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bluetimeombre · 18 days ago

Text

☽｡⋆ If you need my love ｡⋆☽

. You were growing up in a house with little love, but luckily Joel Miller was living across the road and he was always there to pick up the pieces.

this is a long one, 8k but i had so much fun writing it, might do a part two. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: smut, fluff, angst. neglectful parents, obsessed Joel, needy Joel, no outbreak au, oral (f! receiving) older joel, younger reader, drinking, p in v sex (unprotected) language

When Joel opened the door to you one cold evening, your arms wrapped around yourself, you drenched in rain, he only sighed.

"Oh honey," he shook his head.

Your teeth were practically chattering. "Nobody's home and I-I don't have a k-key."

A crack of thunder sounded behind you.

Joel looked over his shoulder at your house that was cloaked in darkness. It did look deserted, like nobody had touched it in years. "C'mon in, hun." He held the door open and stirred you inside.

Even if you'd been in the house more times that you could count you still shuffled inside, as if you didn't know where his living room was.

It was a small town in Texas, everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew Joel Miller and his daughter Sarah. Joel knew everyone too. He knew Jimmy a twenty minute drive away, his farm where anyone nice enough could get the best fresh eggs.

There was Bess who ran the bakery. You could get the best fresh bread and every year Joel always got Sarah her birthday cake from her.

There was Dave, coach of Sarah's soccer team. There was Louis next door who always had a issue with his hose leaking all over his garden- even in the drought.

Then, there was you.

You lived across his street with your parents. You who'd moved in ten years ago. A few years Sarah's senior, she'd been over the moon to have another girl to hang out with.

Apparently just hanging out with her dad was becoming a lost trend.

But even though you were a few years older, probably had your own teenage things to be getting on with, you treated Sarah like a best friend.

"You don't have to you know," Joel remembered saying years ago after you'd stayed up late with her, watching movies, only for her to fall asleep with her head on your lap- trapping you.

"It's no bother."

Even Joel had offered to pay you, acting as if you were a babysitter for his kid. You'd denied, almost offended.

You'd insisted you enjoyed it, that his house was nicer than yours.

Joel didn't get it. He was always behind on laundry, hardly had any healthy food- only takeout in the fridge- and dead plants on the windows, compete to your own house.

He'd seen the way you tenderly cared after anything and everyone, it didn't make sense. He assumed you were just sweet, or too shy to say anything different.

He remembered the day he discovered just why you liked his house.

Joel had only gone over with Sarah to talk to you about a sleepover. His brother, Tommy, was taking him out of town, insisting that he needed a 'guys weekend' and that Sarah at fourteen was fine to be left alone. Joel disagreed and he'd only meant to ask if you were around, would be willing to just hang out like you had hundreds of times before.

At the door he lingered, shouts and the shattering of glass sounding behind the door.

"Dad?" Sarah looked up to him un-sure.

Joel was already pushing her down the porch. "Go back to the house."

"What is that?"

"Not our concern."

But it was. It was his concern.

The shouting dulled but there was still a harshness hidden out of sight.

Sarah made her way down the porch, back to the Miller residence and Joel was following on un-sure feet when he heard the door swing open and shut.

Joel looked just as you hurried down the porch steps, keys swinging in your hand. "Woah hey-hey."

You looked aghast, stopping in your tracks when you spot Joel in front of you, hands out and reaching for your forearms.

"Is everythin' alright?" he asked, nodding back to the house.

In the afternoon sun your cheeks turned pink, the colour creeping up to your ears and down your neck. "Yeah, yeah everything's fine." You grinned but it was like a crack in an otherwise well structured wall.

Times like that started to happen more often.

Joel would always find you leaving the house in a hurry, getting in your car and driving off like escaping a crime. Or you'd be on the porch, sitting with a cup of coffee if it was early in the morning or tea late at night. He'd watch from his bedroom window that conveniently over looked your front porch.

Some nights he'd join you, pretending he didn't know why you were hiding out, pretending he didn't hear the shouting.

He'd make up some excuse.

"Neighbourhood watch, you never know who's out here..."

"Was gonna go for a drive, fill the tank if you wanna join..."

"My coffee pots bust, spare a sip?"

It was obvious what he was doing.

Yet you always entertained him.

You were standing like a statue in Joel Miller's living room. Granted- a chattering statue. You'd started shaking sometime an hour ago and you'd yet to stop.

The living room- the entire Miller house- was bathed in a warm orange glow. The tv was on mute, some film that was Joel's favourite Sarah had told you once. Curtis and Viper.

Joel had gone up stairs shortly after he told you to 'make yourself comfortable' but you didn't want to make his couch wet. You were already dripping on his carpet.

Had you woken him? God, what if you had?

What if he'd gone to bed and just assumed you'd wait until your parents get back? If they did.

You wouldn't have knocked and asked if you weren't desperate. But you'd only gone to go grocery shopping, you'd been hardly an hour and neither your mom or dad had mentioned leaving.

You wouldn't be surprised if they'd booked a last minute trip to try to salvage whatever was left of their failing marriage. Or if one had gone to the bar and the other to the arms of another.

Either way, you left the grocery's on the step and your key inside.

You'd called and got nothing from either of them.

You would never have annoyed Joel by knocking as night drew in if you weren't desperate.

Perhaps you could huddle on the porch, eat that chocolate you'd gotten.

You were just forming a plan in your head when Joel Miller practically tripped with how quick he came down the stairs.

"Here-" there was a small pile of clothes in his arms, what looked to be black jogging bottoms and a checked shirt. "I'd offer you some of Sarah's but she's already growing out of everything." He rubbed the back of his neck as you took the clothes.

"You don't have to," you said though you held the clothes close. "I'm sure someone will be home soon."

You really weren't certain anyone would be back for the weekend approaching.

Joel looked at you sternly, his hand on yours that was cold and trembling. "Change."

His eyes raked down the clothes that stuck to you.

He must have thought you looked a mess.

"Shower. You'll probably wanna get warm, c'mon." Joel led you up the stairs, this time slow. His arm was out, ghosting your back as he showed you into his room.

The one room that you'd forbidden yourself into entering.

Joel opened the door like it was just another room of his house, not his room where he spent quiet nights, where he slept among other things.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he chuckled dryly, kicking away a pile of clothes that looked a lot like trousers and boxers. "Here, my bathroom."

It was cleaner than his room objectively. One or two cheap colognes and a good one littered the counter. A bar of soap and a watch that you remember Sarah showing you she'd got him for his birthday.

"Let me-" Joel slowly peeled the clothes from your arms and nodded down at you. "I'll put these to heat up, you get yourself warm hun. I'll be just down stairs if you need anythin' else."

You nodded and gulped down all your objections to his kindness. "Thank you, Joel. I won't be long."

He smiled at you, a gentle smile. It was the kind you'd never seen before. "Take all the time you need, darlin'. And then some. I imagine it's been quite the night."

You scoffed and averted your gaze.

"I'll be downstairs."

You took your time in the shower. Not because he'd told you to but because you were frozen from cold and from trying to keep every small detail in your mind.

It was not right to think about Joel in his bathroom, bowing his head under the steady warm shower, naked. No matter the circumstance it wasn't right for your mind to wander what Joel looked like naked with droplets of water running down his chest, his sternum and lower.

You blamed it on the lack of sleep.

But you knew as soon as you could get back into your room you'd be dreaming about him again.

By the time you were done with the shower, condensation had covered the mirror and made the walls slick. You wrapped a fuzzy towel around you and tried not to think about other parts of Joel it had touched.

You sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, ignoring the way it dipped. You tried to calm yourself, your nerves and think of a solution. You could hop the fence, break down the back door.

Maybe you could even book a hotel for the night?

You had no doubt Joel would be gracious enough to offer you the sofa, but you didn't want to take over his kindness. You were already there as much as possible with Sarah.

You liked the kid of course, but you also liked the smiles that were always around the house, accompanied by the peace.

A gentle rattle of knuckles on the door broke you from your search of solutions.

"Hey."

Joel slowly opened the door and paused when he spotted you. On the edge of his bed, draped in his towel.

You realised, as you were drying, your hair was dripping. You were getting his bed wet. "Sorry." You got to your feet.

Joel held up his hands. "I jus' wanted to check you were alright. Needed anythin'."

"I'm good, thank you, for all this," you said, clutching your hands in front of you.

"You don't have to thank me, at all," he said, leaning on the door frame. "You saved me from a boring evening alone."

"Sarah?"

"Gone for the weekend. Tommy took her on a fishin' trip."

Your lips tilt up. "You're not a fisher?"

"No," he chuckled. "I'm afraid all that talent went to Tommy."

"Well I'm sure you're good for other things." You hadn't meant the words to hide some sort of hidden comment but as soon as you'd said it all you could think about was his 'other' talents.

Maybe Joel could tell you were being filthy, taking his hospitality for granted. He looked down and grabbed the handle. "Change. I'll be waitin'."

When the door clicked shut behind him you dropped back onto his bed, hiding your face in your hands and groaning.

What were you doing?

By the time you'd peeled the towel from yourself and folded it up, changed into what you assumed were Joel's old clothes (you'd had to roll the waistband of the joggers over several times and roll up the sleeves to) and made your way down stairs the credits were rolling on the movie.

The sofa was hidden under cushions and blankets.

Joel was leant over it, punching the pillows till they seemed fluffy enough. "C'mon, damn you."

You cleared your throat.

Joel whipped around. His lips parted, ready to speak but instead he got an eyeful of you. You in his clothes.

For a second you were delusional enough- and exhausted enough- to believe that he liked seeing you like that. Draped in him. But he was probably realising he liked that shirt and wanted it back immediately.

"You didn't have to do this, really," you said, gesturing to the makeshift bed he was making. "I don't want to put you out."

"You're doin' no such thing, I already told you. I was havin' a borin' evening."

"Well I'm glad me getting locked out and soaked amused you," you teased.

Joel's jaw ticked, his tongue running slowly over his bottom lip as his gaze fell lower. "Yeah," he hummed.

It seemed like an excruciatingly long moment that you let him stare.

Joel realised and cleared his throat. "You must be hungry," he walked by you, leaning away to avoid your touch. "Can't say I've got anythin' much good. Some pizza, maybe."

"I'm ok, thank you though."

Joel glanced back at you. "You've eaten?"

"I had lunch, i'm good."

Joel frowned at you, confused. "Lunch? It's dinner time, we'll order somethin."

"You've done too much-" you protest but Joel was already reaching for the phone and pulling at the draw of take out menu's.

"You like it plain, right?" he asked, already dialling the number and wedging the phone.

You walk to him. "At least let me pay-"

Joel held up his hand. "No, stay," his voice was low and gruff, eyes watching you darkly as you paused in place. "Good girl- hello, Jo? Yeah, it's Joel you son of a bitch."

Joel had sat down with you on the sofa and re-played Curtis and Viper while you ate pizza. He'd insisted you had to watch when you said you'd never seen it before. He'd mumbled something about not living till you had seen it, he wasn't even sure what he'd said to get you to sit and watch it with him.

It had worked.

He should have sent you to his bed, told you to rest because you were giving him challenges after challenges and you moved like you didn't even know it.

When you'd told him to come in when you were only in a towel, sitting on the edge of his bed like you didn't know what to do with the space. Wearing his clothes like you weren't giving him images that he'd keep locked up somewhere deep and dark in his mind for weeks to come.

You'd eaten pizza, asked him about every scene and slowly come out of you cold.

You'd become warm again next to him and it was driving Joel into a hot mess.

When the credits started to roll for the second time that evening Joel could tell you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

"You wanna sleep?" he asked. His arm had stretched out along the sofa, conciously to get closer to you.

You shook off your sleep. "Sorry."

"You needa stop apologising, you know," he teased, finger prodding at your shoulder.

You stretched. "Is it bad if I say sorry?"

Joel chuckled, spreading his legs out. "Right, you take my bed. Sofa's mine."

You woke up at that, all sleep gone from you. "What?"

Joel looked at you again in confusion. "Can't have you takin' the sofa after the day you've had."

You scoffed. "And I can't kick you out of your own bed."

"You ain't kicken me outta anythin', i'm tellin' you."

Joel would never be this kind to anyone else except his own kid. If any other neighbour of his found themselves in this situation he'd never have offered them his own clothes, wouldn't have sat down and watched a movie he'd seen a dozen times before.

