wanted. He kissed you like he needed you, like he’d been starving for it.
Your lips parted beneath his and he groaned, low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your ribs. The weight of him shifted, one hand bracing beside your head, the mattress dipping under him as he climbed over you. His body covered yours, solid and warm, blocking out the cold air and the rest of the world all at once.
You reached for him without thinking, both hands on his back, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. Your legs shifted beneath the blanket, one thigh slipping up along his side until it hooked over his waist, drawing him in closer. Your bodies aligned easily, like you’d done this before, like you were made to fall into each other this way.
The kiss deepened again. His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, holding your face steady as his tongue slid against yours, slow and hot. He tasted like whiskey and mint, like the only thing you ever wanted to taste for the rest of your life. You were arching up into him, chasing his tongue for more, desperate for him.
The blanket slipped down your hips. His weight settled over you more fully, and everything inside you went tight and hungry at once. You could feel him now, aligned with you, settling between your legs but kept apart by fabric. Your hips rocked up into him, letting yourself glide over the heavy outline of his cock. Something inside you shivered at the sheer thickness of it.
There was no hesitation anymore. Not from him, and certainly not from you. The air between your bodies had turned thick with it, every part of you alight with need.
Your fingers slid beneath his shirt and he grunted softly against your mouth, then broke the kiss only long enough to strip it off over his head. His chest was solid and scarred, his skin hot to the touch, and as he leaned back over you, he pulled the hem of his t-shirt—the one you were wearing now—up over your hips. His hands were large, his touch rough but reverent as he peeled the cotton away from your skin.
He sat back for a breath, eyes dragging over your body with a weight that made you feel flayed open, every inch of you exposed under his gaze. But he didn’t just look. He took it in, like he’d been waiting for this, memorizing you piece by piece. His jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flared, his breathing heavy. The muscles in his arms twitched like he was holding back something animal.
“Been thinkin’ about this since the first time I saw you, baby,” he muttered, voice low and nearly wrecked. His hands slid up your bare thighs, spreading them apart with slow pressure.
His fingers trailed higher, brushing over the thin waistband of his boxers on your hips. He hooked a hand into the fabric and dragged them down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.
"Thought about it every time I sat with you," he said under his breath, "Every. Time."
You opened your mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t believe how talkative he was suddenly. You didn’t know how to respond as your breath caught in your throat as he moved between your legs, lowering himself until he was staring up at you from the center of the bed, shoulders broad and looming. His hands slid up your thighs again, thumbs parting you gently, reverently.
“Wanted to kill Gage for puttin’ you in that frilly little outfit on stage,” he said, quiet, almost absent, like it wasn’t a confession but just a fact. “Still might, for lettin’ that fucker touch you tonight.”
His hands guided your trembling legs over his shoulders as your back arched against his touch. You were already panting, your hands fisting in the sheets, your body betraying how desperately you wanted this, how long you’d been aching for it.
He gently worked the pads of his fingers over your center, trailing over the lips of your cunt, studying you, reverent in his worship of your most sensitive parts. His thumb rubbed brushed over your clit before running tight circles over it. And then, thicker than anything you’d felt before, his fingers stretched you open, slick sounds of your arousal filling the air along with your soft, needy gasps.
“Look at you,” he murmured, admiration deep in his voice, "So goddamn pretty,"
You reached for him blindly, one hand on his forearm, the other finding the dark hair at the top of his head. He kissed your pussy gently, a groan escaping him at the taste, his tongue working around your clit as your hips rocked against his fingers.
Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching around his wrist, and your voice broke open on a gasp. “Joel–oh my–”
He groaned into your slick center, the sound low and thick like gravel, like it pained him to know how much he loved his name on your lips. His fingers curled inside you, dragging slow and deep, curling just right against your velvet walls.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “Gotta open ‘er up for me a bit. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”
You whimpered, legs falling open wider. “I can take it,” you breathed, barely able to think around it. “I can take all of you—please, I need—”
You couldn’t stop the tightening in your spine, the way your thighs began to tremble, muscles tensing as the heat surged higher and higher. Joel groaned against you, tongue flattening as he worked your clit faster, more focused now, unrelenting. His free hand slid up your body, warm and rough, until it cupped your breast, fingers spreading wide to hold you there.
But just as you were about to snap, about to feel those stars sparkling behind your eyes in white hot euphoria, he stopped. He didn’t pull away fast, just kissed your clit once, soft and slow, almost reverent. Then he slipped his fingers from you with care, even as your body cried out for more, your whine sharp in the silence he left behind.
Your body twitched in protest, hips still rolling gently like you could summon the friction back with enough desperation. Your breath came in quick, uneven pulls as your chest rose and fell, your fingers curling into his shoulders like maybe you could hold him there, force him not to stop.
He moved over you with predatory grace, his body eclipsing yours as he braced his arms on either side of your head. His eyes swept your face, studying the wreckage–flushed skin, parted lips, pieces of your hair sticking to your face with sweat.
