galexystern

[galexystern]

Cupid's Chokehold — part one!

FEEL SO CLOSE

[next chapter]

summary: Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. step-cest, age gap (unspecified, but reader is 19/20, Tommy in his early-mid 30s), unprotected piv, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), attempted seduction (from reader), pussy pronouns, praise, dirty talk, creampie, begging, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, no outbreak AU, Tommy POV

note: genuinely this is the filthiest most diabolic thing I've ever written and I'm absolutely terrified to post it!!! if it's not your cup of tea pls keep scrolling, and if you do read it, let me know what you think!! also, I wrote the nightclub scene with the song Feel So Close by Calvin Harris in mind (iykyk), but feel free to imagine whatever you like!

wc: 12.1k

[series masterlist]

[main masterlist] [AO3]

You’ve always been close.

Since that first night you’d met in Joel’s kitchen, Tommy has always felt drawn to you. Like you were one and the same. Two peas in a fucking pod, despite how…indecent it sometimes felt.

It was late summer. Hot. Your mother and Joel had arranged a dinner. They’d wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other.’ Grilled burgers and made pasta salad and poured glasses of cheap champagne. The whole nine yards. 

Joel had warned Tommy about you ahead of time. Talked about his new girlfriend’s daughter, about how you were a bit…wild. Impulsive. Too pretty and too smart for your own good.

You’re a couple of years older than Sarah, freshly out of high school with a devil-may-care attitude. The two of you get along well—Sarah thinks the whispered comments you pour in her ear all night are just hilarious. The two of you spend most of the afternoon on the side of the pool chattering while Tommy…well, Tommy certainly feels a bit like a third wheel. 

He knows it’s not intentional. Joel isn’t like that, he’s just…excited. He loves your mom and is eager to start this new chapter of his life, to expand his family the way he’s always wanted to. And your mom is nice enough. Sweet and easy going, a good match for his brother. But she’s a mom. And Joel’s Joel. 

It’s Saturday night, and Tommy Miller is bored half to death sipping champagne and watching two teenage girls giggle over something on their cell phones. 

And it’s not like he can leave right away. At least, not until after his desert has settled. But he knows where Joel keeps the good liquor, and dismisses himself in search of it.

He’s pouring two shots of whiskey into a glass tumbler when he hears the back door open. Tommy expects it to be Joel, coming to offer a penny for his thoughts. He opens his mouth to soothe his brother's nerves, to reassure him that his other half does fit him as perfectly as it seems. To tell him that he’s crazy for letting another little girl live under his roof, to warn him it’ll be double the hormones and double the attitude, but if it makes him happy…

“Hey.”

It’s not Joel who speaks at all. It’s your voice, soft but sultry. Tommy smiles at you over his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

You saddle up to his side, so close your elbow brushes his as you lean on the counter, eyes focused on his hands as he pours. “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to,” you say with a dispirited sigh.

It makes Tommy laugh. He sets the bottle down and lifts the tumbler to his mouth, grinning all the while. “Can’t say this little soirée is particularly, uh…exhilarating,” he says, sipping from his glass.

He can feel your attention on him, hotter even than the burn of the whiskey. Your eyes slide down the column of his throat, over his chest, stopping at his waist. You turn your head the smallest bit, not dissimilar to that of a curious little puppy. Crude and shameless in your examination. You look back up to find him staring at you, unable and unwilling to fight his knowing smirk. “Can I have some of that?”

“You old enough?” Tommy doesn’t even know why he asks, because he already knows the answer.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a sweet little smile, you say, “No. But it’s not like it would be my first time. No cherry to pop here.”

Filthy mouth for a girl your age. Funny, though. It’s kind of endearing. He was an awful lot younger than you are now when he started drinking. The first time he’d blacked out had been his sophomore year of high school—barely sixteen, woke up in the middle of a field two hours away from home. He’d had to use a pay phone to get ahold of Joel to come pick him up. 

And it’s better this way, isn’t it? To do it at home, surrounded by people who care about you. Who will keep you safe. It’s not like one drink’s going to put you on your ass, anyway.

He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, opening the cupboard to find another tumbler. 

You stop him, delicate hand around his wrist. “Are you crazy? That’s evidence.”

Tommy furrows his brows. “What, the cup? I’ll wash it when you’re done. S’alright.”

“Waste of time.” You take the whiskey and twist off the cap, pushing the smooth glass bottle into his hands. “You know how to waterfall without drowning me?”

He likes you, Tommy thinks. Probably more than he should. He gets that familiar tug in his lower abdomen, the one that urges him to move closer, to speak slower. 

It’s a little fucked up, he knows. You’re so young, and odds are your mom will marry into the family, and then you’d be…well, you’d be his niece. Kind of. 

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tommy promises. “Yeah, I got you. Tilt your head back.”

You step further in front of him, spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. He can feel the heat of your skin against his, and it makes Tommy feel dizzy. You tilt your head back, just as he said, but it’s not quite enough. 

He reaches up, cradling your jaw in his hand, thumb pressed against the underside of your chin. He knows he could just tell you, could just use the words ‘a little more’ and you’d do as he asks. But the heated look in your eyes as he touches you so gently…it’s worth it. “Like this,” he tells you, pushing your chin back. “There you go. Now open your mouth.”

It sounds so vulgar in his ears. And Tommy doesn’t mean it that way, but you smile up at him and say, “You’re supposed to take me out on a date first, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffs. “You ever let another man in your mouth and he doesn’t wine an’ dine you first, you let me know so I can take care of him.” Tommy’s only sort of kidding. If you ever asked, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Alright,” you say. “No other man, then. Just you.”

He has to look away, unable to contain his amusement. “Christ, girl.” Tommy shakes his head, delighting in the sound of your giggling. He can feel the vibration of it in his hand, still pressed against the side of your neck. “Ridiculous.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the kitchen, calling Tommy’s name. 

He tries to take a step back, get some distance, but you hook your leg around his to keep him close, bare and exposed to him from the hem of your denim shorts down. Tommy grips your thigh tightly but doesn’t quite push you away. “Yeah, Joel?”

You tilt your head back, perfect this time, just like he showed you.

Tommy shakes his head again, surprised by your brazenness, but he just can’t seem to stop smiling. He lifts the glass bottle and pours the whiskey slowly, holding in his laughter all the while.

“Bring out another slice of that pie,” Joel says from the back door. “The key lime one. Sarah wants some more.”

“Yeah, sure. One slice of key lime,” Tommy calls back, watching with rapt attention as the amber liquid pools in your pretty mouth. And then, more to you than to Joel, he says, “You got it.”

He stops just before your mouth is too full and sets the bottle back on the counter as the back door closes. You tilt your head back down, grimacing as you swallow. You have to do it twice, and Tommy knows that shit burns.

He’d feel bad if it weren’t for the drop of liquid that spills from the corner of your pursed lips, leaving a trail of whiskey as it drips down your chin. It’s such a sight to behold that his mouth waters. It takes every last ounce of his common sense to keep from leaning forward and licking it up.

Instead, he runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, collecting every last drop, and proceeds to suck it clean. “No man left behind,” he says playfully, painfully aware of the slight lift of your hips and the almost unnoticeable arch of your back.

“Right, no. Of course,” you say, words just a little breathless. “It would be, like, alcohol abuse.”

Tommy chuckles as he finally steps away, surprised by the complete lack of guilt he feels. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and finds the remainder of the key lime pie in the fridge.

Your steps echo in the kitchen when you leave, the screen door creaking as you push it open. He catches the words as you speak them under your breath just before disappearing from view. “Certainly not boring anymore.”

Tommy returns to the backyard with Sarah’s key lime pie in one hand and his refilled glass tumbler in the other, a newfound spring in his step.

It doesn’t take long for family dinners to become a tradition. They’re moved to Sunday nights, though, which works a hell of a lot better for Tommy. He usually shows up hungover, sporting a headache and a bad mood.

You’re real good at pulling him out of it, though. Always making those dirty jokes, uncaring of who hears, often earning a scolding from your mother when your humor graces the dinner table. 

Eventually, it takes nothing but a shared glance before you slink off to the kitchen, one at a time, to steal more of Joel’s whiskey. Like a secret, shared language that only the two of you understand. As if the moment the thought crosses his mind, it crosses yours, too. Almost like you’re connected, somehow. 

Sometimes Sunday dinners will be paired with a movie. Often, it’s a film Joel rented for the weekend that he claims has ‘good reviews,’ but never has a satisfying ending.

Tommy doesn’t stay for the popcorn or the candy, though. He doesn’t even stay for the movie, in truth. 

He stays because you always sit beside him on the loveseat.

It always starts innocently enough. You pull the scratchy, old blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both. And then you’re poking his thigh while murmuring comments in his ear.

You’ll say, “God, that guy has the worst fake crying face I’ve ever seen. Looks like he’s constipated.”

And Tommy will laugh, and Sarah will scowl and shush him, and your hand will linger on his knee. 

Halfway through, you’ll shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable. You’ll lean back against the armrest and lay your legs across his lap. And Tommy, impulsive man that he is, will slide his hands between your thighs and rub circles into your soft skin, careful not to move too fast, to be too obvious. 

Once you reach this point of the night, Tommy doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all. He focuses on you instead, on the way your breath catches in your throat when he squeezes hard, on the way your knees slowly drift further and further apart, on the flush that crawls up your cheeks each time he catches your eye.

It never feels quite so innocent when the movie ends and Tommy has to sit on the couch with that blanket over his lap just a little longer than everyone else.

In September, Joel tells him you and your mom are moving in permanently. No more weekend sleepovers. You’re taking the spare room across the hall from Sarah, the one Tommy knows like the back of his hand after crashing in it countless times.

He’s not sure why, but there’s something satisfying about knowing you’ll be there, sleeping in the bed he’s slept in hundreds of times.

Joel asks him to help move some of the furniture, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate to agree. They move the larger things, while you and Sarah excitedly unpack cardboard boxes and talk about sharing clothes and shoes.

Tommy remembers the times Sarah would beg Joel for a sibling when she was younger, and it warms his heart to see she’s finally gotten the sister she’s always wanted.

He sees you a whole lot more often after that. Tommy picks Joel and Sarah up every morning and drops Joel off after work every day.

Most of the time, you’re still sleeping when he shows up at seven. But the evidence of you is littered all over the house; your shoes by the front door, your jacket slung over the dining room chair, your denim shorts on the floor beside the laundry basket in the bathroom. 

And after work, he always comes inside to visit you. Just to see how you’re doing, to see if you’ve had a good day, often making some silly joke just so he gets to hear your sweet laughter. Sometimes he finds you watching one of those teen dramas in the living room, and he loves to poke fun at you for it. “These weird ass vampires again? What, now there’s werewolves, too? How original.”

“Shut up,” you’ll say, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin.’ I know how you love that freaky shit.” The embarrassment will show on your face, and Tommy will laugh but his shoulders will drop as all the stress from the day melts away.

Some nights, he’ll find you in the backyard by the pool with that tiny lime colored bikini on, lying on your belly, soaking up the sun. He’ll try to scare you, try to get close with soundless movements. 

But you always catch him. Can always sense he’s there. “Now, what if I suddenly decided I didn’t want tan lines and took off my top while you tried sneaking up on me? Tits out. Then what?”

Tommy stops just a few paces away from the spot in the grass where you’ve thrown out your beach towel. He towers over you, casting shadows across your spine. “Wouldn’t be nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“You peeping on me, Tommy? Is that where you got your name?”

He snorts, but the idea isn’t half bad. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” The comment gives him pause, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because you’re turning on your back and reaching for the string tied loosely around your neck.

You stare up at him, eyes all glittering and mischievous, hair splayed out in a perfect halo around your head. Tommy knows that he should stop you. Should laugh it off and walk away.

He doesn’t, though. His feet stay firmly planted, pressure building in his lower abdomen, cock pulsing behind the chrome zipper of his jeans.

You tug at the strings until the fabric falls slack. Still covering your chest, but only just barely. 

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

You hook your thumb around the thin string across your ribcage, the only resistance left between this moment and the next, a lone scrap of polyester that stands between Tommy being the fun uncle and the weird one.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t say anything at all. But he admits to himself only that he does want it. That he wants you. To see you, to touch you, to feel you. It’s wrong and perverted and maybe even a little gross, but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

Slowly, those loose-fitting triangles drift lower and lower, almost there. His breath comes fast and labored. The seconds tick by, feeling much longer than they truly are. 

 And then—

“Dinner!” Your mom’s voice carries through the backyard, kind and airy. “Are you staying, Tommy? We’re having pasta tonight.”

Tommy clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at your mom, who stands on the back deck completely oblivious. “Uh, no,” he says. “Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You extend your hand to him, the other held tightly over the fabric of your top to keep it in place. “Help me up,” you say, and he does. 

He watches as you turn your back to him, straining to memorize every last second of this moment because he never, ever wants to forget it. The smoothness of your skin, the shallow slope at the small of your back, the delicious curve of your ass—if this is all he ever gets to see, Tommy wants it stuck in his brain like glue. Permanent.

You move the arm that’s held to your chest, and the green fabric finally drops, exposing you completely. With your back still to him, all Tommy can see is the subtle curves of the sides of your breasts, but it’s enough to make his heart race. You gather your hair at the nape of your neck and ask, “Can you tie it for me?”

Tommy knows you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “Course,” he says, stepping forward, placing his rough, calloused hands on your delicate shoulders. He reaches down your body and gathers the nylon strands between his fingers, careful not to touch you more than what’s necessary.

He wants to, though. Christ, does he. His lungs stutter at the thought alone. It takes everything in him to resist lowering himself to his knees and giving you the tender, loving care you deserve. He’d worship you, Tommy decides. He’d demonstrate how a girl like you is supposed to be treated. Touched slowly, gently—until you beg him for more, until you whimper and cry and remember no words but his fucking name. 

Until his touch is so deeply embedded in your skin that you’d never be able to root him out. 

But he doesn’t give you so much as a clue to what he’s thinking. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, fanning across the back of your neck, and ties the lime colored strands into a perfect bow. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and says, “Be good, now. Alright?”

You turn to face him, that familiar, provocative smirk on your sweet mouth. “Never,” you promise, and he knows you mean it.

Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s speeding the entire way back to his shitty apartment. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even make it inside. He sits behind the wheel of his truck, right in the open, empty parking lot, squeezing his aching cock in his hand, head filled with thoughts of you.

The next time he stays for dinner, your mom makes fajitas. You sit beside him on the steps of the back porch and pick red peppers off his plate.

You and Sarah belly-laugh about some YouTube video you watched together late last night, mimicking impressions of an animatronic voice. And it’s at this very moment that Tommy realizes he might be in real trouble.

Because he wants to fuck you. Thinks about it almost every goddamn night. Can’t even get off with the women he meets at the bars anymore without closing his eyes and recalling that lime bikini or the arch of your back or the way your thighs fit so perfectly in his big hands. It’s a carnal desire. Uncontrollable.

But this? Feeling a sense of elation provoked only by knowing you're here beside him, safe, happy, and fed? It’s something else. Something heavy. Something he can’t quite put a name to because he doesn’t have any experience with it, despite his age.

All Tommy Miller knows is that he smiles just at the sound of your name.

The thought crosses his mind that he should try to keep his distance, and he tells himself he will. He lies in bed thinking about it, conducting a plan in his head while staring at the ceiling at two in the morning. He can’t not see you. But maybe he doesn’t have to be so inviting. Maybe he doesn’t have to seek you out every afternoon, doesn’t have to check in and make sure you’ve had a good day. 

Maybe he sits on the opposite end of the table during Sunday dinner. Maybe when you give him that look and head to the kitchen in search of whiskey, Tommy keeps his ass on the couch.

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He sits on the front steps and glances over his shoulder when the door creaks open and is only a little surprised when you step outside with bare feet, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.

Your hair’s messy, and there’s an imprint from your pillow on your cheek. Still half asleep, you let out the cutest whimper he’s ever heard and crawl right into his lap like it’s where you belong. 

Tommy spreads his knees apart to make room for you, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete and tossing it in the grass. He brackets his arms around your waist and interlocks his fingers at your hip while you curl up against him, stealing his warmth. 

It feels so easy, so natural that he doesn’t fight it for a second. Doesn’t even realize he should. All those big plans he made six hours ago to right this wrong dissolve as easily as sugar in water. He kisses your forehead and holds you close and says, “Hey, sweetheart. You alright? Somethin’ wrong?”

You nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck and murmur sleepily, “Missed you.”

Just two words, but that’s all it takes. He decides that the heavy feeling inside his chest is his to cope with. He won’t make you suffer for it. Can’t imagine ever pushing you away or sitting across from you instead of at your side.

There’s only one word for this, he knows. Only one explanation for why he continuously fights for your laughter, your comfort. Only one reason he’s memorized the pattern of your breathing and would know the touch of your hands with his eyes closed.

It’s not right. 

It’s not, and Tommy knows it, but he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. So, he cradles this feeling in his hands. Holds it gently. Sees it for what it is. 

And then he tucks it away. Locks it up tight and promises never to speak of it. 

Joel takes your mom to Galveston for the weekend on their anniversary. He asks Tommy to keep an eye on you and Sarah, to keep his phone on in case the two of you need anything.

He brings takeout over after work on Friday night, but leaves the two of you to your own devices after that. Tommy remembers being your age and doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t want anyone involved to consider him a fucking babysitter. So he gives you the space he wanted when he was young. Figures if you need him, you’ll call him, and he’ll come running.

The phone doesn’t ring until late Sunday afternoon. 

Joel and your mom are due home in the next few hours, and your voice is panicky on the other end of the line. “Hey. Can you—can you come over? We sort of broke something, and I tried to fix it but I think I only made it worse.”

Tommy’s in his truck before the call even ends. He asks a hundred questions, tries to get some sort of clarification on the way over. But you don’t give much in the way of answers, and his confusion only increases when he pulls into Joel’s driveway and sees you standing on the porch with a trash bag in hand. “Okay, before you come inside, you have to swear to secrecy,” you say.

Tommy’s brows furrow.  “Christ, kid. What the hell’d you do? There a fuckin’ dead body in there?”

You roll your eyes. “Just promise you won’t tell Joel or my mom.”

“Can’t promise nothin’ if I don’t know—”

“Just promise me, Tommy,” you say, frustration building. He’s never seen you this serious, he realizes.

Even if there was a dead body behind the front door, Tommy knows he’d do nothing but protect you from the fallout. And he hates how nervous you look, so the decision comes easily. “Hey.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. “I promise, alright?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cause Sarah’s in there freaking the fuck out cause I called you.”

Tommy follows you inside, mouth open with the intent to ask more questions. But they’re all answered rather quickly when he sees the state of Joel’s living room.

There are half-empty beer cans and red solo cups littered all over every viable surface. Pink and green and orange streamers hang from the ceiling fan and over the stair bannister. Confetti covers the floor and there’s a shattered glass bottle in the kitchen sink, but the most obvious stressor is the six-inch hole in the wall beside the fridge.

Sarah’s footsteps rush down the hall, finger pointed at Tommy. Her eyes are wide, and there’s genuine tension on her face. “Did you swear?”

Tommy raises both hands in surrender. “Cross my heart,” he says, and means it. “Let me take care of the wall first. I’ll get the broken glass after. Don’t wanna see either one of you near it. The last thing we need right now is a trip to the emergency room for stitches.”

Between the three of you, it doesn’t take long. Tommy finds a mesh patch, spackle, and a half-empty gallon of paint in Joel’s garage that matches the kitchen walls. He fills the cavity as quickly as he can, using the box fan from Joel’s bedroom window to speed up the drying process.

You make quick progress, and yet still, he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sound of tires in the driveway.

Both you and Sarah freeze in place, staring at each other with expressions that are somehow both horrified and amused. “We’re so fucked, dude,” you whisper.

But when it comes to hiding things like this, Tommy Miller might just consider himself an expert. “Not just yet,” he swears. “Throw it all out back. I’ll keep them outside for a minute, and then when I leave, I’ll take care of it, alright? Be quick.”

He tries not to laugh as you and Sarah launch into action, running around the room and filling your hands with what remains.

Tommy meets Joel at his truck and asks him how their vacation was, making comments and drawing the discussion out as your mom talks about the aquarium and the restaurants on the pier and how the hotel staff folded your towels into the shape of little swans. 

Joel asks how you and Sarah behaved, asks if there had been any trouble. Tommy shakes his head, leaning against the side of the truck. “Nah,” he lies easily. “They were perfect angels as usual.”

When he can no longer make viable conversation points, he very nosily helps them bring their luggage and souvenirs inside. He finds you and Sarah cuddled up on the couch, both reading books that Tommy knows you’ve never cracked open a day in your life.

You both look so out of place that it almost gives you away. He tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t quite work. Joel stares at him in confusion while you and Sarah glare at him from across the room, and so Tommy dismisses himself quickly. “Gonna head home,” he says. “Have to, uh…check on the neighbor's cat. Watching it for the weekend, too.”

He leaves through the front door, but sneaks around through the gate and quietly grabs the trash from the backyard just as he promised. It takes two trips to get it all, and he throws everything into the back of his truck on the off chance that Joel checks the bin before trash day.

Tommy’s tossing the last one when he sees you come sprinting off the front porch. He thinks maybe he’s forgotten something, or maybe Joel and your mom had seen right through the lie and all that acting was for nothing.

But then you’re throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. 

Holding you is as easy as breathing. He keeps you upright, keeps you close, with his big hands spread wide over your back.

You say, “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” and the air is punched from his fucking lungs. 

It’s the first time you've said it. The very first time, and he feels giddy and nervous, and his stomach gets all tied in knots like he’s some teenage boy. He squeezes you tighter, and his laughter slips out unrestrained this time. 

It’s filthy and dirty and disgusting, but he loves it. “I’ve always got you, darlin',” he says. “You know that.”

You lift your head to look at him, and your pretty mouth is suddenly so close to his that you share the same breath. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I know you do.”

It warms him from the inside out to hear it. He loves being this for you. A holder of secrets, a shoulder to lean on, a solver of problems. He loves that you make him feel needed—wanted in a way he’s never been before.

He loves being your Uncle Tommy. 

You press your forehead to his, and desire creeps up his spine, hot and thick and asphyxiating. His limbs feel heavy, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. It’s painful how badly he wants you. Like a peak he can’t quite reach, an itch he can’t quite scratch. You thread your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Nothing has ever felt as good as it feels to be touched by you, Tommy realizes. And he knows nothing will ever compare. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, sweetheart, I…”

There are no words to say. They get all jumbled in his head, and the only thing he can make out in the chaos is his yearning.

“I know,” you say. Because of course you do. You’ve always known him, have always understood him in a way no one else has. Have always been able to see the look on his face and read the thoughts in his head. “I know.”

Slowly, carefully, you untangle your legs from around his waist. You slide down his body and he knows you can feel it. Knows there’s no way in hell the throbbing of his cock could ever be mistaken as just his belt buckle. 

But you say nothing. Just smile up at him with those hungry eyes and press a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

He drives home in silence.

No music, no news station. Even the windows he leaves up. Tommy can’t think beyond the taste of your oxygen, can’t see past the absolute fucking shit show he’s gotten himself into. He sits in his truck outside his apartment for twenty minutes before he moves again, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

And then, as if he hadn’t almost kissed you in broad daylight, the world keeps turning.

He cleans out the bed of his truck, showers the smell of paint and cheap beer from his skin, and then he goes to work the next morning. He teases Joel about the swan-shaped towels, but there’s no salt to it. Truly, he’s happy for his brother. 

Joel’s been so selfless his whole life. Has given the first half of it up to raise Tommy and the second half to raise Sarah and never complained, not even once.

If anyone in the world deserves that gooey, cliche kind of love that’s just good and uncomplicated and easy, it’s Joel. They really are perfect for each other, he and your mother.

Tommy tries not to think about how his happiness for his brother is paired with a simmering jealousy underneath. Decides to take that green-eyed confession to his grave.

Friday afternoon, one of the electricians Joel hired a few months ago invites Tommy out to a nightclub. “The whole team’s going tomorrow,” he says. “Booze, girls, drugs if you’re into that kinda thing. One of those pop-up ones. It’s in that old warehouse on the other side of town.”

Sounds tempting, he’ll admit. Right up his alley. But Tommy knows himself, and knows that in a place like that he’s likely to go a little overboard. Spend too much money, have too many drinks, wake up the next morning with a girl in his bed he doesn’t remember talking to. And if he does that, he likely won’t make it to Sunday dinner at Joel’s. 

Which means no time with you. 

No stolen, longing glances across the room. No heat of your thigh pressed against his. No thieving fingers on his plate.

Tommy shakes his head. “Thanks, Mike. But, uh…I’m—I’m good.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then Joel asks, real gently, “You got a girl or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“What? Nah, man. No. Definitely not.” Tommy knows his answer comes too quickly, too dismissive for it to be even remotely believable. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not his girl. You just…well, you’re his niece. Sort of.

Joel eyes him suspiciously. All he says is, “Never would’ve imagined you’d skip out on that.” But it’s enough to convince Tommy that his brother doesn’t believe him for even a second.

He lay awake that night, head filled with thoughts of you. Because Tommy knows Joel’s right. Before you’d waltzed into his life and altered its course, he would’ve been all over that. Would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an exclusive warehouse party, even knowing what would likely happen. He’d take the migraine and the dehydration and the overdrafted checking account at just the plausible idea of a good time.

And he’d declined so quickly. That’s the part that gets him. The thing that gives him perspective. He hadn’t even debated it for a single second because the things that once brought him joy pale in comparison to simply being at your side. 

Saturday morning, Tommy makes a phone call. Says he changed his mind and gets the address of the warehouse.

He spends his afternoon running errands, doing everything he knows he won’t have the energy for tomorrow. And then he showers and puts gel in his hair and picks out a nice outfit. Starched blue jeans that fit him nicely and an expensive leather belt and a white t-shirt. He puts on a simple gold chain and sprays his favorite cologne (trying not to think about the fact that it’s only his favorite because one afternoon you’d said he smelled so good he was ‘edible’). 

On the drive over, he has to hype himself up. Has to try and convince himself that this is a good thing. It’s what he needs. To get out there again, to find someone who makes him feel the way you do. Someone nice and age-appropriate and not loosely familial. Someone who doesn’t know Joel or your mother or Sarah or you in any fucking capactiy whatsoever. 

Tommy doesn’t think it’s likely that he’ll find that person here, of course. But there’s a possibility, right? To meet someone who could be the love of his life. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

There are more people than he expects. The warehouse looks almost dark on the outside. Quiet and empty. But once the bouncer checks his ID and lets him through the double doors, the inside is a different world entirely. 

There are three different bars. One on the left wall, one on the right, and one in the very center of the room in the shape of an oval. There’s a big stage with a live DJ and house music playing loud over the speakers. The dance floor is lively and drenched in neon lights and the air is thick with humidity and the smell of liquor.

Excitement trickles into his bloodstream. It’s been a long while since he’s been in a place like this, but Tommy thinks it might just cure him.

All it takes is a quick text before he finds Mike and the rest of the guys from the work site that decided to show up. There’s only a handful of them, but they all split the bill for a round of shots, and Tommy orders a whiskey and coke. 

They’re here for one reason, of course—and Tommy’s no different. They chat for a while, but eventually the guys all peel off from the group one by one after buying a girl a drink and then proceeding to disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Mike has a wife, but even he finds someone to dance with, and eventually Tommy sits at the bar alone. 

He pulls out his phone. Opens your thread of messages and smiles to himself as he scrolls through them. It’s filled with silly photos and dirty jokes and the occasional text from you that reads, ‘miss you today<3’ and his perpetual response, ‘I always miss you more. Be good, sweetheart.’ 

Tommy’s so deeply focused on his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when his drink is pulled right out of his hands.

He looks up with a scowl on his face, not anticipating a fight but preparing for one, and then—

“Can I have some of that?” You don’t wait for his answer before sipping from his glass, leaving lip gloss stains in the same place his mouth was moments ago.

“What in the fuck?” A crease forms between his brows as he takes in your familiar face, backlit by green and yellow lights. “They’re checking IDs at the door,” he says. “How did you even get in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Uncle Tommy. You’re telling me you never had a fake when you were my age?”

Tommy knows he probably should say something…responsible right now. Should probably warn you of the dangers in a place like this, especially for a girl like you. Should be taught about covetous men with wandering hands and powders dropped in drinks and cigarettes laced with God knows what.

But he did have a fake ID at your age and could be found at places a whole lot like this one. Two peas in a fucking pod, he thinks. 

So, instead, he asks, “Did you, uh…come here with someone? Friends or…I don’t know. A boyfriend, maybe?”

He steels himself in preparation for your answer. You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before, but you’re at that age. Probably experimenting a little, sifting through the options to find which one suits you best.

But you’re standing at a bar, all alone, buying your own drink. Shitty fucking option, Tommy thinks.

“Why? You jealous or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Tommy knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. But the sad part is that you’re not too far off, and that’s what has him turning to the bartender and ordering another.

“Got no reason to be jealous,” Tommy answers with a shrug. “Ain’t exactly like I’ve got a spot on the roster, darlin’.”

Your smile falls. Just barely, almost undetectable. But Tommy notices. Would notice it even if you were across the room. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, Tommy Miller.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The words are sharp, icy. You take a long drink from his stolen glass. “What stops you?”

His brows furrow. “Stops me…?”

“From doing what you want to me.” It gives him pause, laying it out so boldly like that. The truth he’s never spoken aloud falls so easily from your tongue. “We get so close,” you elaborate. “Just one moment, one choice away…but you never do it. You always hesitate, and then the moment’s gone. So what stops you?”

His morals, your age, your vibrance. You’re so good, so lively and carefree and happy. How does he explain that he doesn’t want to ruin this? Ruin you? How does he explain that taking that next step with you would tarnish both of you forever? Red to blue, green to yellow. It would never be the same. 

He’s supposed to protect you. Supposed to give you a shoulder to cry on and a soft landing in your time of need and spot you a twenty when you’re short on cash. Supposed to be a guiding hand as an uncle should. He’s not supposed to be…whatever this is.

Tommy’s relieved when the bartender hands him his drink. “You know what stops me,” he says as if it’s obvious, throwing back half the glass in one long drink. The whiskey burns.

“Would it be different if you didn’t know me?”

“Very,” he answers honestly, his mind filling so easily with those obscene possibilities. “But I do know you, so it doesn’t matter.”

That familiar, troublesome smirk finds its way to your glossy lips. You toss back what remains in your glass, set it on the bar, and say, “I’m going to walk away. Okay? And you’re going to have one of those cases of temporary amnesia.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “You’re crazy,” he says.

But you don’t pay him any mind. “You’re going to forget everything you know about me. Every last detail. I’m just some girl at a club, and you’re just some guy at the bar.” You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, staring up at him with starry eyes. Tommy’s heart races behind his sternum, but he can’t stop grinning. “I’m not me, and you’re not you. And tomorrow, you’ll be cured. Everything will go back to normal, just like it was. Okay?”

“S’a real bad idea, darlin’,” he warns.

“So don’t make me do it alone.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s never said no to you in all his life, and it’s just…it’s just one night, right? Maybe it’s what he needs. A slow release of pressure, a controlled indulgence to prevent an explosion.

You see the decision as he makes it. Know what he’s thinking without him speaking a single word. Tommy covers his mouth to stifle his rugged amusement as he watches you take five steps away from him, turn in a complete circle, and then make your way back to the bar.

In a dramatic show of film-esque seduction, you lean against the bar and say, “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt.

You playfully slap his bicep with the back of your hand. “Aren’t you going to ask if you can buy me a drink? Wine and dine me?”

He recalls your very first conversation, that one in Joel’s kitchen when you’d promised not to let any man inside your mouth without properly romancing you first. “Alright, then,” he resigns. “What’re you havin,’ sweetheart?”

“Whiskey,” you say, and he’s not the least bit surprised.

Tommy buys your drink and says, “You look…really beautiful.” You’re wearing a silvery satin dress, sinfully short, tight in all the right places. The straps are thin against your otherwise bare shoulders, and he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down the curve of your collarbone. He thinks it might be the very first time he’s ever touched you here, and it’s not inherently a sexual caress, but it feels so… intimate. Heavy.

You glance down at yourself, at the strappy black heels on your feet. “Thank you,” you say. “But I think it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Fuck yeah it would,” he agrees, chuckling.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Tommy’s never abandoned a drink so fast in his life. He takes your hand in his and says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leads you through the crowd while the DJ plays some bass-heavy pop song he’s heard on the radio a hundred times. He finds a reasonable space and raises your hand above your head, turning you so he can properly appreciate the sight of that dress.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says. “Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s a joke, but Tommy’s being dead serious. You say, “Shut up.” But he sees the way your cheeks heat, even beneath the flashing lights.

You sway your hips in time to the beat, body moving in sync with the music. There’s nothing shy or timid about it; that allure of yours comes so easily, glowing from the inside out.

Tommy’s never been a good dancer, and he knows it, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You seem to find such amusement in his nonsensical movements, not a drop of apprehension trickles into his psyche. 

When you grab his hands and place them on your hips, he lets his instinct take over. Pulls you in close, chests pressed together, his thigh between your legs. You sing the lyrics as if every song is your favorite with a face-splitting grin and those sweet giggles falling from your lips. He pushes you away and spins you around, only to pull you right back. Right into his waiting embrace, right where you belong. Your breath comes fast, but you don’t slow down, and neither does he.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this in his entire life. This open, this full. A strange sort of nostalgia passes through him, a homesickness, missing the moment before it’s even passed, knowing he’ll eventually look back on this night as the best he’s ever had.