But it was you. Joel was good at saying no to you cause you were always unfair to yourself mostly.

You were gorgeous, intelligent, kind and self-dependant. A treat dangled in front of Joel, constantly nibbiling and never taking. If he took he'd never be able to spit you back out your system.

Either you knew what you were doing with your coy smiles, gentle shuffles into him and sweet words and wanted to torture him or you didn't know and that was worse.

He couldn't pretend the idea of you in his bed wasn't driving him mad but he also could see the droop on your eyes and the slug in your body. You needed rest. You needed someone to look out for you.

Joel would kill to be that man.

"Joel, I can't," you protest.

"I'm not takin ' no for an answer, sweetheart," he said.

"The couch is more than fine- the floor even."

Joel shook his head. "C'mon, it's gettin' late. Head up."

He stretched further out, his foot now against yours.

You were watching him, brows pulled together and eyes focusing on him. "No."

Joel's brows rose. He'd perfected the stern look of a father but it didn't seem to be workin' on you. "No?"

"No, I want the sofa."

In a move he didn't anticipate, you threw yourself down, your hair fanning out on the pillow and you pulled the blanket up to your chin, kicking out your legs till they were draped over Joel's lap.

For a moment all he did was stare, his lips parted and a soft breath falling from him. You closed your eyes like you were already drifting off, un-aware the effect your cat-like stretch was having on him. His nerves had been shattering since he saw you wrapped in his towel.

You were giving his patience a good try.

Joel chucked under his breath, calling your name.

Your sly smirk did things to him, especially as you ignored him.

Joel's hand fell upon your shin, trailing up slowly as his body slowly leaned over. He'd never known anyone to have an effect on him like this. Never been so allured and so ... needy like he was a damn teenager again.

All he wanted was to press his body into yours, to kiss your hair and assure you he would look after you, no matter what, no matter where.

Your body stilled as his, heavier and larger, caged you on the sofa.

His arm stretched over your head and your eyes opened, flickering to find his gaze.

"Jus' get comfortable," he'd reached over and flicked the lamp off.

But he didn't move. No, Joel was stubborn.

Once the soft glow of the lamp had gone and he'd turned the tv off the living room was put into darkness.

Joel wedged himself in, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around himself to stop him from teasing with a touch.

"Joel what are you-"

"Shh, i'm tryin to sleep," he grumbled. He tried to push himself into the back of his couch that was falling under both your weights, rolling you into him.

He tucked his head in and closed his eyes as he felt you turn, questioning him. Heck, he was questioning himself. He'd promised some easy down time while Tommy took Sarah out, not this. Not his own battle of temptation.

"If you ain't takin' the bed then i'm not neither," he grumbled.

Your body pulled back and Joel thought he'd done in, over stepped. That the walking in on you in a towel, wearing his clothes, an arm too close around you while the film played had been too much.

Instead he felt a warmth brush over him and your body close to him.

You'd shared his blanket that was too small for the both of you.

In all of Joel's wants to take care of you, perhaps there was a bit of you that wanted to take care of him.

They weren't back.

It was the Saturday and there was still no stirring in the house, no cars outside. Not even a damn text.

You were still draped in Joel's too big clothes for you, staring at the house that was still.

The sun had risen long ago but Joel still slept on the sofa.

Where you'd both slept. You woke with his arm around you, strong and un-yielding as he held you into his chest. It had taken you a near ten minutes to free yourself from his warmth but you'd finally gotten free and his little snores continued.

Only for two minutes did you stare at him, smiling to yourself before realising it was wrong. Wrong to want him so much and wrong to wonder why he'd insisted he share the sofa.

Either he was the most stubborn man you'd ever met.

Or he wanted to be close.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

But now you were faced with small other options.

What did you do now? You couldn't stay with Joel for another day, heck you still only had your clothes that were still damp on a chair in Joel's room.

Maybe you'd go out of town yourself.

Call a friend?

There was a stirring on the sofa.

Joel woke in confusion. Not at the sleeping on the sofa. His fist was clenching at the empty space in front of him and his gaze still blurry with sleep looked for you.

When he spotted you at the window his body visibly relaxed.

And it set your body taunt.

"Morning'." His voice was hoarse, lower register than you'd ever heard.

"Hey," your arms fold over your chest.

Joel was still watching you, throwing an arm behind his head. The blanket slowly fell and his shirt rode up. "You sleep alright? Didn't snore, did I? Sarah says I do sometimes."

You smile and shake your head.

Joel huffed as he sat himself up. You still weren't moving, body his but mind elsewhere. "Everythin' alright?"

You sighed, looking down at your feet that just about peeked over the joggers. "My parents, they still aren't back."

You couldn't meet Joel's gaze as he huffed in annoyance.

"I'm sorry," you apologised. "I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can. I'll drive around, meet a friend or somethin'. I won't trouble you anymore."

"You ain't troublin' me, honey, not in the damn slightest," he grumbled.

It did nothing to settle your nerves.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel must've noticed your hesitation, your worry that you were too much. He was moving across the room before you could register it. "Stay."

"I shouldn't, you've done so much and you were supposed to have a break this weekend. I'm already ruining it," you ramble.

Joel's hands are steady as they settle on your forearms, thumbs soothing you. "Stay."

You eyes flickered up to him. It always shocked you how stern his face could be, the wrinkles dawning at his forehead and the creases when his mouth moved, but his eyes were soft, always calm like warm coffee. "Joel-"

"Whatta do I gotta say to make you stay, huh?" he asked, smirking. "Promise of more shitty movies and even worse food? My sorry-ass company?"

You chuckled. "It wasn't a shitty film," you said. "And your company is the best i've had in months. Sarah exculded."

There was a glimmer of pure joy in Joel's eyes as he laughed. His hands squeezed your arms once before he walked to the kitchen, leaving you to look at your house once more time before following.

"So what do you say I get some coffee goin' and then we can see what groccery's of yours we can salvage?" he said.

You nodded to whatever he said because leaning on the doorway, watching his shirt ride up every time he stretched, you weren't sure you could ever listen to anything he was saying.

Tommy: So, you resting up?

Was he? Was Joel using his weekend to rest.

No, he was using his weekend like a test.

When he woke without you in his arms he was close enough to whining. Whining! It took his body seconds to grow cold without your warmth and for him to wake.

And then it took every ounce of himself not to smile when he heard your parents still weren't back.

First he wanted to yell, wanted to beg your parents home so he could give them a peace of his mind. But he quickly thought about what was presented. You. You and him for a whole un-interrupted day.

Joel thought about the things he could do. Keep you next to him, cook you breakfast- whatever you wanted even if it meant he'd have to break speeding laws to get to the shops.

You in his house, wearing more of his clothes.

After coffee he'd dismissed himself to the bathroom quickly to get filthy thoughts out of his head before they could manifest lower. You in his house, all to himself, desperate for warmth and love. Everything he could give you.

Joel had called Sarah just to distract himself.

No, Joel was not resting up.

You'd spent the day with him cleaning his kitchen, insisting you needed to do something for him.

There was plenty he thought you could do.

Then Joel showered, it was already mid day. He'd stepped out the shower and pushed his face into his towel to dry off when he inhaled and smelt you.

He groaned into the towel, diving in again, almost slobbering at the smell of you on his towel.

It drove him mad.

And it drove him back into a very cold shower.

By the time evening had dawned you insisted to leave the house. Not because his company was boring, but because you wanted to take Joel somewhere.

"I could always break in through a window to get some clothes," you suggested as you gestured to the attire you were still in. "You're in that building way of work. You can repair a window?"

"Can't glue glass back together," he said, leaning over the counter. "I'll see what Sarah's got." Maybe yesterday he'd lied just a bit about her clothes and growing out of. He'd just seen an opportunity to have you draped in him and took it.

He found some of Sarah's things, a bag of clothes that were supposed to be donated last year and left you with them.

When you came back down the stairs Joel's pulse shot.

You'd put those jeans you had on yesterday back on, but they'd been cleaned and dried and now they were snug on your hips and backside. The top you'd picked was from one of Sarah's old favourite band but it was too small on you, tight on the sleeves and showing a healthy slither of your skin.

Fuck.

Suddenly Joel regretted giving you that bag, hated that he'd promised you a night out of his house. He hated everything in him that wanted you.

How could your parents leave you? How could anyone not want to be in your company always.

"Is it ok?" you asked.

Was it ok? Everything was far from ok?

"Let's go, darlin'."

The two of you went in his truck, going to a simple bar for some cheap and good enough burgers and drinks. You were over twenty-one, just, but you'd assured Joel you were a regular at the bar. That it was the hottest place for everyone to go to.

When he walked in and the two of you got a booth, Joel wasn't so happy with the old guys staring at you. Or the younger ones too. As if he wasn't ogling you when you got the chance.

He just liked that you hardly noticed any of them, eyes only on Joel.

You'd gotten burgers and beer, talking about anything and nothing.

Joel did not broach the subject of your parents.

He watched you talk about anything you wanted, watched the way your lips moved with words he could just about make out.

"You staring at me," you laughed, nursing another beer. The burgers were half eaten, fries gone. Your body was turned into Joel's as he curled into you.

"Starin'?" he repeated with cheek. "Am I?"

"You are."

Joel hummed and let himself stare a little longer. You'd already caught him, what was the harm of anymore.

You shied under his gaze, looking away. "I don't have to stay tonight, Joel," you said. "I could get a hotel, easily. We're in town anyway."

He was already shaking his head. "Not happin'."

"You don't have to do this just to be nice."

"Who's to say i'm not gettin' anything out of this?" he said.

Your brows rose as you lifted the bottle to your lips. "Are you?"

The teasing was laid out bare on the table like a meal.

"Maybe," he said, taking a swig of his own. "You're good company."

You smiled, a small pink to your cheeks coming again.

Joel wondered what else could have you blushing like that. If he was to dip his head low and trace whispers in the skin of your neck, would he be graced by your bashful look. Or would you crane your head back for more?

His eyes drifted at the skin of your neck at the thought.

You shuffled, leaning back in your seat, edging him on.

If you knew his thoughts would you take the reigns?

"Gotta take a leak." Joel did not have to piss, he needed to give himself a stern talking to in the mirror, splash some cold water on himself and move on, shake off his want.

You had come to him for solace, not to be the victim of his pervy thoughts.

"Get it together, Joel." One weekend without his brother and kid supervision and he was reverting back to a horny teen.

By the time he'd shook himself out of it and was walking back to the booth, his seat had already been taken by a man probably his age. John. The scoundrel.

"You're very pretty mind," Joel heard him mumble, saw you look down but not smile or thank him for the compliment.

Joel's hand was clapping down on his shoulder. "Everythin' alright here, buddy?"

"Joel, man," John greeted with a grin as if he wasn't taking his seat and his girl. "Where've you been hidin this young little thing? You know, sharin' is carin'."

"Excuse me?" your voice sounded, startled and disgusted.

That was enough for Joel to pull John out the booth.

"We don't care for your business here," said Joel, standing tall on guard over the booth.

"Oh come on-" John tried.

"Out!" he yelled, gaining looks from the people around.

John scoffed, a glare in his dark and cold eyes as he still took time to scan you.

Joel was watching him go, counting his steps and assessing anyone else in the room that might want to speak to you. He'd tell them to beat it to.

It wasn't until he felt your hand on his bicep that he looked at you.

"Hey," he could hear his own voice softer than the growl he'd used with John. His arms rose, hand holding yours. "I'm sorry."

"No don't be, don't be," you said. Your eyes drifted around the bar as his were still down on you. "Can we go back to yours?"

It had been ruined. The night you'd wanted so bad crumbled. Still, Joel couldn't find it in himself to deny he didn't hate hearing you ask to go back to his.

"Course, of course, darlin'. Come on." He led you out the bar, throwing dollars on the table and leaving your half eaten food and half drunk beers.

The night air ran shivers over your skin as he escorted you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you.

You stood there, hair brushed back in the wind and arms crossed over your chest. "Thank you, for back there."

Joel rested his arm over the opened door. "Don't thank me for that. Guy like that shouldn't have been talkin' to you like that."

You nod and gulp. You took a step closer to him as Joel watched. "You've done so much for me, Joel," your voice was low, with no need to speak up. "What can I do for you, please?"