He tilted his head slightly, and there was something in his expression that looked almost concerned, but there was a twinkle to his eyes as he cooed again, “I know, I know,” he cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in, lips brushing yours as he said, “But I need to feel it. Wanna feel you come around my cock, baby girl. Been damn near dreamin’ of it for too long.”
You whimpered, nails digging into his upper arms as Joel sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs, guiding your knees higher, folding them gently against your chest. His eyes dropped between your legs, and his jaw flexed hard. You could see the way his breath hitched when he took you in, saw the slickness coating your thighs, how it glistened where your folds opened and dripped on the dark fabric beneath you. He ran one hand from the inside of your knee down to your thigh, slow and warm, grounding you.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Look at this fuckin’ mess.”
He took himself in hand and stroked slowly once, then again, watching you the whole time as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, rubbing it through the wetness before pushing just the tip inside. You gasped, the stretch already enough to make your eyes roll slightly. His hands moved to your legs again, steadying you.
It was slow. Achingly slow. Not because he was teasing but because he was savoring it, watching every inch disappear into you, watching the way your mouth opened, your body pulled him in, your fingers curled into his arms again and clung there. Your thighs shook in his hands, breath hitching on every inch. He stretched you, nearly feeling like his cock split you in half over him.
“Sweetest pussy I've ever had, feels like a goddamn vice around me, darlin',” he whispered, voice cracking a bit. His eyes watched himself disappear inside of you, and not until he was fully sheathed, his coarse dark hair tickling your mound, did he look up in your eyes, hand moving to tuck a piece of hair out of your face, “Talk to me, how’s that feel, hm?”
“S-so-ooh– feels so big,” you barely manage to get out between heaving breaths.
“I got you” he said, soft now, low and steady. “Gonna take real good care of you, sweet girl.”
He started to move slowly, hips rocking into yours with deep, steady thrusts, each one sinking further, stretching you wider, the warmth of him sinking deep in your belly with every push. His body was all heat and weight, his breathing loud in the room, his scent clinging to your skin. His hands never stopped moving—one dragging down the length of your thigh, the other brushing damp hair back from your forehead, his thumb stroking just beneath your lower lip as he stared down at you.
“You’re takin’ me so good,” he murmured, voice soft but ragged. “Like you were made for it. For me.”
You mewled beneath him, overwhelmed by the fullness, the rhythm, the steady pressure that refused to let up. He let your thighs fall open wide, folding you beneath him with ease, his body dropping down to press chest to chest. The coarse hair on his skin rasped against your nipples, the friction stoking another wave of heat between your legs, and you gasped as he moved deeper still.
“All mine,” he whispered, breath hot against your throat, his mouth trailing to nip at your jaw.
“Yours,” you breathed back, barely able to speak. It wasn’t just a word. It was a truth, dragging itself out of you like a prayer. You’d been his since that first night.
You moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again, your hands moving to his back, clawing at his skin as he fucked you slow, deep, steady. It was overwhelming in a different way—intimate, almost unbearable in how much he felt like he was giving you, how much of him you were taking in. It was too much and not enough all at once, every thrust dragging out a little more desperation.
The pressure was already building again, slow and thick between your legs. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, burying your face against his neck, thinking about what you heard. What you knew he was capable of. Wanting to see more, to feel more. That green eyed monster in your chest still growled, teeth bared, wanting to know. Because you wondered if he was hiding it for your sake, so you wouldn’t turn tail and run.
“I want more,” you whispered, breathless against his skin. “I want more, Joel. Please.”
He groaned at that, his hips faltering for just a second, and then he was pulling back, just far enough to look down at you again.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but dangerous. He kissed your chin, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. “What do you want, pretty girl? You gotta tell me.”
Your lip trembled, part nerves, part anticipation. “I want to know what it felt like.”
You reached up, hands cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him close again, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I want you to show me what it felt like when you wanted to blind every man in that room. When they looked at me and you were just sitting there… watching. When you thought about me in our room. In your head. Show me how it made you feel, Joel.”
His entire body went still.
When he pulled back, it was slow and measured. His eyes found yours and they were no longer soft. His pupils had gone so wide that the golden hues were barely visible, just the thinnest ring around a black center. His expression had darkened, jaw tight, mouth a flat, unreadable line.
“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, baby” he said, voice low, quiet enough to be a whisper, but with none of the tenderness from before. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
You stared up at him, breathing hard, trembling slightly beneath his weight.
“Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I want it, Joel. Please,”
His hands tightened where they held you. One slid up to your wrist, pressing it gently, then pinning it against the bed above your head. The other gripped your thigh, rougher now, fingers digging into soft skin as he pushed your leg higher, spreading you wider beneath him.