The air is hot and stiff, but he breathes in your oxygen, and it gives him life. You move together so seamlessly, and Tommy thinks about how he’d come here seeking the possible love of his life and wonders if it’s fate that you were here.

Fate that you had a fake ID, that you somehow knew about the same exclusive pop-up party he’d declined and then came to anyway. Fate that you’d be here alone, that you’d choose one bar out of three others, and that he just happened to be standing there at the very same time. In a warehouse filled with a thousand strangers, you’d somehow found him.

The songs flow and fade, bleeding from one to the next. You dance and dance, and Tommy watches you—enthralled, obsessed, in love.

He loses track of the time, thinks hours could have passed without his notice, and he wouldn’t have even cared. But when he sees a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, he asks, “Wanna step out for a minute?”

You nod once, and Tommy grabs your hand again and pulls you out of the crowd. He gives the bouncer a tight-lipped smile as you slip out of the wide doors. There’s a designated smoking area near the entrance, and that’s where Tommy leads you. 

The music can still be heard outside, muffled and low. He pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. When he looks up, he finds you watching him, leaning back against the concrete wall of the warehouse, the blue light of the moon reflected in your eyes. 

You outstretch your hand and take the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a slow drag. “Do you bring girls you don’t know home often?”

Tommy can see right through you. Sees that unease beneath your smile, sees the way you feel the need to ask but don’t want the answer, and relates to it. It makes his stomach turn, though. Because he doesn’t ever want you to think of yourself that way, doesn’t want you to think for a single second that this is anything like that.

Because you’re not a girl he doesn’t know. Not just a means to an end. You’re you.

You’re everything.

“I don’t like this,” he admits quietly. “The pretending.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, and when he puts it to his mouth, he can taste the cherry flavor of your lip gloss on the orange filter. “Would you have as much fun, though? With all that added weight.”

Tommy doesn’t know. Has never had a fucking clue about anything in all his life, really. Never knew what he wanted to do or who he wanted to be.

The only thing that has ever been clear to him is you.

“If we stopped pretending,” you say. “What would you do?”

He hesitates.

And then decides not to let this moment pass him.

He places both hands on either side of your face and kisses you hard, hungry. Tasting you feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief. Your bottom lip slots between his so perfectly that he thinks you must have been made for him, that there could never be anyone else. When you let out the most delicious whimper he’s ever heard, Tommy slides his tongue into your mouth and moans.

It feels like time wasted, like this is what he’s been meant to do his whole life, and now he has to make up for the opportunity lost.

When he pulls away, it’s reluctant, still cradling your pretty face in his hands. Your eyes are wide, and your breath is labored. 

“That’s what I would do,” he says.

A minute passes, and you just stare at him, searching his eyes for something. Doubt, maybe. But you won’t find any, because Tommy Miller has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

And then, finally—

“Uncle Tommy?”

No more pretending. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to take me home. Right now,” you say.

“Now?”

“Yes. Right the fuck now. Please.”

He smiles widely. “C’mon, baby.”

Tommy takes you to his truck and buckles you in. The ride back to his apartment feels like a blur. He’s barely had two drinks, but you make him feel drunk.

You can’t keep your hands off him. It only takes three seconds once he pulls onto the road before you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding across the cab. You press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and run your hands over his strong thighs, giggling all the while.

He has to reel you in a little after almost running a red light. “Careful, now,” he says, taking your hand in his free one and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If I die before I get to eat your pussy I’ll come back and haunt the fuck out of you.”

You throw your head back and laugh, but Tommy means it.

It’s a relief when he pulls in the parking lot in one piece, but before he even cuts the ignition, you’re crawling into his lap.

His pretty, desperate girl. 

You kiss him deep, tongue sliding against his, hips tilting over the already hard cock in his jeans. He could cum just like this, Tommy knows, with you on top of him and your hands tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. You smell sweet and seductive, and he can think of nothing beyond this singular moment.

“Let’s just do it right here,” you say, panting, hands sliding beneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, please.”

There are no words to describe how much it satisfies him to hear it, to hear you beg for him. But you deserve better than this. Deserve so much more than a back seat fuck. He wants to give you everything, wants to give you all of him. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says. Because he does. “Wanna see you in my bed, though.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and Tommy uses it to his advantage, holding you close as he quickly gets out of the truck and locks it behind him. You’re a giggling mess, pressing kisses to his face as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to his apartment. “You’re so handsome,” you say. “Have I ever told you that?” 

“A hundred times,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “But one more won’t hurt.”

His apartment is a mess. There are dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor and an empty plate on the coffee table, but just seeing you here makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He begins to wonder if this is where you’re meant to be; taking up room in his space, kicking off your shoes at the front door.

Tommy’s cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

“Kiss me again,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

He does. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue licking into your sweet mouth, savoring the taste of what remains of your shimmery lip gloss.

Tommy’s hands drift lower, squeezing at the round globes of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. One of his hands dips between your thighs, feeling the soft lace you wear beneath that sinful dress. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Been dreamin’ about it.”

“You dream about me?”

He wraps his big arms around your waist and lifts you. “Every fuckin’ night,” he admits, turning towards his bedroom. 

Doesn’t make it very far, though. Because when you wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him, Tommy lets out a low sound from somewhere deep inside his chest before laying you back against the kitchen island. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs to himself. Close enough, he thinks.

You look so fucking pretty like this. All sprawled out for him, flushed with your swollen lips parted and your pupils blown wide. He’d always known it would be a sight to behold, but this…it’s something else entirely. 

Cataclysmic. Divine sacriliege.

He leans over you and kisses your chest softly. “Tell me you want this,” he says. “That you want me.”

Your answer comes fast. “I want you, Uncle Tommy.” 

And he feels a deep-seated desire swirl low in his abdomen. Because it’s fucked up. He knows it is. Is completely, lucidly aware that this is all wrong. Filthy and twisted.

Yet he wants it anyway. Maybe not despite it, but because of it. Pleasure heightened with this sick perversion.

He slides his hands under your dress and hooks his fingers around the lace, pulling it down your legs. You’re so wet for him he can see it stick, webs of slick snapping as he groans at the sight. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I need you so bad it hurts,” you tell him. “Get so wet just thinking about it.” Your voice is low and desperate, almost a cry. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s going to take care of you, okay? Gonna make that ache go away.”

He kisses you slowly. Starts at your ankle and slowly works his way up. He kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, savoring the moment not for you but for him, leaving indentations of his teeth in your flesh. A memory, he thinks. A promise that you’ll think of this tomorrow and the next day. That you’ll remember the way he made you feel.

Then he’s rolling your dress up your hips, delighting in the way you get all shy and squirmy as he takes you in, unashamed in his study. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

He surges forward, licking through your folds. memorizing the way your slit feels beneath his tongue because he never wants to forget this. Never wants to forget the way you gasp beneath him or the way your hands pull at his hair. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.” he kisses your clit. Once, twice, before sucking it between his lips. He spreads your legs wide and presses his mouth to you, nose crinkling against your pubic bone. 

He could die here a happy man. You taste divine, better than anything his mind could have ever conjured up. He licks and sucks until you’re writhing, and when he presses two fingers gently into your opening, your back arches off the counter top. 

Tommy hooks two fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot, your perfect moans echoing through his kitchen. He wraps an arm around your thigh and pulls you roughly to the edge of the counter. His tongue is warm and wet as he uses it to circle your clit, groaning against you, sending vibrations through your body.

His name falls from your mouth between gasping breaths. You grind yourself against him, making a delicious mess of his face and pulling at the roots of his hair.

He can feel you clenching around his fingers, chasing that high, chasing release. Tommy decides to give you a little encouragement. “Go on, now,” he mutters against your spit-soaked clit. “Take it, baby. You deserve it. Been so fuckin’ good for so long. Deserve a reward.”

Your breath halts, just for a second. And then you let out a long, salacious moan and your legs tremble around his head. Tommy feels your walls pulse around his two fingers, squeezing them hard. “Fuck, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he praises, flicking his soft tongue gently over your clit, fingers working you through it, pressing in deep. “There you go, shhh. Just like that.”

He looks up at you, branding this image in his brain. The arch of your back, the strain in your throat as you desperately take in oxygen, the way the shimmery, silver sequins on your dress cast little rainbows across his apartment. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he says. “So pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy.”

Only when your writhing stops and your breath evens out does he slow the rhythm of his fingers, caressing your insides slowly, gently, making sure he coaxes it all out of you and delighting in the little whimpers you make in response. And then he carefully slides them out of you, digits slick and glossy with your release. Your eyes are glued to his as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, not wasting a single drop. That smirk of yours forms as you say, breathless, “Kiss me.”

Tommy grips the back of your neck and pulls you forward, grinning as he gives you what you need. He kisses you eagerly, tongue finding yours, licking into your mouth.

“Can taste it,” you mutter, giggling against his lips. “I made a real mess of you.”

In more ways than one, Tommy thinks. “Tastes fuckin’ good, though,” he says. “Just gettin’ started, anyway.”

He lifts you off the counter, laughing as you squeal in surprise when he tosses you over his shoulder so easily. You fist your hands in the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt, seeking stability. “I bet you have blue sheets,” you say.

Tommy snorts. “You’ve thought about the color of my sheets?” Such a simple thing, an irrelevant part of his life that has never mattered to him in any capacity.

“Duh,” you say as if it’s obvious, and Tommy’s suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. He likes that you think about it—his sheets, his bedroom, him. Likes knowing he’s not been alone in his mania. “Always knew I’d end up in them.”

He laughs darkly as he pushes open the door and shoulders you onto his bed, right in the center of his navy blue sheets.

You smile up at him, beaming with pride, and he shakes his head as you say, “Told ya.”

It doesn’t surprise him that you’d guessed correctly because you know him. Better than anyone else ever has. Because you and Tommy are one and the same, two sides to the same twisted coin. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he teases, crawling over you, knees braced on either side of your thighs. “S’enough outta you, know it all.”

You open your mouth, probably to make some filthy joke, but whatever it is never sees the light of day because Tommy hooks his fingers around the thin straps of your dress and pulls them down your shoulders. He tugs at the fabric until your breasts are bared to him, pretty and soft and perfect.

He cups them tenderly in his hands, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of your nipples. He watches goosebumps rise across your chest, and it brings a sick smile to his face. “S’that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes heavy. “Touch me more. Wanna feel you.”

Tommy’s never heard a more tempting request in his life. He leans over and presses his mouth to your chest, hands roaming over your skin. He takes your nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sighing against you at the sound of your moan.

He pushes your dress down to your hips and lets you shimmy the rest of the way out of it, kicking the shiny fabric onto the floor. You lift your hips to meet his, and his cock is so hard and needy that the smallest bit of friction nearly knocks him on his ass. “Shit,” he hisses, trailing kisses across your chest, spreading his worship. He plans to take his time, wants to see just how close he can get you with just his mouth on your tits.

But then your voice breaks through your breathy whimpers. “Uncle Tommy,” you say. “Wait. Wait, I—”

He stops, pulling back, giving you room to breathe. The coldness of fear begins to trickle in as he anticipates your next words. Has he gone too far? Said too much, moved too fast?

“I want you in my mouth,” you say with those pretty eyes, and he convinces himself he’s dreaming. “Please.”

Because this can’t be real. There’s no way in hell he’s looking at you, naked in his bed, begging to suck his cock. His pretty, perfect girl. Tommy runs his hands down his face, and a sound of utter disbelief escapes him. But then he’s nodding, just as eager. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “Course you can.”

Your responding smile sends a shiver down his spine. Carefully, you move from beneath him, hands tugging at the buckle of his leather belt. He can do nothing but watch with reverence as you unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper, tongue wetting your lips. 

The air gets stuck in his lungs as you reach into his boxers and pull him out with gentle fingers. It’s hypnotic, the way you touch him. You press a sweet, chaste kiss to his tip and with that one touch alone he’s already fighting for his fucking life.

But he lets you do what you want to him. Lets you move at your own pace. Tommy’s grateful you’re slow in your pursuit, though. Tasting him, tongue gliding down the underside of his shaft, savoring.

When you finally take him fully in your mouth, his head falls back and he sighs deeply. It’s almost too much to feel you and look at you, but Tommy doesn’t want to miss it. He strokes your hair as you hollow out your cheeks and greedily swallow him down. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look so good with my dick in your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Just like that.”

You suck harder, take him in deeper. His vision blurs, and pleasure builds and builds and builds, rushing to the surface of his skin. 

“Easy,” he warns. You look at him through your lashes, lips parted around his heavy cock. It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever fucking seen and it’s going to have him cumming down your throat. “Easy, easy, easy—” Tommy takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back, dick pulsing as he watches strands of your spit stick to him. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Pure, sprightly giggles bubble from your glossy lips. So beautiful it hurts him. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

You move across his bed, crawling back towards the headboard. Your voice is low, a seductive whisper as you tell him, “I want you to take off your clothes.”

He does. Starts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then he takes off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, discarding them beside your pretty little dress.

“I want you to come over here and kiss me,” you say. Tommy moves on instinct, crawling towards you. He’s nearly there when you speak again, mouth hovering over yours. “And then I want you inside me, Uncle Tommy.”

He shivers as you spread your legs slowly, putting on a sweet little show. All for him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. You slide your hands down your body, that troublesome look on your face, teasing. As you glide your fingers through your pussy, slick and glossy, you continue. “Wanna watch it go in. Wanna see it here,” you say, pressing hard against your lower abdomen.

Tommy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Has never had any problem satisfying all your needs. And that doesn’t change now, either.

He kisses you slowly. Meaningfully. There’s intent behind it. Love. Adoration. He hopes you can feel it. Hope you can sense it.

With his forehead against yours, he lines himself up at your entrance. He cradles your face with his hand. Says, “Tell me if it hurts.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, and his hands shake. You watch it, just as you wanted. Watch his cock split you open, watch your pretty pussy make room for him. And Tommy watches you, delighting in the way your eyes go wide and watery, in the way your lips part in a gasp.

He sinks into you all the way, hips pressed tight against yours. And when he pulls back out his cock is covered in your slick. “How’s it feel, baby?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving. “S’good,” you answer. “So fucking…God. You’re so big.”

Tommy tilts his hips, quickly finding a cadence that makes you cry out his name. You feel like heaven. Warm and wet, soaked. The sounds echo in his bedroom, obscene and filthy. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple. Every part of you he can reach. “This what you wanted? Hm?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Shh, s’alright, darlin’. Ain’t gotta beg me. Uncle Tommy’s got you.” Your silky walls grip his cock tighter as he says it, and he knows then and there that you’re the same in this, too. Knows that you like the perversion, the corruption, the filth. 

He thrusts harder, deeper. Your back arches, and your hand reaches for his. Tommy laces his fingers through yours and has never felt closer to anyone in his life. You say, “I needed you,” and he agrees.

“I know, baby. Me too. I’m here now. Gonna make you cum for me.” He uses his free hand and presses it to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You do. His perfect girl. He presses his fingers past your lips, into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them, coating them in your spit. And then he snakes his arm between you and circles your clit, tortorously gentle. “Oh my fucking God,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

But Tommy won’t have it. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Wanna see the way you look cumming on Uncle Tommy’s cock, huh?” You do as he says, and a tear rolls down your cheek. “There you go. Just like that. Good job.”

“Tommy,” you whimper, pussy fluttering around him. He’s not going to last long, not like this. Not when you cry for him so beautifully. 

He circles your clit faster, fighting off the bliss that creeps up his spine. “Right here,” he says, kissing your tears away, salt clinging to his lips. “Stay right here with me, sweet girl. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well for me.”

Your fingernails dig into the back of his hand and he knows you’re there, can feel your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Cum with me,” you say, breath ragged. “Cum with me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” you tell him, voice pleading. “I’m on birth control, I swear. Just…I want to feel it, Uncle Tommy. Want you to fill me up.”

This will damn him, he knows.

“Please, please, please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum, oh my God—”

He’d do anything for you.

“Always gonna give you what you want,” he says. “My favorite girl.”

Your eyes are starry as you crest that high, somehow even more exquisite than the first time. Sweet moans fill the room, and your thighs shake as your release rocks through you, spine bending off his blue sheets. You cry out his name, and that’s what sets him over the edge.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with thick, sticky ropes of cum. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he knows he’ll chase this high for the rest of his fucking life. “That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Such a filthy little thing, beggin’ for your Uncle Tommy to fill you up with his cum. You’re so perfect for me.”

He gives you ever last drop, thrusting in deep until his cock is so overstimulated it almost hurts. But he circles your clit with his spit-soaked fingers until you come down, walls spasming uncontrollably around him.

When he finally pulls out of you, he does it gently. And then he collapses on the bed beside you, panting to try and slow the racing of his heart. He turns his head to look at you and catches your eye, and he’s not quite sure why, but you both grin and just laugh.

There’s no dirty joke or any sort of amusement. Nothing’s funny, but Tommy supposes he’s just…well, he’s happy. Seeing you on the right side of his mattress, all naked and fucked out and satisfied, it just feels so right.

And he knows it’s not. Knows it’s so far removed from the idea of right that it’s absurd, but you’re stifling your laughter behind your hands and turning away from him to try and find some sort of composure, and Tommy thinks maybe he just doesn’t fucking care.

Doesn’t care about right or wrong, doesn’t care about what anyone would think or say. Because how could he when you’re at his side? How could anything else on God’s green earth ever matter to him as much as you?

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

But this is enough, Tommy thinks. This one night. A stolen moment in time that will forever belong only to the two of you, where nothing and no one matters beyond his apartment. The life here, the love between you, encased so perfectly in these four walls…it’s a gift. One he doesn’t deserve. Sweet as maple syrup and warm as the hot summer sun.

And yet it’s been given to him anyway, and Tommy Miller’s going to cherish it for the rest of his life.

When you finally turn back to him, you lie on your side with a face-splitting grin. “We’re so fucked,” you say.

Tommy laughs. “Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, pulling you close. He wraps his arms around your waist and treasures the weight of your head on his chest. “Totally, completely fucked.”

“Well, at least we’re together.”

He smiles. Presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “At least there’s that.”

Two peas in a fucking pod.

(ermmmm ik i said i wanted to write more single part fics this year but if literally just one person asks for a part two I'll cave)

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[galexystern]

“Halloween party”

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: You’re drunk and horny in a college halloween party and you want your dad’s best friend, Joel, to see the little devil costume you’re wearing.

WC: 4,4k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, car sex, dirty talk, age gap, oral (m!receiving), fingering, swallowing, creampie, pre outbreak, reader is a little drunk please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with it.

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You already knew how much of a terrible idea this had been.

This was not your scene at all. Halloween night for you was meant to be popcorn and horror movies, curled up in bed. But there you were, in a little devil costume that left too little to the imagination, completely wasted, trying to find your friend, only to see her making out with some douchebag in a dark corner of the room.

The music and people’s shouts were loud, and mixed with the amount of alcohol in your blood, they made your head spin. The bass thudded through your chest like a second heartbeat, the room a blur of sweat-slicked bodies, flashing lights, and too much noise.

You were completely left alone, tipsy, having to get drunk guys’ hands off your body as you made your way to the bathroom.

Their breath reeked of liquor and cologne, and the leering eyes made your skin crawl. One guy had grabbed your waist like he owned it—you shoved his hand off, the heat of his fingers lingering in a way that made your stomach churn.

You stumbled into the bathroom around 1:47 AM, phone in hand, drunk and reckless and pulsing with need.

You sat down on the closed toilet lid and opened Facebook on your phone, scrolling down—

Until you saw Joel Miller’s new post.

It was a summer recap photo album: only a few nature pictures and a few innocent ones of him with his daughter, enjoying an evening at the lake. Except for the last one.

The last one was a picture of him shirtless. Not an intentional one, as if he purposely posed half-naked for the picture. No. He just casually appeared in the background, only in his swimsuit.

You almost dropped your phone to the floor when your shaky fingers went to zoom in on the picture.

Your breath caught, lips parting slightly, your heartbeat skipping a beat as you stared at the broad, sun-warmed expanse of his chest, the ripple of muscle beneath tanned skin, the faint salt-and-pepper trail disappearing under the waistband of his trunks.

Jesus fuck, that was one hot man, if you’d ever seen one. You felt the ache that started low in your belly and quickly spread down, straight to your core.

You could feel your cunt palpitating, and the dampness that started to gather in your panties. And that’s exactly what happened every single time you saw Joel Miller.

He’s been your father’s best friend ever since high school. You remember how you’d call him Uncle Joel when you were little. Back then he was safety, warmth, and comfort. The man who carried you on his shoulders at the county fair. The man who taught you how to ride a bike and brought you peppermint sticks every Christmas.

Well, that’s just a little fucked up, having in mind that now you were dying to fuck Uncle Joel.

You didn’t know exactly when it started—when you began to fantasize about Joel. Probably after you realized boys your age weren’t it. And that what you really wanted, really desired, was a grown man.

Not some stupid frat guy who didn’t even know what a clit was, much less where it was or how to touch it right.

No, you wanted a man with experience—experience with women, and experience in life. Someone you could learn from, not someone you had to teach.

A man just like Joel. You watched the zoomed-in photo: his ripped muscles—not from the gym, but from a life of hard physical work, of lifting heavy things and working until the sun went up.He was built from real effort, the kind that made you imagine the weight of his body pressing you into a mattress, his calloused hands gripping your hips with purpose.

You imagined how it would feel to run your hands all over his body, feeling the grey hair on his chest, going down to his stomach, even lower…

Fuck, you were pressing your thighs together so hard, and yet it was not nearly enough to relieve the ache you felt.

Truth is, you’ve been trying to fuck Joel for years now, ever since you were legal. You thought that wearing pretty sundresses and tighter little bikinis each year would help him fall for you.

Because any man would take the chance to fuck a young, pretty thing like you whenever he had the chance. But not Joel. He was so decent, so morally correct, such a good man that it drove you mad.

And it only made you want him more.

The way that he would look away whenever you bent down to pick up something you purposely let fall to the floor, letting him peek at your lacy panties. How he would clear his throat and pull away awkwardly whenever you hugged him and pressed your breasts against his chest, letting him feel all of you.

Because in some twisted way, you didn’t want just any pervy old man with a thing for young chicks. You wanted to corrupt Joel. Make him let loose and show him how good a young girl could make him feel.

The alcohol in your system made you do something stupid. Your fingers scrolled down your contact list until you found Joel.

And you pressed call.

You held the phone to your ear, swaying slightly in your heels, drunk and flushed and soaking wet between your legs.

He picked up on the third ring, voice rough and sleep-wrecked.

“…Darlin’?” Oh god, his voice was so sleepy and sounded even raspier than usual.

You had to suppress a little moan from escaping your mouth as you pressed your thighs together even harder.

“Hi, Joel,” you said.

There was a beat of silence, he could hear the loud music and conversations in the background.

“Where the hell you at? You alright?”

“At a party,” you said, dragging the words out. “M’fine. Just thinking about you.”

“Thinkin’ bout me?” he muttered. You could hear the sheets rustling, the weight of his body shifting. “It’s the middle’a the goddamn night. You been drinkin’?”

You smiled lazily. “Mhm.”

Joel cursed under his breath. “You need a ride or what?”

“Would you do that for me, Joel?”

Another heavy pause. “Just text me the damn address and I’ll be there in twenty.”

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting on the porch. Legs crossed. Lips glossy. Your little red dress riding dangerously high and your hair slightly messy, with the devil’s horns from your costume.

And your face lit up like Christmas when you saw him pulling up in front of you in his pickup truck.

“There he is,” you purred, stumbling a little as you stood. “My favorite old man.”

You saw the way his eyes flicked down your legs, quickly, before he looked away. Like the sight of you physically pained him.

“Get in,” he said from the driver’s seat.

You practically threw yourself into the passenger seat.

You could sense the way he was looking at you, at the way your nipples were hard under the soft fabric of the low-cut dress, how he could almost see your damp panties when your dress rolled up even more.

And Joel was trying to look away, distract himself with anything, so his now half-hard cock wouldn’t get fully hard.

“A devil, huh?” he said, touching the horns on your head.

“Mhm, tempting you to sin,” you said, giggling.

His jaw clenched. His fingers flexed on the wheel like he was fighting the urge to grab you.

Fuck. He was fully hard now.

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat before starting the engine and driving away.

“Party that bad?” he said, trying to make some conversation and distract himself from all the dirty, nasty thoughts he was having.

“Yeah, my friend ditched me five minutes after we arrived to go hook up with some dickhead.”

“And what about you?” he said, arching his brow. He was sure it wouldn’t be difficult for you to find a guy for yourself—hell, he was sure you’d be able to get any guy in that, or any other party, you wanted.

“I didn’t want to fuck any of those boys,” you said bluntly. “They all look like babies.”

He didn’t say anything right away—only groaned.

“Jesus, don’t say shit like that.” His voice dropped lower. Strained. Like he was battling himself with every word.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” You looked at him, batting your lashes. “Bet you’d take better care of me than any of those assholes.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Quit runnin’ your mouth.” he said under his breath, his heart beating fast. “You’re gonna get me into trouble.”

“Maybe you should put something inside my mouth to gag me.” You giggled, feeling as bold and reckless as ever. Your hand reached to palm him over his jeans—hard as rock and twitching instantly at your touch.

His body got stiff and he hit the brakes quickly, the truck stopping violently in the middle of the road. The force of it jolted you forward in the seat.

“Keep your damn hands to yourself,” he said as he yanked your hand from his bulge, pushing you to your seat with more force than necessary, “Sit back. Buckle up.” he grabbed the seatbelt and fastened it—as if to keep you from moving.

His breathing was ragged, nostrils flaring, and you could see the storm raging behind his eyes. Desire battling with guilt, morality against hunger.

He wouldn’t even look at you now. His breathing was labored, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

He took one long breath and began to drive again, desperate to get to your house and leave you there, just so he could go home and take care of the big problem between his legs.

“Why should I keep them to myself? You’re hard, and I’m sure I can help you with that.”

You unfastened the seatbelt and knelt on the seat, your upper body pressed down, laying your head on his big thigh.

“Can I suck your cock in the truck?” you looked up at him.

“Enough.” His voice was strangled. His knuckles white around the wheel. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean none of that.”

“I might be drunk now, but I’m not when I touch myself thinking of you every single night.”

“You think this is funny?” he snapped. “Playin’ games like that? You’re a goddamn kid.”

“Oh come off it, Joel. I’m barely ten years younger than you, that’s practically nothing.”

“It’s over ten years,” he corrected you. “You call me drunk in the middle of the goddamn night, talkin’ like a fuckin’ pornstar, lettin’ me look at you dressed like that—”

His hand slapped the steering wheel. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I should take you straight home and tell your daddy what you been up to.”

“Be sure your boner is gone when you talk to my dad,” you teased him. “I don’t think he’d appreciate knowing how fuckin’ hard you get over his daughter.”

You chuckled at the way he was looking at you—anger in his eyes but lust behind them.

“I think you’re pissed off all the time ‘cause you wanna fuck me and you can’t.” you continued to tease him.

His jaw twitched. You were getting to him. Finally.

“I ain’t sayin’ it again,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “You don’t get it, do you? This ain’t no joke. This is serious. You’re my best friend’s daughter. You’re practically a kid—I was there the day you were born, for god’s sake, I held you when you were a baby. You’re—fuck, you’re not s’posed to look at me like that.”

“And now I’m a woman. One you wanna fuck. And one that’s desperately begging you to do it. So own it. Be a man and fuck me, Joel.”

He was breathing hard, looking at you like he didn’t know whether to throttle you or kiss you. Like the war inside him had reached its peak, fists clenched and jaw tight, every nerve screaming.

He stopped the truck in the middle of some deserted road and he surged forward, grabbing your face with both hands, and kissed you like he hated himself for it. Like he was drowning in it. His mouth crushed against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, tasting the alcohol on your breath.

His hand fisted in your hair, the other cupping your jaw like he needed to hold you in place, or else he’d break apart.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered against your mouth, hand sliding up your bare thigh. “Knew you’d be nothing but trouble. Knew I should’ve stayed the hell away.”

His hand made its way between your thighs and reached the edge of your panties. He felt the heat. The slick.

His breath hitched the moment he touched you, a low growl vibrating in his chest like a warning.

He growled. “Jesus, you’re soaked.” There was awe in his tone, disbelief, like you’d shattered something inside him just by wanting him this much.

“I saw the picture at the lake you posted and got like this,” you said. “What? You’ve never seen a girl this wet, Joel?”

He groaned like it physically hurt him, resting his forehead against yours for a second, breathing hard.

“I’m gonna take you home,” he muttered, voice rough. “Gonna put you in your bed, and then I’m gonna go jerk off in my truck like a fuckin’ lunatic.”

“No, you’re not. I need you too much, Joel,” you whispered, reaching for his belt. “Please, pretty please, Joel. I want it like you have no idea.”

He didn’t stop you when you undid the buckle. Didn’t stop you either when you reached into his jeans and wrapped your hand around him. His stomach flinched under your touch, a broken gasp escaping him, his whole body going tense like your fingers had struck a nerve.

His eyes fluttered shut. A soft, filthy growl escaped his throat.

“I swear to God,” he rasped, “if you don’t stop right now, I’m gonna fuck you in this truck.”

“Please do.” Your hand was still wrapped around him, thick and pulsing in your grip, and Joel hadn’t moved a muscle to stop you. His cock twitched in your hand like it agreed with you more than he dared to.

You pulled his cock out of the confinement of his jeans, and you almost whimpered when you saw it.

It was big, to say the least—you’ve never seen one quite that size in person. Only in the adult videos your friend had insisted you watch with her just for giggles.

“Oh my God, Joel,” you breathed out as you took in the sight of him—it looked obscene in the best way, thick and flushed and so hard it looked like it hurt, veins pulsing, wet pre-cum leaking from his tip. “It’s so big.”

“Called me up practically beggin’ for cock with your voice all slow and filthy like that. Now take care of it—it’s what you wanted, right?”

You let your mouth brush the head of his cock. A soft kiss. He twitched again, his hand clenching in the seat beside him, like he was trying to keep control.

“Come on, baby, show me how much you wanted me.”

You took him in your mouth. Warm. Wet. Slow at first—just the head, swirling your tongue around it, tracing that sensitive spot just beneath the ridge. He gasped, eyes rolling back, one hand flying to your hair.

“Shit… baby… killin’ me here,” he moaned. “That mouth—Jesus, such a talented mouth.” His words came out in pieces, half-groaned, half-worshipped.

You moaned around him, taking more, letting him slide deeper. Your lips stretched, jaw aching already from how big he was, but you didn’t care. You loved the way he filled your mouth, the way his dick twitched on your tongue, the way his whole body went rigid when you swallowed around him.

“Ngghh… Look at you. You look so good with my cock down your throat.”

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy and full of want, spit pooling at the corners of your lips.

You bobbed your head slowly, hand working the base where your mouth couldn’t reach, spit dripping down to your wrist. The messier and wetter, the better it felt for Joel. You wanted him to feel it. Every flick of your tongue. Every tight pull of your throat.

He was so sensitive, thighs were shaking, his voice breaking. “Stop, darlin’…please…gotta stop.” You could hear it in his tone—he didn’t want to stop. He just didn’t want to lose control.

You looked up, lips swollen around his cock, and moaned again.

Joel’s grip tightened in your hair. His hips started to move, tiny thrusts, shallow but desperate. He was fucking your mouth, slow and helpless, trying not to lose it too fast.

“Gonna cum,” he gasped. “Fuck…I’m gonna—shit, baby—”

You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks. Taking him deeper, even when it made your eyes water. You wanted to ruin him. You needed to.

“You wanna swallow it? Gonna swallow every drop like the good little girl you are?”

You nodded frenetically. And then he came. Hard. A broken shout. His whole body tensed as he spilled down your throat.

Hot and thick ropes of his cum, tasted a little salty but so good just ‘cause it belonged to him. It was so much, but you swallowed every drop, not even flinching.

When you finally pulled off him with a soft pop, Joel was wrecked. Panting. Sweating. Staring down at you like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smirking.

“Get in the back,” he muttered under his breath.

You didn’t hesitate. You climbed into the back seat, the leather cold on your thighs, knees already trembling with anticipation. Your tiny dress rode up higher, exposing lace panties soaked through at the center.

Joel followed. He didn’t even shut the front door. Just crawled into the back after you, big and hulking, like something unchained. His hands were on you immediately, yanking the dress up over your hips, gripping your thighs so hard you whimpered.

He pushed your legs open with both hands, groaning at the sight of how wet you were.

“All this for me, huh? At some college party, dressed like a slut, callin’ me up talkin’ filth ‘cause you didn’t want any of those stupid pricks, you wanted me.”

You nodded, lips parted, breath hitched. Shivering at the raw hunger in his voice.

He slapped the inside of your thigh, sharp and hot. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I wanted you. I want you so bad, Joel.”

He let out a sound like a snarl and pulled your panties to the side. He made a little noise, almost a whimper.

“What is it? When was the last time you’ve seen a cunt this pretty?”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered. “You’re so beautiful, ain’t got the slightest clue.”

Two thick fingers slid right through your slick folds, parting you. He hissed through his teeth. His pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he was in pain.

He teased you with his fingers, barely dipping into your entrance, just enough to make you shake. Every nerve in your body stood on edge, begging for more.