Joel's breath stuttered as he saw you come closer, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss and grab and hold and- he cleared his throat and looked past your head. It was not a step to take tonight. Maybe ever. "Get in the truck."

The night hadn't gone as planned. Granted, none of the weekend had gone as planned.

Joel's truck pulled up in front of his house slow enough for you to catch the lights on in your house, the car back at front. Someone was home and suddenly that made your weekend all the worse.

You and Joel both got out the truck silently and walked up to his porch but both of you were looking at your house, alive.

"Someone's home."

Joel sighed heavily next to you. "Yeah."

So the weekend would be done. You'd go back to whatever new and tense atmosphere was created. There goes your time with Joel that you hadn't realised could do so much for you.

"Well," you started. "I'll get Sarah's shirt washed and dried for you and get it back. Thanks so much for putting up with me and-"

"Don't go," said Joel.

Your head rose. From the silent way he drove you both back and the way he'd been in the bar, you thought he'd push you back to your house.

Joel's tender gaze shone under the dim porch light. "I know you have shit goin on in that house and I can't stand the thought of that. Can't stand to think you're upset. I want you to stay. For tonight. For always. Just-"

You kissed Joel.

You surged up on your toes, held his cheeks and kissed him.

And his lips felt better than ever imagined. They parted under you and you got your first taste of the man you'd dreamt about. Beer on his tongue, desire on his lips and a thousand wants in the back of his throat.

Joel's arms were strong and urgent as they scooped you up and into his chest, moving until he had you pinned against the wall and his body. He surged you up, feeling into your mouth deeper, pressing his body against yours.

He pulled back, lips kissing under your jaw and trailing down your neck. "Oh baby," he cooed, peppering kisses along the skin.

"Joel," you whined, hands grasping at his shirt and pulling.

He nipped at the skin at the base of your neck and licked over the red he'd created. "Fuck. Say my name again," he muttered. He pulled his head back enough to look at you. "Say it."

"Joel."

He kissed you hard, mouth open and tongue discovering your every angle. His hands wasted no time in falling into your hair.

"Stay tonight," he mumbled against your lips as if he couldn't take himself any further away from you. "Please. Let me show you love. Let me... let me take care of you, baby."

His eyes looked at yours, his head nodding like he could coax that same nod from you. He was still mumbling under his breath, a series of please.

There was nothing in the world that could take you from that moment.

"Yes."

Joel kissed you again, face in yours, tongue finding easy triumph over yours. He kept you into his chest with one arm, the other blindly reaching out to unlock his door.

He threw it open and it banged against the wall.

Joel carried you through the threshold, arms secure around your waist. One hand cupped your ass, dragging over your thigh and encouraging you to wrap a leg around him.

He groaned when he felt the warmth of you on him.

He kicked the door close behind him and was still kissing you, was still stealing your breath when he got to the stairs.

It was slobbery, it was wet. You could only hear the ticking of a clock and the sound of your lips as Joel set you on the stairs.

"Need you," he mumbled, kissing down your neck. "Needed you so long now, you have no idea."

"I do," you moan, throwing your head back, eyes squeezed shut to focus on the heat between your two bodies. "Dreamt about this."

Joel looked up at you. "Yeah? When? When you were in my shower?" his hand dragged down your neck, watching it go. "When you were wrapped in my towel? Wearing my clothes." His hand disappeared under your shirt.

Your breath caught as you felt his rough hands drag up and cup your breast. "Joel," you gasp.

"Wanted to have you so bad, baby," he said, speaking to himself as he tugged up the top. "Smelt you on my towel and had to fist myself thinkin' 'bout you."

You mewl at his words, a needy and pathetic noise.

Joel pulled the top off you and threw it somewhere behind. Your breasts were spilling out of your bra, begging. "Shit."

There was no time for you to speak, to gage yourself as Joel hid himself in your breasts, un-clasping your bra and throwing it aside.

It was needy.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at the roots. You could feel Joel everywhere, his lips dragging against each boob, jumping between the two as if he couldn't decide where to start. His hands were running all over you, down your hips, between your thighs, desperate to feel it all.

Your breathing was erratic, your mind foggy with only one thing. Joel, Joel, Joel.

"Don't- don't stop," you beg.

"Never, never wanna," his voice was muffled as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them together. His tongue darted out and dragged over the skin, hands squeezing.

Your leg wrapped around his hips again and pushed him into the heat between your legs.

Joel groaned.

He pulled back enough to look at you. His hand cupped your cheek, brushing your hair back. "Please... wanna treat you so good.... want you to feel."

"I do," you nod, empty without his lips.

Joel could tell, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. At odds with the hardness that he unconsciously thrust between your legs. "Wanna treat you so good.... gonna be so good for you. Wanna show you love... let me take care of you."

You couldn't make words. The promises in mumbles was driving you mad.

Joel's hand was gentle on your neck but there enough to stir your gaze to his. "Say yes, baby. Say yes."

"Yes, Joel, yes," you weren't even sure what he was asking for. To use you, to fuck you, to take care of you? It was all a yes.

"Let me... let me do everything to show you love," said Joel. He pecked your lips. "Let me eat your pretty pussy. Let me make you tremble on my fingers. Want it. Need it."

You gasp at his words as his hands fall to your jeans, popping the button and pulling them down. "Joel, we're- we're on the stairs." Was this about to happen, your parents over the road? Was Joel gonna take you however he wanted on the stairs leading to his bedroom?

"Yeah we are baby," he said, "need you. Can't wait. Fuck, might die if I don't get your pussy on my face."

You moan aloud at the words.

Joel looked up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Stand up for me, baby."

How you got onto your feet, you had no idea. But you stood steps ahead of him, wearing nothing but soaked panties and a breathless expression.

Joel knelt before you, jeans tight and strained at the front but he moved like it wasn't there. Like his own need wasn't driving him mad as his hands cupped the back of your thighs.

His eyes weren't warm coffee but a dark night as he kept his eyes on you, tongue darting out to lick a strip over your panties.

He hummed. "You're wet. You're so wet. Been needing me? Been needing attention?"

"Ye-yes," you gasp, eyes closing.

"God what a pretty sight, coulda had this, honey," said Joel. His finger followed the path his tongue created. He prodded your panties, watching the material dampen under his touch. Joel pushed it and watched your pussy take it.

"Joel!" your hands flayed, unsure were to put them.

Joel kissed over your bundle of nerves hidden from him once more. "Can you take them down for me? Please?"

You nodded and realised he'd asked you to do something.

Quickly, you slid them down your legs, exposing yourself without a second thought while Joel tore his shirt off.

Before you could throw them with the rest of your discarded clothes but Joel was quick to take them from you.

The material bunched in his fist first before he brought it up to his face. You watched in wonder, noting the quick rise and fall of your own chest, as Joel's tongue darted out and got a taste of you on your panties.

It was obscene and almost had you kneeling over.

Joel's gaze flickered back up to you, dropping your panties when he noticed your pussy weeping. His hands pulled at your thighs, groping the skin until he had you spread on his stairs. "Gonna eat you out now, ok, honey? Gonna have you trembling. Need you on my face, all over me... fuck."

Joel went in like a man starved. He practically sat himself under you legs, holding your thighs apart and spreading you open.

Your moan beat in your own ears as you braced yourself on the wall and banister.

His tongue was sloppy as he went up and down your folds, gathering your juice and swallowing it. He moaned into your pussy.

"Gonna-" he kissed over your folds, wet. "Eat you up, yeah?" he was talking to himself, or your pussy.

The pleasure was all yours as it escalated up your body, leaving you in moans and pathetic whines.

Joel took no notice of anything else but his face in between your legs. "Eat you out till you forget your name. Till you only know pleasure and want," his tongue flattened against you and slurped, drinking everything you had for him. He whined into you, lost in need. "Fuck, baby, this so good."

Your breathing was un-stable, loud. "Joel, you're-you're-"

One of his hands fell to his crotch, squeezing the thick indent of himself. "Don't try and speak baby, know you can't. Just feel. Just feel me and cum when you want. Want you to cum on my face, all over me. Know you can... Want..." his voice was lost in moans and making out with your core.

If he went anywhere to your nerves... If he so much as looked at your clit you feared you might make his wishes come true.

Like he knew your thoughts, Joel's large palm sprawled out on your sternum, thumb circling your clit as his tongue fucked up, dipping in and out of your juice.

"Joel- Joel!" you yelled, gripping the banister like it was the only thing tying you to the earth.

Joel groaned, thumb applying pressure. He knew every part of you already, knew buttons to press to get you a squirming mess. "Come, god baby, please come all over my mouth. Let me... need it," he begged.

He pushed his face flush into you, nose nudging your clit even more as he moaned into you.

You were screaming out as you finished, thighs shaking so hard Joel had to hold them as he took what you gave him, all of it, licking up the mess and cleaning your thighs only to smear more of it over his face.

"So good..."

"Baby, your pussy the best thing I ever had..."

"Feel good, honey, I feel so good. So damn happy right now..."

He was still talking to himself by the time your eyes had opened.

You found his hand down his own trousers, the tip of his cock flush and pink and weeping. You leaned over him, desperate for your own touch.

"No, baby, no." Joel grabbed your wrist and stirred your wanting fingers into his mouth.

He sucked on them (just how you wanted to on his cock) he took them like it was his own favourite treat. He was still moaning, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat he'd created from his own need.

"Wanna.... want your cock, Joel," you whined.

Joel looked up to you, taking your fingers from his mouth with a trail of saliva. "I know baby, he wants you too. God, does he want your mouth."

Joel got to his feet, tugging your still shaking body into his. He kissed you, open-mouthed, tongue licking in. "But I wanna take care of you more than anythin'."

It took a while to get to his room. He carried you up, had your body on his and he couldn't have his lips without yours for more than a second before he was chasing after you for more.

It was like being a teen all over again. It was like tasting the first forbidden fruit, it was like a drug that you never wanted to quit.

It was enough to kill you, but have you living in bliss.

Joel flicked his light on in his room and closed the door behind him. "Gonna fuck you now, ok baby?"

His hand cupped your cheek, coaxing you to look at him.

You nodded, head brushing his.

"I'll be gentle, I will, but I need you open, I need you ready," he kissed you. "Need to fuck you into my bed. Want your body indented there. Want to smell you on my sheets for weeks in case."

In case he never got it again.

You cupped his cheek, fingers ablaze from the feel of stubble. You implored him to look at you. "Won't be the last time."

"No?" his eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas.

Your tongue darted out, flicking his lips. "Gonna need you, always."

"Always," Joel repeated.

While distracted, you slid to your knees, dropping down with a thud.

You didn't even bother freeing Joel from his trousers and boxers, you just wet him over it with your mouth. You dragged it up, tasting the denim but feeling the twitch of satisfaction he gave you.

Joel groaned, hands hovering in the air around you as you made quick work. "Baby, no, what did I... fuck... what did I say?"

You moan against the denim, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "But want you, Joel, want to feel you."

"Arg- you will baby," he grunted, jaw clenching. "Go on then, play a bit."

You smiled and pulled down his jeans and boxers in one. His cock sprang out, beads of pre-cum already trailing down.

He had length but it was the thickness that had you swallowing. The veins that had you reaching out with spit on your hand to work him up and down.

You tried to go slow, you really did, quickly you picked up the pace as Joel moaned.

You kissed his tip and then around it before your tongue licked around him, collecting his pre-cum and savouring the taste. It was so him.

"Oh baby, enough to bring a man to his knees."

You sensed you didn't have much time, darting your head low to engulf his balls in your mouth- or at least one of them. It was heavy on your tongue, warm with him.

As suspected, Joel groaned loudly before dragging you up.

He tossed you down on the bed, stepping out of his pants.

You expected to feel his cock trace your entrance, to be prepared for the burning and passion inside of you.

Joel had gone in with his tongue again fist. He really was on his knees, holding your thighs open and licking up and down, getting your taste again like he'd forgotten it in the time it took to get to his room.

Your hand flew to his hair, tugging at the roots. "Joel!"

"Whatever you want, baby," he mumbled, kissing at your thigh.

"Fuck me! Fuck me, please!"

His tongue left you alone and you felt the bed dip as he crawled over you. Your legs fell flat and wide, accommodating him. He hovered over you enough so you wouldn't feel him. "You want it?"

"I do," your eyes stung, you were close enough to tears.