The next thrust was suddenly brutal—deeper, faster, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force, his control unraveling in an instant. You screamed in bliss, head rolling back into the pillow, pleasure laced with shock at the sudden shift.
“You wanna see what it felt like?” he growled, voice gravel-dark as he fucked into you again, harder this time, his body moving with full weight of his fury now. “That rage you pulled outta me? That’s what it was. Every second I sat there, watchin’ you parade around for them, knowing you belonged to me.”
Your mouth fell open in a moan, your free hand clawing at his back, and he caught it too—both wrists pinned now, his body caging you in, his mouth just above yours.
“I watched them eye you like you were for sale. Like they could afford you. And all I wanted was to rip their eyes out and break their jaws for it.”
He leaned in, teeth scraping your jaw.
“I thought about this,” he said, biting your skin just hard enough to make you whimper. “About gettin’ you open and writhing under me. About markin’ you, makin’ sure they knew who you belonged to.”
You cried out as he drove into you again, deeper than before, pain and pleasure spiking hard through your core.
“You like that, baby?” he growled. “You like knowin’ what you do to me?”
You weren’t sure you could form a coherent sentence let alone a thought, so all you could do was chant yes, yes, yes, your voice high and wrecked, your body trembling beneath him, skin trembling where you stayed pinned open under his hands.
Joel shifted his grip, so he could hold both wrists in one broad hand above your head and against the pillows, the other moved to your face, cupping your jaw until he lightly wrapped it around your throat. He barely added any pressure, but the feeling of his rough fingertips around your neck made your eyes roll.
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath scalding against your skin, “If you hadn’t been in that room tonight,” he said, voice flat and deadly, “after I saw his hands on you—I would’ve killed him.”
Your breath caught, your body arching toward his. You didn’t even realize how much you wanted to hear it until the words landed.
“Would’ve snapped his neck. Maybe I should’ve.”
He kissed just beneath your ear, and his fingers flexed slightly around your throat.
“You get that? There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. No one I wouldn’t put in the ground. I would do anything.”
The monster in your chest stretched its claws. It purred at the sound of the quiet fury in his voice, at the fire lit behind his eyes. It licked at your wounds, lighting a fire in your bloodstream. Your blood roared with it, and your body surged up into his.
You cried out his name, back bowing as heat crashed over you. White-hot stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm took hold, walls fluttering and gripping him tight, pulsing around the thick stretch of him inside you.
Joel let out a sound that was barely human—a ragged, guttural snarl as his hips snapped forward once, twice, then buried deep. His cock twitched inside you, his grip tightening around your wrists as he came with a low, broken groan, his mouth catching yours in a rough, gasping kiss.
You could feel the heat of him, the long ropes of his release spilling into you, the weight of him collapsing on you as he trembled, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.
His grip on your wrists loosened, hands sliding free, only to curl around your waist, holding you close as he pressed his lips against yours, this time with gentleness.
Eventually, after the both of you caught your breath, he rolled off you slowly, your hips twitching as he pulled himself out of you. The bed dipped and creaked beneath his weight, but he didn’t move away. His arms found you again, broad, and thick, and pulled you with him, tucking you into the space over his chest with ease.
You let yourself be pulled into him, boneless and raw, your cheek pressed against his skin, still slick with sweat, the steady beat of his heart echoing beneath your ear.
Outside, the city moved on. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbled past, making its rounds through the dead of night. But the room around you stayed dark, quiet and warm.
After a long stretch of silence, you looked up at him. The question had been sitting in your chest for weeks, “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”
His eyes, now hazel and soft in the low light, found yours. He didn’t answer right away.
“When you’d come see me…” your voice trailed. “You never said anything.”
He watched you for a second longer, then exhaled through his nose, the sound quiet, like the words tasted off on his tongue.
“Didn’t want to scare you.”
You didn’t say anything, just let him keep going.
“I didn’t know I had it in me, not like that. Not ‘til I saw you.” His hand moved absently, tracing your side. “There’s a part of me that ain’t ever really stopped wanting to burn the whole fuckin’ place down.”
Another beat of silence passed between you.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” he said. “Didn’t want you to know what I’d do.”
He didn’t say for you. He didn’t have to.
You already knew.
And when you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you didn’t need to dream of him. He was already there.
taglist: @fridayf1ghting, @lizaispunk, @yourgirljasmiin, @ivuravix, @televangrl, @nymenate, @magicxmiller, @catch1ngmoths, @shivispunk, not sure if you wanted to be on the taglist but you did comment so: @aureatelys, @weirdoneattheparty, @gojosanna, @mani-pedro, @tobesolovelysstuff, @lowrisemiller, @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @sweetlylcv, @94namkooksworld, @lady-djarin
#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#dark!joel#dark!joel x you#dark!joel x reader#dark!joel smut#dark!joel miller#dark!joel miller x you#joel miller fic#the last of us#jealous joel#possessive joel#the last of us fic#tlou#tlou fic#qz!joel#boston!joel#scary!joel#idk what the heck else to tag dude#ethel cain#ethel cain inspired#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfic#joel miller tlou#joel tlou#pedro pascal#pixel joel
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
"Where'd you get that bruise--Oh," in which your Genshin lover gets a good look at the first hickey he left
Warnings: please excuse mistakes as I'm on a time crunch and also sleep deprived, suggestive but still safe for work, humorous in some parts
Other works in this series: (You say I love you for the first time)
Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Tighnari, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader
Aether
gets flustered
"Uh-Umm... Maybe, you should..."
he wants to say cover it up but who is he to tell you what to do?