“J-Joel… please,” your voice breaking.

“You need this cock that bad, huh? Don’t worry, babygirl, I’ve got you. I’m just gonna stretch you out a little first.” He shoved two fingers in, and you choked on a gasp. Thick. Rough. Curling just right. “Gotta make sure you can take it.”

Your back arched off the seat. “Oh—f-fuck—!”

“Yeah, that’s it. You’re so tight and it’s only my fingers, you’re squeezing them like crazy,” he grunted, working you open, watching your face with fire in his eyes, like it was his religion

“Look at you. Bet none of those little college boys know how to make you squirm like this.”

“N-no… ah… t-they can’t,” you gasped, fingers clutching the seat. “They don’t know anything.”

“All them boys in that house, drunk little shits. Could’ve had any of ‘em. But you called me.”

He kissed you again, hard and messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers never stopped pumping. He curled them just right and you cried out against his mouth.

“This pussy’s a fuckin’ dream,” he muttered. “Come on, baby, cum for me, and then I’ll give you my cock.”

His thumb began to circle your swollen clit, and you saw stars. He fastened his pace, merciless, single-minded, with the only goal of making you feel the biggest pleasure you could experience.

“I’m… I’m close, Joel… p-please don’t stop.”

You let a loud moan, shattering from the force of your orgasm. Head thrown back. Fingers clutching the seat leather. Crying out his name like a prayer.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” he muttered, pulling away just enough to breathe against your cheek. “Think you’re ready to take me now?”

“Y-yes… I want your cock inside me.”

Joel sat up on the back seat. “Get in my lap.”

You scrambled over, straddling him. He grabbed your ass and pulled you against him, hard cock sliding against your soaked folds.

“No condoms,” he gritted.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, rolling your hips. “Wanna feel you. Want you to cum in me, Joel.”

That was it.

You barely had a second to breathe before he was lining himself up, grabbing your hips and…

“Fuck—” he groaned as he sank in, slow but deep. Pushing inside you in one hard thrust. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, your whole body going tight around him. The stretch burned in the best way, he was big, thick, and deeper than anything you’d had before. It felt almost like your first time, and in a sense, it was—your first time with a real man.

Joel grabbed your hips and guided you, panting against your neck, voice wrecked. His hands trembled just slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like you were the most beautiful and precious thing in the world, and for some unknown reason you were letting him have the privilege of fucking you.

You felt the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. Every inch of him, dragging against your walls, filling you like nothing ever had. He bottomed out and held still, panting against your neck.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cut off with a strangled sound. “So fuckin’ tight, so goddamn wet… oh, this cunt feels like heaven.”

“Ngggh… J-Joel,” you whimpered. “I-It’s too big.”

“Relax… You’re taking it so good for me,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

You moaned, fucking yourself down onto him, your dress bunched around your waist, heels still on. The truck rocked, the windows fogging thicker with every bounce of your hips. The air was heavy with sweat, lust, and the scent of sex.

“This pussy was made for me, huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s yours, Joel. Always been yours.”

He growled low in his throat and pulled out, only to slam back in—hard. You saw stars.

Your cry cracked in your throat, your whole body arching into him.

Then again. And again.

Joel kissed you like he was starved, and you bit his bottom lip, tugging.

“Harder,” you whispered. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Joel growled and started thrusting up into you. The sound of slick skin slapping and your whimpers filled the truck like music. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your ass, your hair. His mouth was on your neck, sucking bruises, biting softly, marking you.

“I should be ashamed,” he gritted. “Should hate myself for wantin’ this. For wantin’ you.”

“But you don’t,” you whispered, dazed and breathless. “You love it.”

“You love that I wanted you,” you went on, voice a broken moan. “You love that I called you instead of some college boy. That I made myself yours.”

He pulled out suddenly and flipped you over. You yelped, hands bracing against the seat, ass in the air. He yanked your panties all the way down this time, tossed them somewhere, and slammed back in from behind. This angle felt deeper. Brutal. Relentless.

Joel’s hand came down hard on your ass, and you cried out.

“That what you needed, baby?” he snarled. “Needed to be fucked like a little whore in the back of my truck? Needed this old man to fuck you stupid?”

“Yes!” you sobbed. “God, yes, Joel—don’t stop—don’t stop—!”

His hand wrapped in your hair, tugging your head back so he could growl in your ear. “Not stoppin’ ‘til you’re fuckin’ ruined.”

He fucked you until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name. Your thighs trembled and your vision blurred. You felt another climax approaching, and you came again, this time around him with a cry so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Ah…ah, baby, don’t squeeze me like that…I can’t hold— I’m gonna cum,” he breathed. “Gonna cum inside you, fill you up, let you leak all over those pretty thighs”

He wrapped both arms around you and spilled inside you with a deep, broken moan, growling your name like a man who’d been starving for years—he didn’t pull out, didn’t even try. His whole body shook. You held his head close, whispering how good he felt, how full you were, how much you wanted it.

He just stayed there, breath hot against your back, hips twitching, filling you full, thrusting a few more times just to fuck his cum deep inside your pussy, not letting one drop go to waste.

For a long time, the only sound in the truck was panting. The occasional shaky breath. His palm, warm and wide, soothing up and down your spine like he didn’t know how to let go.

“Fuck.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah.”

He pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you tight. The only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine and your slow breaths. Joel’s hand still locked in the curve of your thigh. His chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running, eyes glazed as he stared through the fogged windshield, not seeing a damn thing.

You were still in his lap. Dress wrinkled, panties around one ankle, his release sticky between your thighs.

“You okay?” his voice was soft. “I think… I was too rough, I’m sorry, you felt too goddamn good and it’s been so long since—”

“Don’t.” You smiled lazily and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “It was amazing… fuck, you made me cum twice,” you chuckled, as if you couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just let his hand move slowly over the back of your thigh, tracing your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t’ve called me. And i shouldn’t’ve come.”

You kissed his neck. “But I did call you, and you did come.”

His hand tightened suddenly on your thigh, and his voice dropped lower. “This ain’t somethin’ I can walk away from anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

“Your costume makes a lot of sense, y’know?” There was a low chuckle behind it, half-amused, half-kickin’ himself.

He looked at you—really looked—and something in his face softened, like he was scared of what he wanted and wanted it anyway.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home before I do somethin’ even dumber.”

A/N: heey, first of all, if you reached this point, thank you so much for reading. I began posting the fics I write here without expecting much but y’all are so kind and you literally make my day whenever you comment or reblog saying something nice. So thank you for putting a smile on my face. I hope you enjoyed this one🫶🩷

[galexystern]

infatuation - part 1

☁︎ delinquent!ellie williams x preppyfem!reader, enemies to lovers trope ☁︎ smut, angst, tiny bit of fluff ☁︎ summary: don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding your girlfriend.  ☁︎ warnings: 18+ only. kissing, fingering & oral (r!recieving), masturbation, mentions of weed and smoking weed, mentions relationships w/ men, feelings, kinda mean ellie but then shes nice again, arguing and yelling kinda (let me know if i miss any more necessary warnings ty baes) ☁︎ a/n: i wrote this in like one day. hope u all enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! ya nasties ;) ☁︎ word count: 4,347 ☁︎ 1/2 - part 2

you swore to yourself you’d never let yourself get involved with the university’s infamous delinquent— ellie williams. but you should’ve known that’d be hard to avoid, knowing she was just in reach as your roommate’s best friend. 

ellie was always, and i mean always, there in your dorm. either chilling with dina, talking with dina, or, much to your disliking, smoking with dina. 

ever since you ran into her on the first day of dorm move-in, she was constantly there, bickering with you, poking at you, and judging you for every little thing you did. 

ellie had this image of you; an image of this perfect, high maintenance, always put-together, prissy, goody-two-shoes. it was far from the truth, well, kind of. 

you did pride yourself on being one of the smartest girls on campus, and being very active in numerous extracurriculars at school. you were in the student body, the recycling club, the campus book club, the health club, the cooking club— you were just in a lot of clubs. 

but it would be an understatement to say that ellie williams is everything opposite of you. she was on the other side of the spectrum you were on. 

ellie williams was aggressive, a smartass, foulmouthed, risky, and usually up to trouble. always going to the dean’s office for a fight she probably started. the only reason why she hadn’t been kicked out from campus was because her stepdad is the dean's brother. don’t get yourself wrong, she was brilliant being an engineering major. but she was always doing something she wasn’t supposed to as if it fueled her drive.

you unlocked the door to your dorm, greeted with a fog of smoke. hacking out a cough, you switch on the lights, “dina!! what’d i tell you?” you lecture, stomping over towards the window to open it, “if you’re gonna smoke in here, at least open the window!”

“sorry, roomie,” dina coughed out, “we were just hotboxing.” 

you turned towards the pair, criss-crossed on dina’s bed, and furrow your brows, “what? hotboxing?” 

“yea, you know, smoking weed ’til the room fills up with smoke, so the high is more enhanced.” dina explained, you tilted your head to the side, still not fully comprehending whatever hotboxing was. 

the brunette girl leaned against the wall, giving you a smirk. “c’mon, dee. don’t waste your breath explaining,” ellie retorted, “i’m sure lil miss perfect here never smoked or drank before.” 

you scoffed, crossing your arms, “for your information, i have drank before.”

“oh yea? when was the last time, princess?” god, you hated that nickname. you hated the way it made you red in the cheeks. 

“….at church.” you muttered quietly, sending ellie and dina into a fit of laughter. 

“did you hear that, dee? at church! she said the last time she drank alcohol was at church!” ellie let out a boisterous laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. 

“good one, princess.”

you huffed, rolled your eyes, and rummaged around your side of the room to search for what you were looking for in the first place.

was it so wrong for you to not drink or smoke weed? you didn’t think negatively about anyone who used it, but you just didn’t feel comfortable using something that had such an effect on you. you wanted autonomy over your body at all times. 

bingo. you found the cropped white baby tee you wanted to change into, finding it more comfortable than the scratchy sweater you had on currently. turning away from the chatter of dina and ellie, you lifted the sweater above your head, tossed it in your laundry bag, and slipped into the more fitted and more comfortable white tee. 

standing in front of your mirror, you checked your outfit. you thought a simple t-shirt and black yoga pants were cute enough to hang out with jacob in. you fixed your hair, and looked up at the corner of your mirror, your eyes meeting green ones. 

ellie bit her lip, watching the beautiful yet stubborn girl in front of her. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. you just looked so goddamn beautiful. she couldn’t help but take a peek at the way your bare back curved or how soft your skin looked as your sweater slid off your body. ellie definitely didn’t complain about the yoga pants either and how they hugged your ass and thighs in all the right places. 

knowing she was staring at you, you hiked your yoga pants higher and bent over a little, reapplying your favorite shimmering lipgloss in the mirror. you weren’t sure what came over you, but the feeling of knowing ellie was watching you, gave you butterflies in your belly. 

you see her smirk and break eye contact with you. picking up your backpack and your ‘Organic Chemistry 101’ textbook, you bid dina a goodbye. 

“i’ll be back later tonight dina, don’t wait up for me.” you said, slipping your shoes on. 

ellie cleared her throat, “where you headed off to?” 

“pi kappa alpha frat.” you met ellie’s eyes. they looked disappointed, but then quickly rolled to the side, masking whatever sadness you thought you saw.

“hm, i see,” ellie commented, “gonna go blow some frat dude’s cock, huh?”

you groaned, “ugh, no, idiot. i’m just gonna go study.” 

“mhm, whatever you say, princess.” you open the door and leave, hearing the sound of dina yelling ‘be safe’ right before you left. 

walking down the corridor, you thought to yourself ‘jacob isn’t that bad’. i mean, you both aren’t in a relationship by any means. you would describe it as ‘situationship’. jacob was nice, funny sometimes, cute, had a nice body, and was cool. him as a boyfriend though? you weren’t sure about that. he was good company, provided mediocre sex, and was nice to talk to, well, usually he’d talk about hockey and you’d listen. but that’s beside the point. you’re content with this situation, right? 

-

walking back to your dorm from what was probably the worst sex of your life was, quite frankly, embarrassing. you spend time changing into a cute outfit, fixing your makeup, and spritzing on a little bit of your favorite expensive perfume to show up to this dude’s room with him reeking of sweat and ham. you were disappointed, to say the least.

yet, you stayed anyways, unsure of what even compelled you to do that. you stayed for the company, and that company starts rubbing on your ass and tits not even 5 minutes into the netflix show. eventually, you give in, feeling in the mood from a little making out, and you were met with 3 thrusts and cum on your stomach. 

needless to say, you left in a hurry. currently cuddled under your pink duvet with your earphones on, you end up scrolling about on instagram, tapping to like and swiping up to comment on your friends posts. 

while aimlessly scrolling, a picture from @e.williams pops up on your timeline. you study her picture in fascination.

it was a mirror picture of her in the gym, she had her hair up in her usual half-up half-down style with a tight tank top accentuating her physique as she was flexing her arms. gosh, how could someone so annoying be so gorgeous? your eyes trail to her arms and hands. and so fine? you double-tap on the picture, looking at it for a second more before scrolling past to the next post. 

your phone vibrates, and you check the notification from your instagram dm’s.

@e.williams: you checking me out or something ??

you scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. luckily, ellie wasn’t here to see that, or else you would’ve never heard the end of it. you type back.

in ur dreams idiot 

you lay in bed closing your eyes, and somehow, your mind drifts off to that annoying green-eyed girl.

your mind goes to the way she looks at you when she thinks you don’t notice, or how even though she comments on everything you do, she’s so attentive about it. your mind plays in your head the way she calls you those stupid nicknames, and as much as you claim to hate them, you can’t deny the way it makes your heart flutter. 

then, your mind floats to the corner of your brain that you keep locked away. you think about the way ellie bites her lip when she gets anxious, how better her lips would feel pressed onto yours. you think about the way she flexes her arms and hands, wondering how they would feel stroking your most intimate parts. 

you find your hand inside your panties. luckily, dina was in the communal showers, doing her 25-step skincare routine. knowing you had the time, your hand goes down to your wet heat, rubbing your clit in slow circles. 

you close your eyes, picturing her in your head, imagining her fingers working on you instead. you think about how perfect she’d look above you, looking down at you with adoring eyes. you knew she’d take good care of you. you suppress the need to moan by biting down on the duvet. 

even when she wasn’t here, ellie had a way of drawing out unrecognizable responses from you. your finger still rubbing circles on your clit, an orgasm began to bubble in your stomach. you picked up the pace, legs beginning to shake, “fuck, ellie..” you manage to moan out as you finish on your fingers. 

gosh, what was this girl doing to me?

-

it was saturday night and you had managed to get another date with jacob. you rejected him at first, but he was very persistent and promised ‘mind-blowing sex’ and takeout from one of the best restaurants in town. you obliged, clearly in it only for the takeout. 

you thought it’d be a good idea to hang out with him. his hockey stories distracted you from the real person you had your mind stuck on, ellie. 

you thought about her all the time, it gave you a migraine. you couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore without feeling nervous. luckily, you managed to avoid her all week, hanging out at one of your good friend’s dorm room ’til you knew the coast was clear. 

you didn’t let yourself think about what it would be like being in a relationship with ellie williams. she didn’t like you at all, not in that way anyway. she’d probably make some comment like ‘hell would freeze over before i even look at you like that’. the two of you together would be a recipe for disaster. you literally despised each other. 

smoothing down your dress, you smiled at the mirror in satisfaction. you went over to your desk and sat down, getting ready to apply some light makeup.

hearing the door open and close, you assumed it was dina.

“damn, who died?”

your head turns and meets those stupid green eyes and that stupid smirk adorned with those stupid freckles that make your stupid heart race a little faster. god, you were so stupid. 

“ha ha, very funny,” you snapped, “what are you doing here, anyways?”

“dina doesn’t get off work for a couple of hours and i didn’t have jackshit to do, so i thought i would wait for her here,” ellie plops down on dina’s bed.

“hell, no. get out,” you demanded, pointing to the door. you really just wanted her to leave so you could let go of the breath you’ve been holding. it made you anxious being alone with her and the fact that she wore that stupid blue button-up that made her look so good didn’t make anything better either. 

“chill out, princess,” ellie said leaning back against dina’s head board, “you won’t even notice i’m here.” 

you huffed in frustration, trying to hide the crimson creeping up on your cheeks. you proceeded to get your mind off the brunette by continuing your makeup, intently dabbing your concealer in, and carefully curling your lashes. you pat your face gently with some powder and brush out your brows, once in a while looking to the side of your mirror, catching ellie looking at you before she quickly looks away, pretending to be on her phone.

“gettin’ all dolled up for your lil’ boyfriend?” she asks dryly, still looking down at her phone. 

“wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“please, do enlighten me, princess.” you swallow hard, “i’ll have you know that i’m going out with jacob anderson tonight.” 

“no fucking way, is that the shithead you’re seeing from pi kappa alpha?” she says, surprised with wide eyes.

“mhm,” you hummed in confirmation, still rummaging in your makeup.

“why am i even surprised, you did always gravitate towards the assholes.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”, you paused and raised a brow. 

“you go for assholes,” she stated, “do i need to spell it out for you?”

“jacob is not an asshole, he’s really nice.” you muttered, patting on some blush. “he’s hell of a lot nicer than you.” 

okay, you knew that was a lie. but you had to think of a way to get her off your back.

“m’yeah, i highly doubt that. he’s a fucking tool,” she says nonchalantly, “where’s he even taking you anyways?”

“he asked me to meet up with him at the frat house, we’re gonna watch netflix and eat takeout and stuff,” you admit. 

“you fuckin’ with me?” ellie looks surprised and almost pissed. 

“no, why would i?”

“are you serious? it’s pouring rain outside and he asked you to come over,” she points out, “the asshole didn’t even have the decency to come over here and walk with you himself.”

your eyes look out the window, barely registering the pitter-patter of the rain hitting your window. you didn’t even know it was raining and you wore a dress. your mind was so consumed with classes, ellie, clubs, ellie, student body, ellie, and ellie. the small details just flew right over your head.

you stay silent, and she just gives you a look. a look you couldn’t decipher.

“you’re a real piece of work, y’know that?” ellie retorts, crossing her arms. jesus, why did she have to look so good like that?

“what’d i do this time? please, share with the class.” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“you just go for guys who treat you like garbage or who’re way out of your league.” she argues, “they’re either too stupid or don’t give a fuck about you.” ouch. that kind of stung.

you close your eyes, waiting before answering back at her, “can you stop it?! just for once. stop judging every single thing i do.” you yell, exasperated.

ellie’s eyes widen and she lets out a laugh, which sets you off even more.

“you think this is funny? you always make some snide comment about me. i’m too high maintenance, i’m a teacher’s pet, i’m spoiled, i go after horrible guys—“ 

“because you do!” she yells back.

“and why do you care, ellie?!” you yell, becoming out of breath, partly due to the hard pounding of your heartbeat in your chest, “why do you care so much?

she goes silent. 

“god, you infuriate me, ellie williams.” you breathe out. you felt almost as if fire was igniting inside of you and your slow breaths were releasing the smoke. you close your eyes, attempting to calm down before opening them again and putting on the last finishing touches on your makeup. as you stand up grabbing your purse, and you hear ellie let out a heavy sigh. 

“you’re seriously still gonna go out with that fucking frat bro prick jacob anderson? after everything i said?” she snarks, “i thought girls like you were supposed to be smart.” 

“yea, as a matter of fact. i am still going,” you give her a mocking smile.

“why? so, he can fuck you missionary in the dark while he finishes in 3 seconds?” she lets out a harsh laugh, “how fucking romantic.” 

“again, why do you even care? you don’t even like me,” you counter, her head spins in your direction.

“who told you that?” ellie appeared angry, her eyes sharp and a serious tone in her voice.

“no one that matters.” 

there’s a pregnant pause in the air as if she’s hesitating to say something. 

“well, whoever the fuck they are, they’re wrong.” she confessed, her voice wavering.

“what do you mean?”

she sighs in frustration, running a hand through her hair before standing up in front of you. 

“i’m infatuated with you.” 

“huh?” you manage to croak out in shock. did you hear her correctly?

“yea. you heard me. i’m infatuated with you. you fucking consume every corner of my mind. every capacity of my being.” she comes closer to you, backing you up against the door, “you drive me absolutely insane.”

“then why do you treat me like this?” you ask, looking up at her with big, curious eyes. ellie’s eyes soften at you.

“because— i hate seeing you go on dates with those dicks who don’t deserve you. i hate seeing the way you dress in those short-ass fucking dresses and skirts for them. i hate knowing that they don’t even make you feel good. i hate that you waste your time on those assholes instead of—,” she breathes, “—instead of me.” 

you look at her, searching for any sign of doubt in her face. nothing. no. she couldn’t do this. she couldn’t spring this on you. she couldn’t act one way to you for months and then tell you something different the next.

“so what? you think you deserve me? you deserve my attention?” you snap ungraciously.

“as a matter of fact, yes. yes i do.” she whispers, getting closer to you. “you and i both know it,” her breath fans your face, “i’d make you feel better than any of those assholes could.”

you shift uncomfortably in your spot, pulling your eyes away from hers. 

“i can give you everything you deserve. i can give you everything you want.” she swears. “i can make your pussy feel so, so good, baby,” you can feel your wetness pool in your panties. 

“can make you whimper and moan,” ellie suddenly grabs you by the bare flesh underneath your ass, her warm hands hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around her waist. 

“jus’ give me a chance to show you.” she whispers lowly. you smash your lips onto hers, your hands holding onto the nape of her neck. you knew this was probably a bad idea, but god, the way her tongue felt in your mouth felt ungodly. her tongue rubbed against yours, exploring your mouth like it was something she was destined to do. 

walking towards your bed, your frame still wrapped up around her, she bent down to lay you on your bed. ellie pulled away from your lips and looked down at you, scattering gentle kisses below your jawline towards your neck, your legs still firmly wrapped around her figure.

with your eyes closed, savoring the feeling of her lips all over your neck, you attempted to put an end to this. “el, we can’t,” you nearly moan out.

“why? ‘cause of jacob?” ellie lets out an amused laugh, before pressing her lips against the weak spot of your neck, sucking on it. 

another moan vibrates through you, “god, ellie,” you let out meekly. 

“tell me to stop,” she commands, her lips moving to suck on the spot above your collarbone, the tip of her tongue gliding against your skin. don’t stop. 

“tell me that i’m wrong,” ellie murmured, “that i don’t deserve you.” you deserve me.

her fingers lift up the hem of your dress, exposing your stomach. her lips pepper sloppy kisses against the supple skin of your stomach, “tell me you don’t want me,” i want you, “that you don’t feel the same for me.” i do feel the same for you. 

“tell me, baby,” ellie kisses in the space between your breasts, “tell me you’re not mine.” 

your heart was beating in and out of your chest. this was it. this was your chance. getting an opportunity to be with ellie williams was a once-in-a-lifetime offer, and you weren’t passing up your dream girl. 

you grab her face, lifting her lips up to yours. “i’m yours, ellie,” you cooed, “i’m all yours.” 

leaning her forehead against yours, her lips curled into a smile, before pressing onto yours one more time. her warm hands rubbed against the skin on your waist, exploring every inch of warm, flesh. you whined against her mouth, wanting more. you needed more. you needed her. 

ellie’s hands trailed upwards, lifting the dress off you and discarding it somewhere in your room. she took this opportunity to pull away from you for a second, her eyes grazing your body. ellie found it hard to believe she was in this situation, with you underneath her, nearly naked and looking angelic. she took a mental picture of this moment, never wanting to forget how you looked at her— with love.

her fingers went behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall and tossing it to the side.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,” she whispered, “you’re beyond anything i could’ve dreamt of.” 

your stomach erupted in butterflies, flushed at this newfound sweet side to ellie. her mouth placed sloppy kisses on your chest, sucking on the soft skin and leaving maroon-colored marks as a reminder of where she had been and where she belongs. 

she took your breast in her mouth, letting her tongue wrap around your hardened nipple. “oh my god, ellie,” you hissed. she smirked up at you, letting one of her hands massage and pinch on the other nipple.

“please, ellie,” you begged, “touch me, please.” 

she let out a sickening chuckle, the heat of her mouth fanning your skin, sending shivers up your spine. 

“where, sweet girl?” she said bringing her lips down to suck on your nipple again, “use your words.”

you bucked your hips up, “please, el, touch my pussy. pretty please.” you breathe out.

“ah, ah, ah, can’t hear you, baby.” she mocked, pulling her lips away from your now sensitive nipples.

“ellie, please,” you whined out, “i want you to touch my pussy. please.” 

she smirks, satisfied with where she has you. “that’s my good girl. how obedient, hm?”

she stands up, still in between your legs, and pulls your body to the edge of the mattress. her hands go to the waistband of your panties, using her fingers to ever-so-slowly peel them off of you. she was intentionally moving agonizingly slow. her hands caressed your inner thighs and calves, finally chucking your panties somewhere on the floor. 

“fuck, i’ve been waiting so long to do this,” ellie said, crouching down on the floor in front of you. you could feel her hot breath against your pussy, and you couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“please, i need you, el,” you beg, hoping for some relief. her hands lifted your thighs and placed them on her shoulders, her lips pressing soft kisses in between your thighs. she presses a kiss against your inner thigh, on your pussy lips, and then finally on your clit. 

ellie works slow and patiently, using her fingers to steadily spread your pussy lips apart and gather your wetness with her tongue. she uses one finger and inserts it inside you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. 

you throw your head back, “oh my god, ellie, yes,” you moan out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“look at you, getting what you want, you spoiled girl,” she mutters against your pussy, before putting her lips on your clit again, sucking on your sensitive core. her finger pumping in and out of you easily, the slick sound of your wetness reverberating throughout the room.

“you taste so fucking good, baby,” ellie hums against you, slurping up every drop of your juices. she adds a second finger, stretching you out a bit, but still sliding in and out of you with ease. 

her tongue flicking against your clit combined with her fingers fucking you was enough to almost send you over the edge, you cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing a loud moan that was tempted to come out.

“no, let me hear you, sweet girl,” ellie orders, “let everyone in this whole goddamn hall hear how good i’m fingerfucking you right now.”

you let your hand drop to your side, relishing in the ecstasy, and letting out a moan you were holding back.

“that’s my girl.” 

you hear your phone ring, knowing it’s jacob, probably wondering why you haven’t shown up by now. but here you were, with ellie, knuckles deep inside your pussy. 

she grabs your phone from the nightstand with her free hand, while the other is picking up the pace with her fingers, eliciting another moan from your parted lips, “hey fucker, leave a message. she’s busy right now.” 

you should’ve scolded her about how she answered your phone, but right now, any consequences you thought about vanished as she continued licking circles against your swollen clit while simultaneously curling her fingers up inside your leaking hole. 

“el—“ you barely choked out, “m’gonna— gonna—“

she kept the same pace, not for a second slowing down, “you gonna cum, baby? huh? you gonna cum for me?” 

you nodded weakly, clenching your pussy around her fingers and tightening your thighs around her head. 

“go ‘head, angel,” her pace never misses a beat, “show me who you belong to.”

your back arches off the mattress and you cry out, riding out your orgasm and letting your juices flow out of you. 

after cleaning your thighs with a wet wipe and towel, ellie comes up to hover above your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips. 

“is it too late to ask you to be my girlfriend?” she asks, letting out a sincere laugh. 

“i thought we already established this, idiot.” 

read part 2 here

[galexystern]

candy crush. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you’re too sweet, and ellie hates it. 

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: recordshopmanager!ellie, crumblcookiebaker!oc, hurt/comfort, ellie’s a cunt, ocs too sweet, FLUFF?? FROM ME??? HUHHH, crushing, slight suggestive thoughts

A/N: idk where this came from lol

Ellie’s reorganizing the vinyl selection when a delicate hand lands on her shoulder. “I know your miserable ass doesn’t enjoy company,” Dina hisses in her ear, purposefully hushed, “But you got company.” 

Ellie’s eyebrow quirks with confusion, leaving the earplug that blasts Head like a Hole to dangle over her shoulder. Her eyes glaze over the semi-filled shop, narrowing in on every face until she locks eyes with you from behind the guitar displays. The eye contact only lasts about 1.5 seconds before Dina smacks her leg. 

“Don’t look. You’re gonna make it weird.” Dina quietly snaps from beside her, occupying her hands with some misplaced records. 

“You know her?” 

“I see her around sometimes. I think she works nearby,” Ellie catches her smirking from the corner of her eye, “… I think she likes you.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m dead serious. She’s been staring for the past 10.” 

“At who.” 

“At you, dipshit.” 

Ellie can’t help herself. She takes one experimental glance in your direction; discovers you typing away at your device with a black mask pulled down under your chin, bottom lip trapped between your teeth with worry. Your apron and tiny name tag indicates you probably work somewhere close by, but she can’t pinpoint where. You’re too far and her vision is failing.

“Get her numbe—“

Ellie’s head whips to face Dina, “If you don’t shut up, you’re fired.” 

“Abuse of power,” She snarks in return, “C’mon! She seems so—“

“D-Do you guys have any acoustics for sale?” 

You’re a ninja, for sure. Both girls' heads snap around to face you — who stands a bit too close for Ellie’s liking — phone desperately clutched to your chest and eyes wide as a doe. Mainly locked with Ellie’s before they drop to your name tag.

Crumbl. 2 shops down. 

Fuck. 

“Why, yes!” Dina says excitedly when Ellie doesn’t reply, “Most of ours have been used, but they’re still in great condition. Are you interested in renting or purchasing?” 

“Purchasing… I think.” 

“No problem. I can show you some that we have on display, and if you don’t like those, we have some stocked in the back!” 

Ellie’s forehead creases. Dina has never been this active in making a sale, let alone interacting with any customers. Ellie is always the one who’s forced to pick up her and Riley’s slack in the shop. She catches the light traces of disappointment that overtakes your expression at Dina’s interjection, but eventually, you’re led over to the guitar displays.

Ellie sighs in relief. 

That brief exchange gave Ellie everything she needed to know. She doesn’t find gratification in denying proposals at work, but after months of being hit on by a multitude of customers — the men particularly piss her off— she’ll be as stern as she needs to be to get the point of denial across. Sure, it makes her look like a cunt to the general public, but she’ll take that over being chased after on the clock. No questions asked. 

Ellie assumes that you’ve found what you needed because on your way out, persistent stares are thrown in her direction up until your departure. She dodges them with mastery. 

She would hate to have to embarrass a strip neighbor. 

Three days later, you stumble upon the record shop once more. Dina isn’t here to save Ellie this time, and Riley’s passing time in the break room. Your uniform is lightly dusted with white, presumably flour, and your mask is down, phone clutched to your chest like it holds all your secrets.

Your mouth drops open around a small smile when you approach the service counter, but Ellie interrupts before you can greet her. 

“What can I help you with?” 

She assumed her annoyance would be guarded by professionalism, but your smile drops at its corners at her tone. A light flinch that Ellie prays is enough to deter you from spending your breaks here. 

It doesn’t. Your eyes still shine like the star that you aren’t. 

“I, um… I actually wanted to talk to you. If that’s okay—“

“Is it regarding the purchase you made a few days ago?” 

Dina slid Ellie a notice on the down payment you made for your used dreadnought since you weren’t able to pay in full. The scolding she received about “taking care of you” whenever you returned made her teeth grind together. 

“N-No. I just—“

“I’d appreciate it if we kept the conversation about that,” Ellie uses the scribbles on her notepad as a distraction, “Did you have any questions regarding the instrument? Or if you’re interested in taking part in the lessons we offer, I could redirect you to Riley. She’s in charge of—“

“I just wanted to see if you were… interested in sampling out some cookie flavors I came up with? I’m a baking and pastry student and—“

“Look,” The tip of Ellie’s tongue sharpens into her cheek, irritation evident when you two are eye-to-eye. “I’m not sure where this proposal is coming from, but frankly, I’m not interested.”

The drop in your expression doesn’t stop Ellie’s relentlessness. 

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know why you thought I’d be a good candidate for… taste-testing, but I’ll politely decline. No thanks.” 

Her declination doesn’t sound polite in the slightest; quite snippy and condescending from your perspective, and it forces your windpipe shut. Only for a second before a strangled gasp leaves your lips. You’re not sure if it’s out of shock or lack of breath, but it aches in your lungs all the same. 

Ellie’s glare sends holes through your back as you rush towards the exit, the small bell singing through the store and alarming your leave. 

All Ellie can hope is that you got the message. 

It’s a new week, and therefore, a new Crumbl cookie line-up. Dina won’t stop raving about the carrot-cake cookie which doesn’t resemble a cookie at all. It's tiered and way too soft and stacked with icing that’s sweet enough to rot teeth from the gum. 

It reminds Ellie of you, for some reason; Somehow still managing to be a nuisance without trying. 

Even more so now since Dina’s been using her 45 to walk down and see you. To talk to you. Dina has yet to cough up what about — not that Ellie cares. It’s just weird that you two suddenly have so much in common after knowing each other for all of two days maximum. Whenever Dina clocks back in, she tortures Ellie with dramatic retellings of your stories. 

It’s Thursday; a quiet day for the shop that Ellie uses to her advantage when the sun is at its peak. Searching through cheap magazines and playing Candy Crush on her phone. 

What a time for you to come barreling in. The formerly enjoyable shriek of guitar suddenly sounds like nails on a chalkboard at your appearance. No longer are you in all black. You’re in a sundress. An orange one. You look like a popsicle. 