"Want all of me splitting you open?" he asked, "once you have me baby, that's it. You can't have anyone else."

"Don't want anyone else, just please."

Joel tested himself on top of you, head in the crook of your neck, nipping and licking. "Gonna fill you up, make you feel.... so good!" He broke off in a groan as he led his cock into you. "Shit! You're so ... so tight."

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slowly inched himself in more and more. "Joel..."

He brushed your hair out the way, still over you. "This ok? You feelin' me? Feelin' all of me."

Your eyes screwed shut at the initial burn but your own need pulsed and had you begging for more.

"Don't wanna hurt you, my pretty girl," he mumbled.

You shook your head. "Won't. Just move!"

Joel could never say no to you.

His hips rocked slowly, until all of him was sunk in. He was still a moment longer, panting above you.

"Joel, move, please," you begged, holding onto him.

"Baby if I move now i'm coming inside of you and i'm spent," he chuckled. "Trying to make it good. Trying to make it last."

There was earnest in his voice. A true desire that went beyond touching, that went beyond proving he could love you and take care of you.

He wanted you. All of you. Forever.

Your hand cupped him, thumb tracing over his bottom lip as his eyes opened to yours. "It's perfect."

Neither of you blinked. Neither of you dared look away to where he slowly sank in and out of you. You looked at each others eyes, watched every wince and flicker of pleasure. Watched the darkest of desires and the purest of desires flicker with every twitch and move of him.

It grew to more.

Joel's hands went from your neck to your hips to rock you into him, to guide each thrust. Every time he slowly left you he entered you with force, needing to stabilise you.

He wasn't just talking when he said he'd fuck you into the bed.

Soon enough he was bottoming out in you with every thrust and you could only hear the slapping of skin and the words tumbling out his mouth.

"Made for me. My god, where you made for me..."

"Pussy feels just as good as it tastes... can't believe it...."

"Gonna finish inside of you, and you're gonna finish on my cock. This is it. It's us now, ain't nobody ever takin you from me..."

"Yours," you moan, nails scratching down his skin. "Oh, i'm all yours."

"Prove it to me," he all but growled as his thrusts became quick and hard. "Come on my cock and show him how good it feels. He needs it, he wants it. Needs.... wants..."

"Joel I- mmh- want you to come."

"So kind baby," he chuckled. "But I will, god will I. But only once you've come. My cock needs it now, baby, now!"

You didn't think it could get better, that his thrusts could get harder and stir you into a craze but he proved you wrong.

As you mouth hung open in a moan, Joel held your jaw open and had his fingers in there, gathering your saliva before he moved those fingers down your body and onto your clit.

The deftness of his fingers and the quick thrusts had you finishing and pulsing on his cock, screaming his name until the whole damn street could hear.

Your walls were wet, your pussy clenching around Joel until his hips were stuttering with his groans.

"Oh i'm gonna cum.... oh, i'm gonna... fuck- fuck!" his words trailed away into groans from hell as he hit one last thrust, balls against you.

You were still riding your high when you felt his warmth inside you, marking you, becoming you. Both of you climaxed and moaned, every twitch and touch sending trembles through you.

Every little pulse had more of Joel spluttering inside of you until he had nothing left.

He fell on top of you, cock twitching. He kissed your skin, licked away the sweat rolling down your temples until he could find it to move out of you.

Joel rolled onto his side, pulling the covers over you as you both caught your breath.

Once you had enough air in your lungs, you turned to Joel. He was already scanning you like he was ready for round two.

"Thank you," you didn't know why you said it. All you knew was you'd never felt so cared and loved before.

Joel smiled. "You're so welcome, baby. But don't think i'm done takin care of you yet."

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justinspoliticalcorner · 5 months ago

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Ryan Adamczeski at The Advocate:

After Target made the decision to drop diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, Minnesota's largest Pride festival decided to drop them as a sponsor. Now, Twin Cities Pride has more funding than they started with. Target issued a memo on Friday announcing the end of its three-year DEI goals, including its Racial Equity Action and Change (REACH) program and "all external diversity-focused survey’s including HRC’s Corporate Equality index.” The Human Rights Campaign effort, which provides benchmarks on corporate policies relevant to LGBTQ+ employees, previously gave Target a score of 100 percent, dubbing the company a “Leader in LGBTQ+ Workplace Inclusion." In response, the largest Pride organization in Minnesota and the largest free Pride celebration in the United States, Twin Cities Pride, announced this week that it would be dropping Target as a sponsor for its 2025 events. The company had initially pledged $50,000, and had been involved in Pride celebrations for around two decades.

[...] Target was not backing down on its $50,000 pledge, but Otto says that TCP and their allies still saw the move as a betrayal, as the company is "taking away safety for the community not only in their employees, but in their suppliers." As the community was "looking to us to hold them accountable," TCP's board made the decision to remove Target as a sponsor. "This isn't about the money," Otto says. "Because if the money wasn't there, would we even be questioning this decision? The answer is no. The reality of it is, is that it's the right thing to do for our community." The end of DEI programs and LGBTQ+ inclusivity initiatives marks a significant shift for the Minnesota-based company, which once withstood protests from hate groups over its inclusive bathroom policies and Pride displays. However, the change was not sudden, as Target pulled some of its Pride Month merchandise in 2023 amid threats and violent protests in stores.

[...] Companies' willingness to abandon the LGBTQ+ community contributes to the long-standing debate among activists over "Rainbow Capitalism," which refers to the trend of companies marketing to or profiting off the queer community without meaningfully supporting them. Examples include Disney using a rainbow logo while cancelling or censoring LGBTQ+ projects, Netflix claiming to support LGBTQ+ people while hosting Dave Chapelle's harmful jokes about transgender people, or Target scaling back Pride displays after pressure from extremists despite decades of precedent.

With Target abandoning its once-stellar support for the LGBTQ+ community by dropping DEI, Twin Cities Pride not only ousted them from sponsorship but raised more money.

See Also:

LGBTQ Nation: Pride organization rejects Target’s $50K donation after the store turns its back on DEI

#Target #DEI #Minnesota #LGBTQ+#LGBTQ+ Pride Month #Pride Month #Minneapolis #Twin Cities Pride

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alinathinkstoomuch · 17 days ago

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TOO PRETTY TO BE STRESSED

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader summary: aaron swears he's not the clingy type...until you show up, and suddenly it's a full blown PDA parade in the bullpen, based on this request. warnings | an: fluff, they're so in love it makes me sick, lots of touching, hotch soothing r's stress with his credit card, i am once again spreading the suggar!daddy!hotch agenda, the team being annoying, hotch enabling r's spending habits. word count: 2.1k

✧ masterlist

Walking through the doors of the FBI never quite feels normal. You’d think being married to the man who runs one of its top units would earn you a little immunity from the nerves, but nope. There are still plenty of tight-lipped smiles from men who clearly think you don’t belong (to be fair, you technically don’t), and those awkward elevator rides where you end up clarifying, again, that you’re just here to drop off lunch for the most handsome agent in the building. Not that you say that part out loud.

It doesn’t happen often, hardly ever, really. Aaron’s not the kind of man who forgets things, especially not lunch. Maybe twice every four months, if that. And even then, he never asks for you to bring it. He usually brushes off your offers with a quick ‘I’ll grab something from the cafeteria’ which, of course, actually means ‘I won’t eat until dinner.’

And that just won’t suffice. Especially not when he’s been filling out his shirt so nicely, lately.

So there you were, pretty shoes dragging against the dull bureau floor, lunch in one hand, cookies and your purse dangling from the other, wrist definitely starting to ache. You weren’t exactly sneaking into the bullpen, but you weren’t strutting either. Just stuck in that awkward middle space reserved for people who technically shouldn’t be there, but have the authority to show up anyway, because boss man said so.

“There she is! Hotchner’s better half,” Emily called out, spinning her chair around with a grin.

You offered a sheepish wave, trying not to drop anything. “I come bearing gifts…and mild wrist pain.”

“Oh! Are those the butterscotch ones?” Penelope squealed, jumping up from where she’d been perched on Spencer’s desk.

“Yes, new recipe,” you said, carefully setting your things down on JJ’s desk as she kindly unhooked your overloaded purse. “I swapped out the dark brown sugar for light, added a little sea salt on top, and I may have used browned butter this time. I was feeling ambitious.”

“You browned the butter?” Penelope gasped. “You absolute kitchen goddess!”

Spencer leaned in for a closer look as you popped the lid off the container. “That actually changes the flavor quite a bit. The Maillard reaction from browning—”

“Yes, yes, science, great,” Emily cut in. “Can we eat them now, or is there a presentation we have to sit through first?”

You laughed, nudging the tin closer to everyone. “No presentations. Just cookies. Though if anyone gives them a rating out of ten that’s higher than a nine, I won’t complain.”

Morgan was the first to grab one, swiftly using it as a pointer to gesture towards Aaron, who was pushing back his chair. “Oh look, here he comes.”

You glanced up just in time to catch it—that little motion he always did, fingers brushing his tie flat against his chest as he stood. A completely innocent gesture. Totally routine. And somehow still enough to make your mouth water.

“You know,” Morgan added, mid-chew, “that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him leave his office. Last time he moved like that, we had an active shooter in the building.”

“Alright, don’t scare her,” Rossi scolded, swatting Morgan’s bicep with a file. “She already doesn't like coming here as it is.”

“Now, that’s not true, Dave,” you corrected, grabbing Aaron’s lunch. “I love seeing you all. I just prefer doing it without all the security nuisance, badges, metal detectors and guns.”

Morgan nudged your elbow, eyes still on Aaron as he made his way over. “For a guy who claims he’s not clingy, he’s practically tripping over himself right now.”

“Oh, he’s definitely clingy,” you grinned, just as Aaron reached you, wasting zero time before leaning in and placing a swift kiss to your lips, murmuring a dreamy ‘Hi you’ before pulling away.

“Come on.” Morgan shook his head, reaching for his second cookie. “This is the same guy who made us sit through a mandatory refresher on workplace boundaries, and now look at him, breaking every single one.”

“Let them be in love,” JJ said sweetly, sipping her coffee like this was all perfectly normal.

You looked up at Aaron, eyebrows raised, trying to coax some kind of reaction to all the teasing. But he didn’t even glance at the others, just kept his eyes on you as he took the lunch bag from your hands, his fingers brushing along your wrist with just enough pressure to say thank you, I missed you, without saying anything at all.

“You didn’t have to come all this way, honey.”

“I know, but I overbaked and figured I was due for my monthly dose of shocking the system.” You glanced around the bullpen, cringing a little at the endless clacking of keyboards and constant ringing of phones. It was all starting to give you at least four different headaches. “Feels like there’s less oxygen in here somehow.”

“That’s because no one is allowed to breathe until all the paperwork is done,” Emily interjected dryly.

“Is that true, Aaron?” you asked, reaching up to fuss with his tie. “Are you working your team too hard?”

“They live to complain.”

A chorus of groans and mock-offended noises rose up around you, just as Aaron’s hand slipped to the small of your back, steering you gently towards his office.

“Blinds stay open, you two,” Morgan called after you, pointing two fingers from his eyes to yours. “We’re watching!”

“Just keep walking,” Aaron murmured into your hair, voice quiet and beguiled, giving your hip a subtle squeeze as he guided you up the stairs.

You bit back a grin, feeling far too smug—and frankly, far too giddy—for someone standing in a federal building. Inside his office, he quietly closed the door behind you and you made yourself at home by sliding into one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Think Morgan might have a point, you are getting a little reckless with the PDA. You’re going soft.”

He moved to his chair, smoothing his tie against his chest as he sat. “I’ve always been soft with you.”

That answer knocked the wind out of you in the quietest way. You blinked once, then shook your head. “Wow. Okay. That’s not even fair.”

He just looked amused, unpacking the lunch bag while sneaking glances at you like he couldn’t help himself. “You know they’ll be talking about this all afternoon.”

You waved him off and kicked his foot gently under the desk, because footsies, like true love, didn’t have an expiration date. “Let them. Let them talk about how you have a gorgeous, brilliant, amazing wife who is kind enough to hand-deliver your lunch.”

“They already know.”

“Good answer.” You nodded, satisfied, and handed him a few tissues just as he took the first bite of his sandwich. “Now, how's your day been? And don’t say ‘fine’, or I’ll start pulling out my therapist's voice and asking about your coping mechanisms.”