Starts to second guess if he really gave you that
Will start to think about the events of last night and deflates with embarrassment
Finally points it out, feels kind of bad that he left a mark
"It's just...distracting...I'm sorry if it hurt,"
Albedo
stares at it for the longest time.
There's a half smile, half amused look on his face, like he wants to be happy about it but doesn't want to be too obvious.
Just chuckles and points it out without any shyness whatsoever
"It's rather obvious, but do with it what you will,"
Comes up with some sort of concealing potion to help you hide it
Brews about a 100 of 'em
Alhaitham
Sort of does a double take, looks at it for a few seconds then looks you in the eye
"I'd advise you to hide it,"
he really only says that to keep things professional when the two of you go out
but in the next second he snakes a hand up your arm with a small secret smirk between the two of you
"However, I can't say that it won't happen again...Specially when..."
He recalls the events of last night at this moment, and it seems as if he's staring into your soul. He breaks away from you with a slight hum.
"...I best be going now."
He leaves you confused, but he only hurried off because he felt an urge to give you another one then and there.
Ayato
chuckles to himself
"Well, there's no hiding that I enjoyed myself,"
but gives you helpful suggestions on how to conceal it or at least make the colour less obvious, like putting ice against it, or something.
Speaking of ice, you can simply get it from the kitchen but Ayato is a tease... "I suppose my dear sister can adequately help you with that...Though what, pray tell, would you tell her?"
You kind of shrug and say that you'll tell her an animal bit you.
Ayato is amused "An animal," but there's a twinkle and hint of lust in his eyes. "Yes, perhaps that's what I become when it involves you. The statement isn't exactly a lie,"
Cyno
is silent. Not sure if he's happy about it or horrified.
Feels like a crime cause it looks like a bruise.
Does not say anything for a good minute because he simply doesn't know what to say and is talking to himself in his mind
Like Was I really the one who did that? Last night must've been...
Snaps out of his stupor when he's reminded of the events and clears his throat to catch your attention.
"Y/N...You...I...I've managed to leave a mark...on your neck..."
You absentmindedly touch it and let out a small ohhhhhhh in understanding
Clears his throat again and looks away, pretending to be busy with something. Flustered and doesn't know what else to say.
Dainsleif
Eyebrows involuntarily raise up at the marks.
Points it out immediately
"My dear, it seems that I had a favourite spot last night," and taps on your neck to let you know what exactly he means.
"I can conceal it with a little trick of mine, if you don't mind," he says he can make it invisible to the ordinary eye but some "special" people can see it, so...
"I suppose if you run into the traveller that you'd have to be honest about it. Hm? No, I don't quite mind if they know of our relationship,"
Diluc
is surprised, then apologetic
He didn't know is fully aware how rough he had been last night
Apologizes with a slight tint of red on his cheeks and can't seem to pry his eyes away from it.
"My apologies, Y/N. It looks like I was rather...careless...last night. You should wear something with a collar today...or perhaps, my coat?"
Is seriously considering repenting about it
Itto
"Whoa--"
Is legit about to throw hands but then remembers
"Oh yeah. I did that." while scratching his head bashfully
No shame about it afterwards, even has the gall to say
"I'm surprised it doesn't look worse! It was pretty wild last nig--"
You have to cover his mouth to save yourself from embarrassment
Kaeya
smirks and leans in close to brush his fingers against the hickey.
"It isn't the most flattering of marks but... it gives me quite the sense of accomplishment,"
winks, deadass tries to give you another one right away.
"How about we try that again? Just to even it out on both sides of your neck,"
is only half joking
Lyney
mischievous laugh
is more happy about it than shy, embarrassed or apologetic
"That wasn't very nice of me wasn't it?" but is still smiling
"Unfortunately I don't think I have any magic tricks up my sleeve to fix this one,"
Grabs and hugs you by the waist "I guess we'll just have to stay in, the two of us, until it's unnoticeable"
always looking for an excuse to spend alone time with you.
Neuvillette
clears his throat almost immediately when he sees it, like he choked on water
"Y/N," he starts rather sternly but falters and takes a few seconds to think.
"May I suggest wearing a scarf today?" is awkward about pointing it out so goes the roundabout way. You're so confused because it's the middle of summer.