And you bear gifts. Ellie’s mood turns even more sour when she sees two bright yellow gift bags with smiley faces on them and a tray filled with coffee stuffed in your hands. 

“Good morning!” 

You’re smiling, gleaming, and Ellie’s nose turns up. She plucks one of her earplugs out and closes her graphic novel. 

“How can I help you?” 

You set your bag down on the display case of her prized arch top, and she sighs in exasperation. Annoyance sparks when she notices one of the bags has her name on it, flowers and hearts and sparkles surrounding the tag. 

“Can you not put your belongings on the displays, please? I’d have to clean up after you since none of my employees will.” 

You’ve already moved your bags and exclaimed apologies before Ellie could finish her sentence. She’s seconds away from shoving her earplug back in to tune you out, but you’re fast. Persistent. She hates it.

“I’m really sorry about that,” You say gently, and Ellie shrugs you off, “I, um. I-I came to, uh…”

Ellie blinks rapidly, “If you’re here to apologize for last week, don’t bother. It’s not needed.” 

“Not at all! Well, I’m just… I wanted to drop by and—“

“You’ve gotten quite comfortable with just… dropping by. Have you realized that?” 

Ellie’s squint is harsh and scrutinizing, and sorrow overshadows the light in your pupils. 

“Since it’s obvious that you’re not understanding me, I’ll put it like this,” She leans a bit over the counter, front fully pressed against the glass and palms resting on the stainless steel, “I’m not interested in anything you have going on. Stop using your breaks as an excuse to come see me. I don’t wanna go out with you. And I don’t want to do a taste test. Drop it already.” 

Ellie watches your lip quiver with a harshness exclusive only for people like you, tears welting in your eyes and your fingers pinching at the hem of your sundress. Insecurity is practically seeping from your pores, and your gaze drops shamefully to the floor. 

Ellie’s just about to tell you to kick rocks when the STAFF ONLY door swings open and exposes Riley. Her break ended 20 minutes ago. 

“Hey! You’re early!” 

Ellie scoffs, “No, you’re late—“

“Not you. Be quiet,” She waves her off and smiles at you, who’s smiling back at her with guised genuity. A complete 180 from the you seconds ago. Since when were you and Riley on speaking terms? Friends?

She jogs from behind the stand, “Dina told me you weren’t coming til 3!” Riley throws her arms around your shoulders, and your hands tremble where they rest on her forearms. “Are those the goods?” 

“Yeah!” Your voice sounds heavy. Like you’re guarding a breakdown, “I-I had some time so I stopped by a little early.” 

“I got some to spare til Dee gets here. Hang out with m—“

“Actually!” You intervene shakily, “I have some other drop-offs to make. I really appreciate you guys doing this for me.” 

“Are you sure you can’t stay? Watch me get my Food Network judge on?” Riley suddenly points in Ellie’s direction, “Who knows. Sourpuss might even pop a grin once she tries one.” Ellie’s cheeks run red-hot.

“Sorry, Riley. Maybe next time,” You’re already wobbling towards the exit, “But, please call and tell me what you think! Dina, too! Any feedback is appreciated!” 

“I’m sure they’re delicious, Monster!” Riley compliments playfully, “Text me when you’re home!” 

When the door shuts, Ellie sees Riley’s back stiffen at the sight of you frantically wiping your face through the glass. 

“What the fuck did you do.” 

“I didn’t do shit. She’s loitering.” 

“Lo— Oh my fucking god, you’re an embarrassmen—“

“No, she is. Taking up space for no fucking reason to come and see me. She’s loitering—“

“You’re blowing a fuse over fucking cookie samples?” Riley stares at her like she’s nuts, “And not to burst your self-centered bubble, but I told her to come. She’s been asking all the stores on the block if they’d like to taste ‘em.”

Ellie pauses, expression softening only slightly when Riley continues, 

“I told her you don’t like chocolate, so she made a peanut butter version for you.” Riley shakes Ellie's special, slightly smaller bag as a means to taunt her, and the freckled girl’s face burns red. Glows even harsher when her friend throws in, “You cunt. She’s a sweetheart. Not everyone is fucking obsessed with you.” 

Riley leaves Ellie to simmer in her discomfort, slamming the break door shut. The day seems to drag on longer than usual. 

-

-

-

Ellie’s organizing the break room when she comes across her small baggie that Riley left behind. She would’ve expected her friend to take them home after Ellie’s dramatic blow up, but there it sat on the counter, untouched and jeering. 

Tempting enough for her to rest the broom against the counter and inspect its contents. Wafts of cinnamon and peanut butter hit her through the small opening of the bag, and her heart gives a squeeze. The cookie is iced to perfection — an entire scenery on the light brown canvas. So many flowers and trees and the blue hues of the sky; almost too much detail. It looks printed on. 

You’re artistically talented and the cookie smells divine. 

One nibble wouldn’t hurt. She’s sure the damage she caused is already irreversible. 

But when she cradles the carefully swaddled cookie, a small note falls from beneath the bunched cling wrap. She knows she shouldn’t. She should really, really leave the neatly folded piece of paper where it lays. Down the cookie. Trash the bag. 

She takes the cookie and the note back to her seat at the table. The cookie isn’t what she unravels first. 

“thought I’d make you a separate batch. Riley gave me the heads up about your chocolate disdain. I’m too paranoid to ask for your number in person, so I thought I’d use bait instead. I hope it’s convincing enough. Please let me know if it’s decent. Thank you for tasting.”

Signed with your name and a smiling heart with wings. Ellie’s heart shatters, remaining shards dangling from the rim of her ribcage. She can already see her friends glaring through her chest when they visit the apartment to berate her tomorrow morning. She already knows what they’re going to demand from her, but she’s three steps ahead. 

She ate the entire cookie in two bites right where she sat. It was delicious. Almondy, not too sweet, gently spiced. Probably the best she’s ever had.

Ellie has never been to Crumbl before. 

The viral spot is always bustling — too crowded and filled with loud teenagers with a sugar rush for her taste. Plus, she’s already on the clock when they first open. But the record shop is closed on Fridays. 

She put an extra bit of care into her appearance. She doesn’t recall the last time she did her hair. Half of it is pinned up and her button-up is neatly pressed. Jitters rustle in the pit of her stomach and her forehead is a bit damp, mainly because she can see you through the goddamn window. 

In uniform, you stand at the register with the same beaming smile from last week, talking and giggling with your coworkers, and Ellie instantly feels guilty. Your day seems off to a great start, and here she is… About to ruin it. She almost turned around at the thought. 

But the small bell above the door blares loud, and your bright smile drops once you recognize her, and with that, her stomach. Ellie mentally notes the bags forming under your eyes and the tension in your shoulders. It looks like you haven’t rested for days. Her heart squeezes. 

Your movements turn robotic; stiffly perched on the sides of the iPad stand as your thumb works on the screen. You haven’t looked Ellie’s way since. She approaches the counter with her tail between her legs, fidgeting with her middle finger. 

“Um… hey.” Ellie’s quiet. Out of place. Afraid. 

“What can I get for you?” 

Even with the stiffness, you somehow still manage to sound as soft as a cotton ball, but Ellie’s body locks. The scenario hits her like a brick wall; she’s doing exactly what she accused you of doing to her last week. Bothering her at fucking work. She should’ve never come to your place of business to coddle her ego. She feels like a hypocrite. You certainly see her as one. 

“Um… A cookie?”

“… What flavor.” 

“Uh… peanut butter?” 

You swallow thickly, voice hollow, “That’s not on the menu for this week,” You point towards the display of cookies that were big enough to feed a family, “These are the six we’re serving until Sunday. You can also look at the menu on the screen.” 

Ellie follows your pointing finger. How the fuck does this place work? Weekly flavors? What the fuck does that mean? She quickly examines the names of cookies that flash across the screen: raspberry cheesecake, pink velvet… Mom’s recipe? Odd name for a dessert but she lets it slide. 

“W-What’s your favorite?” 

You’re a baker, for fucks sake. You’d have better taste than anyone, better than her, she’d painfully admit. 

She watches your fingers clench around the screen, tapping mindlessly. 

“Um… raspberry cheesecake.” 

“I’ll get a dozen.” 

“O-Of the same flavor?” 

She shrugs like it’s obvious, “… Yup.” 

You give her one skeptic look before tapping at the screen. “It might be a little wait. About 15 minutes. Do you mind?” 

“No.” 

“Cash or card?” 

“Card, please.” 

More tapping, “That’ll be $41.65. Swipe or tap whenever you're ready.” 

A financial dent over a box of cookies was not on her bucket list. You hand her the receipt, and before you can rush to the kitchen, Ellie exclaims, “When’s your break?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“W— um, when’s your break?” 

Your coworkers are suddenly very interested in Ellie, all four of them eyeing her like venomous hawks. Her cheeks burst into flames. 

“Um… I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” 

And you’re right. Anything involving you is short on Ellie; it was never her business, but a burning in the pit of her stomach desires to learn. Needs to catch you at the right time to give you a proper apology even though she doesn’t deserve the time of day. She doesn’t know what to say. 

You use her floundering as a scapegoat and hustle behind the slamming doors. Just as Ellie rushes to leave empty-handed, one of your employees — Abigail reads across her name-tag, keeps professional, but Ellie’s skin burns with the fire in her eyes. 

“We’ll have those right out for you,” monotone, but gruff. It makes Ellie wonder if you told any of them about her — she doesn’t doubt it. 

“You can wait outside.” 

One stiff nod, and Ellie’s booking it until her feet plant on the packed sidewalk, nearly bumping into a couple with interlocked hands. It takes 25 minutes for the box of cookies to be rigidly placed on the lounge table by another employee. Ellie scurries into her truck with a boiling face and pulls out into the road. 

When she makes it to her apartment, she eats three mini cheesecakes in one sitting.

She sees why they’re your favorite. 

The following week was filled with glares and curses from Dina and Riley — your newfound friends, evidently. They have a way of making Ellie feel like a worthless dunce. They both have rubbed in the tales of you being a thrill to be around; the life of the party whenever they hang out. 

It makes her nauseous. And sad. 

But her sadness swiftly shifts to bewilderment when she catches you smoking near a lamppost after closing. Still in your uniform with a bag over your shoulder, pants dusted in white, proof of your labor. It’s dark out, the only illumination coming from the light stood tall above you and the orange gleam of your cigarette. The sight shocks her. You didn’t seem like the type. 

Maybe that’s where Ellie went wrong with you: constantly assuming… who you are. Your desires, your intentions with her, her friends. She’ll admit her wrongs, of course. 

But it has to be to you. 

Ellie scares you when she approaches, inhaling the nicotine a bit too roughly because you start heaving. Shoulders hunched and jumping with every cough. 

“Uh — fuck, I’m sorry! I-I thought you could see me coming! I didn’t mean — fuck —“

You’re still choking, but you hiss in between, “What the fuck do you want!” 

“I’m just — I’m sorry about —“

“You’re not — cough — you’re not sorry! You made your point clear. I don’t why you keep — cough cough — following me. I left you alone like you wanted!” 

“I DON’T WANT THAT!” Ellie shrieks in panic. 

It’s a heavy-handed admission. A weighted confession that was said too aggressively given your flinching away from her. She takes an instinctive step forward. 

“Your cookies… tasted fucking incredible. I’m also an asshole.” 

The drag you take from your cig while she rambles is almost comedic. Brows cinched at the middle of your forehead, gauging her. You’re not convinced, but you’re not fleeing like the first time. She takes a leap, and a large step towards you. 

“I feel really… really bad,” Ellie’s much quieter, eyes unwavering and the softest she’s ever shown you, “I shouldn’t have… said all that. To you. I’m just so used to being harassed at work. I’m sorry.” 

Maybe nicotine calms you. Your body language isn’t as taut compared to when Ellie first initiated conversation, and your eyes soften at her reasoning. 

The rasp from your timbre melts her skin like butter. “I didn’t know you went through that. That sucks.”

Ellie shrugs, “I didn’t know you were… nice.” 

She made the mistake of attempting playfulness, “Maybe ‘cuz you wouldn’t let me talk.” You snark while ashing. 

“I’m sorry.” Ellie implores. 

You take one last drag before stomping out the flame. “Me too. For bothering you.” 

Ellie cringes at your choice of words, but nods in acceptance. “Are we, uh… okay, now?”

A small smile grows on your face. It’s cute. Makes your cheeks puff out like a hungry squirrel. 

“We’re good.” You extend a fist out to her, and she connects her own at the knuckles. 

When they drop, Ellie nervously stares at her shoes, “Do you want a ride home?” 

“I’m alright, thanks.” 

“C’mon, I don’t want you waiting out here by yourself.”

You pause before asking, “What’s the catch?” Your brow arches mischievously.

Ellie doesn’t hesitate, “More of those cookies.” 

A giggle escapes you. Soft and airy like a feather. Ellie feels a tight clench in her chest. A thumping from her ribcage. Has your smile always been this vibrant? She mentally kicks herself for not noticing before. 

Ellie escorts you to the passenger's side of her passed down pick-up: opens the door for you and makes sure you’re buckled in before starting it up. She learns you’re a metalhead when she cranks the radio to the highest volume. 

… How quickly can crushes develop? 

Two months. Ellie’s spent two months finding every excuse to spend time with you. She welcomes your visits to the record shop and silently thanks the heavens above when you call after her shift to talk about your day. Listening to your rambles about customers and their weekly cookies has become the highlight of hers. 

She’s also found comfort in watching you fail at playing guitar. You’re adorable whenever you strike an incorrect chord or break a string. She’s more than willing to guide you through your trials: late-night invites to her apartment to practice. One of your goals was to learn how to play the entire Vanara soundtrack. 

Ellie assumed she simply enjoyed being in your space. She does, but something shifted between you during one specific session. It was past midnight, and Ellie could tell you were getting tired. She innocently suggested for you to spend the night so you wouldn’t have to Uber at such a late hour, and you graciously accepted her offer. When you started to get comfortable on the couch, she tuts in disapproval and invited you to share her bed because it was more comfortable. 

What a mistake. 

After showering and changing into comfortable clothes, you both crawled into bed and swiftly drifted off. When Ellie’s eyes opened the following morning, her heart immediately traveled up to sit in her throat. If anyone told her she’d wake up with you completely sprawled out on top of her with your warm breath hitting her neck and her arms wrapped around you, she wouldn’t have believed them. She was completely frozen beneath you, but not for the reason she’d assumed. 

Ellie was scared to wake you up. Ellie was scared you would move away from her. 

She was pulled between waking you up and pulling you even closer. You were soft and warm and you smelled like her cinnamon body wash. A literal human cookie. She caressed your back as delicately as she could, and you nuzzled into her shoulder with every swipe. She hoped the harsh thrashes from her heart wouldn’t disturb you. 

They didn’t. 

You took a piece of Ellie when you left her apartment that morning. She’s not sure which part you stole, but she hasn’t felt the same since then. A pull towards you that’s electric, sparks her to life, keeps her up at night. Whenever you’re away, at work, not next to her, she’s desperate to pull you close. To breathe in the natural scent of you. 

Evidently, crushes develop rather quickly. 

“I thought baking was supposed to be fun.” Ellie huffs from where she lays on her bed. 

“It is fun! My favorite past-time, actually,” She watches you pace around her bedroom, guitar still strapped securely around your shoulder, “It’s just stressful when you have chefs constantly breathing down your neck. It’s so hard to be creative because they nitpick everything.” 

Creating a menu is much harder than Ellie assumed. She’s become the person you’ve come to whenever you’re fired up from classes, ranting and raving about the apparent dickheads that judge your creations. After testing your recipes for as long as she has, how could anyone turn down a dessert from you? 

You’re such a hard-worker. Focused, determined… pretty when you’re brainstorming. Pretty when you’re talking… Pretty when you’re smiling. Standing. Staring off into the distance. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all Ellie can say. She’s been trying to mask her rampant stares at your bare thighs for the past… however the fuck long. They look so soft. So pliable. So easy to stretch and pry and yank at— 

Her guilty pleasure went from collecting Pokémon cards to gawking at your legs whenever you wear shorts. 

Ellie’s definitely crushing. 

Crushing very, very hard. 

[galexystern]

Steve Harrington x Female!Nerd!Reader

Summary: Back in high school, Steve Harrington and his friends made your life miserable. Now you have your chance to get your revenge...unless something unexpected gets in the way.

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), big dick Steve Harrington, fingering, praise, unprotected p in v, past bullying, angst to fluff.

Divider credit to @strangergraphics

If you had it your way, you never would have returned to Hawkins. 

Your hometown seemed even smaller after you went away to college. You’d taken summer classes and slipped into jobs left behind by students who had gone home over the break. Anything to avoid seeing that dreaded “Welcome to Hawkins” sign another godforsaken time. But now that you’d graduated, there was no more hiding. 

It was temporary. Just until you found a job somewhere far away from here. Then you’d be rid of this place, rid of your parents’ house and the bedroom where you had shed too many tears over insults and backhanded compliments gleefully served out by Hawkins High royalty. 

Day three of being back involved mailing out countless résumés for jobs you knew wouldn’t get. The taste of envelope glue would probably stick to your tongue for days, and for what? A politely-worded rejection letter? Radio silence altogether?

You needed something to take your mind off of the stress, of the college degree you’d worked so hard for and was seemingly all for nothing. 

The bell chimed as you strode into Family Video. The absolute most brain-meltingly idiotic comedy—that’s what would get you through the day. 

And speaking of brain-meltingly idiotic…

Steve Harrington stood behind the counter, fumbling with a stack of VHS tapes. King Steve. Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. Threw the best parties—not that you ever scored an invite, drove the coolest car, slept with the hottest girls. He was the kind of guy who skated through life, only making an effort to berate those who weren’t so lucky. 

And now, if that ugly green vest was any indication, he worked at a video rental store. 

“Can I help you with something?”

Shit. You were staring. Because in addition to being a total moron, Steve Harrington was incredibly handsome. 

It wasn’t hard to notice. During senior year, your locker was down the hall from his, and you couldn’t help but glance at him every so often. The way he’d run his fingers through his hair, giving it that effortlessly tousled look, turned your insides into mush.  

Four years later, it was still happening. 

“I’ve got it.” Eye contact was impossible, so you snapped your gaze to the rows of movies instead of the man who contributed to making your teenage years a living hell. 

“You sure?” Crap, he was walking towards you, and no amount of wishing would make him go away. 

You grabbed the first movie you saw. Adventures in Babysitting. Could be worse. “I said I’ve got it.” You held up the tape for good measure. 

Steve nodded, slightly taken aback by your terseness. Not like he didn’t deserve every bit of attitude, plus more. “Yeah, okay. Let me just…check you out over here.” He winced. “I mean, check the movie out for you. So you can watch it and stuff.”

There was an awkward silence as the two of you walked back to the counter, though you would have preferred it to what he said next. 

“I’m Steve, by the way.”

Humiliation seeped from your pores. Of course he didn’t remember you. Why would he? He was on top of the world, and you were just Weird Girl, according to him and Tommy Hagan. 

“Weird Girl, head’s up,” as a basketball whizzed past your head. 

“Watch where you’re going, Weird Girl,” like they didn’t purposely bump into you while you walked down the hallway. 

You straightened your posture and cleared your throat, the memory along with it. Steve didn’t remember you. 

You told him your name and waited for the moment of recognition, but it never came. Of course it didn’t. You never had a name to him; you were just ‘Weird Girl.’

“You, uh, got anyone to watch that movie with?” Steve’s forearms pressed into the counter. “Like a…friend or a…boyfriend, maybe?”

You shook your head. What was he getting at? What if he did remember you and was just setting you up to be the butt of another joke?

“Cool.” He nodded, though his demeanor was much more fidgety than his words suggested. “So maybe we could watch it together? Or,” he quickly added, “we could grab a bite to eat?”

He blathered on about the new pizza chain that opened a few months ago, but you hardly focused on that. Steve Harrington asked you out. 

Part of you assumed this was a prank. You’d make plans for dinner and when you showed up, he’d be waiting there with Tommy and Carol—were they still dating?—keeled over from laughter. Oh my God, Weird Girl actually thought I’d take her on a date!

But another part of you schemed. Maybe he really did forget you, and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this was your chance to humiliate him for once. Get him back for all of the times he made you want to shrivel up and die right in front of your locker. 

You feigned a smile before you could chicken out. “Come over to my place at eight?” That was safer. No chance of his cronies hiding out ahead of time. And your parents were out of town, so there wouldn’t be any uncomfortable interruptions.

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly composed himself with a nod. “Yup, sounds good.”

You’d already begun formulating your master plan when you scribbled your address on the back of an old receipt. Guys like Steve Harrington only cared about one thing: sex. And not just sex, but how good they were at it. You couldn’t imagine the number of girls faking moans just to stroke his ego in hopes that he’d ask them on a second date.

You would not be one of those girls.

No, you were going to do the exact opposite. Steve would come to your house, you’d start playing the movie, and you’d go along with whatever handsy maneuver he’d inevitably try to pull. Maybe you’d make out for a little while, maybe he’d just immediately lunge underneath your skirt. Those little details didn’t really matter. No, the important part would happen once he was fully seated inside of you as deep as he could go. You’d look him dead in the eyes, furrow your brows, and innocently ask, “is it in yet?”

Just the sight of him feeling adequate for possibly the first time in his life would probably make you come. Not that you’d tell him, of course–no, you’d let him toil in shame before letting his softening cock slide out of you. If you derived any pleasure from this, Steve would never know about it.

Steve arrived at your place at eight o’clock on the dot. His BMW pulling into your driveway tentatively, like it could sense that this was a trap. For a second, you worried that you’d be found out, the thoughts somehow jumping from your brain into Steve’s. But then he was closing the door behind him with one hand and carrying a brown paper bag in the other. 

Of course he brought booze, you thought, but your curiosity piqued as he approached. Whatever was in that bag wasn’t alcoholic in nature; not unless liquor rattled in boxes.

“Hey,” Steve smiled when you answered the door. You bit back a laugh when the scent of aftershave, or some kind of musky cologne, wafted towards you. He had even put effort into smelling nice. He really thought this was the real deal, that he’d managed to score an easy lay with a random stranger.

You smiled back, though not for the same reason he did. “Hey. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” He tracked your gaze to the bag at his side. “Oh, right. I bought some candy, but I wasn’t sure if you preferred chocolate or more, like, chewy stuff? And then I figured, ‘well, maybe she likes salty better,’ so I threw in a coupla bags of chips.” He turned the bag over, releasing an array of snacks. A box of Jujubes, a KitKat bar, a Snickers bar, a bag of M&Ms, a pack of Twizzlers, and three bags of chips scattered along the coffee table. You got a better look and saw that one was regular, one sour cream and onion, and one barbecue flavored. 

Steve looked at you expectantly. “You pick first. I’m good with any of these.”

If you were being honest, the selection was a bit overwhelming. You picked up the bag of barbecue chips before you could overthink this. Who cared about snacks? The goal wasn’t a good date; the goal was to reduce King Steve to a court jester.

He grabbed the M&Ms, gently tossing the bag in the air and catching it. “I’m more of a sweet guy, myself.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. Yeah, real sweet. That’s why he spent your formative years making fun of you and not even bothering to remember who you were.

It wasn’t as though your looks had changed dramatically since you graduated four years ago. Sure, you might have grown into your features a bit rather than wearing them like a discounted Halloween costume. It was your confidence that bloomed as you learned about yourself, far away from the suburban sycophants that stifled your growth at every turn. 

Which was why you needed to exact revenge as soon as possible, before you were in Hawkins long enough for them to snuff out your light once again.

It was five minutes into the movie before Steve made a move. It was subtle: the classic yawn-and-stretch that ended with his arm around you. To his credit–and your chagrin–his hand stayed on your shoulder without wandering down to your breast.

You snuggled in closer, draping your legs over his lap. “Comfy?” 

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded.

Every so often, you subtly shifted to create a hint of friction between your legs and his groin. Only once did he give any indication that it was affecting him, a slight bite of his lower lip as his fingernails dug into your calf. Yet his eyes remained glued to the TV screen.

You had to up your game.

This isn’t for real. You’re just getting him back, you silently reminded yourself as you leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to the side of his neck.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, resting his head back. You repeated the motion until he finally turned to you and kissed you back.

It didn’t shock you that he was a great kisser. Soft lips and hand on the back of your neck to keep you where he wanted you, but without a hint of force. It wasn’t until you placed yourself on his lap, facing him, that his tongue prodded for entrance.

You let him in without any reluctance, rolling your hips and eliciting a moan that came from deep within his chest. Everything about him was unfairly sexy: the flex of his biceps as he pulled you closer, how easily your fingers tangled in his silky hair, how his hips involuntarily bucked up each time you pressed yourself closer to him.

Focus. Stick to the plan. 

You tugged at the hem of his striped polo, breaking the kiss only to slip the shirt off of him. The moment it hit the floor, your lips returned to his.

“A little eager, huh?” Steve murmured against you.

“I know what I want.”

“Fair enough.”

Your shirt was the next article to go, immediately followed by Steve fumbling to unhook your bra. His eyes became saucers when he saw your breasts bared for him, nipples stiff from the air conditioning pulsing through your house.

Pink tinged his cheeks when you tilted his chin upwards. “My eyes are up here, Steve,” you chastised teasingly. 

“Right. Yeah.” He smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “They’re beautiful, y’know. Your eyes, I mean. Not your…I mean, those are great, too. More than great. I just—”

“Steve.” You said his name more for yourself than for him, because there was no way that the stuttering, nervous man in front of you was the same Steve Harrington that once reigned over Hawkins High. 

You kissed him again, more hungrily than you intended. He was intoxicating, the way his fingers trailed over your body like it was a map to some coveted treasure. Your hands splayed against his chest, the muscle from years of basketball still evident. 

His belt buckle was nearly unlatched when he pulled away, lips swollen from where you’d nibbled. “Do you have a bedroom?”

The snark escaped before you could cap it. “No. I sleep in a hole in the tree out back.”

Steve raised his brows and let out a peal of amused laughter. “Sexy and a smartass? I hit the jackpot tonight.”

Sexy. Of every adjective he’d ever called you before, ‘sexy’ was not one of them. Weird? Pathetic? Suck-up? Sure. But not ‘sexy.’ Never that. 

It was all you could think about as you led him to your room. You closed the door behind you and tried to shake off the surprise compliment. 

“Now.” You batted your eyelashes and tugged on his buckle again. “Where were we?”

Pride flooded your body when you felt Steve’s erection straining against his jeans. You did that. You made Steve Harrington hard. 

“Are you sure about this?” Steve gripped your hips as he stepped out of his pants. 

Your response was simply palming him over his boxer briefs. 

And he whimpered. The man was putty in your hands. 

“Does that answer your question?”

“Y-Yeah. Sure does.” 

Steve’s tongue darted over his lower lip as he guided you onto the bed. And then he was on you, trailing kisses down your throat. His fingers searched for the zipper on the side of your skirt, but he couldn’t find it with his face buried in your neck. 

“Sorry.” He sat up, grimacing when he realized how far off he was. “It’s been a little while.”

Your instinct was to reassure him, to undress yourself and take the reins. But this wasn’t about his comfort; just the opposite, actually. 

You shrugged with the most nonchalant attitude you could muster. “S’fine,” you said breezily. 

He took off your skirt and panties in one go, and despite already being half-naked, you were suddenly too exposed. Maybe it was because you were fully on display and Steve still wore his underwear. 

There wasn’t time to remove them before you felt his middle finger brush against your clit. Despite your best efforts, you shivered. 

“Right there, right?” A ghost of a smirk glimmered on his lips. When you didn’t answer, concern anchored his mouth into a frown. “That—That feels okay, right?”

“Mhm.” But it was far better than okay. It was phenomenal. 

Steve touched your body like it was an instrument and he was the musician. His finger gently pushed inside you; he dragged it back out and rubbed your clit in slow, circular motions. Over and over, the same beautiful rhythm that soon became a melody. 

His other hand grabbed your breast, but instead of haphazard groping, he caressed it. He took your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the sensitive skin with precision and care. Christ, that felt so good, and a familiar ache formed low in your stomach. 

Wanting more was not part of the plan. Orgasming on his fingers was definitely not part of the plan. You needed to stop this before your desire overrode your anger. 

With every ounce of willpower you could muster, you nudged his shoulder. “Your turn,” you croaked out, your fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“You sure?” Steve’s brows knit together. He kneeled on top of the sheets. “You didn’t even get to…y’know…”

God, did you know. Your body begged for release, but you tempered the carnal inferno as best you could while you coaxed his underwear down his legs. 

His erection sprang free, the bead of pre-cum at the tip now touching his happy trail. You’d never seen a cock that big before. If you had offered to suck him off, you probably would have choked on it. 

Steve gazed at you through hooded lids, his hand instinctively wrapping around his length. “Lay back,” he murmured. “I’m not finished taking care of you.”

You tried not to seem surprised. Steve Harrington didn’t seem like a missionary position kind of guy. Especially not for a hookup. You had assumed he’d take you from behind or ask you to get on top. Looking into his eyes during sex wasn’t something you’d anticipated. Sure, you could keep them closed, but you intended to make eye contact when you humiliated him.

He was none the wiser as he pressed his cock against your core and ran it through your slick. “Shit,” he hissed, pulling back slightly, “haven’t been this hard in…ever.” He let out a surprised chuckle.

And then he began guiding himself into you, his touch slower and gentler than any of your previous experiences. He was in no hurry. With his other hand, he laced his fingers with yours. 

This was it. This was the moment you’d extract your revenge. And though you’d only formulated the plan this afternoon, you’d been wanting to make him as insecure as he made you back in high school.

“There ya go,” Steve smiled softly. He gave your hand a tiny squeeze. “Taking me so well.”

The tiny twinge of pain gave way to euphoria as he entered you.

Focus. Focus, focus, focus. Focus on the plan, not how perfectly he fills you…

“Oh, fuck!”

You heard his moan as though it was far away, detached from his body. But when you looked at him, you didn’t see someone in utter ecstasy; he was now full-on beaming.

“Yeah? That feel good?”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

That moan didn’t come from him. It came from you. 

Steve leaned in and kissed you, his tongue brushing against yours. “You feel amazing, fuck,” he groaned into your mouth. “Is it okay? Can I move?”

You nodded dumbly, your legs wrapping around his as you kept him as close as possible. Every part of the plan flew out of your head; the only thought you had was how fantastic Steve felt inside of you. 

He kissed you over and over before tucking his head into the crook of your neck. He steadied himself as he found the rhythm that had both of you melting. 

There was only you and Steve, your bodies moving as one. You threaded your fingers through his wavy hair, taking everything he had to give. Every moan, every thrust, every longing glance—it was all yours to accept. 

“Steve, oh my god, Steve!”

Your fingernails dug into his back as he quickened his pace. Though he went faster, there was nothing hurried about the way he moved. Everything was precise, his hazel eyes never leaving your face as he took note of your expression. 

“Tell me what you need. Let me—let me make you feel good.”

“‘S good,” you reassured him breathlessly. “So good. So good.”

Steve nodded. “Good.”

You couldn’t help it; instinctively, you arched into him and let go. A moment to release everything weighing you down and allow the pleasure to consume you fully. 

“Thassit.” A bead of sweat streaked down the slope of Steve’s nose and landed on yours. He snapped his hips against yours. “I—I’m…I need to…”

The moment you nodded, Steve gripped your waist and took in every ounce of your body. His thrusts became shallower, sloppier, as he chased his own release. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, moving just in time before he could collapse on top of you. He propped himself up on one arm, his eyes softening. “You’re gorgeous, y’know that? How have I never seen you around before?”

Whatever contentment you clung to was whisked away by that one question. Between the hot tears streamed down your cheeks and the audible sniffle, there was no way to hide your cries from Steve.

“Whoa, whoa. Hey.” Steve tilted your chin so you looked right at him. “Did I do something wrong? I know I’m kind of a…dingus sometimes–”

“I’m Weird Girl.” It came out in one breath.

His brows knit together. “You’re…what?” 

“Back in high school,” you explained, tucking your trembling hands under the blanket, “you and Tommy and Carol…you used to call me Weird Girl.”

Recognition flickered on Steve’s face, along with something else. Shame, maybe? But was it shame for his past or shame that he’d been caught?

He sat up quickly, running his fingers through his mussed locks.

“I remember now.” His voice was hoarse with shock. “We…we were awful to you.” He pulled the blankets up closer around his waist. “Why did you agree to go out with me?”

You let out a terse laugh, wiping the remaining tears from your face. “I’m so stupid. I thought I could get you back. Y’know, make you feel worthless for once.”

Steve grimaced. “I made you feel worthless?”

“Did you think it felt good to have people making fun of me every day?”

“No, I…I wasn’t thinking about anything besides impressing those assholes. I figured you were just…used to it.” He cringed. “That sounds even worse, huh?”

“Kind of.” 

He chewed on his cheek. “So you just wanted to get revenge or something?”

“Yeah. But it clearly didn’t work. I didn’t realize you were so…”

“Good?” There was the unmistakable hint of a smirk on his lips.

You were going to say ‘big,’ but ‘good’ was definitely less embarrassing. “Y-Yeah.”

Steve stretched. “I don’t know if this means anything now, but I’m really sorry. I was a total dick and you didn’t deserve that. And not just because we just did, y’know, that.” Pink splotched his cheeks and down his neck. “You don’t have to believe me, but I’ve changed. I don’t hang out with Tommy or Carol anymore. And I’ve gotten my ass kicked enough times to know what it feels like to be on the losing end of things.”