He chewed, giving you a dour look over the top of the sandwich like he was already reconsidering speaking at all.

“Busy. Two consults, one profile draft, and I’ve had to remind Morgan three times to finish his report.”

“So… business as usual.”

“Basically.”

He took another bite, and you used the pause to admire him. How pretty he looked. He was getting subtly more rugged with time, never quite managing the clean-shaven look, not for lack of trying, but that had always been fine by you. You loved him exactly as he was.

Your eyes wandered over his desk, taking in the meticulously organised scene in front of you. Everything was in its place, except for a single pen and one loose file slightly out of line, a tiny disruption in an otherwise perfect system. It made you smile.

He wiped his mouth, and in that moment, his wedding band caught the thin stream of light this moody building begrudgingly allowed in. As if the universe was saying, yes, look—he’s yours.

And you thanked her silently for it. Because he was.

“Want to ditch the rest of the day, fake a headache, and run away with me to somewhere that doesn’t require badge access?” you proposed, straightening the photo of you on his desk.

He tilted his head. “Tempting.”

“You’d never actually do it, though.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I’ll think about it the whole time I’m here.”

Your smile pulled a little wider. “That’s enough for me. That—and as long as I’ll have you home in time for dinner,” you said, though it came out as more of a question. Maybe even a tiny, minuscule threat.

“Don’t worry, I will,” he assured you kindly. “I know your parents are coming over tonight. I wouldn’t dream of making you face that alone. I’m guessing that’s what’s been bothering you, hence the industrial-sized cookie batch?”

You sighed, slumping back into the chair. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

“You know they’re hard work. And I can only fake-smile and nod my way through so many stories about people I don’t remember and opinions I didn’t ask for.”

Aaron set his sandwich aside, abandoning it on the tissue you had passed him earlier. He used another to wipe his hands, then stood, taking two steps to get to you.

Before you could say anything, his hands were on either side of your chair, gently turning it to face him. He crouched down, and you instinctively parted your legs so he could slot in between them.

“Hey,” he urged softly. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it together, and if it gets to be too much, I’m excellent at coming up with polite excuses to get them out of the house.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

And just in case his words were not confirmation enough, his hands came to cradle your face, thumbs circling your skin before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Go to that bookstore you like,” he said next, already reaching into his pocket. “Grab your favorite coffee, roam around for a while, and try not to stress until they text you that they’re on their way, okay?”

He pulled out his wallet and fished out his card. “You’re too pretty to be stressing in this skirt.”

You raised a brow, lifting one leg and watching the flowy fabric settle back down over your knee. “It’s cute right?”

“Very.” He nodded, dead serious. “Go buy yourself another one.” He extended the card towards you like it was non-negotiable.

You laughed, giving his hand a light swat. “I’m not taking your card like some 1950s housewife.”

“You’re not. You’re my very independent, endlessly capable wife who I happen to love spoiling any chance I get. Now, please, take it. Call it payment for lunch…and for making you come all the way here, knowing full well how much you’d rather avoid this place.”

You pouted, eyes dancing between the card and his face. “Fine,” you relented, plucking the card from his hand. “But I’m only getting one book. Two max. The bookshelf is about to collapse.”

“Buy as many as you want.” He reached down, helping you to your feet with a gentle tug. “I’ll build you a new bookshelf.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

“You’ll build me a new bookshelf?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “With actual tools.”

“Okay, now I have to see that.”

He pulled back, straightening your cardigan, fussing without ever making it feel like fussing. “Then you better pick up a lot of books.”

You rolled your eyes, tucking the card away into your pocket. “This is enabling.”

“This is love,” he corrected, stealing a quick kiss before walking you to the door. “Text me when you get there. And if you see a ridiculous romance novel with a cheesy title, get it. I want to hear the plot.”

You grinned, poking his chest. “You just want to make fun of me.”

“No, I just like knowing what’s taking up space in that beautiful head of yours.”

“It’s mostly just you.”

He looked like he was trying not to smile too hard at that, so you saved him the trouble by leaning up and giving him one last kiss, ignoring all the hollering behind you from Morgan.

“I love you,” he promised, smoothing a hand down your arm. “Now, go before I change my mind and fake a headache just to come with you.”

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner fluff #mine🌟

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ssahotchnerr · 1 month ago

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so i just had a tiktok on my fyp of a couple where the guy always instinctively holds out his and behind him whenever he walks/has to walk in front of his fiancée and my mind went instantly to aaron bc let’s be honest he’s a lover boy and he’d 10000% do that 🤭🤭 oh to be loved by him😔😪

intertwined

lover boy aaron loml 🥰 cw; bau fem!reader, established relationship, some protective aaron <333, your usual cm case content, fluff

An annoyed huff left Aaron as he pulled up to the front of the precinct. "You're kidding."

News stations, reporters, and interested civilians flocked the entrance, cameras rolling and snapping pictures the second the SUVs came into view.

You frowned, your eyes quickly scanning for an alternate route. "There isn't a back way?"

"Unfortunately not." Cutting the engine, he moved fast, swiftly unbuckling his seatbelt. You instantly followed suit, zipping up your FBI windbreaker. "Let's go."

Reporters were shouting a flurry of questions before you had properly exited the vehicle. Your unsub had been high profile; a local, popular philanthropist. A fraud nonetheless, using his 'compelling' platform to take advantage of those vulnerable. Convincing them he could help, and then using their weaknesses to a deathly advantage. Evidently, word of his arrest spread like wildfire.

Aaron waited for you at the front of the car, lingering until you were promptly at his side before catching up to the others. He quickly oversaw Dave and JJ pry the guy out, acting as a protective barrier from the crowd - before following.

That meant you were on the back end; Dave and JJ leading the way, then Aaron, and then yourself.

Your strategic, collective job was easy; get through the crowd and use the simple words no comment. It was no problem avoiding their questions, a press conference to be done at a later time to compensate. As for right now, the only concern was getting the guy inside.

After a moment, amidst the frenzy, Aaron's hand gingerly moved behind him, his fingers stretching blindly for yours.

Your heart warmed at the gesture, especially since you were feeling the crowd closing in, but hesitated. Aaron's aversion to public displays in the field rarely faltered, set on the intention of keeping it behind closed doors. You knew that, and you respected that, and you didn’t want him to compromise on it unthinkingly.

Your eyes lifted in the interest of meeting his, to confirm the exposed contact, in front of cameras, but he didn't turn his head. His hand hung waiting as he continuously moved forward, unwavering and unyielding until your fingers brushed against his.

You firmly grasped onto his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in the surrounding chaos. Aaron's hand squeezed yours once, twice. A silent: Stay close. Don’t let go. He even pulled you toward him, right to his back, ensuring you were securely within his proximity.

It was disorientating. The flashing of lights, strongly illuminated due to the dark of night. Intertwining, hurried voices - you could barely hear Aaron or the others state no comment. Some knew to keep a favorable distance, but one anchor did manage to bump right into you, his microphone hitting your arm. Not too harshly, but enough to be noticeable.

Aaron felt it, the abrupt jolt of your arm. His head snapped back, and the anchor earned himself a hardened glare in return, receiving a sharp, "careful."

He cowered, shrinking back and blending into his fellow over enthusiastic colleagues.

Aaron's gaze met yours, concern hidden behind his unit chief demeanor. Only you could interpret their soft, discrete meaning. You alright, sweetheart?

You offered a small nod, softening your eyes in response. Further proof that you were in fact: Fine.

His hand tightened its hold, only letting up when the team reached the front doors. He stepped aside, using his backside to hold it open. He ushered you in, his hand shifting to the small of your back momentarily and letting the doors close behind him.

As you followed JJ and Dave into holding, Aaron caught up to you rather quickly - close enough that his shoulder was bumping into yours. Hidden between your sides, his gentle fingers intertwined with yours once more.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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cosmicaura7 · 2 months ago

Text

EATING YOU OUT

Pairings : pedro pascal characters x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, edging

Synopsis : He is a devoted husband in every sense of the word. But when it comes to you, his pretty wife, there’s one thing he simply can’t get enough of.

Clint Flood (Freaky Tales)

Clint had always been a man of few words. He never needed them, not when his actions spoke louder, not when he could show you exactly how much he adored you with the way he touched you, worshiped you. And God, did he worship you.

You barely had time to register the way he pulled you into bed, hands gripping your thighs, parting them with a desperation that made your breath hitch. Clint had that look in his eyes, the one that said he was about to ruin you and the one that made your body tremble before he even laid a finger on you.

"Been thinkin’ about this all damn day." He muttered, voice rough with hunger as he pressed kisses up your inner thigh. His scruff scratched against your skin, sending shivers up your spine.

Your fingers threaded through his messy hair as he settled between your legs, inhaling deeply, like the scent of you alone was enough to drive him mad. His large hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth and before you could say anything, his tongue was on you, slow, deliberate and savoring. "Clint…" You gasped but he only groaned in response, the vibrations making your thighs twitch around his head.

"You know better than to talk, sweetheart." He murmured against you, his tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made your breath stutter. "Just let me take care of you."

And he did.

Clint was relentless, devouring you with an obsession that left you weak. He licked, sucked and nipped, memorized every little sound you made, every little movement of your hips. He wanted you shaking, coming undone on his tongue, over and over, until you were too blissed-out to do anything but whimper his name. His grip on your thighs tightened when you tried to move away, too overwhelmed by the pleasure but he wasn’t letting you go, not yet. "Stay still, baby." He murmured, voice thick with need. "Ain't done with you."

Your back arched as his tongue worked you over again, teasing, torturing, until you were gasping, pulling at his hair, your body trembling under him. He ate you like a man starved, like he’d never get enough of you because he wouldn’t. And when you finally shattered, thighs clamping around his head, your body shaking with the force of your release, Clint only groaned in satisfaction, licking up every last drop of you like it was his lifeline.

As you lay there, boneless, breathless, he kissed his way back up your body, his lips brushing over your heated skin, smirking against your cheek. "Still with me, pretty girl?" He teased, his voice full of pride. You could barely form words, still floating in the haze he’d left you in. But Clint? He was already thinking about the next time because once would never be enough. Not when it came to you.

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

Dave York had many obsessions, precision, control and more. The satisfaction of a perfectly executed plan. But none of them compared to you. And more specifically, the way you tasted. It was the one thing that shattered his discipline, made him reckless and made him a goddamn fiend.

Tonight was no different.

You barely had time to process before Dave had you spread out on the bed, your silk nightgown pushed up to your waist, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs. He wasn’t even pretending to take his time, he needed this, needed you.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, a groan rumbling deep in his chest as he tasted you. “Fuck.” He muttered against your skin, his grip tightening on your thighs. “How do you get sweeter every time?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he devoured you, licking into you like a man starved. The heat of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the way his scruff rubbed against your sensitive skin, it was too much. “D-Dave.” Your voice was already shaking, your thighs trembling around his head but that only seemed to spur him on.

He growled, a deep, needy sound, and wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking you in place. “Not done yet, sweetheart.” As if you had any say in the matter. He feasted on you, tongue circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making your back arch off the bed. You whimpered, thighs trying to snap shut but his grip was bruising, his strength impossible to fight.

“That’s it.” He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your swollen cunt. “Give me everything, baby.”

Your body obeyed, hips rolling against his face, chasing the high he always pulled from you. And when you finally broke, when pleasure crashed over you so violently your entire body trembled, Dave didn’t stop, didn’t let you go.

You tried to push at his shoulders, whimpering from overstimulation but he just laughed, pressing his tongue flat against your clit again. “Who told you we were done?” He murmured against your soaked heat. “I’ll stop when I’m finished.” And you knew, there was no stopping him now. You were his and he was going to ruin you.

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

Dieter had many vices.

Drugs? Sure. Booze? Of course. Attention? Absolutely.

But nothing compared to his addiction to you. Specifically, your pussy.

It was almost ridiculous how often he had his face between your legs. You could be doing anything, reading, scrolling through your phone, even talking to him about something completely mundane and suddenly, Dieter would get that look in his eyes. That lazy hungry gaze.

Like now.

You were sitting on the couch, dressed in nothing but one of his old t-shirts, scrolling through your emails. You barely noticed Dieter shifting beside you, draping himself over your lap, nuzzling against your thighs like a cat begging for attention. It was when he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh that you finally glanced down.