"Well," he coughs once to try an explain to you. "I didn't have all manners of restraint last night...You were simply...irresistible,"
points it out by gently thumbing at it
Scaramouche
shit-eating grin at the sight of it
Doesn't tell you to cover it up, most likely wants you to go parading around with it.
"Tsk. What's the harm if people ask? Just be honest and tell them," he's just fucking around with your head now
but snatches your wrist and looks you straight in the eye with a confident smirk "And be sure to tell them who gave it to you. That'll teach them to back off,"
Tartaglia
laughs but is slightly apologetic
"Couldn't hold myself back, I'm sorry. How can I make it up to you?"
You tell him that the next time he leaves a hickey, he should leave it somewhere where it's more concealed.
"Oh?" sudden glint in his eyes. You might have said the wrong thing. "No take backs, Y/N,"
I think you know what or where he's thinking about
Tighnari
Doesn't say anything at first but immediately whips up a remedy for it. Some sort of green paste that helps with inflammation.
"Here," and hands you the bowl of herbs. "For that,"
He doesn't point at it but instead eyes it rather obviously
He also watches you put the paste on "Alright, just leave it for a few minutes and it should heal wonderfully,"
He doesn't exactly feel guilty but he's more worried that people will look at you weirdly.
"I suppose I'll have to be careful next time," with a sigh.
Wriothesley
laughs but bashfully face palms and tilts his head backwards
Recovers quickly and smiles apologetically
"Sorry love, couldn't hold myself back it looks like," lovingly takes your face in his palms
Can't hold his smile back "But can you blame me? I'm not gunna hide that I was way too excited,"
Suggests you to put a bandage of some sort over it.
"I'll try to be careful next time, but no promises,"
Xiao
Freezes while looking at it
For a split second is confused where you got such a mark but then flusters himself when he remembers it was from him.
"...Y/N..."
seriously does not know what to say
stands there staring at it that you finally just check in the mirror yourself. He hears you gasp and he kind of winces to himself and now feels a little guilty.
"I...didn't mean to hurt you,"
You quickly tell him it doesn't hurt, but you were just surprised.
Thinks for a moment, then mumbles, you can barely hear him "...So it's alright to do it again?"
Zhongli
chuckles, not shy about it. just amused.
"It's no one's fault except my own. I merely wasn't paying heed to how...carnal...my desires were,"
he again chuckles as he explains.
"Not to worry darling, I'm sure Bubu Pharmacy has something to remedy it. I'll be back with it in tow,"
brushes his fingers against the hickey as some sort of apology and promise that he'll fix it
End
I’ve published The Ruthless Prince (Reader x Scaramouche) on paperback. Click here.
Consider supporting me to read some exclusive fics:
Ko-Fi
buymeacoffee
Here’s the Masterlist
#genshin impact#genshin fluff#itto x reader#ayato x reader#neuvillette x reader#genshin x reader#wriothesley x reader#diluc x reader#zhongli x reader#cyno x reader#xiao x reader#lyney x reader#tighnari x reader#scaramouche x reader#alhaitham x reader
11K notes
·
View notes
Text
Made of glass



🪽you knew joel could be controlling and cruel yet you pushed your luck anyways. stupid, stupid girl…🪽3k
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), smut, jackson joel, established relationship, age gap, power imbalance, fem reader, afab reader, punishment (belt/ spankings), mentions of pain, profanity, unprotected p in v, degradation, praise, edging/ denial, orgasms, creampie, fingering, daddy kink, consent non consent (i think??? at the very least it’s dubious), emotional manipulation, man handling, angst, toxic! joel, possessive! joel (find me a version where he isn’t lol), sex used as a form of control, aftercare, nicknames, brat reader, dom/ sub dynamics, no y/n, dark joel, hair pulling
basically a whole lot it’s dark shit, let me know if i missed anything as i haven’t really written a whole lot of stuff like this!
reminder: you are responsible for your own internet consumption please do not read if any of the above content is not appropriate for you 🤍
authors note: this came to me to me in a depraved vision, it’s real messed up but i’m obsessed with it.
Kicking at the snowbank with the toe of your boot, muttering under your breath. Joel stalked a few feet ahead, heavy steps crunching loud enough to cover up the steady stream of curses you aimed at the back of his head.
"You gonna pout the whole way home?" His voice cut through the cold air like a whip — rough, worn, irritated.
You didn’t answer yet, just sped up until you were walking at his side, shooting him a look from under your lashes. "Maybe if you weren't such a hardass, patrol wouldn't be so damn miserable."
Joel stopped dead in his tracks. The sudden halt made you stumble a step before you caught yourself.
He turned toward you slow, eyes narrowing as he held your gaze. "You wanna run your mouth, fine. But you pull one more stunt like that back there—" His voice dropped, dark and dangerous, "you ain't leavin' Jackson again."