“How many times?” 

“A lot.” He huffed a laugh. “Maybe we could do this right and I can tell you about it on an actual date?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “You want to take me on a date to tell me about all the times you got your ass kicked?”

“Or a better topic.” Steve smiled genuinely, and you returned it without any hesitation. “Look, feel free to tell me to fuck off. I’ll understand.”

“You probably deserve it,” you said wryly, “but considering you just consoled me after I burst into tears…why not.”

Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead with such tenderness that excitement fluttered in your stomach. 

Maybe you were no longer the weird girl. Maybe, if Steve was actually a good guy now, you could be his girl.

--

[galexystern]

tramps like us

this is part of the tramps like us series, but can be read as a standalone! (fair warning, there’s vague spoilers if you haven’t read past ch. 5!!)

Paring: Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Gator wakes you up by fucking you, and gets way more than he bargained for.

Includes: language, some fluff, dirty talk, somnophilia, breeding kink, accidental touches, cum play, PiV sex, mommy kink (I finally caved oops), anal play/rimming, face-sitting/69, switch!reader & switch!gator, some hurt/comfort and angst if you squint, brief character typical internalized homophobia, super brief gun play mention, aaaaand idk what else

WC: 6.1k

〘 series masterlist ✧.┊this is a sequel to part time soulmate, full time problem ✧.┊listen to the series playlist ✧.┊read on AO3〙

A/N: this is purely smut, but there’s some extra emotions sprinkled throughout, so heads up for that. Also wanted to shoutout @urhoneycombwitch for the encouragement lmao, @yourfavoritewitchbitch for some inspo with certain kinks in her badge bunny series (fr please read it if you haven’t yet!!), and this fic by djo_slut on AO3 for inspo as well ☺️ this one won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s cool, but I couldn’t resist writing this filth, so if you read, I hope you enjoy <3

chapter 8 ✧.┊

cosmic - chloe mk

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

⋆｡♪ you say you wanna / tell me you love on the bathroom floor you make me wanna / make wanna / give it all to you / give it all to you ♬ ₊˚.

·············································

It’s late, you’re not sure how late, all you know is you woke up to Gator slowly and softly fucking you. He hadn’t woken you up like this in a while, and god damn did you miss it.

When you stir out of sleep, first thing you hear is Gator, trying to choke back his own sinful sounds, reduced to dull panting in your ear. He’s got one arm hooked underneath and around to your chest, lazily kneading one of your tits, while the other rests on your hip, holding you in place while he ruts into you.

“God— fuck— always so fuckin’ tight and soaked for me, angel.” He murmurs, but it’s more to himself than you; he still thinks you’re asleep. “Can’t believe this pussy’s all mine.” He thrusts with each word, force building with each one, “Mine— mine— all fuckin’ mine.”

Gator gasps sharply as you push back, meeting his thrusts. “All yours, baby,” You’re still in a sleepy daze, words slurring a bit as he continues fucking you. 

“M’sorry, angel, you just looked so damn pretty,” You whimper as you feel him twitch against your velvety, tight walls. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

A pornographic moan begins to tumble from your lips, but it quickly dissolves into a yelp as Gator pulls out while flipping you onto your stomach. If that didn’t finish waking you up, the way he slams back into you most definitely does. 

A sting blooms across the swell of your ass before registering the sound that echoes off the walls; you’re too lost in pleasure to find words, only releasing needy, whiny moans instead.

“Y’get so soaked when you’re sleepin’,” Gator’s large hand splays at the small of your back, sliding up, up, up along your spine, pushing you into the mattress. Leaning over you, his thrusts are slow, but steady, “Must’ve been real fuckin’ tired, ‘cause I couldn’t even wake you up by eating ya’ out.”

A loud, shuddering moan racks through you as you clench around him. He groans, head falling into the back of yours while pulling out, just to snap his hips back into you roughly. You bite back a scream.

“S’that why I had the dream I did?” Despite the lust fogging up your thoughts, the question still comes to life. 

“Uh-huh, bet it was,” His voice is gravelly, raspy with an edge of sleep that he’s been fighting off. “You were grindin’ on my face, so I’m guessing it was good. So fuckin’ hot, Darlin’.”

Gator takes his time, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along the back of your neck, hips rolling into you so deliciously as he buries himself to the hilt each time. 

“Gator, I- I’m— s’close—“

“Already? You just woke up, angel,” He chuckles, leaning back up, gripping your hips with a bruising grip. Face in the sheets, you reach your arms back towards him, whining as your fingers twitch for his hold. “What, what do ya’ need? Where’s your words? Didn’t fuck ya’ that dumb yet, did I?”

All you can do is nod as you tighten around him, legs twitching, trying to hold yourself up. Gator grabs your hands, pulling you up so your back is against his chest. With one hand, he restrains your arms behind your back, firmly holding them in place, but you don’t resist, just let your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“What if I cum in ya’, and stay? Keep ya’ nice and full,” His free hand travels up to your neck, squeezing it just right for that sinful, lightheaded feeling. Your eyes roll back as your walls tighten even more, pushing you closer to the edge. 

“You j- just wanna knock me up, huh?”

Gator grunts as he slams into you, like he’s trying to knock the wind out of your chest the way your own words did to him. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting that to leave your lips, but when the two of you started fucking around, you mentioned you had a breeding kink. He also knows you’re not serious, but for now, if it gets the two of you off, he’ll play along.

He’d do anything you wanted, give you the world, all if it meant making his girl feel good.

“Sure fuckin’ do,” He groans, bucking faster into you. “Play with yourself, Darlin’.” Your fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing lazily, clenching around him. “Yeah… yeah— Just like that. Want ya’ to feel real good when I fill ya’ up.”

As your back arches, Gator’s hand releases your wrists, arm winds around your waist, holding you flush against him, continuing to fuck you. Reaching back, one hand cradles his face to your own, and the other’s digging its nails into the arm slung around your hips.

Nothing but the unholy sounds of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans in between panting, and needy whines from you fill the apartment. The two of you are already sticky, dripping with sweat, but you don’t care. All that matters in the moment is how close the two of you are to one another, bodies entangled through pure desire.

“Gon’ cum in ya’,” He huskily whispers in your ear, easily making you weak at the knees; thank fuck he’s holding you up. “Put a baby in ya’, then you’ll be mine forever.”

“Oh- o- oh, god.”

He pants into your ear, earning a mewl from you, “Fuck, your tits would get even bigger.” His greedy grasp leaves your throat, finding its way to your chest, groping the soft curves. “Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off ya’.”

“Don’t st—“ A strangled groan echoes out of you, walls fluttering, coaxing him to the edge with you. His thrusts pick up with more speed, and force, hitting your sweet spot just how you like. “K- keep talkin’, pl- please—“

“What? Now you wanna get knocked up?”

“Only w- with you, Gator—“ You lose your breath as he slams into you, gasping, “f- fuck!” 

“Gon’ go from cum dump to a pretty lil’ mama, huh?”

“Jesus fucking Christ—“ While your legs twitch and walls continue to flutter, he chuckles lowly into your ear.

“Fuck… felt that, Darlin’,” He twitches and kicks inside of you, but thrusts on. “Y’liked that, huh? C’mon, tell me, mama, don’t be shy.”

As your eyes roll back, everything’s drowned out by a blinding, white light; clamping down on him, spasms run through your entire being as you’re crying out. He buries his face into your shoulder, biting to muffle his own moans as you constrict around his length.

“Christ, didn’t think you could get any fuckin’ tighter.” Gator’s grip on you becomes snug, holding you upright as you come down, turning into a rag doll in his grasp. Laced with lust and determination, he babbles in your ear as his thrusts stutter, “Almost there, angel… bein’ so good for me.”

“Use me.”

“Huh?”

“I said, use me.” Your voice is hoarse, raspy, but you can feel another wave of pleasure building. “Use my cu—“

Gator releases his hold on you to swiftly shove you into the mattress, hand splaying out again, but this time, against your head. Drilling you mercilessly as he pins you into the bed, he leaves no wiggle room for you to look glance back as you feel him pulse deep within you. 

“You’re close again? Selfish thing, aren’t ya’?”

“Mhm,” You can feel drool slip from your lips and onto the sheets. “Wanna cum with you,” You whine, reaching a hand back, urging him to grab your arms again; he’s pinning them against your back as his weight rests against you. 

A spark ignites, low in your belly as it spreads, burns white hot all over again as it reaches every inch of your body.

“My girl—“ He practically growls in your ear with gritted teeth. “My good—“ he slams into you, “— fuckin,” and again, “— girl— oh, shit.”

There’s no chance to warn him as your second climax hits you like a tidal wave, leaving you a moaning, crying mess underneath him.

“There ya’ go,” Gator breathily coos, moments away from breaking himself with the way you’re fluttering around him once more. “Yeah… just like that… c’mon, pretty mama, cum all over my cock, get me fuckin’ soaked.”

You’re unsure if he’s talking you through your high, or himself through his own, but he’s spilling into you before he can finish the coaxing. Painting your walls, filling you up, he cries out once more, and god, you’ll never get sick of the pornographic sounds he can make.

Gator collapses onto you, becoming dead weight as the two of you sink into the bed; the only noises left are the weighty breaths the two of you huff out in the afterglow. He starts leaving kisses all over your face, chuckling into your skin as you groan, overstimulated and sore all over.

“You okay, angel?” He pushes his arms up, glancing down, checking on you. 

Sleepily, you nod. “So good.” He breathily laughs, exhaustion creeping up on him as he begins to pull out. You reach back, grabbing his arm. “Thought you were gonna stay?”

“Gotta clean you up, baby.” He licks his lips, fixated as he slowly pulls out, hypnotized by the mess the two of you made. You’re dripping, he’s completely soaked, and he can’t help but act on impulse. Once he’s out, he spreads your legs, leaning between them, tongue hot and sloppy on your folds. 

Jolting and oversensitive, you yelp as he licks up the mess. “Gator, w- wait.” You lean up, throwing a glance over your shoulder; his face is buried in you, fingers kneading your ass as he spreads your cheeks. He stops, but doesn’t pull away. The sight alone makes your cunt quiver.

“What’s wrong?” His words vibrate into you, earning one of your gasps.

“You’re— you need to get cleaned up, too.” You rasp out, legs twitching faintly as his eye closes, lapping at you again. 

“You first,” He groans, rutting into the mattress. You thought you were too tired to keep going, but both Gator and your body have other plans, clearly. You want to reach back, grab a fistful of his hair to tug him into you roughly, but you resist your own desires.

“W- we can do it together, c’mere,” Your voice wavers as you try keeping calm. He pulls back a bit to give you his attention; you lazily wave a pointed finger in a circle, trying to signal him to flip around and lay next to you. He quirks a brow, not getting the hint. “Baby, I wanna sixty-nine, get the fuck over here.”

A gleam of excitement and mischief flashes in Gator’s eye, “Really?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just begins to clamber on top of you, swinging a leg over you, but you hold him back with a hand pressed to his thigh. Confused, he moves to the side, waiting for your directions.

“Yeah, just a little different, so like—“ You lay on your side, and wait for him to get it; even through the post-sex haze, he moves quickly, laying on his side, arms wrapping around your thighs to tug you as close as possible. Burying his face into your core, he picks up where he left off. “F- fuck— yeah, like— god… just like that, Gator.”

Mirroring him, you take him into your mouth, feeling him twitch on your tongue as you taste the mess you both made, sliding him deeper down your throat. You gag around him as he bucks into you, balls resting on your face as you take him to the hilt.

Whimpering into you, he barely pulls away from your slick folds to murmur, “We taste so fuckin’ good together, angel.” You still can’t believe he’s into this; the Gator you knew before leaving home would’ve called it gross, among a slew of bigoted remarks. This version of Gator has been so adventurous with you in bed, and you have to suppress how excited you’ve been “corrupting” him this entire time.

His tongue flattens, sliding broadly along your folds before wrapping his lips around your still-swollen clit, languidly sucking and slurping. One hand of yours slides between his legs to play with his balls as you bob your head along his shaft; he shouts, shoving his face into you again to mute his needy noises. That doesn’t last for long, though, not once your hands are replaced by your lips, sucking and lapping at his sac.

“M’not gonna last long if ya’ keep doin’ that…” He’s a mess, an absolute mess, trying to keep himself busy with his mouth on you, but your mouth on him is throwing him off. You dig your fingers into his thick thighs with the most obscene noises echoing from your ministrations. 

You’re lost in the moment, eager to hear more of his sweet, pathetic sounds, so your hands travel further up his legs, resting on and kneading his ass while your mouth and tongue are still at work.

“Baby…” There’s a slight warning tone to his moan, but you miss it as all your focus is on making him feel good. Your hips grind forward onto his face, and while he tries grabbing your attention again, your clit slides along the firm slope of his nose; you groan into him, and his cock kicks, needy for your touch.

Truly, you don’t mean to lose yourself so much in the pleasure you both give and receive, but you do, and your hand slips, fingers softly brushing his taut, puckered ring. It doesn’t even occur to you until he groans so gutturally, it startles you, halting your motions.

“Fuck— oh my god, Gator, I’m so sorry—“

There’s no build up, no warning, he just cums, cock completely untouched, spurting sticky, white ropes of arousal all over you and the bed. He’s bucking into thin air, crying, truly crying as he continues to ride his second wave of pleasure tonight. His cock, still twitching and leaking the last of his spend, rubs along your chest, turning you both into even more of a filthy mess.

“I- I- I didn’t mean to do th- that,” He sounds so conflicted, voice gravelly and broken as he comes down, with shame not too far off to follow. And shame has no issue weighing heavy in an embarrassed and quick apology. “M’sorry, Darlin’.”

You kiss his thigh quickly before cautiously pulling away, untangling your bodies as you sit up; he frowns, watching you slide off the bed away from him. You notice immediately, reassuring him, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, promise. Well. Like… for a minute I am, but I’ll be right back, I swear.” Reaching over to the pillows, you bring one his way, gently lifting his head to slide one underneath him.

Running off to the bathroom, you clean up and gather some things, along with a pit stop in the kitchen, before returning to him. Your heart sinks when you find Gator spaced out, bottom lip pouting ever so slightly, curled into himself.

“Is it okay if I clean you up?” You keep your voice soft, soothing; Gator breaks his distant stare to look up at you with a nod. He’s quiet, other than a whimper every so often when you touch him anywhere he’s sensitive right now. Each time he does, you kiss his forehead, murmuring a “I know, I’m sorry, honey.”

The last apology spurs him on to break the silence with his own. “I’m sorry for that. For this. All of this.” You hand him a water bottle, pushing his hair out of his face.

“What?” Your brows furrow as you throw the used towel towards the laundry basket; you can worry about it tomorrow. “Sorry for what, Gator? You did nothing wrong.” You pull him into your embrace, leaning back into the pillows as he relaxes in your arms, head resting on your chest.

“That shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t…” Oh. You already can tell where this is leading, and it hurts to think about. “It— that felt good, and it shouldn’t have.”

Yeah, there it is.

While Gator has made incredible progress unlearning a twisted, bigoted mindset he was raised under, there’s still quite a bit he’s unpacking as he goes. This is one of those things he didn’t realize would affect him until right now.

“Why not? I’m sorry, I swear it wasn’t intentional—“

He shakes his head, “S’okay, I know it wasn’t.”

“You’re allowed to let yourself feel good, Gator. If you’re comfortable, feel safe, and there’s consent, there’s nothing wrong with what makes you feel good.”

“Yeah, but what if— I- it’s not like I’m ga—“

“Gonna stop you right there, ‘cause I know you don’t mean harm, but even if it did mean what you were about to say, there’s nothing wrong with that. I know unlearning this shit isn’t easy, but you’ve gotta allow yourself the room to live your life how you want, without all that toxic masculinity shit.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” You can tell his thoughts are overwhelming right now, since he’s so distant in his reply. “M’sorry for what I said. That ain’t right.”

With a kiss to the top of his head, you run your fingers through his hair, scratching along his scalp soothingly. He sighs, relaxing a little more.

“Ain’t right to keep beating yourself up over what makes you feel good, or what makes you happy.”

Gator groans, annoyed. “Can’t believe we’re gettin’ all emotional ‘cause you touched my ass—“

“Gator!” You’re too tired to stifle your giggles. “That’s not— I mean, it’s part of— look, my point is, serious or not, let yourself enjoy what makes you feel good. Or else.”

He lifts his head, small smile curling along his sleepy features. “Or else?”

“You’re stuck with me for life, Tillman. Gonna remind you forever to let yourself be happy, if necessary.”

Resting his chin on your chest, he gazes up, smile turning into his usual, playful smirk. Even with the scarred, cloudy spot on his eye, you can still see the glint of trouble he loves to carry, clear as day.

“Y’know, we’re gettin’ married… you’re not gonna be able to use that last name shit on me after that,” He teases, then overthinks it. “Unless y’didn’t want to— shit, we never talked ‘bout that, I shouldn’t assume—“

Your fingers slip under his chin, tilting his face up to yours to cut him off with a soft kiss.

“We can talk about that later, okay?” He nudges his nose into yours, nodding before kissing you back. “We need sleep, yeah? Someone decided to be a slut and wake me up.”

Gator snorts, pulling you down under the covers with him. “Can’t help it when my future wife’s such a babe.” You sink further into the pillows, tangling your limbs back up with his as a content sigh leaves you. “Thank you, Darlin’.”

“For what?”

“Not makin’ fun of me while I work all this shit out, or whenever I cry, even if it’s over stuff in bed… you’re always leavin’ space for me to go through emotions.” He’s pulling you into his chest now, giving you soft kisses on your head the way you did with him moments before. “No one’s ever done that for me before.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for what you should’ve had all along,” You whisper, drifting off, but not before pressing a kiss to his collarbone, snuggling closer into him. “I love you, Gator.”

You’re out before you could hear his response.

·············································

“Does it… hurt?”

You frown a little, but Gator can’t see; you’re seated behind him, his back to your chest as the two of you share a bath, gently massaging shampoo into his hair.

After the long night the two of you had, you decided the day should be a lazy, comfortable one, extending some aftercare into the rest of the day.

Gator’s the one to bring it all back up, hesitation clear in his question.

“Does what hurt?” Your hands pull away as he holds up a finger gesturing “one minute”, dunking his head under water to rinse the suds off. 

When he comes up, he twists to face you, gaze locked with your own. You never tell him, because he’s so self conscious, but you love how comfortable he’s grown not wearing an eye patch around you all the time. He’s been anxiously awaiting for the prosthetic eye to be finished, but in the meantime, he’s grown comfortable in his skin around you, that he trusts you.

While sliding back to the other end of the tub, Gator pulls you into his lap, sloshing sudsy water over the edge. 

“This is why we have so many damn bathmats on the floor, you jerk.”

He only grins at your remark before returning the favor of washing your hair, fingers rubbing slow, soothing patterns along your scalp. Your eyes flutter shut as you relax under his touch.

“What happened last night... is it supposed to hurt?”

He’s too afraid to ask, at least in detail. Your eyes pop back open.

“Oh… well, not really, no. Not if you— it depends on what you’re doing, I guess, but not if you take things slow. Kinda like… like foreplay? Does that make sense?” You notice he won’t look you in the eye now. “Why do you ask?”

He exhales roughly, almost frustrated, but with himself, not you. 

“Well, it felt good. Didn’t hurt, just was kinda… weird,” He’s barely above a whisper as he speaks, almost shy. “Does it feel good when I… y’know…”

“When you play with me there? F’course it does, and you’re like, obsessed with my ass, so—“

“I am not—“

“You’re either talking dirty about fucking my ass or playing with it when we fuck, so I’d say you totally are,” You shoot a smug grin his way.

“Fuckin’ hell, you don’t gotta be so vulgar ‘bout it.” He’s blushing red, like he’s never said or done anything outside of vanilla sex before.

“Says the guy who’s always asking when you can fuck me back there—“

“Alright, alright!” He laughs, rolling his eye, then falls shy again. “You think maybe, uh, we could… can we try that? For real this time?”

Mirroring his gesture from earlier, you tilt your head back to rinse the suds out, pushing the excess water off your face before it can sneak into your eyes.

“We can try whatever you want, Gator.” You settle back into his lap, hands reaching up to cradle his face as you lean in. “I mean that with anything. As long as it’s not illegal. Or incredibly dangerous—“

“Says the girl who wants to try gun play—“

“God, I wish I never told you that,” You grumble with an embarrassed smile, looking away. With a sigh, you bring your attention back to him. “Look, I’m comfortable with a lot. So don’t ever feel like you can’t ask me about certain kinks you’re interested in, okay? Even if it’s not something I’m into, I’ll never shame you for what you like.”

Nodding, he closes the gap to kiss you softly; you hope the butterflies you get each time he does this never, ever fade away. It’s easy for your lips to lock with his, so simple to find a rhythm where you both take your time, exploring familiar territory with excitement similar as the first time.

Gator ruts up into you, brushing his half-hard cock against your core; you whimper into his mouth, giving the opportunity for his tongue to slip in. When he kisses you like this, so slowly, so gently, it makes your toes curl, makes your knees weak. You feel lightheaded as he takes his time, squirming in his lap until his large hands grip your hips, keeping you in place.

Breaking the kiss, he’s got a heavy-lidded stare, the void of his pupil blown out with lust. Aroused, he’s got a little more confidence than before. “Feels good when I rim you, right?”

A breathy, “Uh-huh” escapes you before you lick your lips. “So good.”

Opening his mouth, Gator hesitates, then asks after a few seconds pass, “Would… can we try that? With me?”

“Try what with you?”

He groans, head falling forward and bumping into yours. “Darlin’, don’t do this t’me.”

“Gotta use your words, honey.” 

“Want— need—“ He pauses, huffing, then admitting quietly, “Want you t- to eat me out.”

You surge forward to kiss him, this time a little more needy than the last. You pull back, leaving your lips ghosting over his, “Good boy.” His cock kicks beneath you as he groans huskily, ducking down towards your chest to latch onto one of your nipples. He’s sloppy as he sucks and teases the pierced bud with his tongue flicking against it. 

Arching yourself into him, you’re so tempted to sink onto him, fully take him in and ride him slowly, but that can wait. Sliding a hand around to the back of his neck, you run your fingers up into his hair softly, just to roughly grab and pull him away from you. A strangled, wrecked moan leaves him, lips parted and glistening with spit.

“This is about you, not me.” There’s no room for response once your lips are on his neck, trailing from the curve into his shoulder, taking your time as you move upward. It’s a pattern of tender kisses, languid sucking, and faint love bites that you leave behind, a pattern that makes him squirm underneath you. 

“Now, need you now,” Gator’s so worked up, you don’t have the heart to tease him any longer. Drifting back, you smirk, twirling your finger in a circle.

“Turn around, then.” He freezes, and you shake your head. “Unless you don’t want—“

“Want it, need it,” He turns, facing the edge of the tub, fingers gripping the curve of porcelain. 

Gator’s breaths are shallow as he turns back, small waves of bath water rolling up his hips; oh, what a sweet sight this is. You could easily get used to this. He gulps as your hands return, just not in the original spot.

The tips of your fingers ghost along his hips, under the water, slowly traveling to the swell of his ass, caressing his curves softly. Just that alone has Gator shuddering and blushing, still trying to watch over his shoulder. You knead the doughy flesh, pressing yourself against his back, leaving delicate kisses along his shoulder, and to his neck.

“How hard are you right now?”

“If ya’ touch me, you’d know.”

You pinch his ass, and he hisses an “Ow, the fuck was that for?”

“For being a brat. Don’t ruin this for yourself, babe.” That shuts him up, shivering underneath your touch as you kiss down along his spine. As you do, you lift his hips up out of the water, so he’s kneeling in the tub.

Gator’s so gorgeous, especially as a submissive, pliable wreck; you have to stop, watching the water spill down his body as he waits for you in such a vulnerable position.

You’re thankful fate, luck, whatever gave you an apartment with a large tub to fuck around in; despite the awkward position, the two of you are relatively comfortable. 

As your lips reach his lower back, you let them linger, reveling in the way his body shakes in anticipation.

“Tell me to stop if you need, okay?” He nods, mumbling some kind of response in agreement. Your lips switch to one cheek, biting softly as your hand grips and kneads the other. You laugh breathily when his cock kicks, switching sides to tease some more. “Gonna make y’feel so good, baby… make ya’ see stars.”

Gator snorts at your promise, “That was cheesy, D— oh— oh, f- fuck.” You spread his cheeks to spit on his taut hole, smirking at the way he tightens around nothing. You take your thumb, gently circling the puckered skin, grinning as his breath hitches while he nearly loses his grip on the tub.

“Try not to cum so fast this time, babe.”

“I’m t- tryin’, promise,” He croaks out, spinning his head forward; he’s sure if he watches you any longer, he’ll cum immediately. 

Flattening your tongue, you broadly drag it up, teasing his hole as it touches for only a moment. Gator shouts, dissolving into a broken groan. He rests his arms on the edge of the tub, head falling forward to babble something like, “Oh my fucking— christ that’s— fuck—“

You’ll gladly take that as a sign to continue; you lap at him, smirking as he pushes himself back onto your tongue. Digging your fingers into his cheeks, you tease him, “Told ya’ you’d like it.”

You swirl your tongue around the edge of his tight ring, sliding closer and closer to the opening. He whimpers and whines, hand stretching back to tug your hair roughly with each lap of your tongue. You moan into him, earning a sharp gasp from him.

Gator exhales shakily, “Darlin’…” 

“You sound so cute when you’re needy, Gator,” You tease between slow flits of your tongue. Looking up, you notice he’s craning his neck again, face flushed red with a hooded eye, blown out with lust. 

“M’not needy,” He’s already a pathetic mess from the touch of your tongue alone, he’s unaware he can’t pull your face any closer into him.

“You’re literally trying to grind on my face,” You tease, admiring how his cock kicks, lost in pleasure; features twisted in agonizing bliss, slumped against the edge of the tub, shallow breaths turning into desperate panting. Again, your tongue flicks softly at his hole, earning a drawn out hiss from him as you spit once more. 

In a rushed, frantic tone, he asks, “Can I- is it— I wanna sit on your face, angel. P- please?”

You’re stunned, leaning back; he catches the view of you pulling away, frowning as he faces you, “Baby, please—“ He’s trying to catch his breath, hands gripping your thighs under the water, “Why’d you stop?”

“Did I hear you right?”

This is where Gator would normally be too embarrassed to ask for what he truly wants, but right now, he doesn’t give a fuck as he rasps out, “Lemme sit on your face, Darlin’. I’ll be good, I- I’ll be so fuckin’ good for you.” 

You’re breathless for a second, still breaking through the disbelief, “Never thought you’d ask.” Clambering out of the tub, you’re babbling out a “Yeah, uh-huh, c’mon—“

“No, right here.” He points to the floor, comically covered in too many bath mats. “Please? I- I’m not— I—“ Watching you wordlessly lower to the floor, you feel water drip off of you and onto whatever mat you ended up on. He scrambles out of the tub, waiting for your direction before lowering himself to your chest at first.

“Gator, you’re too far away.” You hook your arms around his thighs as he faces away from you, startling a gasp out of him. “Don’t be ‘fraid, okay? I can take it.”

He looks over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, perplexed. “You— have you done this before?”

You don’t answer, at least not with words, you just pull him onto your mouth, rimming him skillfully. Gator feels like the wind’s knocked out of his lungs, feels lightheaded, needs something to grab onto— his hands grip onto your tits roughly, causing you to moan into him. The vibrations make his cock twitch, with pearlescent pre seeping out, landing on your chest and neck.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

He pinches and tweaks at your nipples, earning soft cries from you while your face is buried in him. Your hips grind up into the empty air above you, in need of something on your cunt for some kind of relief.

Gator swallows a moan, voice low, “Hang on, mama,” He leans down, watching the way you clench around nothing as he lowers his face to your folds. He wraps his arms around your legs, spitting onto your cunt lewdly. “Gonna give ya’ what ya’ need.” He runs a thick digit through your folds, sloppily teasing your clit in circles before plunging into your entrance.

“Oh, shit…” You grind down on his finger, grateful to feel something inside you. “Gator, r- right there, don’t— god!” He reaches your sweet spot just as his mouth begins kissing your folds. His tongue is supple as it slips out, sliding along your sensitive nub before taking his time, practically making out with your pussy.

You’re lapping at his hole, grinding against his finger and mouth; the two of you continue exchanging noises of sweet satisfaction with one another, only becoming louder, more obscene. “Sh- should’ve done this a long time ago…” You murmur into him, tongue tapering to slowly fuck him.

He freezes, breath hitching before breaking through one of the most vocal moans you’ve ever heard out of him. Gator tries his best to muffle his cries, burying his face into your pussy, just like the night before.

“Want y- you t’finger fuck me, angel,” He shudders, lapping at your clit. “Please?”

Your eyes roll back with a guttural groan, tongue buried in his ass, but only for a second. “Can’t rush this, Gator, I don’t wanna hurt you.” You swirl your tongue around his ring, and he grinds back on your mouth. “W- We can someday though, I promise.” You tongue fuck him again, this time at a faster pace.

Gator matches your fervor, lips wrapped around your clit as he sucks, slipping another finger into you.

“I’m so close, babe, so, so—“ He sucks a little too harshly, but that’s what does you in. 

At the same time, he’s frantically rambling, “Fuck, fuck— I— I’m gonna cum, can I cum on you? Please? Baby, I need to—“

“All over me, need it, need you so bad,” You mutter into him, crying out as your legs tremble, closing in on his head. Gator doesn’t stop licking or fucking you, stuck in a trance as you tongue fuck him one last time, sending him over the edge.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ— fuck!” He’s gasping and writhing above you, shoving his face into your cunt to nearly scream over the intensity of pleasure.

Gator’s cock pulsates before spilling all over you, completely untouched; your skilled mouth was more than enough to send him into a state of pure, filthy bliss. It’s a wild mess of pearly white spend all over your tits, with some dripping onto your neck. Gator’s face is covered in a glistening sheen, one of sweat, but mostly your slick; he can’t stop licking his lips, reluctantly taking his fingers back from the grip of your cunt. 

The two of you are winded as he rolls off of you, laying side by side on the bathroom floor, panting wildly. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you, with Gator’s hand resting on your calf, lazily rubbing circles with his thumb as the both of you calm down.

“… I think we need to clean up again.”

You both start laughing weakly, absolutely drained.

“Uh-huh…” Gator agrees. “No bath, though. We’ll both fall asleep and drown.”

You laugh again, “Good point. Together?”

“For safety reasons, naturally,” He jokes, attempting to sit up, but he’s too dizzy, so back to the floor he goes. “God that… that felt so fuckin’ good… I’d get up to thank ya’ with a kiss but that requires moving.”

“And I need to rinse my mouth before you do.” You giggle as he snorts; you loved these moments, loved how silly the two of you could be after fucking so intensely. You wouldn’t want this life with anyone but your best friend.

In typical Gator fashion, he teases, “Yeah, you’re gross.”

“Gator, I made you cry just from eating you out. Shut up.”

“Fuck yeah ya’ did,” You can’t tell from where you’re laying, but he’s blushing all over again. “Gonna kiss and cuddle the fuck outta ya’ when we’re not totally disgusting.”

“Hey, Gator?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

It never gets old for either of you; there’s no limit on verbally expressing it, not with him.

He breathes out a laugh, “Love you too, Darlin’. We should really get cleaned up ‘fore we fall asleep here.” 

“Just…” You’re so exhausted; he’s right, you both would absolutely fall asleep here if you could. “… five more minutes?”

The bathroom mirror’s steamed up from the heat you both radiate, it reeks of sex in the air above you, and the only sounds surrounding you are the heavy, exhausted breaths you both continue to take.

Gator’s quiet for a beat before responding, weakly squeezing your leg as he rasps, “Make it ten.”

[galexystern]

"all that honey, all that rot."

a step uncle!joel miller x reader

summary: the summer heat brings out the worst in people. and so do family reunions. (or, in simpler terms: A Southern Gothic Porno about things you shouldn’t say to your step-daddy’s brother, but do anyway.)

warnings: step uncle!joel miller (not your cup of tea? just scroll! <3), girthy age gap, obvs taboo relationship, religious guilt/blasphemy, power dynamic, smoking/alcohol, southern gothic themes (rotting morality, decay, etc.), emotional manipulation/guilt, emotional whiplash, unresolved shame spiral energy thingy whatever, a lot of smut... like a lot soooo (praise kink, degradation kink, public sex, dubious consent vibes, daddy kink & uncle kink, fingering, oral, some slight edging, possession, breeding kink, mentions of bodily fluids, lots of dirty talk, etc.)

a. note: this fic contains no actual blood relations, but it feeling wrong and depraved is.... kinda the point. anyways, god is not present in this fic and if you ever see me in public after this, no tf you did not!

July in Texas meant the kind of heat that makes the devil himself sweat, and the kind of family gatherings that make you wish he'd drag you back to hell with him.

The front porch of grandma and grandpa's old home sagged, tired of carrying generational secrets and trauma, its broken wood planks littered with cigarette butts and broken beer bottlers. Grandma June's cross-stitched Jesus watched over the house from the kitchen wall, thick and smudged by the steam of collard greens and cast iron grease.

The tea was sweet enough to make your molars ache, the gossip between your aunts somehow even sweeter. They wore their linen dresses and bickered like fighting crows over potato salad, their unruly kids screaming around the pool like a baptism gone wrong. Somewhere in the distance, a bloodhound barked loud and shrill, and somewhere even closer, Uncle Joel lit an American Spirit like he was trying to smoke out an ache from his chest.