“D…” You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I’m busy.”

Dieter hummed, completely ignoring you, nosing the fabric of your shirt up so he could kiss higher, closer. “You can’t really be that busy.” He murmured against your skin. “Not too busy for me, right, sweetheart?”

“You literally ate me out this morning.” You arched a brow.

“And? That was hours ago.” Dieter grinned, nipping at your thigh. You sighed but the anticipation was already pooling low in your stomach. Because you knew Dieter wasn’t going to give up. He never did.

With a content hum, he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled, dragging you down until you were half-sprawled against the couch. You let out a soft yelp as he pushed your legs apart, settling between them like a man ready to worship at the altar of his favorite religion. “I love this pretty little pussy.” He murmured, eyes dark as he ran his fingers along your already damp folds. “I swear baby, I could die between these thighs and be the happiest man alive.”

“You’re insane.” You let out a breathless laugh.

Dieter smirked. “I’m just a man who knows what he likes.” And with that, he dove in. His mouth was hot, tongue slow and deliberate as he licked a long, teasing stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Fuck, Dieter…” Your head fell back against the couch. He groaned against you, like he was savoring the taste, like he’d been starving for this. Because he was. He never rushed. Never got bored. Never stopped until you were a shaking, whimpering mess underneath him.

And tonight? He was taking his time.

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

It was late aboard the Razor Crest, the hum of hyperspace a soft backdrop to the warmth cocooning you within your shared bunk. The dim glow of the overhead lights bathed the cramped space in shadows but none of it mattered, not when you were beneath him.

Din had you sprawled out on the thin mattress, his beskar discarded, his helmet resting on the shelf beside him. His dark eyes were fixed on you, hungry and full of devotion, as he pressed kisses along the inside of your thigh. His gravelly voice, thick with need, sent shivers through your already trembling body. "You're shaking, cyar’ika." He murmured, lips ghosting over your sensitive skin. "And I haven't even started yet."

Your fingers curled into the sheets as you whimpered, your body betraying you. The sheer intensity of his gaze, like you were the only thing in the galaxy that mattered, left you breathless. "Din, please." You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

A low chuckle vibrated against your thigh. "So needy." He murmured, dragging his tongue over your skin, slow and teasing. "You know I love it when you beg."

You gasped as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, trapping you beneath his unyielding strength. And then he devoured you. His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue swirling, lips sealing over you with an insatiable hunger that left you writhing beneath him. You cried out, arching against him but his grip tightened, holding you down and forcing you to take it.

"You taste so fucking good, my riduur." He groaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Your fingers flew to his hair, tugging, desperate for something to ground yourself. But Din only growled, doubling down, lapping you up like a man starved. His obsession with this, with you, bordered on madness. And you were helpless against it. Utterly and completely at his mercy.

Ezra (The Prospect)

Ezra has always been an indulgent man. The kind to savor his pleasures, to take his time. And when it comes to you? He’s downright ravenous.

It starts with a kiss.

It always does.

A slow, lazy thing, Ezra’s lips pressing soft and warm against yours as he pulls you into his lap. His hands, calloused and sure, trace the curve of your spine, skimming lower, gripping just enough to make you sigh against his mouth. "You’re too good to me, sugar." He murmurs, his breath ghosting over your jaw as his lips move lower. "Ain’t right, how lucky I got."

"And what did I do to deserve such praise?" You smile, threading your fingers through his hair.

Ezra hums, dragging his lips down the column of your throat. "Exist." And then he’s gone. Down, down, lower, his hands gripping your hips as he lays you back against the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, his broad shoulders parting your thighs as he settles between them.

And God help you, because you know what’s coming. Ezra is obsessed with your pussy. And he’s about to prove it.

He starts slow. Dragging his mouth along the inside of your thigh, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin there. Savoring, worshiping and teasing. "You’re soft everywhere, sugar." He murmurs, voice thick with hunger. "But this? Right here?" His thumb presses against your slick heat, parting you, and he groans. "This is my favorite part."

Your breath catches as he dips his head, his tongue flicking out to taste.

And then Ezra moans like he’s the one being pleasured, like he’s just been given the most decadent meal in the universe. His good hand grips your thigh, holding you open, keeping you spread and vulnerable for his mouth. He licks deep, dragging his tongue through your folds before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

You jolt, your hands flying to his hair, thighs trembling around his head.

"Ezra!"

"That’s it." He rasps, pulling back just enough to press a wet kiss against your swollen bud. "Say my name, sugar." He licks again, slower this time, his tongue curling just right and you keen.

"God, Ezra!"

He groans against you, the vibrations sparking pleasure up your spine. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he devours you, his mouth moving in slow, deliberate strokes, building you up, winding you tight. And then he flicks his tongue, fast and sharp, before sucking hard.

And you break. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body arching, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out his name. But Ezra doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He keeps going, keeps licking, keeps sucking, dragging out every last tremor, every last pulse of pleasure until you’re shaking beneath him, gasping, whimpering. Only then does he finally pull away, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and blown with hunger.

"You taste like heaven, sugar." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your trembling thigh. "Think I might need another bite."

And then he dives back in.

And you?

You’re gone.

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Frankie wasn’t ashamed of it. Hell, he’d scream it from the rooftops if he could. He was obsessed with his wife’s pussy. It was his, after all.

And right now, he was devouring it like a man starved. His broad shoulders were wedged between your thighs, his scruffy beard scratching against your inner thighs as his tongue worked you over, slow and deliberate, savoring the way you squirmed beneath him. Your back was arched, your fingers tugging at his curls, your breath ragged as you tried and failed to keep up with his relentless pace.

“F-Frankie!” Your voice hitched as his tongue flicked against your clit, his arms tightening around your thighs, locking you in place.

“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, his voice gravelly, deep, vibrating against your soaked cunt. “Let me hear you.” You whimpered, legs trembling around his head, but he just held you tighter, lapped at you harder, his tongue dipping deep, tasting everything you had to give him.

“Always so sweet, honey. Always so perfect.” You shuddered, your body tensing, that familiar heat building, rising, coiling tight.

And then Frankie sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling, flicking, pushing you over the edge. Your cry filled the room as you came undone, your thighs clamping around his head, your entire body shaking beneath him.

But Frankie wasn’t done, not yet. “One more, baby.” His voice was thick with hunger, his hands spreading you open again, his tongue diving back in before you could even catch your breath.

And the only thing you could do was take it like a good little girl.

Harry Castillo (The Materialists)

The penthouse was dimly lit, the glow from the city skyline casting soft shadows across the bedroom. Outside, the world was still alive, cars honking, sirens wailing, people laughing in distant bars but here, none of that mattered.

Here, it was just you and Harry.

And Harry was hungry. His hands were possessive, large palms gliding over your bare thighs as he spread you open beneath him. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin, sending a delicious shiver up your spine. “Look at you.” He murmured, eyes dark with need as he settled between your legs. “My perfect little wife.” His lips pressed to the inside of your knee, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh. Every inch he covered made your heartbeat hammer against your ribs, your breath catching when his nose brushed against where you needed him most.

“Harry…” You whispered, already trembling beneath his touch.

His lips curved against your skin. He loved this, loved how eager, needy and utterly wrecked you became under his hands. He had barely touched you and yet you were already coming undone for him. “You know I can’t help myself.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the softest part of your thigh. “Not when you taste so fucking sweet.”

And then, he devoured you. His tongue was hot, skilled, and utterly merciless as he dragged it through your slick heat. You arched off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as your fingers shot down to grip his hair, holding on as he took his time tasting you.

Harry groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. He loved this. Loved the way your thighs tried to clamp around his head, the way you whimpered and gasped his name with every flick of his tongue. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he feasted. Every slow, deliberate lap of his tongue had you trembling, your body coiling tighter and tighter with unbearable pleasure.

“Oh, god! Harry…” You gasped, hips bucking against his mouth. “I…I'm gonna…”

“Go on.” He growled against you, tongue pressing deep, voice husky with obsession. “Give it to me.”

And you did. Your body shattered, pleasure ripping through you so violently that you couldn’t even scream, just a silent, breathless cry as your vision whited out. But Harry wasn’t done. Even as you trembled beneath him, legs twitching, breath shaky, he kept going.

“Too much…” You whimpered, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened on your thighs, pinning you down.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart.” He rasped, looking up at you with hungry, darkened eyes. “I’m not done yet.” And then he dove back in, tongue relentless, dragging you into another devastating wave of pleasure.

You were his. His beautiful, perfect little wife. And he was going to worship you all night long.

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels prided himself on many things, his skill as an agent, his precision with a lasso, his ability to hold his liquor better than most men. But above all else, there was one thing he cherished, one thing he could never get enough of: you.

More specifically, the sweet little prize between your thighs.

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

You were sprawled across the bed, your body trembling beneath him, your breath coming in ragged little gasps. The silk sheets beneath you were already wrinkled, your fingers tangled in them as you tried to keep yourself together. But Jack had other plans. “Oh, honey.” He drawled against your soaked folds, his voice thick with amusement and hunger. “Ain’t no use runnin’ from me.” Your thighs jerked as his tongue dragged through your slick folds, his hands gripping the plush flesh to keep you still. He’d been down here for what felt like hours, working you over with that devastating mouth of his, taking his time like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

And for Jack, that was true. He had you all to himself, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“J-Jack…” You whimpered, your voice wrecked and needy, barely a breath.

His cock throbbed at the sound, at the way you begged so prettily for him without even realizing it. He nuzzled against your swollen clit, letting his scruff drag against the sensitive skin before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

You cried out, arching off the bed, your hands flying to his hair as your thighs instinctively tried to clamp around his head. But he was stronger and faster, he pinned your legs open with ease, spreading you wide for him. “Uh-uh, darlin’.” He murmured, looking up at you with dark, hazy eyes. “You know better than that. Let me see you.”

Your chest heaved as you met his gaze, your body quaking beneath him. He looked downright ravenous, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick, his pupils blown wide with hunger. “Prettiest damn thing I ever laid eyes on.” He muttered before diving right back in. His tongue worked you over, alternating between slow, teasing licks and deep, relentless strokes that had you seeing stars. He devoured you, like he was a man starved and you were the only meal he ever needed.

Your stomach tightened, pleasure coiling low, your muscles locking up as you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge. “Come on, sugar.” Jack murmured against you, his voice vibrating through your core. “Give me another one. Know you got it in ya.”

And oh, you did.

With one last flick of his tongue, you shattered. Your body seized, pleasure ripping through you as you sobbed his name, your vision going white-hot as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Jack groaned against you, his grip tightening, holding you steady as he licked you through every last aftershock, determined to prolong your bliss for as long as he could. Only when your body finally sagged against the bed, spent and trembling, did he pull away. His lips were wet, his beard glistening, but that smirk was firmly in place as he crawled up your body, pressing his hard, aching length against your thigh.

“Think you got another one in ya, sweet thing?” He murmured, nipping at your jaw as one of his hands trailed between your legs, his fingers teasing your overstimulated clit. You whimpered, your entire body shuddering as a fresh wave of need coursed through you.

Jack grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

Javi Guttierez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Javi Gutierrez had always been a devoted man. To his work, to his friends, to the things he loved. But nothing held his devotion quite like you did. Especially when he had you like this. Sprawled out on the bed, limbs trembling, thighs spread wide for him as he buried his face between them like a man starved.

He wasn’t even pretending to pace himself tonight. From the moment he laid you down, he had been relentless, tongue hot and wet as it flicked over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen bud just to suck, pulling desperate whimpers from your throat. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you still even as your body tried to escape the pleasure he forced upon you. You were shaking. Shaking beneath him, body writhing against the sheets, fingers tangled in his thick curls, tugging, pulling, pushing. Not that he ever listened to your weak attempts to get away. If anything, your resistance only spurred him on.

He groaned into your soaked heat, the vibration sending another shockwave through your already overstimulated body. “Tan dulce, mi amor.” He murmured, voice muffled as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before sealing his lips around you once more. “I could stay here forever.”

“Javi…” You whined, thighs trembling in his grasp.

But the plea was cut off by a sharp gasp as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his mouth never ceasing its delicious assault. His free hand splayed over your stomach, feeling the way your muscles tensed beneath his touch. “Give me one more.” He coaxed, voice thick with arousal, tongue circling your clit in slow, deliberate movements. “One more, cariño, I know you can.”