You crossed your arms, heart hammering against your ribs. "I handled it. You act like I’m made of glass."
Joel stepped closer — close enough that his body heat cut through the winter chill. Close enough that when he looked down at you, it made your knees want to buckle.
"You ain't made of glass," he said lowly. "You're just young enough it, it makes you act stupid."
Your stomach twisted, heat pooling low and tight. You opened your mouth — maybe to argue, maybe to apologize — but Joel cut you off by grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your eyes up to his.
"You listenin'?" he rasped. His grip wasn’t painful or hard, but it was firm. Commanding.
You nodded, pulse thrumming wild.
Joel’s gaze dragged over your face, slow and simmering. "Next time you disobey me like that... I won't be so fuckin' patient."
There was a dark promise in his tone. Not cruelty — control. Care that was delivered as dominance. You felt it in your chest, your belly, all the way down.
He let go of your chin and took a step back. You almost whimpered at the loss of contact.
"Get movin'," he muttered, turning away. "We’ll finish this conversation somewhere private."
The house was cold when you stepped inside. Joel locked the door behind you with a heavy clunk, the sound final, and for a moment, you just stood there — the air thick between you.
“Take off your coat,” Joel said roughly. “Boots too. Don’t want you runnin’ anywhere.”
You swallowed, hands fumbling at the buttons of your jacket and, kicked off your boots, toes curling against the worn rug. Joel watched you the whole time, his arms crossed, jaw set.
When you were standing there, smaller somehow without all the layers, he jerked his chin toward the center of the living room.
“On your knees,” he said.
Your breath caught — but you did it. Dropped down onto the rug, knees pressing into the scratchy fibers, your hands awkward in your lap.
Joel stepped closer, boots heavy against the floorboards. He loomed over you, looking down at you like you were something he owned, something he was deciding the fate of.
"Now," he said, voice like gravel, "you're gonna tell me exactly what you did wrong. And you're gonna tell me why you're sorry."
You wet your lips, heart pounding. "I—I didn’t listen to you on patrol. I rushed ahead when you told me to wait. I... I could've gotten hurt."
Joel said nothing, just stared down at you, waiting.
You blinked up at him, throat tightening. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "It won't happen again. I promise."
For a second, you thought maybe that would be enough. That he'd sigh, drag you up into his arms, kiss the top of your head and let it go.
But Joel shook his head slow, disappointment etched deep into the lines of his face.
"That easy for you, huh?" he muttered. "Say a few words, think that erases the risk you took?"
You opened your mouth — maybe to argue, maybe to beg — but Joel crouched down in front of you, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make you feel it.
"Sorry ain't good enough, baby," he said low and dangerous. "Not when it’s your life on the line."
You whimpered, heat flashing through your whole body. You leaned into his touch without meaning to, desperate for it.
Joel’s thumb brushed along the side of your throat, like he could feel the frantic pulse there. His eyes softened just a fraction — but it didn’t change his next words.
"You need a real lesson," he murmured. "One you ain't gonna forget."
He stood up again, towering over you, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he moved.
"Take off your pants," he ordered. "Now."
You hesitated, hands trembling as you undid the button of your jeans. Joel just stood there, arms crossed, watching — no mercy in his face, no softness.
When you awkwardly peeled your jeans down your thighs, shivering when the cold air hit, Joel finally moved.
He pulled the thick leather belt from around his waist with a slow, deliberate motion — the snick of it sliding free made you clench around nothing, thighs instinctively pressing together.
Joel folded the belt in his hand, testing the weight of it.
"Hands behind your back," he said quietly. "Kneel up, head down."
You obeyed instantly, heart hammering. The floor scratching at your cheek as you rested against the time-worn surface, hands locked behind you. Vulnerable. Waiting.
Joel circled you slowly like a wolf deciding where to sink his teeth. His fingers brushed your clothed back, trailing up to the back of your neck grabbing your attention so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
"You’re gonna take ten," he said. "One for every second you ignored me out there."
You whimpered — ten felt like an impossibly painful number. But you nodded, desperate to please him now, desperate to fix what you’d broken.
"And you’re gonna count every single one out loud," Joel said, voice a dark rumble. "You lose count, we start over."
Before you could answer, the first crack of the belt landed across the curve of your ass.
You yelped — the sting blooming fast, white-hot and deep.
"One," you gasped, blinking hard against the prickling at the corners of your eyes.
Another lash — harder this time — snapping against the top of your thigh.
"Two!"
Joel didn’t say anything. He just kept going, slow and methodical, each strike placed with brutal precision.
Not enough to leave you bloody — but enough that you felt it. Felt it in your skin, your bones, your pride.
By six, you were sobbing. Knees wobbling. Cheeks burning from the combination of scratchy carpet and tears. Joel paused just long enough to wrap his free hand in your hair, dragging your head back so you had to look up at him.