You hadn't meant to look at him like that.

Well, not at first.

He wasn't supposed to be the one. It should've been Tommy- your mamma's brand new, shiny second husband, all clean smiles and thick forearms. But Tommy never looked at you the way his brother Joel did, like you were temptation dressed in a pair of cutoffs, like you were his Eve and he was getting real sick of apples.

He was the oldest brother, Joel. The grizzled one. The one with broad shoulders that blocked out the sun and rough hands that looked like they could rip Bibles in half.

He came in reeking of sweat, smoke, and the kind of loneliness that settles deep into a man's bones after too many years of pretending he doesn't need anybody or anything.

It was a tale as old as time. You should have been scared of him.

Instead, you sucked the melted ice cream off your fingers, looking at him from behind a pair of long fake eyelashes, cherry red lips stretched into a pretty, perfect smile. "Hi, Uncle Joel."

He flinched the first time you ever called him that.

Good.

You shouldn't have enjoyed it. The way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched and nostrils flared. But you did. And you would continue to enjoy it.

The first time you saw Joel- really saw him- was on the third day of that godforsaken family reunion, right as the sun bled out over the backyard and turned the skies to bruised peaches and dying lilacs. You'd come out of the sunroom for more sweet tea, barefoot on cracked concrete as a symphony of cicadas beckoned you forth, the hem of your sundress- same color as Joel's shirt- clinging damp against your sticky sweet thighs.

He was by the smoker, beer in hand, sweat darkening the collar of his flannel even though it was too hot for sleeves.

Joel was watching you. There was no attempt to hide it. Just a dark, sleezy pair of eyes following you, a hawk zeroing in on its prey, like you were nothing more than a rabbit trying to scurry away in time.

There was a raw, quiet sort of hunger, and you watched his jaw tick ever so slightly as he drank you in, as though he was memorizing every step you took in case the good Lord gave him one more chance to turn his back on you, on the taboo hunger that stirred deep in his belly.

"You shouldn't be wearin' that around me." His voice was a mutter, half to himself, as though he were conversing with a pesky little devil that had perched itself on his shoulder.

"Shouldn't be looking then." You quipped back.

There was a pause.

That same muscle ticked in his jaw.

Joel turned around and walked off with a huff, as though you had slapped him clean across the face.

You couldn't help but smile into your tea.

The next night, it stormed.

Texas thunderstorms never knocked politely. They rattled the windows like judgement day.

You watched from the dining room as the rain spilled down the glass, almost everyone else tucked in to bed for the night. You could hear over the lighting your grandma muttering prayers. Cousins were passed out on couches, your mother deep into a bottle of wine with Tommy in the sunroom, both sure no one else would be awake to hear them giggling.

It was quiet. The eerie kind of quiet the seeped into the walls of old Texas homes, the kind of quiet that only ever accompanied lonely nights like this.

Joel stood on the porch, the lightning carving out his silhouette into the screen door every few seconds, painted across the house like a ghost hungry for something other than vengeance.

You found him like that. Smoking, brooding, thinking some dark, unholy thoughts that you craved to learn for yourself.

"Can't sleep?" He finally asked, voice full of gravel. His back was to you, but he could sense you, he could smell you.

You didn't answer. What was there to ever say? You stepped out into the night air, rain cooling your skin, and leaned against the porch rail. The white cotton of your nightdress stuck to your back. No bra. No panties. Nothing.

Joel noticed.

Of course he did. He always noticed you.

"You walk around like that on purpose?" Joel inhaled a thick line of cigarette smoke, an eyebrow raised as he watched the old dirt road begin to turn in to mud.

"Would it matter if I did?"

The porch light flickered as the hum of the moths grew louder, the rain only darkening the sky even more.

"You're playin' a dangerous game, baby." His words sent a shiver right down your spine and straight between your legs, your thighs clenching at the hate that peppered his voice, the annoyance. It only made you want him more.

You tilted your head up at him. The same devil that plagued him with all those nasty thoughts danced behind your eyes.

"I was raised in a house full of liars and preachers, Joel. Danger is a game I know well."

Joel snorted out a response, turning back to the horizon.

You stayed quiet, listening to the hiss of rain and the gentle smolder of his cigarette, watching the way the smoke curled around his knuckles, hazy and Baroque. He didn't look at you, but you knew he saw everything- how the thin cotton clung to your skin, how your thighs rubbed together each time he lifted his smoke to his lips, how you licked the expanse of your plush lips like a girl who didn't know any better.

But you did. And he knew you did.

"Why're you always lookin' at me like that?" Joel's voice was low and rough, the words scraping their way out of his tobacco singed throat.

You shrugged. "Cause you always look back."

Oh. Oh. Now that got him.

Joel flicked the cigarette into the muddy yard with a sharp little motion that made your lips twitch, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grinding down like stone on stone.

Then he stood. He walked over. Too close. Close enough to feel his heart thrumming, close enough to breathe in that second hand smoke that always lingered around him like an aura.

The wood of the porch creaked beneath his worn leather boots as he boxed you in- one hand on the rail behind you, the other ghosting down your side, not touching, not really, but just enough to burn you like the sinner you were.

"You ain't got a fuckin' idea what you're doin'." Joel's voice was a warning, like smoke and sin, and it hit you like a brick.

"I think I do." Your words were more of a moan than a whisper.

"Is that right?"

You didn't break eye contact. You couldn't. You wanted him to feel it, all of it. That heavy thrum beneath your skin, that ugly, ugly craving, that part of you that yearned to be ruined by his hands, and his alone.

Before you knew it, that very same hand was wrapped around your throat.

Not tight- just testing. His fingers, calloused and thick, resting there like a cautionary tale you would never quite learn.

"Say the word. I'll stop."

"You won't."

"You don't know me, honey."

"Maybe not. But I know what you're thinking when you look at me like that." He felt your pulse against his palm, erratic and wild, hungry for more.

There was silence for a moment that felt too long, thunder rolling low in the back like the ground itself was growling, a desperate animal lurking and watching you two dance a dangerous tango.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn't gentle. Wasn't sweet. It was messy and hungry and depraved, teeth scraping lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth like he was starving and you were the only thing on his dinner table. Like he'd held back for too long and hated himself for it.

And God, of course you kissed him back.

You moaned into it, melting into the depths of his chest, his cheap cologne and aftershave meddling with the stench of ash filling your flaring nostrils as his mouth claimed yours. He dragged his lips down your neck, shoving the hem of your nightdress up to your hips with no remorse. Joel's rough hands pushed one of your thighs over the rail without a word, and he pulled away, staring at you for a beat too long, at your pussy that glistened in the shaded moonlight just for him, polite and pretty and intoxicating.

"Ain't gonna fuck you." He growled, his breath hot on your skin as he nipped across the soft skin of your jaw line. You felt the tip of his middle finger trace along your wet folds, gathering up that slick that was just for him. "Ain't gonna do it, not yet."

And then he knelt, like a sinner offering himself up before god, but not before slipping his finger in your mouth, allowing you to taste just how sweet your sin tasted, allowing your own moisture to coat your tastebuds, salty and sweet and damned.

Right there, on that forsaken porch, rain pounding down around you, lightning flashing, he tasted you for the first time. Your shift bunched around your waist while he pulled your leg over his shoulder and devoured you, like he was punishing you for existing, angry that you were there and stirring up so much trouble in his life.

He started slowly, gently, allowed him to explore every inch of you, and then you felt his mouth on your clit, sucking hard and rough, a wild wolf that finally caught his prey. His dull nails dug into your hips, holding you tight and hard as though the storm winds would whisk you away from him. You wanted to cry out his name. Joel, Joel, Joel. That was who was worshipping at the altar of you, that's who was making you feel this good, this... heavenly.

Your hands slipped down, found his own, and as he ran his tongue back and forth across your swelling clit, you traced the veins on the back of his hands, explored the divots of his knuckles, felt the tips of his rough nails worn down from years of labor, you memorized the way he felt against you.

You memorized the way his tongue felt in your pussy, his teeth on your thighs- and right there on that porch he made you his, ruined you for any other man. The pretty flesh of your lower belly was bruised by the markings of his teeth, tattooed by his incisors, purple and pretty and all for him, your arousal dripping down your legs, thick and heavy with the weight of your crimes.

You orgasmed with your hand tight in his hair and his name bitten into your bottom lip, you tasted the metallic tang of blood as he tasted your honeyed cum, flowing all because of him.

After you finished, he stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he stared at you, not saying a word, inspecting you like a sculpture in a museum.

Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, but he had nothing else to offer in terms of aftercare or remorse- he simply walked back inside, and you caught a glimpse of that cross-stitched Jesus watching you from the kitchen window.

The next morning came thick and hot, humid from all that rain, the air thick like syrup. The morning songbirds chirped like they hadn't just witnessed a crime against both God and family values on that porch, their melody delightfully pretty and annoyingly cheerful.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, wrapped in an old robe that might have once belonged to your mother, but now hung open on you in a way that was clearly an act of war, devious and lustful.

You didn't have to look up to know Joel was there. You could feel him. Brooding in the corner like the storm hadn't quite ended.

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his black coffee in one hand. Joel wouldn't look at you, in fact he refused.

"Moooornin', Uncle Joel." You grinned, your voice as light and sweet as the peach jam your grandma had laid out on the table. You didn't miss the way his teeth clenched together.

He nodded towards you. Didn't speak a word.

Coward.

Grandma was flipping pancakes. Tommy and your mamma were nowhere to be seen, which felt like a small mercy. The smell of butter and shame hung low in the air as you slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, your heels crossed just so as you poured yourself some apple juice.

"Sleep alright?" You asked him plainly, as if your thighs hadn't been wrapped around his handsome face a few hours ago.

"Slept fine." He muttered.

"Are you sure? You seemed a little... tense last night."

Joel slammed his mug down on the table a little too hard.

Your grandma looked up from the griddle with a startt, her voice a disapproving tut. "Now y'all better be gettin' along now. Ain't no room for drama in this house, except what's on daytime TV." She pointed her spatula between the both of you, he eyes glossed over with seriousness.

"Oh, don't worry, Nan. We get along real well." You calmed her with a big smile. "Don't we, Uncle Joel?"

He walked towards you, and you suddenly felt small against his shadow, tiny and powerless as he towered over where you sat. His face twitched. You smelled like that sweet coconut shampoo you always used, and that pretty vanilla perfume he could always pick out from a mile away.

"Go put on somethin' decent," he warned through gritted teeth, voice quiet and low. Your nan hummed naively in the background, whistling as she continued making breakfast.

"This ain't decent?" You blinked innocently, your voice like sugar.

He finally looked at you then, eyes locking, his irises dark and dangerous and far, far away.

That's when you felt it. That nasty tension, that heat that settled between you two- undeniable, like a bruise beginning to bloom beneath the skin of a polite conversation. The memory of his mouth and how it felt hung in the space between the both of you like humidity.

"Don't start," he growled beneath his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

"I'm not startin," you whispered, leaning in close enough to make him flinch. "I'm just finishing what you-"

"Stop."

You held his gaze for a beat too long. The word tumbled out low, dangerous- any other peep from you and he would take matters into his own hands, that much you were sure of.

Then you stood, slowly and deliberately, the robe parting just enough to show the curve of your hip.

"Fine." You relented, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "I'll go change."

You didn't miss the way his eyes dragged down your body one last time, and before either of you could turn away, he caught your wrist in his hands.

He nodded for a moment, eyes boring into your own.

"Good girl." Joel whispered, those simple syllables knocking the air right out of your lungs. His thumb felt soft as it caressed atop your knuckles, and you watched him saunter off to his coffee cup before you scurried towards your room.

For a long while you stood in the hallway, lips parted, trembling from the ghost of his voice against your ear.

Good girl.

He said it like a threat. Like a confession. Like the kind of thing a man only says once, or forever- either or.

You stood there dumbly for a moment, blinking.

The house buzzed around you- grandma humming over pancakes, a child screaming about a lost toy- but it all faded into static.

Because Joel Miller had just called you good girl, and you knew the world would never be the same again. At least not yours.

Your skin buzzed like live wire, chest tight. Between your legs was an entirely different story- a slow, throbbing mess. That damn robe clung to your body like it was trying to apologize for failing to cover enough, as though it wished it could have saved you from your recent conundrum of both the heart and the pussy.

You walked towards your room, chest pounding with every step, every bone in your body warning you to turn back before it was too late.

But it already was, and it already had been.

You didn't hear him follow you, you didn't have to. You could feel him, you could feel the air pressure shift and change, like the house was tilting in his direction. The hair on your arms rose, skin prickling with the heat that rolled off of him in waves.

You paused outside your bedroom door, fingers curling around the frame. And then, before anything else, came his voice: low, thick, full of grit and threat.

"You like actin' up in front of people?"

Slowly you turned your head.

He was standing there, arms cross, coffee mug long since abandoned. His gaze was darker than it had been at breakfast. It was predatory. That porch-slick, tongue-between-your-legs version of Joel... he had never left, in fact he was alive and well.

"Wasn't tryin' to act up-"

"Bull. Shit." Joel snarled, backing you up into your room, circling you like a hungry wolf. He kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot. "You think I didn't see what you were doin'? Wearin' that-that... thing. Lookin' at me like that in front of your grandma?"

You were backed into the wall now, the torn floral wallpaper a stark contrast to the energy that dripped off of your bodies. His hand came up, cupped your jaw- not hard, but firm, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip as though he were weighing whether to shut you up or make you moan.

"Maybe I wanted your attention." You muttered, gently chewing on your bottom lip.

Joel breathed hard, nostrils flaring, before his thumb dipped past your lip, just slightly, resting tenderly on the tip of your tongue. It was enough to make your knees wobble and your heart beat hard against the cage of your ribs.

"Keep talkin' like that," he growled, "and I'll take you apart right here, right now. With your mamma in the livin' room and the Lord watchin'."

You whimpered.

You hated yourself for it, loved yourself for it.

He leaned in, lips grazing yours, not kissing- hovering. Making you beg for his very touch with your breath.

"You gonna be a good girl for real this time?"

You nodded, wordless.

And then- He pulled away, snatched his hand back like you were poison and he had been cut.

"Then get dressed. We're goin' into town. Gotta pick up beer for the grill."

Just like that. A simple command. As if the little room hadn't nearly erupted into flames.

You stood frozen, skin flushed, thighs trembling, every nerve screaming his name over and over and over again. You wanted to scream after him, wanted to brand the word coward into him with a red hot iron. You wanted to pull him back against you and make him finish what he started.

Instead, you slipped into the closet and reached for something short, tight, and pretty. The shorts barely counted as fabric, and the little gold cross dangling around your neck was perfectly ironic, pretty and dainty between your collarbones.

Joel was already waiting by the door, keys in hand, a muscle twitching in his jaw like he'd been chewing on the same thought all morning. His eyes dragged over you once, and that was all it took.

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils before speaking. "Get in the truck."

A warning.

The ride started silent.

He didn't look at you as he drove, and you didn't bother pretending you couldn't notice the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel every time your thighs shifted against the hot leather seat.

"You always this quiet?" Your words were meant to poke the bear, a shit eating grin stretched cutely on your mouth.

"You always this loud?" He shot back.

You smiled something innocent. "Only when I'm ignored."

Joel scoffed. "Ain't ignorin' you," he muttered, eyes on the road. "I'm tryin' not to fuckin' kill you."

You tilted your head. "Oh?"

"You think this is funny?"

"Oh no, not at all. I think it's... fun."

Another twitch. His fingers grasped the steering wheel so tight it looked like it hurt.

"You don't got any idea what you're doin'." Joel rasped.

"I'm wearing shorts in the summer, Joel. It's not a crime."

He laughed a short, dry laugh. "Not a crime? Oh baby. It is when you're sittin' next to your step-daddy's big brother with your legs wide open. I'm supposed to be your uncle."

You spread your legs a little wider, your grin only widening. "You lookin' or something?"

"Jesus Christ." He growled, umber irises clinging to the turf ahead.

You allowed the sweet kiss of silence to stretch long and painful between the both of you, the heat between your bodies thick enough to chew. The radio was off, the only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the occasional sharp exhale from Joel, like he was trying to exorcise something demonic from within him.

Eventually you reached over and turned the dial, letting some old country song roll in, low and moody.

"She got a body like a backroad..." The man crooned on the radio.

You smiled wide. "You like this one, Uncle Joel?" Your words were a taunting challenge, a hook and bait you were begging him to grab ahold of.

Joel said nothing.

You leaned in closer, close enough to feel his shoulder against your arm.

"Don't like it when I call you Uncle?" You asked softly, your voice a hot whisper that fanned across his face.

He shook his head. "No."

"Fine. What about... daddy?"

Joel turned and looked at you. Really looked at you.

Dark brown eyes wild. Breath short. Sweat kissing at his temple.

"You keep talkin' like that, and you're gonna learn what the word daddy means real fuckin' quick."

You licked your lips. "I was hopin' I would."

He pulled over. Fast.

His truck skidded into a shaded shoulder off the side of the road, gravel crunching like bones beneath the tires. He parked. Threw it in gear. Then turned to you wild and raging like he was about to do something illegal.

"Get in the backseat." He rasped.

You shifted. Slow, testing, leaning into his space. Your heart pounded.

"Make me." They were only two simple words. Soft. Defiant. But they were enough to bring the whole universe crashing in on you.

Joel stared you down, caught between deciding whether he wanted to kiss you or kill you.

He made his choice.

You didn’t even have time to squeal before he’d reached over, grabbed you by the waist, and hauled you over the console like you weighed nothing. You hit the backseat with a soft grunt, denim-clad hips scraping across the warm leather, and before you could blink, he was on top of you.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” Joel growled, voice like thunder rumbling in a storm cellar. His fingers were working the buttons of your shorts, rough against your exposed skin in a way that was deliciously dirty.

“I think I do,” you whispered, smiling up at him like the liar you were.

His hand was on your thigh, pushing it open—wide. Exposing the lacy little excuse for underwear you’d chosen just for this moment. It was soaked through.

Joel groaned like he was in pain.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He leaned in, forearm braced beside your head, the other sliding under your thigh, hoisting it up until your knee nearly touched the fogged-up window and your foot was resting on his shoulder. His breath was hot on your face, the scent of coffee and cigarettes and something darker, something animal, wafting across your face.

“You’re drippin’,” he muttered, eyes locked on the spot between your panties that pulsed for his touch. “You’re gonna tell me this ain’t what you wanted? That you didn’t walk outta that house like a fuckin’ invitation?”

“I wanted this,” you breathed. “I want you.”

He growled. Actually growled.

His fingers hooked under your panties and dragged them aside, exposing your soaked cunt to the hot air inside the truck. He didn’t even take them off, just shoved them to the side, rough and impatient and easily forgotten.

Then his fingers were on you—two of them, thick and calloused, sliding through your folds, parting you open like you were his to split and ruin and mark.

You gasped.

“Joel—fuck—”

“That’s Daddy,” he hissed, and then he was inside you, two fingers buried to the hilt, pressing up against that spongy shot that had uncontrollable moans erupting from your throat.

You saw stars.

Back arched. Mouth open. One hand flew to his wrist, trying to steady yourself as he fucked you with his fingers, deep and precise, curling against that sweet spot like he’d mapped it himself.

“Tight little pussy,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours. “So goddamn wet for me. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You were moaning now—soft and breathless and desperate. His name fell from your lips again and again, but it wasn’t the one he wanted.

So he slowed down, pulled his fingers out just enough to tease your entrance, not pushing back in until you whined.

“What’s my name?” he asked.

“Joel—”

“Wrong.”

He stopped completely. Just held you there, fingers resting at your slick, pulsing hole, lips against your neck, teeth dragging against your veins.

“What’s my fuckin’ name, sugar?”

You choked on a gasp.

“D-Daddy—fuck—Daddy, please—”

And just like that, he slammed his fingers back in, rougher now. Faster. His palm rubbed against your clit as he worked you open, relentless, filthy sounds echoing inside the cab.

“That’s my girl. My good girl," he murmured, kissing the corner of your jaw as you writhed beneath him. “Takin’ it so well. Just like you were made for me.”

Your eyes rolled back. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your stomach twisted tight and sweet, and then—

You came.

Hard.

Convulsing around his fingers, sobbing his name, thighs trembling against his sides. He didn’t stop until he wrung every last spasm from your body, until you were so sure you would pass out if he went any longer.

Only then did he pull his fingers out—slow, sticky, glistening—and stare at them like they’d just given him the answers to every question he’d never dared to ask. You watched him slowly sink one into his mouth, lick off the taste that sung of you, his dark eyes peering in to your own, challenging and mean.

“Taste like sin,” he muttered. “Sweet, nasty little sin.”

You lay there, spent and gasping, your skin hot against the sticky leather, your mind wrecked, your heart somewhere in the back of your throat, beating and thrumming and clawing its way towards your tongue.

And Joel?

He just leaned back in the front seat and lit a cigarette, breathing hard, not saying a word, allowing the smoke to cover him like a safety blanket.

“We still gotta get the beer,” he said after a long pause, voice low and ruined.

You blinked at him, dazed.

“You’re outta your fuckin’ mind,” you whispered, your top halfway off your body and your little jean shorts still unzipped and uncomfortably tight around your hips.

He grinned, crooked and mean. You shouldn't have found it so alluring, but you did. How could you not? "You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

After Joel wrung your orgasm out like it owed him rent, the truck ride into town was—unsurprisingly—tense. He didn’t speak, nor did he look at you.

Just smoked his cigarette like it was a goddamn life raft and kept his eyes glued to the road.

But you knew him now. Knew the twitch in his jaw, the flicker of his eyes in the rearview mirror, the way his free hand kept flexing open and closed on the gearshift.

Uncle Joel was seething.

Not because of what you’d let him do to you, but because of how easy it was. How easy it was to sink his thick fingers deep within you, how easy it was for his ears to tune to the pitch of your moans, pretty and wild, how easy it was to get lost in the way your eyes went crazy and wide with pleasure he was giving you.

It was too easy, alarmingly so.

And by the time he rolled into the parking lot, those thoughts were thrumming loud in his ear drums.

The gas station was one of those sad little roadside stops with flickering lights and hand-scrawled beer specials in the window, old and rundown and oh so hick. The air was thick with diesel exhaust and divorced dad regret, heavy with a sort of tension that was unknown to you.

You slid out of the truck, legs still a little shaky, and walked inside like nothing had happened, still trying to adjust your bra straps, as though all of the town had their eyes on you and knew what you had just done. Joel stayed outside, leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, eyes locked on you through the dusty windshield as he opened up his second pack of American Spirits.

You could feel the heat of him even from twenty feet away.

And then he walked in.

Some guy—twenties, scruffy, boots worn but clean. Too much cologne. You smelled him before you saw him, and he smelled like bad decisions made in the back of a pickup truck. Not unlike the one you’d just made, but something that was- somehow- even more embarrassing.

“Hey there,” he said, smiling wide, eyes dragging down your legs, over your ass, lingering just a beat too long on the swell of your tits beneath the tight tank. “You lost, sweetheart?”

You turned your head slow. Blinked. Smiled like a trap being set.

“No, I’m good. Just grabbin’ some beer for the grill.”

“Family BBQ?” he asked, stepping closer. “Mind if I crash? I make a mean brisket.”

You laughed. Sweet and dismissive. But then you glanced out the window.

Joel was still watching. His jaw was clenched, and his arms were still crossed, yet the veins on his arms bulged with something dangerously close to jealousy. You saw it in his umber irises- something murderous. It made your heart beat pick up, made that adrenaline in your belly pound for more.

So you leaned into it. Just a little.

“I dunno,” you purred. “You look more like dessert than dinner.”

The guy laughed, and his oil covered fingers touched your elbow as his lips parted to say something else, no doubt something boyish and horny.

Joel moved.

You didn’t see him come in—but suddenly he was there, all heat and fury, stepping between you and the stranger with the kind of slow, dangerous calm that made your stomach drop and all that adrenaline fade.

“She’s taken,” Joel said, voice low and steady, like a hungry dog growling through its teeth, with no cage to stop it from pouncing.

The guy blinked, all of his emotion draining from his face. “Whoa, man. I was- I was just talkin’—”

“Yeah, I saw.” Joel’s hand came down hard on the counter as he leaned in, inches from the poor bastard’s face, and you saw the crow's feet narrow alongside his eyes, saw the way his teeth gritted tight together as he spat out his words. “You ever look at her like that again, I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw.”

“Jesus, alright—”

“Don’t bring him into this.” You would have laughed if the situation wasn't so tense/

The guy backed off fast, muttering apologies as he grabbed a bag of chips and vanished down an aisle, his tail between his legs and his head down. You stood there, beer in hand, soaking in the tension like it was bathwater, unsure of what to say or do next.

Joel didn’t look at you. Not until you reached for the register. He leaned in close, breath hot at your ear. “We’re gonna have a problem if you keep lettin’ boys touch what don’t belong to them.”

You turned your head, inches from his lips. “I didn’t know I belonged to anyone.” Your words were steady, despite the way your heart pounded inside of you.

He smiled, but it wasn’t nice, it never was. “You will.”

He paid for the beer and a fresh pack of cigarettes before hauling you outside, back to the deserted parking lot, back to his truck that was hidden behind the dumpster, the air thick and still with summer heat.

"I don't believe you." You challenged, his hand tight around your wrist.

He stopped in his tracks. Joel looked at you like he'd just made peace with his damnation.

His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. And then—he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you, it was more of a threat than a declaration. Not soft. Not romantic. Consuming.

You barely had time to gasp before he spun you around and shoved you against the grimy, vibrating hood of his pickup, right there in the gas station parking lot.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he snarled.

“No.”

You didn’t flinch. You wanted the punishment. You needed the consequence. You craved him.

His eyes went dark. Dangerously dark. You felt it in your throat, in your clit, in your soul.

“You think you’re in charge?” Joel stepped in close, pressing the heat of his body against your back, one hand gripping your waist like he wanted to crush you and fuck you in the same motion. “You been walkin’ around all summer with your little ass hangin’ out, beggin’ for attention, and now you’re gonna act shy? Nah, baby. You earned this.”

His fingers trailed down your stomach and popped the button on your shorts with one flick. You didn’t stop him. You arched into it, your ass tight against his hardened cock.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you right here,” he muttered against your ear. “Where anyone could see. Where someone might walk by and know exactly what you are.”

“What am I?” you asked, breathless, barely able to get the words out as he dragged your zipper down and shoved your shorts and soaked panties to your knees.

Joel’s hand slid between your thighs. His fingers dipped into your wetness, obscene and slick.

“My dirty little girl,” he growled. “My fuckin’ problem. My cock-hungry little niece.”

You gasped, legs already shaking.

He chuckled darkly.

“Yeah. That got you wet, didn’t it? Bein’ my brother’s girl. Bein’ my family. You been thinkin’ about this every night, haven’t you? Touched yourself with that pretty little cross around your neck while you thought about Uncle Joel splittin’ you open like a goddamn peach.”

You whimpered. You were already on the edge. Already soaked. Already gone.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I want it.”

“Say what you are.”

You clenched around nothing. Your mouth felt dry and sinful, tongue aching for words that would never fully form.

“I’m your niece,” you whispered, words broken. “And I want you to ruin me.”

Joel groaned. Real. Deep. Like it hurt him.

Then he flipped you over, shoved you up onto the hood, and dragged your legs open with no ceremony, no patience, like a man unhinged.

You watched his eyes drag over you. Soaking. Spread. Wanton.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered, dragging the head of his cock through your dripping folds. “Told myself I’d be good. But then you started callin’ me Daddy. And now—fuck, baby—I’m gonna wreck you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe.

One thrust.

One brutal, impossible thrust and he was inside you, bottomed out, thick and hot and everywhere all at once.

You cried out—loud, raw, unfiltered—and he loved it.

“Shhh, now,” Joel purred. “You don’t wanna get caught, do you? You want someone to see me fuckin’ this little pussy? Want someone to know you got your uncle's cock inside you?”

You moaned. Desperate. Aching.

He snapped his hips forward.

The truck rocked under you.

Gas station lights flickered overhead. The radio inside buzzed faintly, muffled by the sound of you being fucked within an inch of your existence.

“God, Joel—please—”

“What? You prayin’ now?” he growled, grabbing the back of your thigh and lifting it higher so he could go deeper. “You think God’s listenin’? Sweetheart, He left the moment you let me push my cock inside you.”

You clenched around him, sobbing out with how fucking full you were.

“You like that?” Joel growled, hips slamming into you over and over. “You like Daddy tellin’ you you’re too far gone to be saved?”

“Yes—yes—I want it—I need it—”

Joel leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice a low snarl.

“I’m gonna cum inside you.”

Your eyes widened.

“You’re gonna sit at dinner tonight with my cum leakin’ out of you while your step daddy Tommy passes you the fuckin’ potatoes and pretends not to see the way you squirm in your seat.”

“Do it,” you begged. “Breed me, Daddy.”

That broke him.

He fucked you so hard the hood of the truck dented. Your thighs bruised beneath his grip. Your nails scraped the metal like claws, your voice rising in pitch with every snap of his hips.

You came so hard your vision whited out, screaming his name—Joel, Daddy, Uncle, whatever it took—as your pussy fluttered around him like it was made to take him, like it was created for the sole purpose of feeling Joel Miller's fucking cock, for taking his cum.

Joel’s hips didn’t stop even after he emptied himself inside you. He stayed deep, grinding into the mess he’d made like he wanted to etch his name inside your womb. You could feel him—still hard, still leaking, still not satisfied.

You whimpered, face pressed to the warm hood of the truck, your legs spread wide and shaking. Every movement sent another hot trickle of him dripping down the inside of your thigh.

“Too much,” you gasped. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

He leaned over you, chest against your back, breath hot against your ear.

“You don’t get to say that,” Joel growled. “Not when you begged for it. Not when you called me Daddy with my cock already buried inside you.”

One of his hands slipped under your shirt and dragged up your belly, sliding rough over your ribs until he palmed your breast, squeezing tight, fingers pinching your nipple until you gasped.

“Now you’re gonna take it.”

He slid out—just enough to watch your pussy flutter and leak—and then slammed back in, all the way to the hilt, feeling your gummy walls constrict tightly around him.

You cried out. It was too much. It was perfect.

Joel moaned behind you, grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise. He didn’t care that you were shaking, that your thighs were already slick with both of your cum, that you were gasping like you were about to cry.

He fucked you anyway.

Hard. Deep. Fast. Dirty.

The truck shook with every thrust. The sound of it—wet and obscene—echoed through the empty parking lot like a prayer in reverse.

“Listen to that,” Joel grunted. “That’s what you wanted, right? That sweet little cunt of yours suckin’ me in. You fuckin’ hear it?”

You were sobbing now, your face pressed to the metal, your body twitching from overstimulation.

“I can’t—Joel—please—”

His hand slapped your ass. “You can. And you will.”

Then he spit on his fingers and reached around, finding your clit like he’d done it a hundred times. Like it was his.

He rubbed tight, brutal circles against it—no patience, no mercy, your little bud tight and sensitive, twitching beneath the pads of his calloused fingers.

“Don’t you dare hold it,” he growled. “Cum on my cock again. Show me just how ruined you really are.”

You couldn’t even speak. You splintered. You came so hard your knees buckled. Your mouth opened in a silent scream. Your pussy clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go.

And Joel—he came again.

Harder this time. With a groan so deep it sounded like a man dying and coming back to life at once. He stayed deep, rutting into you, making sure every drop of him was inside, that none of his spend would go to waste.

You felt it—hot and thick and endless—coating your walls, your thighs, your soul.

And then… stillness.

Heavy breathing.

You, draped over the hood of the truck like a used doll, your body soaked in sweat and slick and shameful satisfaction.

Joel pulled out slow, watching his cum drip from you. A thick string slid down the inside of your leg and he groaned at the sight of it.

He dragged two fingers through the mess and brought them to your mouth.

You opened. You sucked. You tasted everything—him, you, the filth of what you were—and didn’t look away once.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “You're mine now, baby."

You nodded. Smiling like the little sinner you were.

Bent. Fucked. Full. And proud of it.

When you arrived home, you walked into the kitchen, the house loud with the clatter of silverware and family gossip. You could feel Joel's cum thick and hot between your legs, stuffed full, your pussy sore and used and humming with pleasant satisfaction.

You walked inside like a new woman. You were freshly showered- sort of- rinsed off by a hose outside on Joel's orders, while he smoked and watched the way your body moved, told you not to get too clean.

So you didn't.

You were still wearing his flannel. No bra. That pretty cross dangling between your pretty breasts, glistening and glimmering beneath the low light of the old rickety house.

Everyone had seated for lunch. Grandma at the head of the table. Your mother, flushed from wine. Tommy, smiling wide. Cousins, loud and sticky with grape soda and sunscreen. The TV was playing some rerun of an old Baylor football game in the living room. A fly buzzed lazily near the screen door, the ambiance unsettling and homely.

Joel sat across from you at the table, his eyes following every movement you made, watched the exact moment your legs pressed together tightly because you shifted and felt that familiar drip, that tempestuous aftershock of all he had done to you.

He was pounding back Coors and sweet tea, doing anything he could to keep his mind off of you.

Your grandma passed the green beans and muttered something about politics. You tried not to make a sound, until your mamma looked at you with concerned and asked, "you alright, baby? You're awfully quiet."