You didn’t stand a chance against him. Against his tongue, his fingers, the overwhelming hunger he had for you. And when you finally shattered, crying out his name, Javi moaned like he was the one coming undone, lapping up every bit of your pleasure as if he could drink you in. Even as you lay there, panting, skin glistening with sweat, body too spent to move, he still wasn’t satisfied. Because you were his favorite meal.

And Javi Gutierrez never left a plate unfinished.

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Nights with your husband had always felt like a dream, heavy with warmth, golden with affection. But tonight, something different simmered beneath the surface. Javier had been watching you all day. From the way your sundress clung to your curves as you folded laundry, to the delicate stretch of your legs on the couch as you flipped through a magazine, lost in your world. He looked at you like a starving man, slow, focused and reverent.

And now you were lying in bed, bathed in the soft lamplight of your shared room. A breath caught in your throat as he hovered above you, still fully clothed, yet somehow already unraveled by you. “Javi…” You whispered, fingers curling around the front of his shirt.

“Shh, baby.” He murmured, kissing the center of your chest with quiet, burning reverence. “Let me take care of you.”

You swallowed, heart racing, as he trailed kisses lower, slow and deliberate, fingertips skimming down your sides as if he were learning your body all over again. “You’re always so good to me.” He whispered, his voice rough and low. “Always so damn beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your breath hitched as he settled between your thighs, warm palms spreading them gently but firmly, like he couldn’t wait another second to worship you properly. And when his mouth met your skin, it wasn’t rushed. No, it was worshipful, slow, focused and obsessed. You gripped the sheets, legs trembling as he groaned into you like he was the one being undone. As if the taste of you was the only thing he ever wanted, the only thing he craved.

“Javi, oh my god!” You gasped, your voice catching as your body arched beneath him.

He didn’t stop. Not when your fingers tangled in his hair. Not when your legs threatened to close around his shoulders. And especially not when you were trembling beneath him, so sensitive you could barely breathe. He pulled back just long enough to kiss your inner thigh and look up at you with that devilish proud smirk of his. “You shaking, baby?” He teased, breath hot against your skin. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And when he kissed you again, slow and deep, you realized Javier Peña wasn’t just obsessed with you. He was starving for you. And he wasn’t stopping until you melted completely in his hands.

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Even after all these years, after all the ash, blood and grief the world had dumped at your feet, Joel Miller still looked at you like you were the last good thing left on Earth.

And tonight, he touched you like it too.

The house in Jackson was quiet, the walls still and the fireplace crackling low in the distance. Joel had returned home from patrol just hours earlier, his hands rough and cold from the snow, his body tense, his eyes tired. But the second he walked through the door and saw you curled up on the couch in nothing but one of his old flannels, your thighs peeking out and lips glossy from your nightly tea, something shifted in him. That dark intensity in his gaze sharpened, zeroing in on you like you were a meal he hadn’t had in days.

And truthfully?

He hadn’t. Not the way he needed to.

Which is exactly how you ended up like this, legs trembling around his broad shoulders, your fingers tangled in his salt-and-pepper curls as he buried his face between your thighs like a starving man at his last supper. “J-Joel…” You gasped, back arching off the bed as he moaned against your soaked heat, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like it was nectar, his hands gripping your thighs tight, holding you open and in place.

“Shhh, darlin’.” He murmured against your skin, voice rough and low, vibrating right through your core. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you’re shakin’ for me. You know that.”

He always said that. Every damn time.

And you always did.

Joel was obsessive in the way he worshiped you, taking his time, learning every inch of your body, every twitch, every gasp, every whispered plea. His beard scraped against the tender skin of your inner thighs and you felt it when he smiled, smug and greedy, like he could feel your pleasure in his own chest. He shifted slightly, dragging his tongue slow and deliberate, before sucking that sensitive spot in a way that made your whole body jolt.

“I-I can’t!” Your breath hitched.

“You can, baby.” He growled, tightening his grip, his voice wrecked with hunger. “Gonna come for me. Gonna soak my fuckin’ face like a good girl, huh?” You cried out, the coil inside you snapping, unraveling as your body shook beneath him, just like he wanted. Just like he always wanted.

Joel didn’t let up. He never did. He kept going until your thighs trembled and your lungs burned from how hard you were panting. It was only when your legs started to twitch from overstimulation that he finally pulled back, mouth wet and beard slick with you, eyes dark and blown wide. He looked like a man possessed. And you looked like a goddess completely wrecked. He kissed your inner thigh reverently, gently now, almost as if apologizing for how fiercely he’d devoured you.

Then he crawled up your body, slow and deliberate until his face was hovering above yours, eyes searching yours with that same intense affection that always managed to shatter you a little. “Don’t ever get tired of that.” He rasped, pressing his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Could do that every damn day ‘til the day I die.”

“You say that like you haven’t already been trying.” You let out a soft, breathless laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Damn right I am.” Joel grinned against your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)

To the empire, you were his sweet delicate wife. A vision of beauty, grace and modesty, always draped in soft linen, eyes lowered in public and your voice rarely raised above a gentle whisper. The senators adored you and the noblewomen envied you.

But Marcus Acacius, Rome’s most brutal and revered general, knew the truth. He knew how you trembled in your shared bed. He knew how your soft moans sounded at midnight. He knew how you tasted when you were soaked and aching just for him.

And gods, he was addicted.

The lanterns burned low. The white marble walls of your bedchamber glowed gold in the candlelight, casting shadows that danced across their silken sheets. You sat at your vanity, brushing your hair, clad only in a thin white shift that clung to every curve. Marcus stood behind you, freshly bathed from the private spring, his broad body wrapped in a loose robe. His eyes devoured you through the mirror.

So soft. So sweet. So his.

You caught his gaze and smiled, shy and knowing. He stepped closer, large hands landing gently on your shoulders. You stilled as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Lie down.”

Your breath hitched and obeyed. Marcus was slow with you. Reverent, like a man kneeling before his goddess. He pulled the thin shift over your head, letting it slip to the floor. You lay back on the cool linen sheets, your body already warm from anticipation.

He knelt between your thighs, his hands parting them with care but no hesitation. His eyes were dark with hunger. His voice, low and rough. “You don’t know what you do to me, carissima.”

You whimpered softly as his thumbs stroked your inner thighs, lips ghosting lower, breath hot on your already wet folds. Marcus kissed the inside of your knee. Then lower. Then lower still. Until his mouth found your aching dripping cunt. You cried out softly, hips jerking. But his arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue slid through your folds with slow, deliberate strokes. Your fingers gripped the sheets.

“Marcus…”

“Shhh.” His voice was muffled, buried between your legs. “Let me taste my wife.” He licked you like a man starved, like you were the only thing he ever wanted. And maybe you were. He didn’t rush. He worshiped. He kissed, sucked and flicked his tongue over your clit until your moans filled the room, your legs trembling against his shoulders.

“You’re shaking.” He murmured against you, voice dripping with satisfaction. “You feel how wet you are for me?”

You nodded frantically, hips lifting and chasing his mouth.

“Tell me.” He growled.

“You… you make me feel so good, Marcus. I…gods, I can’t!”

“Oh, but you will.”

He grinned, lips slick with you and dove back in with even more hunger. His tongue flicked faster now, fingers spreading you open, licking deep until you were writhing, panting, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shook violently and then you finally broke. You came hard, gasping his name like a sacred vow.

But Marcus didn’t stop. He lapped up every drop, sucking your clit until you sobbed from the pleasure, your voice hoarse from moaning out his name. “I love how you taste.” He whispered, dragging his tongue up slowly. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

And in that moment, as you lay boneless and quivering beneath your general, your husband, you knew the truth: Marcus Acacius may have conquered nations. But you were the only thing he would ever worship. And he worshipped you well into the night.

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Marcus Moreno is a patient man. A disciplined man. A man of control. But when it comes to you? All that restraint shatters. Because he’s obsessed with you. With the way you fall apart beneath him. With the way your breath hitches when his lips graze your skin.

But most of all?

With the way you taste. It always starts the same way. A simple kiss, slow and lingering. Then another. And another. Until he’s got you spread out beneath him, his mouth trailing lower and lower. Until he’s right where he wants to be.

You whimper when he kisses the inside of your thigh, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Marcus.” You sigh, fingers threading through his dark curls. “Please…”

He shushes you, eyes dark with hunger. “Patience, sweetheart.” Then, with a slow sinful smirk, he devours you. He loves this, loves how your thighs tremble around his head and loves how your back arches, how you cry out his name like a prayer. He lives for this. For the way you come undone, legs shaking, body writhing, completely at his mercy. And he’s not stopping. Not until you’re gasping. Not until you’re clenching your fingers in his hair, babbling, pleading and begging. Not until you’re so overstimulated that you have tears in your eyes.

Only then when you’re thoroughly wrecked and limp beneath him, does he finally lift his head, his lips glistening, his expression utterly feral. And when he leans up, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He grins against your mouth. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “Think you can give me another?” And despite the way your body still trembles you still nod.

Because Marcus Moreno?

He’s not done with you yet.

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

The soft glow of golden evening light spilled through the bedroom windows, casting warm lazy rays across the sheets that were still tousled from your earlier nap. The quiet hum of the city below faded into the background as your husband, Marcus Pike, leaned in the doorway, watching you stretch slowly across the bed like you were the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever laid eyes on.

His tie was already loosened, jacket tossed over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. And that look on his face, soft and reverent, made your breath hitch.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked with a small, teasing smile.

“Like what?” Marcus stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Like I’m about to be worshipped.”

He leaned down, bracing one knee on the edge of the bed as he brushed his knuckles gently along your cheek. “Maybe because you are.”

Your heart thudded at the low, husky tone of his voice, full of something tender, something hungry, something devoted. He kissed you then, slowly and deeply, like he had all the time in the world. The kind of kiss that melted your bones, made your skin tingle and reminded you just how safe and loved you were in his arms.

“Marcus…” You whispered, fingers curling into his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes serious but warm. “You know I could spend the rest of my life just appreciating you. Every inch. Every sigh. Every little sound you make when I touch you.” You’d been married long enough to know he meant every word. Marcus didn’t rush through intimacy, he savored it, savored you.

He was gentle but firm as he coaxed you to lie back against the pillows, his hands skimming down your sides as he took his time, memorizing every reaction you gave him. He kissed a trail down your body, murmuring soft words of praise, of adoration. His lips were warm, his stubble brushing over sensitive skin and every motion felt like worship. You gasped when he kissed your inner thigh, his breath warm and slow as he rested there, holding you like you were the center of his world.

“You always take care of me.” He murmured, pressing a reverent kiss just below your navel. “Let me take care of you tonight.” And you let him. You let him pour his love into you, every kiss and touch whispering the truth, that Marcus Pike loved his wife with every fiber of his being and that there was nowhere else he’d rather be than wrapped around you, worshiping you like you were his whole world.

And to him, you were.

Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards)

Marriage can change a man. At least, that’s what everyone told Max. He heard the horror stories, how the passion faded, how the excitement dulled, how men started avoiding their wives instead of worshiping them.

What a joke.

Because Max?

Max Phillips was obsessed with his wife. You were his pretty little thing, his perfect girl, his everything. And there was one part of you he loved the most.

It started like every other morning. You were barely awake, your body soft and warm against the sheets, wearing one of Max’s old t-shirts and nothing else.

Perfect.

His favorite way to wake up.

Max slid beneath the covers before you even registered what was happening. His hands pried your thighs apart, his breath hot against your skin.

"Max." You mumbled sleepily, shifting slightly. "What are you…?"

And then his tongue was on you. You gasped, your fingers clenching in the sheets as pleasure rocked through your half-asleep body. Max groaned against your heat, lapping at you like a man starving. He never got tired of this. The taste of you, the scent of you, the way your thighs tremble every time he sucked on that perfect little clit. It was everything. And Max was never satisfied.

By the time he was done with you, you were wrecked. Your body was trembling, your thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. You lay there, panting, eyes dazed as you tried to process what just happened. Max wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at you like the smug bastard he was. "Morning, sweetheart." He murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction.

"You’re insane." You groaned, throwing an arm over your face.

Max chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss against your still-sensitive core, just to watch you jerk from overstimulation. "You married me, baby." He reminded you, voice husky.