"You think you’re tough?" he rasped. "That how you acted out there? Like you don't need me watchin' your back?"
"N-no," you choked out, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry."
He growled low in his throat — a sound of frustration, and something darker.
"You ain't sorry yet," he muttered.
The last four lashes came faster, sharp and punishing — and by the end, you were sagging forward, gasping for air, thighs trembling.
Joel tossed the belt aside and dropped to one knee in front of you. Pulling you up so you were kneeling straight. His big, calloused hand cupped your face, thumb brushing roughly at the wetness there.
"Look at you," he said softly. "Pretty little brat. Thinkin' you can do whatever you want."
He trailed his hand down your throat, down your chest, over your trembling stomach — until it rested just above your soaked panties.
"You ain't learned a thing yet," Joel murmured. "Still so fuckin' desperate for me."
You whimpered, hips tilting toward him without thinking.
Joel smirked — but it was cruel, slightly twisted.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and ripped them down in one savage tug.
Then he leaned back against the couch, spread his legs wide, and patted his thigh.
"Come here," he said.
You crawled to him on sore knees, climbing shakily into his lap, straddling him.
But when you tried to grind down, seeking any kind of friction, Joel grabbed your hips hard — holding you still.
"Nuh-uh," he said lowly. "You don’t get to use me. Not yet."
He slid two fingers through your wetness, gathering it — but didn’t sink them in. Just traced slow, teasing circles around your clit, light enough to make you whimper.
"You're gonna sit here," he said. "You're gonna take what I give you, when I give it. You’re gonna ask for permission and wait ‘til I give it."
You nodded frantically, desperate, needy beyond words.
Joel smiled, slow and mean.
"Good," he murmured. "Now beg me, baby. Beg me nice. Maybe I’ll decide you earned it."
You squirmed in his lap, trembling, your hands still locked behind your back like he told you — but it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed him.
Joel’s fingers circled your clit slow, lazy, never enough pressure. Barely there, just a cruel little brush that made your whole body jerk.
"Poor baby," he murmured, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Look at you. Cryin', squirmin', makin’ a mess all over my jeans."
You whimpered, rocking your hips helplessly, but Joel's hand tightened around your hip, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
"You thought you were grown out there, didn't you?" he said, tilting his head like he was talking to a naughty child. "Thought you didn’t need me tellin’ you what to do."
"Please, Joel," you gasped. "Please, I'm sorry, I swear—"
He chuckled low in his chest, your pathetic attempt at an apology amusing him.
"Sorry?" he echoed, sweet and cruel. "Baby, you don't even know what sorry means. If you did, you'd woulda been on your knees beggin' me to teach you better out there."
"I am," you sobbed, hips jerking. "I'm begging, Joel, please, please, I'll be good, I promise, I’ll listen next time, I’ll do whatever you want—"
Joel's thumb flicked your clit a little harder — still not enough to send you over, but enough to make your back arch, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
"Mm. Sounds pretty," he drawled. "But you said a lotta pretty things before, didn't you? Promised you'd behave out there. Look how that turned out."
"Different this time," you gasped, babbling now, too desperate to think straight. "I mean it, I’ll be good, I need you, I need you, Joel, please—"
Joel smiled — a slow, wicked, almost fond thing.
He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.
"You’re so fuckin' pretty when you're stupid like this," he murmured. "Mouthy little thing turned into my sweet cryin' girl again. Bet you'd promise me the fuckin' world just to get a little relief, wouldn't you?"
You nodded frantically, tears spilling freely now, shame and need tangling so tightly you couldn't tell them apart.
Joel kissed your temple — so gentle it almost hurt worse than the teasing.
"Poor thing," he whispered. "Didn't even know what you needed ‘til I gave it to you."
You were falling apart in his lap, soaked and aching and dizzy with it.
"I’m sorry, Daddy," you sobbed without thinking, the word slipping out wild and raw. "Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m yours, I’ll listen, just—please, Daddy, please."
Joel went still for half a second — like the word lit something inside him.
Then he hummed low, pleased. His hand cradled the back of your head, pulling you in so your forehead pressed against his chest.
"There she is," he murmured. "There’s my good girl."
You shuddered in his arms, still hovering on the edge, broken open and waiting for him to decide what you needed.
Joel slid his fingers back between your legs — this time with real intent. Real pressure. Real promise.
"Sweetheart," he said softly, the mocking edge finally gone. "I know you’re sorry."
He kissed the top of your head, steady and sure.
"Cum for Daddy."
You shattered.
Your whole body locked up, a ragged sob tearing from your throat as you came hard, soaking Joel’s jeans, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together.
He held you through it, murmuring soft, filthy praise against your hair.
"Good girl. That’s it. That’s my baby. Knew you had it in you."
You didn’t stop shaking for a long time — and Joel didn’t let you go.
You were still trembling in his lap, forehead pressed to his chest, gasping for air like you’d just survived a war.