"I'm fine, Mamma. Just sore."

Joel choked on his lager.

"Sore?" Tommy asked with a blink.

"Yeah." You sighed out innocently, raising your cup to your lips as you sent Joel a challenging glare from behind the brim. "Took a real long ride earlier."

Joel hid a grunt with a cough, loud and rough. He dropped his fork and stood up from the table, muttering about taking a smoke break, his face the vision of a man who wasn't sure if he were about to hit someone or fuck you again- and you weren't sure which it would be.

He looked at you. Hard. You grinned, slowly chewing on a spoonful of cobbler, watching as he walked out.

You waited for a bit. Got swept up in the conversation about football and politics and how crazy the world was getting.

You set your fork down after a while, following the blazing trail that Joel had left in his wake.

You found him on the back porch, cigarette lit, a hand in his pocket. The setting sun painted him in gold and ash, air heavy with tension and cicadas and everything you hadn't said.

He didn't turn around. He took a long, heavy drag, finally speaking. "This can't happen again."

You stepped closer, pressed your chest to his back, slid your arms around his waist- you swore he leaned in to it, tilted his head back every so slightly, like a broken man who hadn't been touched like that in years.

"Sure it can."

"No, it can't. You're-Tommy... you're-"

"Doesn't really matter." You hummed.

Joel turned, fast, eyes wild and mouth tense.

"You don't get it- I can't... hold back. Not with you."

"Yeah, I'm kinda counting on that, Joel."

There was a long silence, loud with singing crickets and your heartbeat and every broken thing that the both of you were.

But then?

He kissed you. Soft this time- but it wasn't safe, it never was, it never would be. It tasted like the end of something, like the beginning of something even worse.

Joel pulled back just enough to whisper, "you're gonna be the death of me."

And you smiled, tasting him on your tongue. "Maybe."

You glanced over your shoulder, through the screen door. Lunch was in full swing. Grandma rambling, Tommy laughing, Mamma pouring more wine- everything was normal. Everything was fine.

And none of them knew. Not yet, hopefully never.

You leaned in close, grabbing Joel's hand, your lips pretty against his ear, "but you'll die happy."

[galexystern]

Baby

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+

A/N: Yeah so I am just in a Dr Robby mood and I probably will be for a while.

Every now and then, Robby texted you to meet him for coffee while the Pitt was suspiciously calm. Sometimes, he came to your office for a quick kiss and snatched one of the candies from the jar on your desk. But this was a little different.

Meet me in call room 3 in about 10 minutes.

So you finished up the note you were scribing in a patient’s chart and headed downstairs. You entered the on-call room slowly, peeking in to make sure nobody was occupying it. When you found it empty, you stepped in and shut the door behind you. The room had a twin-sized bed, a bedside table with a lamp, and a full-length mirror. You’ve spent many nights in one of these rooms, usually when a blizzard crosses Pennsylvania, rendering it dangerous to travel home. You sat on the edge of the bed, switching the lamp on to bring some warm light into the dark room.

The door creaked open, and Robby carefully slid through before closing it again. “Hey, stranger.” He whispered. He didn’t make his way over to you like you had expected him to.

You smiled and tilted your head. “Hey. Why are we in here?” You asked, not sure of what he had in mind.

Robby stood tall in front of the door, nearly rivaling its height. His gold chain glimmered in the low light of the room as he shifted his weight on his feet. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet or so…timid? His eyes moved from you to the ground.

You furrowed your brow and stood to meet him. “Baby, are you okay?” You asked, reaching your hands to the collar of his worn hoodie.

Robby just nodded, but you could see on his face that the gears in his brain were turning. Like he was actively planning what to say. You rubbed soothing circles on his broad chest, something you did whenever he had a panic attack or trouble speaking. After what seemed like hours, he broke the silence.

“Do you want to have my baby?”

Your hand froze in place on his chest. The wind was knocked out of you. All you could do was stare at your boyfriend in the low glow of the room and blink. You and Robby had been dating for a year and a half. In secret. Nobody within the hospital, especially the administration, knew about it. And he wanted to have a baby? The most public thing a couple could do aside from a big white wedding? Sure, you had come to terms with the fact that you were dating an older man who may be past that point in his life. But even though you wanted it deep down, you never expected him to bring it up. You always assumed it would be a happy accident and-

“I’m not going to ask you again.” Robby’s voice cut through the silence, and you couldn’t quite place the tone.

You took in a breath, realizing you had been holding it this entire time. “You want a baby?” Was all you could whisper.

Robby nodded and scratched the back of his neck, his nervous tick. “I’ve been…thinking about it. For a while now. But I just didn’t know how to say it.” He explained, looking away from your eyes. “We had a patient this morning who was…of my century.” He began, and the edges of your lips curled into a small grin at his storytelling. “He had his wife and two young daughters with him. He kept thanking me over and over because we saved his life. He kept talking about how happy he was to have his daughters, even that late in his life. And…”

You tilted your head so that your eyes met his line of vision. “And?”

He reached up and grasped your hand that still rested on his chest. “And I want that with you. I want to have a family with you, I want to watch our kids go off to college. If I wait any longer, I might not be able to see them go to high school.” He continued. 

You felt tears prick your eyes as he spoke. You squeezed his hand tightly and let out a breathy laugh. “I want that, too.” You whispered.

Robby smiled slowly, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes. “You do?” He asked.

You grinned and placed your hands on either side of his face. “Yes, Robby. Michael. I really want it.” You assured him, and the tears fell down your cheeks.

Robby grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in close for a kiss. Your hands slid to his peppered hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss was firm and passionate but quickly progressed to one of need. Robby shoved your white coat off your shoulders and tossed it to the bed. You pulled away slightly to laugh at him. 

“Oh, are we doing this now?” You teased.

Robby grinned and unzipped his hoodie, giving it the same fate as your white coat. “Oh, absolutely.” He said before pulling you back in.

He left hot, wet kisses on your mouth that slowly trailed down your neck, dragging his teeth along your soft skin. You felt your skin prickle and shoved your hands under his scrub top, running your fingers across his decently toned abdomen. His hands moved to your ass, and he tapped the back of your thigh, signaling you to jump up. You grabbed his neck and hopped to wrap your legs around his waist. He securely carried you to the bed and laid your body down. He snatched at your scrub bottoms, pulling your panties down with them in one quick motion. While you threw your top off, he removed his.

You pulled him back, relishing the sensation of his burning hot skin on yours. He returned to kissing your lips, your neck, and anything he could get access to while his hand slid down to brush over your core. His fingers barely touched your sopping wet pussy, and he chuckled. “Oh, is all this for me? So I can fuck a baby into you?”

You shuddered at his words and swallowed hard. “Yes.” You managed to say, grasping his shoulders tightly as he teased your entrance.

“Then let’s stretch you out.” He said before shoving one finger into your pussy.

Even that alone made your toes curl and back arch. You shook your head. “No, I want you now.” You pleaded.

Robby shook his head and started playing with your clit with his thumb. “No, love. It takes three before you’re ready. Don’t rush it.” He reminded you.

You squirmed in frustration, wanting more but knowing he was right. He added a second finger, and your walls squeezed around the added diameter. “Robby, please. Please, please let me have you.” You begged.

Robby reached for the drawstrings on his scrub pants and pulled them. “You’re almost there. You’re being such a good girl for me.” He assured.

Your eyes watched his hands pull his pants down and revealed his boxers struggling to suppress his massive cock. You let out a shaky breath as Robby began to tease your slits with the third finger. When it sank in, you squeezed your eyes shut in blissful pain. “Oh, God, Robby. Please.” And you don’t really know what you were begging for this time. Because you knew what was next.

Robby pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the otherwise silent room. “I know, I know. You’re almost ready.” He soothed, pressing a kiss against your temple.

The sweat was already beading at your neck. You reached for the outline of his cock in his boxers and wrapped your hand around what you could. Robby let out a hiss as you slowly rubbed the fabric, creating a friction that he was craving. He finally picked you up with his free arm and sat you down in his lap, back to his chest. He shoved his boxers down and spit on his hand, rubbing the saliva on his own cock for extra lubricant.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as he continued to finger you, letting out pitiful sounds of frustration. Robby kissed your shoulder and reached for your face. He adjusted your head to look straight at the wall. In front of you was the full length mirror that came with every on-call room. You were met with the reflection of Robby fingering you open, with his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You’re gonna watch while I fuck this baby in you. You understand?” He growled low in your ear.

You shuddered and nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You swallowed hard, trying to adjust to his three fingers pumping in and out of you. “Yes sir.” You breathed.

And with your answer, Robby replaced his fingers with his cock. He slowly pushed into you, one hand on your lower stomach as he did. You just knew he could feel himself pushing deeper and deeper until he maxed out. Tears fell from your eyes as he stretched you open. 

“Fuck, baby.” You hissed.

Robby didn’t move, and let you adjust to his length. He brushed the hair out of your eyes and peppered kisses along your cheek and neck. “Shhh…you’re doing so good, love. It’s almost over.” He whispered.

Your hands reached back behind you, grasping the back of his neck. The pain began to slowly neutralize, and your labored breaths were more steady. You gave him a small nod to keep going. Robby grabbed your hips and slowly pulled out, releasing the tension in your pussy, just to slam back in ruthlessly. If you had been at home, you would have screamed bloody murder, but all you could do was bite into your bottom lip. Robby repeated his motions, slowly out, pounding back in, creating a steadily faster rhythm. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and the sight in the mirror was too much. Robby fucking you relentlessly, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, the glint from his gold chain glaring off the reflection. You grabbed his biceps and squeezed tightly. “Robby, I-” You tried to say. “I’m gonna come.” 

Robby let out a breathy laugh, maintaining his bruising pace. “That’s right, love. Come for me.” He whispered.

You felt the white hot burning in your stomach explode across your body, walls pulsating around his cock and lubricating even more. Robby continued to whisper a string of praises as you went limp in his arms. He held you up, continuing to pound into you at the same unrelenting pace, but you could tell that he was beginning to falter. With a few more thrusts, he emptied himself into your pussy, grunting as he did. You could feel each rope of cum burst inside you as he finished, and you felt a new excitement in your chest that you never had before.

When Robby was able to catch his breath, he turned your face to kiss your lips gently. “I hope you have a few more minutes before your next appointment.” He said. “Because we’re gonna sit here until I know you’re pregnant.”

[galexystern]

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

[galexystern]

the hot, flirty resident curse

summary: Dr. Frank Langdon just sustained the luckiest on-the-job injury ever.

cw: 2.8k words, nurse!reader/OC, friends to lovers, i started writing this before 1.10 so we're gonna say it's a "1.10 never happened"AU 😭, single dad frank, i made him probably more respectful than he actually is but nurses deserve the entire world so they're getting that too!!!, go hug a nurse rn, brief injury/knife ment, definite inappropriate behavior for a hospital, fem reader/OC.

a/n: drug theft???? what drug theft????

(gif cred)

The “break room” was busy today. Dozens of nurses hustling in and out of the dimly-lit, stale-smelling, and nowhere near big enough lounge. The microwave never could heat her leftovers to a degree that was actually pleasurable for human consumption, so she picked around her butter chicken with a sigh. 

Only three hours left. She could have waited to eat dinner, but the promise of thirty uninterrupted minutes where she would not be yelled at by patients’ families or ordered around by some of the more pompous assholes she worked wi–

Speak of the devil, and he’ll stick his head into the nurse’s lounge, catch sight of you trying to enjoy a moment of peace, and yell, “HEY! Hey, you, Lululemon!” Her eye twitched. The black Define that she was wearing was her favorite. She did not turn to look at what she knew to be one of the new interns that started last week. He scoffed in frustration. “Yoohoo!”

“I have a name,” she said calmly, evenly. The butter chicken now held a lot of interest for her.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know it! How do I get to Imaging from here?” Her knuckles turned white around the plastic fork she was using, and she started to turn and read this greenie the riot act, but someone beat her to the punch.

A hand appeared from behind the intern (she realized with a little chuckle that she didn’t know his name either) and smacked him soundly upside the head. “What the FUCK?!” he cried. Dr. Langdon pushed him out of the lounge and down the hall.

“You will show respect to the nurses of this hospital if you want to continue working here, got it?” Langdon called after him. The kid muttered something snotty, she assumed, and she saw him amble away like a dog with its tail between its legs. “Sorry about him,” Langdon apologized. He hung on the door frame for a minute and chewed his lip. Her hand that wasn’t holding the fork searched for something to do, landing on smoothing down the hair that was already pulled into a perfect bun. “Kid’s an asshat.”

“I’ve known a few of those in my time here,” she joked, and Langdon grinned. She dropped the fork. “There was this one guy…Langdumb, or something like that. He was insufferable.” Langdon gave her an exasperated look that made her laugh and say, “But he’s much better now.” The exasperation was replaced with an angelic beam. 

“Well, thanks for saying that. Some days, I wonder,” he said, then rubbed the back of his neck. She pouted in sympathy without realizing she was doing it. Langdon laughed. It was a little gravelly and when he smiled, he showed off each of his straight, white teeth. Her heart hammered at the ribcage prison bars that held it hostage.

Residents had a reputation. Of course they did; they’d toiled away in thankless obscurity for four years as medical students, so it only made sense that at the first opportunity they had to stretch their newly-educated legs, it would go straight to their head. She remembered Langdon being somewhat of a douche himself as a first-year, always correcting nurses and, on one occasion he later apologized profusely for, disregarding an order Dr. Robby had given for a patient to be intubated. Langdon had been correct in his estimation, thank God, but Robby had berated him in that terrifying, humiliating, cool as a cucumber way that he always did. She had been assigned to that patient at the time, and the memory of Robby quietly seething at Langdon in the corner of the hospital room still made her cheeks hot. That had been what finally whipped Langdon into shape.

Some residents also had a reputation for certain, seedier behaviors. There weren’t enough fingers or toes on the planet on which to count how many times some new hotshot had hit on her, usually opting to do so through negging and second-guessing her work, like she would be tripping over herself to go out on a date with the grown man tugging her pigtails on the playground. The kid Langdon had shoved down the hall was no doubt on his way to do something similar to the first nurse distracted enough to walk across his eyeline.

 Dr. Langdon had no such reputation for flirtiness, and he had never made any sort of advance to her. Thank goodness. It was nice to have a friend in a slightly higher place than her.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what’s going on for you, Dr. Frank?”

“Quit calling me Dr. Frank, especially in front of patients.” He rolled his eyes. “That puts a whole ‘Dr. Phil’ image in their heads and I hate it.”

“Oh I’m glad you mentioned that…” She turned in her chair to face him fully and seriously. “My teen has been drinking at parties and my husband is an absent father,” she said, face grave.

Frank adopted a Southern drawl and put his finger above his lip to simulate a moustache. “You have gawt to send that child to military school, it is the only waaay.” They giggled. Frank’s pager went off and he pulled it off his waistband to read it. “Shit, gotta run. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he ordered sternly, a frown creasing his pretty forehead.

Pretty forehead? Fuck is wrong with you? She admonished herself without mercy while she went through the motions of undressing and redressing the various beds in the Pitt for the rest of her shift. It was not a desirable duty to be stuck with. Luckily, it was a slow day in the ED by ED standards, with only two ambulance visits and a quiet trickle of less urgent cases admitted from the waiting room, so she had ample time to think about the piece of hair that was always falling in Frank’s bright blue eyes when he was working, and the way Frank cackled any time he cleaned up on one of his and Mateo’s college basketball bets, and Frank…

God, you’d think I had a thing for this guy, she mused to herself, slipping a pillow into its fresh case. Do not fall for the evil Hot Flirty Resident Curse. It might be a canon event for some nurses, but not for her. No, sir, she had her head on her shoulders more than that. 

Didn’t matter if Frank wore a kitschy, clunky little bracelet, beaded with love by one of his daughters, every day. Didn’t matter if Frank spoke with the utmost respect about his ex-wife whenever the topic came up. Didn’t matter if he had once placed his hand on her lower back to steer her towards the patient’s room that he had needed her assistance with, and that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Didn’t matter if Frank–

–was knocking gently on the door of the room she now stood, motionless, in and asking, “Hey, did you see Mrs. Horowitz getting discharged?”

“Mrs. H-Horo–?” Her tongue felt about ten inches thick as she tried to remember which patient he was talking about and how to move her feet like a normal person. 

“The low blood sugar.”

“Oh, right.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, making her realize she hadn’t answered the question. She wished a hole would open up in the speckled tile and swallow her. “Yes, I saw her checking out with Dana at central an hour or so ago,” she said. Ok, got it all out without stammering. This was just Frank; why was her brain foggy and making it impossible to speak to a man she’d always just thought of as a coworker? Her favorite coworker, sure. The highlight of her day? Also sure, but it wasn’t…She pulled a face that mirrored her thoughts before she could stop herself.

Frank thanked her, then paused on his way out of the room again. 

“Uh..are you done for the day?” he asked, and a glance at her watch told her that yes, she was three minutes past being done.

“I could stick around for a bit,” she shrugged with all the nonchalance in the world. “Need help with something?” Frank shook his head, a tiny smirk she would have missed if she hadn’t been staring too hard at his mouth flickering around his lips. 

“No, no worries, head home! I can totally just grab someone–” 

“No!” She tried to play it cool with a chuckle and threw the pillow she was still holding down on the bed. “Let me help. What is it?”

Frank sighed and yanked his right sleeve up to show her his shoulder, and all the mortification that had been comfortably fading away in his presence came back in full force. She stared dumbly for a few seconds before he turned a degree to his left and she caught sight of the ugly, crimson gash that ran from the back of his tricep to the top of his shoulder. “Jesus, Frank! Mention this shit first!” she cried, rushing to him. “What happened?” 

He grimaced. “Turned my back for one second and a patient grabbed the scalpel off my tray and slashed. I’m angrier about the scrubs, to be honest. FIGS ain’t cheap.” He plopped himself down on the bed and looked up at her. “It’s not bad, really, I just can’t reach it to dress it myself. Would you mind?”

No, Man Who is Colloquially Referred to Around the Hospital as Dr. Dreamboat, no, I would not mind patching you up even a bit. She cleared her throat, trying to muster all her calm and competence, and said, “I’m not sure this hospital accepts your insurance, Mr. Langdon.” Frank grinned while pulling his sleeve up once more and holding it in place so she could access the wound.

“My work,” he groaned. “They got me on the worst plan possible. Acts of God are about the only thing they cover, so if anyone asks, God stabbed me.”

Her laugh surprised her. It wasn’t nervous; it was loud and probably obnoxious and it made Frank beam even more widely. She dashed over to the nurse’s supply station and requisitioned a wound care kit. When she reentered the room, she was horrified to discover that Frank had given up on holding his scrub shirt out of the way and had opted to pull the whole thing off. He was, thank heaven, wearing a white tank undershirt, and sat waiting for her expectantly. She took the second before he realized she had reentered the room to ogle as much as her professionalism and casual friendship would allow.

The sound of the alcohol swab’s packaging tearing echoed through the awkwardly quiet room. “Is it gonna hurt?” Frank whispered, making his eyes huge. She wanted to tell him to shut up.

“Shut up, just stay still,” she said, more thankful than she’d ever been that there was a layer of blue latex between her and the person she was patching’s skin. Using quick, dabbing motions to hide her trembling hands worked better than she had hoped. Frank got bored and started fidgeting after about 20 seconds. She had once told him that he needed four more letters added to his MD title: ADHD. It had been the hardest she’d ever seen him laugh, until, of course, he got distracted by something brightly colored in the distance.

He blew a puff of air from his lips and looked around the room. “Soo. Any plans tonight?”

“I was supposed to give the keynote speech at the Annual Best Nurses in the Universe Banquet, but my friend needed help putting a band-aid on, so I missed it,” she deadpanned absently, while opening the bandage and aligning it over the wound. “Are you worried about infection?”

“Not anymore, ‘cause the best nurse in the universe fixed me up real good,” he simpered. He batted his eyelashes up at her and she snorted to hide the smile that she couldn’t stop from appearing. “Um, well, anyway…” Frank began, but then trailed off. His tone had changed. 

She was almost scared to ask, “What?” Her fingers smoothed over the bandage, adhering it flush to his arm, and tried to ignore the way she felt every ridge and groove of him. Or maybe she was memorizing.

Frank coughed and shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t working on. “Just…if you ever do have a free night, I mean, after work. Or not!”

She frowned. Whatever he was rambling about took a backseat while she made quick work of cleaning off the tray of supplies. “Again, what?” Her grocery order would be ready for pickup in ten minutes, and she didn’t want to miss the window by getting stuck in the parking garage with the rest of the mass day-shift exodus.

“Jesus, do you wanna go out with me?” Her eyebrows shot skyward as she whipped around to face him. “I’m sorry!” He immediately jumped up. “I wasn’t snapping at you, I mean, I was snapping, for sure, but at myself because I couldn’t just…cough it up. It’s taken me, what, like three years?”

He had a sheepish look on his face, and couldn’t seem to hold eye contact with her anymore. Three years. Three years? Three years was how long she had known him. Every last drop of nerve, embarrassment, confusion, attraction all threatened to bubble up in her stomach. She slammed the tray down on the counter next to the sink. 

The reality of her feelings finally hit her full force, and she decided to acknowledge them for the first time in front of that serial stabber God and Frank and everyone: “I think I really like you, Frank.” It was easier than she could have imagined to say it, at last. Especially now, that he’d gone and taken their flirting to its natural conclusion. 

“Well I know I really like you,” he replied, a grin spreading as rapidly as the elation that was filling her chest so tight she thought she might start floating away.

“You fucking doctors, you always have to come out on top, don’t you?”

Frank reached for her hand from the bed and tugged her to him. She stood between his legs, which were dangling off the bed, kicking back and forth like a kid who just got told that school would be ending three hours early on the sunniest afternoon of the year. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered up at her, his blue eyes a lot softer than his tone was suggesting, and she swatted him on the forehead for being so presumptuous before leaning down and kissing the stupid smile straight off his lips. Langdon groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down and onto the bed. 

“Shit, we–” It was hard to get words out when Frank chased after her lips every time she pulled them away. And she had never been good at saying no to him. “We really should not be doing this in here.”

He agreed by putting his hand on the back of her head so he could kiss her even more deeply. “Definitely shouldn’t,” he hummed into her mouth. “Could get caught. Could get fired.” Frank pulled away fully and she took the opportunity to gulp down some air into her neglected and giddy lungs. “Wait, will you still go out with me if I’m not a doctor?” “I’d rather you were ortho, but–”

“Don’t piss me off, baby.” But they were both giggling the same, stupid way they did when they exchanged jokes and insults. Only this time, she was kneeling on one leg in front of him on a freshly-made hospital bed, her other leg slung over his, his strong hand resting on the back of her thigh. Her heart was pounding at a wild rhythm she was not familiar with, and when Frank placed his hands on her waist and pulled her even more flush against his chest, she felt his beating similarly. “I’ve already taken off like half my clothes,” he murmured. “Should we just round up and get rid of the rest?” 

“Definitely not,” she admonished through a laugh. “At least take me to get some jello or something first.” Suddenly, she was pushed off his lap and back to a standing position, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s after being folded under her so awkwardly. Frank tugged his scrub shirt back over his head and rose from the bed as well.

“Jello sounds really fucking good right now, good call,” he said, eyes already focused out the door and mapping the quickest route to the cafeteria. She wanted to laugh and cry and put blinders on the hyperactive physician so he kept kissing her until one or both of them died, but she opted instead to push that one strand of hair (the 90’s Leo one, she would later refer to it as) out of his eyes and said,

“You are insufferable.”

Frank shrugged. He grabbed her hand in his, loosely locking their fingers together and leading her out of the room. Her grocery order seemed like the least pressing matter in the world. “You love it!”

She kinda did.

masterlist

[galexystern]

fictional men who get heart eyes the first time they fuck you because it's the best pussy they've ever had

[galexystern]

gator tillman makes a desperate phone call to the pretty girl who's been blowing up his cell and ends up getting a surprise when her sister answers on the other line instead. 1.9k words.

tw: sexual content 18+ minors dni, gator tillman's embarrassing inner monologue, reader has tits and a vagina, phone sex, (actually very mean) insults, dirty talk, degradation kink, m masturbation. no description of reader, though it's implied she's not gator's typical type.

overnight patrols. easily the most mundane shifts to be put on, and currently gator's punishment for whatever idiotic shit he did to piss his dad off this time.

under the cover of darkness, hidden out in his cruiser, under a tree well out of the way of his fathers latest operation (as he was warned to be), gator almost chokes on the cool ranch dorito he ungracefully shoved in his mouth before opening his snapchat.

nara vincent's perky tits stare back at him from the dimly lit blue light of his phone screen. she's cute, a little dumb, and eager to please, but holy shit she's bangin'. her cherry chapstick-laden lips curl up into a coy, barely seen smile behind her cleavage she's kindly squished together under the push of her forearms. her nipples peaked like she'd been playing with them, and fuck.

gator's head spins, mind racing at a million miles a goddamn second as he thinks about nara running the pads of her fingers over her sensitive nipples, playing with herself for him. over him, even. it'd been a while, she'd not come over for a week on account of his dad scaring her off with his presence the last time, and gator would take any crumb he could get.

the palm of his hand comes down to rub at the semi he's fast sporting in his baggy camo pants, pressing just right on the shaft in a pathetic attempt to tame it. if anything, the touch of his hand makes it worse, hips rolling up into his palm like some sort of pathetic virgin, and he groans tightly at the feeling. head thumping back against the seat, neck bared under the moonlight.

he'd been warned before by the squad, told to stop taking girls into the cruiser, stop doing shit he shouldn't on duty. but he's weak, so fucking weak, and he wants to hear this girl gasp pretty and talk him through fucking his fist, just to take the edge off until he can snake his hands under her pretty pink dress again.

it's not against the rules, right? not if nobody's gonna find out.

he's calling her number before he can even think twice about it, his cock taking over from his brain and doing the walking.

his phone is wedged between his cheek and shoulder, smushed under the tight grip as he grapples quickly with his pants. strong thighs lifting from the warm leather of the cruisers' seat, helping ease the way to shove the offending fabric down his legs, below the knee.

it's maybe premature. she might not even answer. but he justifies himself with silent affirmation - that he's a young, red blooded american man. so he gets hard and desperate quick, who his age didn't?

his cock hangs heavy against his hairy thigh under it's own weight, flushed red at the tip and threatening to leak. gator can't even look as the phone continues to ring, can't bare to put a hand on himself until he hears nara's voice on the line.

"tillman." your dulcet tone filters through his speakers, and gator finds himself not completely losing his chub.

which. either means his brain is broken or he really is that desperate to get off.

"nara there?"

"she's in the shower, gator. i'll make sure not to tell her you called."

shower. fuck, she's in the shower. his cock throbs, jerking against his leg eagerly. images of soapy tits, rivulets of water clinging to plains of soft, smooth skin, have gator gripping the base of his cock tightly. the half-mast quickly, and pathetically, springing to full attention.

his frustration gets the better of him as he roughly fists the base of his dick, eyes rolling into the back of his head from fighting the urge to spit into his palm and rub one out, "jealousy's showing, hon. not her fault your phone isn't ringin' on a friday night."

your breathy, witchy cackle catches him off guard, sounding delightfully vulgar and, dare he say, sexy?

he needed to hang up the fucking phone. he was clearly having an aneurysm, because no way in hell were you his kind of sexy.

absolutely not.

yet-

"tillman, if all the men in this town are like you then i'm glad my phone is silent."

gator's previous barely-there thought goes out the window.

"wha's that supposed to mean? what am i like?" gator huffs, shoulders squaring a little. cock still comically squeezed tight in the fist of his hand.

you huff an unamused sigh, the eye roll almost audible over the staticky line, "you're a corrupt pig, for a start."

gator feels his lip turn up in a snarl, tries in vain to ignore the way his cock throbs at the nonchalant insult, "now wait just a minute-"

"am i wrong? i don't think i am." your tone changes, almost like you're amused by the shotgun reaction you received from that jibe, "not to mention you're easy. dumb as a bag of fucking rocks, too."

the prickles of heat that shoot up gator's spine at the jabs throw him off-kilter, his brain going offline completely.

dumb as a bag of fucking rocks ping-pongs in his head as he silently curls in on himself to spit directly over the head of his dick. his hooded eyes watching the way he works his hand over himself, getting him nice and wet.

"keep goin', since you think you know everythin'," gator's voice is breathy, completely giving him away even as he tries so hard to keep his tone neutral. he shudders, back arching off the leather seat as he finally, fucking finally, starts tugging himself off.

it's a new low, and he'll admit it once it's over and he's covered in his own cum.

"i know more than you, that's for fucking sure." you deadpan, and he pictures you picking lazily at your nails in boredom, legs crossed as you swing in the chair nara has at her desk, probably wearing those torn-up fishnets you always have on, with that short leather skirt your ass usually almost hangs out of and oh fuck-

gator presses his thumb into the glans at the head of his dick, skull thumping back against the headrest as he gives in to his thoughts of you, how you'd look bouncing on him and taking control, jesus fucking christ, he couldn't even respond to you, mouth running completely fucking dry.

"you dirty little perv, are you jacking off right now?" you gasp in mock offence, "you're disgusting, you know that? a real piece of work."

gator's body runs hot at your words, eyes squeezing shut as he works his palm over his leaking tip, using it to lube up his shaft and ease the way further, "disgusting, i'm disgusting."

he's agreeing before he can even stop it, letting his mouth run away from him as he gives into the pleasure of his own hand. he's soaked, fingers coated with a mix of his own fluids, hand stripping his cock painfully tight.

he can fucking hear how obscene it sounds in the cocoon of the cruiser, there's no way you can't hear it down the line, lewd and vile and oh god, this was really doing it for him.

"holy fuck." your words come out in a gasp, incredulous and still obnoxiously self-assured, "you like that, tillman? being told what you really are? a little creep who jacks off to his girlfriends sister?"

"not my girlfriend." he whines, pathetic and labored, "m'a fucking creep, your voice is sexy, ngh."

you laugh again, louder this time, "you're sick, y'know that? a sick little freak."

"hang up the phone then," his words have zero bite, breathy with how worked up he is, "hang up on me. leave me hangin'. it's- 's fine, we can, fuck, forget about it."

"where's the fun in that?" the nonchalance in your voice is infuriatingly sexy, the amused lilt driving gator crazy, "tell me freak, is it just my voice or are you thinkin' about me too?"

he is. he's thinking about you. nara is everything you aren't, proper and sweet, almost innocent. you're self-assured and confident, vulgar and unashamed. where you're black, she's white. where she's fire, you're ice. yet he's thinking about tearing your fishnets apart at the cunt, sinking into your tight heat instead of hers, and that's a fucking revelation.

you're a sin, everything his daddy hates. everything he himself hates, even. and it makes you all the more desirable, a fire lit in gator's gut as he sloppily tugs at his cock, thinking about how it'd feel to push into you bare.

how it would feel to wreck you and shut you the fuck up. make those words die in your throat as he railed you within an inch of your life.

"silence says it all, gator. that just makes this all the more sad." your voice comes across pouty, like you feel sorry for him, "how does it feel? dreaming about a pussy you'll never get to touch?"

"i'll get it, that's a promise," gator whines, hips punching up into his fist on a particularly nice upstroke, chasing for more, "i always get what i w-want."

"not this time," you coo, "you can picture and dream about it all you want, though. think about me sinking my fingers into my tight pussy, opening myself up for some other guy's big cock."

he- he cannot think about that. think about you stretching yourself out, all glistening wet and dripping down your palm and inner wrist, writhing and moaning, because fuck he's gonna cum and it's gonna be embarrassing.

"it'll be me. i'll fuckin' rearrange your guts 'n ruin you," the slick, constant pass of gator's hand over his cock begins to stutter, mind racing with thoughts of you, you, you.

"i'll tell you what, lets play pretend," the smile in your voice is apparent at this point, evil and cunning, "oh my god, gator! fuck, right there, right there, y'r so fucking big i can't take it! harder, harder!"

it's. it's meant to be a fucking joke but hearing your high pitched, wanton moaning does it for gator, has his gut running hot as he cants his hips up and cums in thick ropes all over his fist, painting his skin with his own spend.

your gasp sounds real this time, even in his ringing ears as you take in the guttural moans he emits when he wrings himself dry to the sound of your voice.

"christ, tillman," your voice is spacey, the dry click of your throat apparent, "jesus. hate to admit it but that was pretty fucking hot."

"yeah?" he sounds like his vocal cords have been shredded by a damn cheese grater.

"yeah, i- oh fuck," you're cut off abruptly and the line goes completely dead.

gator's brows furrow, etches of confusion on his face when the silence takes over and he's left in the aftermath of what just happened, a mess all over his hand and thighs.

he's in the middle of cleaning up with an embarrassing amount of burger king napkins when his phone flashes, your name pinging up on the screen next to the stupid snapchat ghost.

gator feels an immense sense of accomplishment when not even three days later he's got you on your belly in the back seats, ass and legs out the open door of the cruiser as he fucks you senseless, gets to coax those desperate moans out of you for real like he promised he would.

[galexystern]

just for tonight | S.H.

Summary: You and Steve can't stand each other. You always jump at each other's throats whenever you are together. You have set a goal during his birthday party, but you didn't think it would work.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f! reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v (protected sex), oral (m receiving), choking kink, fingering, (sort of) aftercare, a little bit of angst

Word count: 4.6k

-`♡´-

If there's something Steve hates the most besides hating you, it's the fact that Robin insisted you should come to his birthday party. And he insisted it was his birthday, and you would ruin it if you were there. He wasn't wrong, though. You made his life a living hell simply for the fun of it, but he would always make sure he did the same.