And as he slid two fingers inside you, grinning at your whimper. "You knew what you were getting into."

Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)

Maxwell Lord was a man obsessed. To the world, he was a tycoon, a businessman, a man who commanded respect and wielded power like a weapon. But behind the closed doors of his penthouse, stripped of the expensive suits and the cutthroat deals, he was just a man desperate for you. And he had no shame in showing it. His mouth was already on you, hot and eager, his grip firm on your thighs as he spread you apart. The silk sheets crumpled beneath your trembling hands, your back arching at the first slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.

"Max…"

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You know better than to say my name like that, mi amor." He murmured, his voice a dark promise against your heat. "Not unless you want me to keep you here all night." His tongue flicked again, teasing, coaxing, tasting.

You did want that. You always wanted it. Your husband was relentless, worshiping you with a devotion that bordered on madness. It wasn’t enough for him to simply touch you, to make love to you, no, he had to devour you, to drown himself in you until he couldn’t breathe. And right now, he was starving. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as his mouth worked you over, slow and indulgent, like he had all the time in the world. He loved doing this to you. Loved feeling you unravel beneath him, loved the way you gasped and writhed and whimpered his name like a prayer.

"You taste so sweet, cariño." He groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect for me." Your fingers tangled in his golden hair, hips lifting, desperate for more. But Max was in control and he wasn’t going to let you rush him. Not when he could keep you on the edge for as long as he wanted. Not when making you fall apart was his favorite thing in the world.

Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited)

The estate was quiet now. The party had ended hours ago, leaving only the soft hum of cicadas and the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet. Moonlight spilled through the wide windows of your bedroom, casting silver shadows across the expensive linen sheets, catching in your hair like a halo. You were already in bed, curled beneath the silk covers, a book forgotten on your lap. But your mind wasn’t on the pages.

It was on him.

You heard him before you saw him, his measured steps down the hallway, the soft clink of his belt being undone, the rustle of his jacket as he shrugged it off. When the door opened, your eyes lifted and there he was.

Lucien.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his dark hair tousled from his hands, always tugging when he was stressed or when he was thinking about you, which lately, seemed like all the time. "Still awake?" He murmured, voice low and rough with something darker.

"Couldn’t sleep." You shifted onto your back, watching as he stepped into the moonlight, eyes raking over your form like you were a goddamn miracle.

Lucien crossed the room in slow, measured strides. You could feel the heat radiating off his body before he even touched you. “I saw you tonight.” He murmured as he knelt beside the bed, his hand reaching to slowly push the sheets down. “The way you looked in that dress, smiling, talking to everyone, pretending like I wasn’t five seconds from dragging you out of that ballroom.”

“You didn’t say much at the party.” You shivered under his stare, the heat in his voice licking over your skin.

He tilted his head, his hands already trailing up your thighs, gentle and reverent. “Didn’t trust myself to.” His fingers curled beneath the hem of your nightgown, pushing it up. “You drive me fucking insane, mi amor. All night, I could barely think. All I wanted was to get you alone.”

“Lucien…” You gasped as his mouth brushed against your inner thigh, soft slow kisses that made your toes curl.

His eyes flicked up, wild and tender all at once. “I married the most beautiful woman in this world.” He whispered. “And I will never stop worshipping her.” And with that, he buried his face between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue was slow precise, like he was savoring you, like this wasn’t something rushed or expected. It was an offering. A ritual.

Your fingers tangled into his hair instinctively, back arching as he sucked gently on your clit, tongue circling with maddening patience. Lucien groaned against you, like he was starving, like this was what he craved most in the world.

He loved this. Loved how your thighs trembled around his face, how your hips bucked helplessly, how you whimpered his name like a prayer. He gripped your thighs tighter, pressing you down as you started to squirm, overwhelmed by the waves of heat crashing through your belly. "You always taste so fucking sweet.” He growled, voice muffled. “My pretty little wife… this is mine."

“Lucien…” Your voice was breathless, shaking, your body already close.

But he didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, flicking his tongue faster, rougher, his hands locking you in place as he devoured you like a man possessed. You were shaking now, legs trembling uncontrollably, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it. You came with a cry, your entire body clenching as the world shattered into stars.

But Lucien didn’t stop. Even as you begged, soft stuttering, “too much” falling from your lips, he kept licking, moaning like he was the one being pleasured, like your shaking body beneath him only fueled his obsession.

“I’ll stop when I’ve had enough.” He murmured darkly, kissing your overstimulated folds, then licking slow and deep again. “But I’ll never get enough of you.” And you believed him. Because Lucien De Leon didn’t just love you, he worshipped you. Every inch. Every tremble. Every shattered breath.

And tonight, like always, he would ruin you, slowly, thoroughly and completely. And you’d let him.

Every. Damn. Time.

Oberyn Martell (Game of Throne)

The warm Dornish night wrapped around the palace of Sunspear like a silken embrace, the air thick with the scent of citrus and salt from the nearby sea. The moon hung high, casting silver light through the open balcony doors, the soft billowing of sheer curtains whispering against the stone. But inside the grand bedchamber, there was only heat.

Oberyn Martell lay between your thighs, eyes dark with hunger, lips curled into a lazy, sinful smile as he pressed a teasing kiss to the inside of your knee. His large hands held your legs open with ease, fingers tracing idle patterns against your flushed skin. "Look at you." He murmured, his voice like honeyed wine, deep and thick with desire. "So beautiful like this, my love. Spread out before me like a feast meant only for my lips."

You shivered beneath his touch, your breath hitching as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him most. Your fingers tangled in the silk sheets, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as he deliberately avoided the place where you ached for him. "Oberyn." You gasped, hips shifting in silent pleas.

He hummed in amusement, his nose brushing against your inner thigh as he nipped at the sensitive skin, dragging his teeth along it before soothing the mark with his tongue. "Patience, sweet wife." He chided, though his own restraint was hanging by a thread. "I plan to savor you tonight."

And savor you he did.

His mouth descended upon you, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot with slow, deliberate strokes. The first contact sent a jolt of pleasure through your spine, your back arching off the bed as a breathless cry fell from your lips.

Oberyn groaned at the taste of you, gripping your thighs tighter as he buried himself deeper, drinking in every sound you made as if it were the sweetest melody. He licked, kissed, and sucked with expert precision, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before dipping lower, teasing, devouring.

Your fingers found their way into his dark curls, tugging desperately as the coil of pleasure within you tightened with every stroke of his tongue. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body.

"Oberyn, gods, please!" Your plea was met with a low chuckle but he didn't stop. If anything, he doubled his efforts, his hands pressing your hips down to keep you from writhing away from the overwhelming pleasure. He wanted you shaking beneath him, wanted to hear his name fall from your lips like a prayer, wanted to ruin you with nothing but his mouth.

And when you finally shattered, when your body trembled and arched and you cried out his name like it was the only thing you knew, Oberyn didn’t stop. He licked you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you were boneless beneath him, your body twitching with aftershocks.

Only then did he pull away, his lips glistening with evidence of his devotion as he crawled up your body, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "Perfect." He murmured, voice thick with pride and desire. "But I am not yet done with you, my love." And with that, the night stretched on, filled with whispered praises, gasping breaths, and the relentless worship of a man utterly devoted to his beautiful wife.

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

The evening crept in quietly, the golden light fading behind the hills and casting a soft glow through the cabin windows. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, and the cozy warmth of their little home wrapped around them like a thick quilt. Pero had been watching you for a while, admiring the way your hair spilled over your shoulders as you finished the last few rows of his sweater. His heart, often guarded and rough around the edges, softened completely in your presence.

And now, he couldn’t resist you any longer. He set the knitted sweater aside carefully, eyes smoldering with a kind of hunger that only you could inspire. "Lie back for me, cariño." He murmured, voice low and deep with promise.

“Now?” You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as a soft, knowing smile played on your mouth.

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Now…” He repeated, his fingers already slipping under the hem of your dress, coaxing you gently to lie back across your bed.

You complied as you sank into the pillows. Pero wasted no time, kissing a path down your stomach, worshipping your body with every press of his lips. He loved how soft you were, how you trembled when his stubble grazed your inner thighs, how you sighed his name like a prayer. “Relax, mi vida.” He whispered, spreading your legs with reverent care. “Let me take care of you.” And he did, thoroughly.

His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you steady as he indulged in the sweet taste of the woman who made a hardened soldier like him feel utterly undone. Every flick of his tongue was precise, every kiss intentional and it wasn’t long before your breathing grew shallow, your hips subtly lifting to meet his mouth.

“Pero, oh gods…Pero, I… I can’t…” You tangled your fingers in his hair, gasping as waves of pleasure built and rolled through you.

But he didn’t stop. He was lost in you. Obsessed with how you responded to his touch, the way your thighs trembled against his cheeks, how your voice shook when you whimpered his name. He was a man on a mission. And his mission was to worship every inch of his pretty wife until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone and thoroughly loved.

And when you finally reached that peak, body quivering, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries, Pero held you gently through every wave, his own name echoing in your voice like a song. When you collapsed back into the pillows, boneless and breathless, Pero kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your belly before crawling up beside you and wrapping you tightly in his arms.

You were still catching your breath when you turned to him, flushed and glowing. “You’re insatiable.” You whispered with a sleepy smile.

“Only for you, mi amor. Always for you.” Pero chuckled, brushing a damp strand of your from your face.

Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)

Reed had always been a man of intellect, of science, of logic. But when it came to you? All reason was lost. It wasn’t just love, it was obsession. An insatiable hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the way your body trembled beneath him when he had his head buried between your thighs.

Tonight was no different. Your fingers tangled into his salt and pepper curls, back arching as his wicked mouth latched onto the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you gasping out his name.

“Reed, fuck!”

He groaned against you, his large hands pinning down your trembling thighs, refusing to let you squirm away from his torturous pace. “You taste so fucking sweet.” He murmured, dragging his tongue in a slow languid motion, savoring you like you were the finest thing he had ever had.

And to him? You were.

His brilliant mind, capable of unraveling the universe’s deepest mysteries, was reduced to one singular thought, his neverending devotion to you. His pretty little wife. His obsession. His addiction. “More.” His voice was hoarse, desperate, his grip tightening around your hips. “Give me more, sweetheart.”

As if you had any choice. He devoured you whole, until your body shuddered, until your breath hitched and your nails raked against his scalp. And yet, even as you came undone beneath him, he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

Reed pulled back only for a moment, darkened eyes drinking in the sight of you, flushed and wrecked, completely at his mercy. “I hope you don’t think I’m finished, darling.” His lips curled into a smirk, glossy with your slick. “We’ve barely even started.” And with that, he dove right back in.

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)

Tim Rockford had a problem. A serious, all-consuming, mind-numbing problem and it was you. More specifically, your pussy. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t get enough. It didn’t matter how many times he had you, he was always aching for more. Always desperate to taste you, to bury himself between your thighs and ruin you in ways that made you sob his name.

And tonight was no different.

You had barely crawled into bed when Tim was already reaching for you, big hands sliding up your thighs, warm and insistent. "Tim." You murmured, blinking sleepily as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. "What are you…"

"You know what, sweetheart." He muttered against your skin.

A small gasp left your lips when he nipped at the soft flesh, dragging his mouth higher, closer to where you were already warm and aching for him. "You don’t have to." You breathed, even as your legs parted without hesitation.

"Yeah, I do." Tim huffed a low, wicked laugh. Because it wasn’t a choice, not anymore. Not when you were already so soft, so wet for him, just from a few teasing kisses. Not when the scent of you had him damn near losing his mind. He didn’t waste time, didn’t tease and didn’t make you beg for it. No, he devoured you, spreading you open with his fingers and dragging his tongue through your slick folds like a man starved.

"Oh, my God!" Your hands flew to his hair, fingers curling against his scalp as your back arched off the bed.

Tim groaned into you, lapping at your swollen, sensitive clit, slow and purposeful. He could feel you trembling already, thighs twitching against his shoulders, but he wasn’t stopping. Not until he had you sobbing for him. Not until you were shaking and soaking his face, pulling at his hair, begging him for something you couldn’t even put into words.

"You taste so fucking sweet, baby." He murmured, his voice thick with hunger. "Could stay here all night." And he meant it because Tim Rockford had a problem. And he had no fucking plans to fix it.

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