Joel rubbed slow, steady circles into your back — not saying anything at first, just letting you come down enough to feel how wrecked you were.
Then he hooked an arm under your knees, the other behind your shoulders, and lifted you like you weighed nothing at all.
You whimpered — from sensitivity, from trust, from the way your body just gave itself up to him completely.
Joel carried you through the house, the floor creaking under his boots, until he reached the bedroom.
He laid you down on the bed — but didn’t leave you long.
He followed you down, covering your body with his own, caging you in with his weight.
"You did so good for me," he murmured against your ear, voice low and thick. "Took your punishment like a big girl. Cried real pretty too."
You whimpered, squirming under him, already aching for more — even after everything.
Joel reached down, undoing his jeans, dragging them down enough to free himself. His cock was heavy, flushed dark, leaking at the tip.
He caught your chin in his fingers, tilted your face up to his.
"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he asked, voice soft but commanding. "Gonna let Daddy fuck that attitude outta you real gentle now?"
You nodded frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. "Please, Joel. Need you. Need you inside."
Joel smiled — slow, dirty, affectionate.
"Course you do," he murmured. "You’re mine baby. Ain't goin' anywhere without me."
He lined himself up with your entrance — soaked and ready for him — and pushed in slow, steady, giving you every thick inch.
You gasped, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders, still clad in that flannel that was so... Joel.
Joel groaned deep in his chest — a rough, needy sound.
"Fuck," he muttered. "So fuckin’ tight still. Made for me, baby. Made for Daddy’s cock."
He bottomed out and stayed there, letting you feel every pulse of him inside you, every inch stretching you wide, filling every part of you that needed it.
Then he started moving — slow, deep thrusts that dragged the head of his cock right against your sweet spot, over and over, until you were keening under him.
Joel held your hands above your head with one big hand, the other gripping your waist, using your body like it was his right — and it was.
You wanted it to be.
"Look at you," Joel rasped, thrusting slow and hard. "Took your beltin', took my fingers, now takin’ cock like a good little girl."
You moaned, helpless, clenching around him.
Joel leaned down, kissed your open, gasping mouth — slow and claiming — then pulled back just enough to murmur:
"Say it again. Say who you belong to."
"Y-you, Daddy," you sobbed. "Belong to you. Always."
Joel groaned again — a filthy, wrecked sound — and fucked you harder, deeper, his control slipping just enough to make it rougher, just enough to make you sob his name again and again.
"You’re mine," he growled, voice shaking. "Mine to take care of. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep safe."
You were close again — so close it hurt. And he could fucking feel it.
Joel kissed you hard, swallowing your cries.
"Cum for me again, sweetheart," he panted against your lips. "Wanna feel you. Wanna make you fall apart on my cock."
It took barely a few more thrusts before you shattered — clenching around him so tight it milked his cock right over the edge right after you.
Joel fucked you through both your orgasms, his mouth pressed to your ear, murmuring broken praises:
"That’s it, good girl, so fuckin’ good, Daddy’s so proud of you."
He stayed inside you after, cradling your body against his, still pressing soft kisses to your hair, your forehead, your cheeks — his calloused hands never leaving your skin.
Like he had to remind you, over and over, that you were safe now. That you were his.
Joel rose above you, still and steady just enough to look at your face properly, letting your racing heart slow. His breath was warm against your temple as he wrapped his arms tighter around your trembling body.
“You did good,” he whispered, voice rough but gentle. “Real good.”
You clung to him, tears still slipping free — not just from the intensity, but because you finally felt it. The way he cared so damn much it scared you a little.
Joel kissed the top of your head slowly, as if committing every trembling inch of you to memory.
“I ain’t never lettin’ anything happen to you, you hear me?” he murmured. “You’re mine — all of you — and I’ll take care of you better than anyone else ever could.”
You sniffled, nodding against his skin. “I’m sorry, Joel. I mean it this time.”
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, those rough, scarred hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world.
“I know, baby,” he said, voice soft but sure. “And I ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cause I wanna hear it. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I believe it. You’re mine. And I’m gonna keep you safe—no matter what, I never wanna hurt you but, I just can't risk it.”
He kissed you again—this time slow and sweet, full of promises and fierce protection.
You melted into him, the fierce heat and the gentle care tangled into one perfect, messy feeling.
Joel smiled, a rare softness breaking through his usual gruffness.
“Now,” he said, voice low and teasing, “you gonna behave on the next patrol? Or do I gotta remind you who’s really in charge again?”
You giggled—a shaky, relieved sound.
“Promise, Joel,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Always.”
He kissed you one last time before settling beside you, holding you close as sleep finally claimed you both.
#bella bites#joel miller#joel tlou#joel miller smut#daddy!joel miller#the last of us#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#dark!fic#dark! joel miller x reader#the last of us part one#joel the last of us#joel x reader
2K notes
·
View notes