And there you were, holding the same scowl on your face as he does. Whenever he had to walk past you in his big apartment, he would try to avoid your gaze, but deep inside he wanted to show you how much he despised your presence. You couldn't give a shit about him, completely ignoring his existence as you were drinking your Piña Colada while talking to Eddie about something random.

At some point, you started to notice how Steve would go back and forth. While you were sitting in the stool of his living room with Robin and Nancy, you would notice he would stand there and huff. Now you try to pretend you're not listening to him as you look straight forward, but your left ear perks up when you listen to what he's saying. He's complaining he has been turned down twice until now. You try to hold back a snort and sip on your drink to avoid that to happen.

Pretty, golden kissed skin, perfect sat hair on his head and muscled Steve Harrington was complaining he was being denied. Twice. You thought your night wasn't going to be good at all, but the sight of him with pouty lips as he talks to his girl friends, it was worth getting out.

You lost count on how many drinks you had, you already smoked weed with Eddie, who drank more beers than he could count as well. Argyle was also in a funny state of drunkenness. You were dancing with both girls too, bumping a few times into each other as the alcohol traveled through your system. You're in a daze as you swing your body to the music, barely keeping your feet steady and Eddie has to hold your waist a few times so you won't fall on your face. You laugh at it all.

You laugh even more when you watch from afar while a girl rips herself from Steve's grip and gives him an apologetic nod, before turning her back to him. He turns his head directly at Robin, who's dancing beside you, and it's enough for him to notice you were watching all of it as well. This time, you snort and cackle. You laugh so hard, there's no reason to hide it. He rolls his eyes and walks towards you, his hands balled into fists as his face holds a scowl again.

"Is it all amusing to you?" His face gets closer to yours, his eyes are kind of blown from the weed he also smoked.

You sipped on your drink, nonchalant, and shrugged. "Well, I just think it's funny how king Steve can't seem to score on his birthday"

Robin tries scolding you with a warning look on her face.

"It's okay, Steve! Someone will like you!" She comforts him with a gentle look. Her hand rubbed his shoulder.

He's actually still shooting daggers at you, mouth closed on a thin line. His chest is kind of puffed because he feels like his body is rigid from his anger.

"You should just stop being such a brat. This is my house. Go find something better to do" He scans you up and down with disdain over his eyes and you just hold your gaze at him.

And you did.

But you never intended to stop looking his way to make sure he wasn't getting a girl. And it's not like there were many options, because it wasn't a big party anyway. You complained to Eddie about the way Steve talked to you, and he laughed it off.

He was being annoying too. He would try at all costs to bump into you whenever he got closer. Steve was trying to get on your nerves just so you could feel what it's like. And when you were left alone for a moment, he would send you this taunting sly smirk. When you were leaving his bathroom, you were caught off guard when his sudden shadow made its presence in the hallway. He passed by you, shoving his shoulder against yours when he made his way to the bedroom.

Back to the living room, when you were all dancing, he made sure he would hit his back against yours, making you stumble forward. It was getting really infuriating. You looked back over your shoulder, just to catch him mouthing a forced "sorry" with another smile. Then something switched inside of you. You weren't getting guys either, but because you didn't want to. So you decided there would be a goal tonight.

You placed both hands over Eddie's shoulders and danced to the music. You swayed your hips to the rhythm, sliding down until you were almost crouched. Your dress rode up a little, showing a little more of your skin. He was flabbergasted to see you dancing like that out of nowhere.

You stood up and kept swinging your hips left and right. Turning on your back to your friend, you couldn't help but notice how Steve's eyes would divert whenever you caught him looking. You smirked. It was working. You then moved to Robin, dancing on your back to her as she placed her hands on your hips, dancing in sync with you. You dropped your head back, leaning against her shoulder, biting your lip.

"Yeah, honey. Whoo!" She gripped your skin through the fabric and grazed your stomach.

You and Robin were always too touchy and sometimes it made people think you had a thing. Steve included. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat, growing impatient as he saw the way she was holding your ribs, fingers touching the curve of your breasts. He tried to focus on his other friends, but it was too hard when you were looking at him that way.

He waved it off, reminding himself why he hated you, why he despised you. He remembered why he didn't invite you even then, you were forced to come because of your friends. But the thought of ripping off the material and sucking on your skin was making him become annoyed.

You were twerking with Robin and Eddie, your ass bouncing to the music. Your hips rolling as your legs are tangled to Eddie's. He doesn't care if you look hot, you're like a sister to him and it's hard for him to actually sexualize you. They knew what you were doing by now. They were catching sight of Steve holding his glass of whisky tightly. Your eyes drifted to him a few times, and your tongue would slip between your fingers in a cocky way. He knew that.

There was no one in the kitchen. You went looking for a beer as the buzz of all the drinks you had was too much now. There were too many empty bottles spread through the sink, along with the bottles of booze. A few snacks were on top of the kitchen island. You were too absorbed into your own thoughts as you ate the food and sipped on your newfound beer. You didn't see when Steve came right behind you.

His frame caged you between the kitchen island, while towering over you. His big hand found your hip and he swung you around, your faces barely touching as your eyes widened. He wasn't scowling, but his brows were furrowed and his lips were pursed.

"What?" You ask in confrontation, his arms leaning against the furniture behind you. "What? You're frustrated no one would fuck you on your birthday?"

Steve didn't answer you, rather, he chuckled with sarcasm. You watched as he shook his head, looking down. When he looked up at you, one of his hands flew up to your face, he was gripping your jawline almost forcefully.

"You know it sounds like you're just jealous, right? It seems to me you wish you were the one I was hitting on".

You laughed at his words, you truly laughed. But you couldn't deny the fact that Steve Harrington was almost God's grace.

"Oh, Stevie. Not even if the world was ending" Your own hand came up to his cheek, where you left a mocking slight slap.

He reacted to that. He truly wished you didn't have to be so bitchy about it. But now it was his time to play your game. His free hand reached for your side, fingers sliding up to your ribs. His thumb stroked your skin through the dress, right under the curve of your breast.

"Are you sure?" He rasped, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. His breath hit your skin and it left goosebumps.

The ones you couldn't fucking control. He mused at your reaction. "Yeah. That's what I thought".

Your only plan was to induce him. You didn't think Steve would actually come after you at all. And now you didn't have cards to play against him. And it made him realize he was the one ahead of you this time.

"So now that you have no other options, you come crawling to me?" You spread your hands against his chest, slipping your fingers down his white t-shirt, all while he tightens his fingers around your side.

He has to hold a grunt, because you're so hot and yet adorably annoying. He hates you, yes. But he would never deny fucking you either.

"Now, you wish. Don't pretend you're not enjoying this, pretty girl" His voice is like honey when it reaches your ear.

His fingers are rough on you, but they never hurt you. His expensive cologne is not helping either. And the way his hair falls on his face makes you think you wish you could rake your fingers through them. Your legs almost close in response to the pet name, but he's pushing one of his own legs in between yours. You didn't even notice it.

"Don't be so arrogant. You may be handsome, but you're far from being worth the time".

And you lie. You don't even budge, you don't blink an eye. It makes you realize how good of a liar you are and how bad it would make you look.

But it's not like he doesn't know you well enough to see you're not saying the truth and he laughs again. There's a soft, but still hard look on his face, he pouts at you with a sided smile and tilts his head. You wish you could admit he's not worth it.

"Right. So I won't waste your time" He then leaves your skin, and steps back. You immediately miss his touch. His leg isn't between yours anymore and he gives you another look before going back to the living room.

Steve can't do this anymore. He wished for a long time he would fuck you dumb. Just to hear you say his name. So he slowly retrieves back and turns his footsteps. And he waits, for a moment, but he waits. He's walking away sluggishly from you.

And you watch him walking away. Your heart is pumping faster and your hands are gripping too tight on the edge of the kitchen island. Your knees are wobbly. For a few seconds, you think it's better this way. Maybe you won't work in bed either. Maybe it would be a disaster doing that. But your body aches for him, your stomach burns craving for his touch. You call him out in almost a whisper, but it's enough for him to hear you.

He turns his head first, the corner of his eyes peering at you. "Are you sure?" He barely sees when you just nod, still holding yourself up from all the tension. "Fuck this".

He clings to you in a rush, holding your waist with both hands as he brushes his lips against yours. "Tell me we're not gonna regret this" He breathes out.

"I know I won't" Your arms wrap around his neck, hands finally tangling between his hair.

He needed reassurance, because there was no way he would regret this either. There was a fire growing inside his chest from seeing you this night. Obviously he wished he went to bed with another woman, but there's something about you that pulls him in. He wants to drown in you. His lips finally crashed against yours, for the first seconds it was an intense rush of feelings. You let out a muffled whimper, leaving him desperate to taste more of you.

His tongue slips through your mouth, colliding against yours. He tastes your beer and you taste the bourbon he was having. It's an explosion of lust between you two, finally. Steve lifts one hand and plants it on your neck, his rub stroking your chin. You wouldn't know he was soft after all you've been through. All the bickering, all the mocking. Every time you crossed paths, there was a look of aversion at each other.

You were almost always together. There were times you refused to go out with your friend because he was going too. Or he wouldn't go to someone's house or go out either because you'd be there. It's been like that for almost two years, ever since you saw him making fun of Eddie when he was still a new friend. And you hated that. You started to hate him with a growing avoidance to be near him.

After you started to mistreat him and be ironic most of the time. Until he started to fight back. Eddie was such a sweetheart, he was the one to stop you from fighting. He said it was okay, because then he became friends with Steve. But you never agreed to that and never forgave him either.

Now you were almost turning into a puddle. He kisses like he can't get enough of you. And you battle for dominance with your tongue. You pull the nape of his hair back and he groans. He tugs at you and pushes his hips forward until you feel the bulge straining in his jeans. His thumb slips down your neck as he feels your pulse, and then squeezes your throat lightly. You breathe out against his mouth with a soft moan and he loses it.

"Fuck, you're going to kill me" His voice is hoarse. Steve opens his lids only a few inches just to look at you with lust fulfilling his eyes.

He doesn't waste anymore time as he holds you up and you wrap your legs around his waist. He makes his way to his bedroom, locking the door as he shoves both of you against it. He kisses you again and there's no romance in it. He's impatient and bites your lower lip, pulling it back gently. It's a mix of roughness and softness at the same time. He drops your weight, only to capture your ass with both hands this time. His fingertips graze over the curve of your ass, digging his nails against it.

There's a jolt on your body when he slaps your asscheek. It stings but it doesn't hurt. "You like that, huh?" He chuckles against your mouth and gives your lips a smell peck before slapping you again.

"You're such an arrogant dork" You pull back and use both hands to shove him by his chest until the back of his knees hit his bed.

He watches in awe as you bend down in front of him, small gentle hands undoing his jeans, sliding your fingers against his boxer. You feel the roughness of it, his cock being pressed by the fabric, a damp patch forming around it. You don't need to waste your time with teasing, so you immediately get rid of both at the same time, watching as his hardness springs free. Reddened tip, leaking precum. His length surprised you.

You wrap a hand around his girth, stroking him a few times. You look back at him behind your lashes, his eyes trained at you with such an unreadable expression. He doesn't seem to hate you right now. You see how his chest rises quickly, and you bite your lower lip when you notice how his eyes shut when you stroke him harder. 

Your fingers spread the liquid over his shaft before you finally get to taste him. You lick a stripe from his balls until the tip and put on a show for him. You swirl your tongue over the sensitive spot and open your mouth, sucking on it. Steve throws his head back, leaving a loud growl in reaction. You can't help but hum. You lower your head further down, bobbing it a few times until you're used to his size. You don't think you can deep throat him, but you try your best to get past half of it without gagging. 

His tip hits the back of your throat and he moans. He doesn't care if he's vocal. You use your free hand to rest it over his stomach, fingers grazing his hairs, nails scratching his skin. You use your tongue to lick him through his length, pumping him with your mouth.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, fingers tangling on it. He bucks his hips forward and fucks your mouth. He can't stop whimpering either. You hear your name slipping out of his throat every now and then. You hold his shaft and suck his cock mercilessly, saliva dripping down his skin. You pull back with a pant, looking at him straight in the eyes and he hurriedly pulls you back up. Your mouth is so wet, from the spit, from his precum.

Steve is fast when he swings you around, removing your shoes and throwing them off. He pushes you slowly to the bed so you bend over to him, your ass in the air for him. He plants his palms over your cheeks, stroking them before slapping one and you jolt forward again, leaving a mewl.

"You're such a pretty needy thing, aren't you?" His tone is raspy and it trembles from his sight. Another slap. "Always so pretty. Delicate". Another slap. "It's such a shame we hate each other. Could've had fucked you way before".

You feel his hands lifting the hem of your dress, reaching for your underwear. He rolls it off your legs, getting rid of it before opening your legs apart with one knee. The air gets knocked out of your lungs when he uses his thumb to spread your slit. His finger reaches for your clit and rubs circles around it, making your hips stutter.

"Fuck, Steve" You plead. He collects the wetness of your cunt and uses it as leverage to push into your pussy and you cry out. "Shit".

He's lightheaded, drunk on you. Steve strokes his cock as he pumps his finger inside you a few times. He rubs his thumb up and down, pressing your swollen nub. He hisses whenever you roll your hips against his finger, feeling your slippy skin against his thumb. His cock is almost bursting into a mess and he can't seem to hold it back for too long, but he tries. He picks up a condom from his drawer and rolls the plastic around his shaft.

Still on your fours, you can feel him shifting behind you, positioning himself. His free hand stays on your waist as he uses the other one to rub his dick against your slit. You bite your lip from the obscenities you want to scream.

He pushes his tip first, feeling you clench around him. He takes another second before thrusting against you once, carefully so it won't hurt. You drop your weight forward, whimpering from the sensation.

"Fuck, I'm so big for you" His hips slowly start to hit on your ass. "You okay, pretty?"

You can't formulate an answer so you just nod. Steve could never be this gentle in your head. And yet, there he was, making sure you were good. You heard his own voice proclaiming curses under his breath each time he digs his cock further into your pussy. He starts pounding on you quickly, slapping his skin against yours.

You're both a mess of moans, you can't stand on your elbows and you can't stop rolling your hips against him. He holds your waist with both hands, firmly gripping on your skin.

"Oh God, Steve. That's it. That's so good" You yelp when you feel the tip of his cock hitting you.

His hair is a mess, there's a few strands falling over his eyes as he looks down. He takes his shirt off and throws it away as well, feeling his body on fire. Sweat streamed down his hairy chest, reaching his happy trail.

"You're so fucking good" He praises.

He leans down on you, thrusting harder against your pussy. The new position makes you feel every inch of his cock, his balls slapping against your ass too. Steve carefully wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing it. It's enough for your windpipe to close a bit.

You shut your eyes and your brows crease, voice too strained from pleasure to say anything else. He can only listen to your crying moans.

He licks his lips, moving closer to your ear. "You're such a kinky girl, I see" Steve whispers, his hot breath hitting your skin. You clench around him again and he leaves a groan next to you. "Fuck, do that again".

Now you chuckle, still in a daze. He's still gripping your throat tightly, fingers digging on your neck, straining you. You cage his cock so hard with your pussy, he pushes it all inside of you. He can't move it, and the more you clench around him, the more he feels his pleasure building up.

He pounds hard once, his free hand still holding your waist for support. You throw your head back and roll your eyes. His other hand never leaves your throat. He pushes further again, hips meeting your ass, and you cry. He then decides to pull you up, leaning your back against his chest. You're feeling limp already. His tip hits a different spot inside of you and it makes you roll your hips against him.

Steve rests his head over your shoulder, and he whispers such dirty things for you but you can barely comprehend what he's saying. He's wrapped an arm around you, snapping his hips against you. The other hand slips down your body, cupping one of your breasts. His fingers pinch your hardened nipple, ripping another moan from you.

He loves the way you're falling apart for him, as much as he's glad you're doing the same for him. Even though he would love to see you riding him. He feels your legs wobbling, tension contracting your body. Your muscles are sore and there's a knot forming in your stomach.

He's clinging to you, his sweaty chest is sticking to your back. Now he's not even pounding on you anymore, he's just pushing his cock in a soft motion as he whispers into your ear.

He grazes his teeth between your earlobe and breathes against your skin. You're already clenching so hard, he thinks his cock could snap in half. "Come for me, pretty girl".

Steve spreads wet kisses against your neck, sucking on it as he trails your skin down to your shoulder. You don't want to deal with that right now, you don't want to think how soft he's being to you. There's a coil inside of you and it snaps as you cum on his cock. Your body jolts and trembles over him, legs almost faltering.

You're squirming and clenching around him as he thrusts faster when he feels his orgasm reaching its peak. He usually doesn't cum together with a partner. It's either he waits for them to cum first and he finishes minutes later, or when he's feeling needy he finishes first. But it's hard for something like that to happen.

You're still coming down from your high, he spurts into the condom, feeling his muscles contracting. He never leaves you, he groans from the pleasure over your ear and leaves marks from his fingertips on you.

He gives his final thrust, throwing his head over your shoulder. He's heaving against your back, cock still twitching inside of you. You turn your head to the side where his head is resting and kiss his temple, ripping him from his daydream, catching him off guard.

He painfully pulls back from you, missing your pussy right at the same moment. Steve disappears into his bathroom for a few seconds, walking back and picking up the clothes from the floor. You notice you're completely naked and start wondering when the fuck you got rid of your dress.

You look at Steve. Sweat coating his skin. His hair is wet, as well as his chest and his stomach. His face is flushed and his breathing is still uneven just like yours. He hands you your lace underwear and gets dressed up. You're still peering at him from the corner of your eye, watching the way he tries to fix his greasy sweaty hair with his fingers, only making you feel giddy about it.

But it surprises you when he hands out a comb for you to brush your hair. Your head immediately snapping at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. He clears his throat when he notices your reaction, sitting on his bed close to you.

"I uh– Maybe we should, you know" He gestures with his fingers, but it's unclear to you what he wants.

And you giggle, tilting your head at him. "Are you getting shy on me, Steve Harrington?"

But he waves you off, pretending he doesn't know what you're talking about. It's kind of a strange feeling to be around him without jumping at each other's throats, but at the same time, it's a good thing.

"I meant, we should talk it off. You know, hating each other. I know you never bothered to show how much you hate me because of Eddie. And I know I was a dick" Steve never even tried to apologize to you before, knowing you were never open to it.

"Let's not get through this tonight, we should try to have fun on your birthday. See if you can actually score".

He chuckles when you finish your sentence, knowing there would be no way he would fuck someone else this night. Not even if he wanted to. "So... we're kinda good tonight?"

You look down at his hand that is expectantly waiting for you to shake it. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea after all. "Yeah, kinda. Just for tonight".

He shakes your hand as well, flicking his eyes between your hand and your lips. God, he wanted to kiss you again. You both get up from the bed and fix your clothes before leaving the bedroom, but when you're holding the doorknob, you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist carefully.

You look to your side, to the way he's facing you in a different way. His hand slips to yours, interlocking his fingers with yours, and he pulls you closer to him. You just let him. He holds your jawline with his free hand and hovers his lips against yours lips.

"Just... let me do it one more time tonight" And he kisses you, soft tongue colliding against yours again.

There's something conflicting inside of him. Like his feelings are battling against his mind. Because to him, there was no way he was starting to have emotions towards you.

Not now, not ever.

He breaks the kiss, and when he opens his eyes he realizes something. He was fucked.

[galexystern]

stuck

Paring: Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Summary: Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. MDNI

WC: 4.6k+

Includes: no plot all filth, unrealistic “stuck” porn trope, friends to horny idiots, dirty talk, pet names/name calling, unprotected PiV sex, oral (f receiving), briefest mention of monsterfucking, brief anal play, a smidge of humiliation kink with a healthy side of a praise kink, d/s dynamic, etc.

A/N: Literally got this idea from a certain filthy piece of DBD fanart that I can’t find, but if you know the one I’m talking about, please lmk so I can properly credit for the inspo!! Is this ridiculous? Yes. Was this originally for Halloween? Also yes. We hate rules here (and deadlines). Hope y’all enjoy it <3 (dividers from @/saradika-graphics)

Everyone told Steve he was insane to venture back into the Upside Down, but he couldn’t leave you there alone. 

He felt sick for even leaving you behind at all. Quite honestly, no one felt good about evacuating without you, but it was smarter to go home, gear up, grab another working walkie, before wandering back into hell to find you.

See, among the chaos of trying to help Eddie, trying to keep Max alive, he worried about you and your unusual absence from the group, but you were strong enough to handle nearly anything— that much, he was confident on. You had fought side by side with him over the years, protecting everyone in the group, and one another; through demodogs, a shit summer job gone awry, and anything in between, you could hold your own with a bravery he wished he didn’t need to front at times.

That didn’t quell his anxiety one bit, though. When and where you had disappeared to, he wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t until your voice broke through over the airwaves, when Steve, Eddie, Nancy, and Robin were on the lake, that he felt relief you were at least alive. Your voice was tinny through the static.

“Guys?”

The only reason a signal existed at all was because the group floated just above the gate at the bottom of the lake— they just didn’t know it yet.

Steve had just thrown his sweater off, ready to dive in, when the sound of your voice made his eyes widen. 

“Holy shit, give me the—“ He rocked the tiny boat a little too much for anyone’s comfort as he fell to his knees, grabbing the walkie from the floor. “Where the fuck are you?!”

“Hi to you too, Harrington.”

Robin yanked the device from Steve’s grip, “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Long fuckin’ story, but—“ Your voice cut out, static filling the dead air for a few seconds. “And that’s—“ Cut off again. “Upside Down, but I- I don’t know where I am, exactly. Why didn’t any of y’all tell me how bad this place sucks?”

Steve laughed to himself, unaware his eyes became glassy, hearing the familiar attitude and sailor’s mouth you carried; the other three noticed just how relieved and emotional he was right away. He grabbed the walkie back from Robin with shaky hands.

“We’re gonna come find you, we think we found a gate,” He rushed out. “Are you safe at least?”

“For now, but these—“ Signal cutting out, Steve hit the walkie a few times, as if that’d fix the disconnect between literal dimensions. “— Th- they’re everywhere. I don’t know where to hi— oh, shit—“ Your end fell dead again, leaving the four on edge, waiting for you to speak. White noise droned on for less than a minute; you weren’t coming back. 

Wasting not a second longer, Steve dove into the dark, chilled waters of the lake. He found the gate they suspected of, and broke the surface to alert his friends. As he relayed the information, rushed and panicked, wanting to find you as soon as possible, something tugged on his leg. Only startling the group at first, Steve was caught off guard, pulled under, back down to the bottom. He kicked, struggled, lungs burning as he fought off the urge to gasp for a breath he couldn’t dare to take.

It was all a blur, being dragged through the gate and tossed around like a rag doll; the bats diving towards him, finding an oar to defend himself with among the Upside Down’s mirrored decay of the lake, only to be bombarded by the gnarly creatures. They tore at his flesh as he was being strangled to death; brain growing fuzzy as he put up a good fight, he began to accept this fate. He wasn’t sure when his friends came through the gate, but one by one they retaliated against the bats, leaving just the one still strangling Steve.

“Get fucked!”

Unexpectedly, you appeared, slamming an ax— one you always left in your trunk, just in case— down onto one of its wings, chopping through completely, yet it still tried to flee as Steve bit down on its tail. Stunned, you all watched as Steve swung it around, slamming it down into the ground before violently ripping its spine out, fueled by pure rage.

Blood dripped from his mouth while he glanced up at you, rage and fear fading as relief flooded every inch of his heart. Despite your ragged appearance— covered in grime, soot, and blood— he was just happy to see you alive; a sight for sore eyes.

“I fuckin’ hate those things.” You wanted to run and hug him, but restrained yourself at the sight of his wounds. Taking in the sight of all four friends, you sighed, “Y’all okay?”

Another screech in the sky tore everyone’s attention away, “C’mon!” Where everyone ran off to the rocks, you made the mistake of running off in the opposite direction. The group of bats split off, heading towards both you and the others; when you looked over your shoulder, you watched Steve do the same, panic fueling you both to run for your lives.

You sprinted off towards the woods, hoping you’d find each other again soon, and alive.

Steve climbed back through the gate in Eddie’s trailer, and had searched for what felt like hours; he was losing hope of finding you by the minute. He knows you; you wouldn’t give up without a fight. You had to be alive, but dread was still building within him.

At least he caught a signal over the walkies.

“What do you mean you’re stuck?”

Your voice warbles through the speaker of Steve’s walkie, barely coherent through the sharp static. 

“Okay, okay, where are you?”

“The— g—“ Feedback rips through your words, shrill and sharp. “I’m tr—“

“You’re cutting out—“

“Gate! I’m—“ A drone of white noise floods the speaker, and you’re gone.

“Shit. Fuck. God-fucking-dammit!” He hits the device with his free hand, slams the buttons and messes with the knobs and antenna— if only he actually paid attention when Dustin tried showing him how to work this fucking thing.

He did hear you say ‘gate’ at least, but which one? You clearly weren’t at the one he just entered, and the one at the lake had closed up by now. 

This would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Steve’s exhausted, searching high and low for you, at every possible spot that crosses his mind. It had to have been another hour since he last heard from you, and he’s running out of ideas of where you could be.

“Checked around town,” He begins murmuring to himself, listing and eliminating options out loud. “No luck there… but— shit, didn’t check the library…” Could a gate even open in there? Anywhere was possible, right? And if that was the case, he’d have to tear through every room of every building, circle each structure, check any cars, houses, sheds, backyards, parks, the woods—

Christ, at this rate, he’ll never find you—

“Oof!” Steve loses his footing, tumbling over something in the stretch of woods he was combing through. Colliding with the ground, he groans on impact.

“What the fuck?”

Steve rolls over quickly, sitting up to find he had tripped over you.

“Oh, thank fuck.” He scrambles to his feet, brushing debris off his body as he finally glances your way.

When you said you were stuck, Steve didn’t picture the sight before him now; you, halfway through a gate found in a tree trunk, unable to move because it began to close up around your waist. Your upper half is on the other side, but your bottom half is still stuck in the Upside Down.

“Oh…. You’re… wow, okay.” He snickers, “Yeah. You’re stuck, alright.”

Steve’s muffled cackling echoes through the slimy gate. You huff and roll your eyes; not like he can see.

“Just help me out of here, would ya’?!”

“Okay, okay… Jesus.” He drops to his knees, still towering over you— well, your back half, at least. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s just fucking annoying. Maybe try, I dunno, pulling at the edges of it, or something?”

“I don’t think that’s how these things work—“

“Steve!”

“Okay, right, yeah, sorry.” He bites his bottom lip, stifling more laughter. It’s certainly an… awkward position, leaning over you from behind, but it’s the only way he can pull at the edges with both hands at once. He gives the gate’s edge a tug, but it’s stone solid. He tries again, this time with a grunt that has your mind wandering elsewhere. “Yeah, this is, uh… that’s not gonna work.”

“Oh my god, I’m stuck here forever,” You groan, kicking your feet. “I’m gonna die here.”

“Calm down, drama queen. Gimme a second, I’ll try again.” Steve keeps himself balanced on one knee, while the other leg plants a steady foot into the ground. Again, he attempts to pry open the gate, hoping to free you; his foot slips, causing him to rub against your backside.

Okay, ‘rub’ is a generous term— more like roughly falling against your ass, then whining over the pressure on his bulge.

“Steve, what the fuck?” You crane your neck, only able to see where the tree bark opens up into the gate, snug around your waist. “Did you just—“

“I didn’t mean to, I swear! M- my foot slipped!”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“Look, it’s not exactly the easiest to move around you without touching you right now,” He argues. “You really think I’m trying to make a move on you in a situation like this?!”

“Well, I can’t see shit, Harrington. I don’t know what the hell’s going on back there.”

Ignoring you, Steve murmurs, more to himself but loud enough for you to still hear, “The hell are you wearing these tiny shorts for, anyway?” He tugs at the hem around your thigh, elastic snapping back against your skin. You bite back whatever pathetic noise threatens to escape your lips.

“It was warm out earlier!”

“It’s March—“

“And unreasonably warm for March, y- you jerk.”

“That why you’re shivering?”

“Considering the sun set, uh, yeah?”

You grumble, annoyed how wet this easily has made you. You need out, and Steve needs out, too, and the two of you need to just forget about all of this.

“Okay, just—“ You can’t think straight, mind clouded with dirty thoughts— how embarrassing. “Push me through.”

“You… want me to push you… how?”

“With your hands, St—“

“I know with my h— I meant, like, where?”

You can’t see the way he licks his lips, staring at your ass, but you sure can hear the strangled moan he miserably tries to hide in his throat. 

“Wherever works— I don’t know, I’ve never been stuck between dimensions before!”

He shudders a breath before calling through the gate, “I’m gonna— if I touch anything I shouldn’t, I swear to god I’m not trying to—“

“Okay, yeah, I get it, Steve— just push me out of here!”

“Christ, you’re fucking bossy…”

His hands grip the plush of your hips, first, hoping he can grip hard enough and push this way— it’s useless; his hands lose grip, sliding up your body. His knuckles run into the tree, and he’s grateful for that barrier; who knows how far his hands could’ve slipped. He yelps and recoils away. “Sorry!”

“Dude, I don’t care, just do whatever works.” You sound exhausted, and who wouldn’t be in a situation like this? You had to have been here at least an hour, and even if it doesn’t hurt, it can’t be very comfortable. 

Steve shakes his nerves off, hands reaching for the back of your thighs; his fingers splay apart, pushing as hard as he can, and you finally begin to budge. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Until you cry out for him to stop. “Shit, that fuckin’ hurts— It’s— ow, fuck! My hips—”

He immediately backs off, hands releasing pressure, but still resting gently on your thighs. It’s automatic, the way his thumbs rub slow circles into your exposed skin to try comforting you; the shorts you’re wearing are not helping either of you. It was warm out earlier, like you said, but did you have to wear these now?

Goosebumps prickle up under his fingers, and it’s hard to miss the way you clench your thighs together. 

“You, uh…” Steve gulps, fingers gently kneading at the meat of your thighs. “You okay over there?”

“Uh-huh,” Your answer isn’t very convincing, with a trembling voice. “Everything okay back there? W- with you, I mean.”

“Sure, yeah, it’s… I’m good.” He feels like such a pervert, fantasizing about taking you right here, like this. It’s wrong when you’re trapped like this. “Honey, I- I don’t know what else to do.”

The pet name twists at a coil deep within you, building up a pressure of some kind. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, but just— push my ass— Steve, that better not be you laughing!”

He can’t hold back his immature giggling, but he’d rather this than moan.

“You sure? I don’t want you to get mad or anything.” He tries to settle down, focus on getting you unstuck. “Tell me to stop if it hurts again, alright?”

You imagine hearing those words of sweet consent in a different circumstance, biting back a whimper. “Ye- yeah, I will.”

Steve slides his hands up to the curve of your ass, unable to restrain himself before digging his fingers into your soft, plushy body. “Gonna count down, sweetheart, okay?”

This time a whimper does beat you to the punch before you can actually reply. He squeezes a little harder.

“Three… two… one—“ Steve shoves his hands against you, pushing as hard as he can. Again, your hips shove up against the tree trunk, and you cry out from the pinch. He pulls you back an inch, wincing with guilt. “M’sorry, I—“

“Again,” You boldly call back to him.

“… You sure?”

“Just do it, please,” His hands are so warm, touch so soft; you wish the fabric of your shorts would just disappear. There’s an extra whine to your voice, “Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

“Oh, fuck…” He mumbles, sucking in a sharp breath. “Go— I’m gonna try again, ready?” He hears a faint noise of consent, shoving himself into you; this time, his hips rut into you, too. You still can’t get through the gate, but you’re not sure that’s either of your concern at this moment. His bulge, rock-hard now, brushes up against your ass, and you both moan out. This is bad.

The way you push back against him isn’t helping much, either.

Both of you still, falling silent while trying to steady your breaths. Are you really about to do this here? Now?

Steve makes the decision for you both, muttering, “I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.” He’s purposefully grinding against you, head lolling back with a groan as you push into him in return. From either end, both of you are shuddering out sinful noises. “Always wanted to kiss you first, but—“

“As soon as you rescue me, y’can kiss me all ya’ want.”

“Shit, princess, never took you for the damsel in distress type.” He tugs your shorts down, choking on air when he discovers you’re completely nude underneath. “Jesus, did you think at all about your outfit today?”

“Uh, considering I don’t have a bra on… no.”

“You don’t have a—“ Steve comically pouts that part of you is through the other side of the gate; he’s grateful you can’t see the pathetic expression. “What, did you just roll outta bed and stroll down here?”

“Steve, the longer we talk about the logistics of my outfit, the dryer I’m becoming.”

“Good thing I can help with that.”

“Okay, that was goofy to s— oh…” His thumbs spread your folds apart; despite your failed quip, you’re soaked as sin. 

“So fuckin’ pretty…” He leans down, kissing the swell of your ass, trailing his lips down your backside until he’s level with your heat. There’s no warning, just his tongue gliding along your folds, lapping up your arousal. A feral sounding groan vibrates through your core as he loses himself tasting you. It’s not rushed— not on purpose, at least— but any restraint is long gone now.

“Oh m’god,” You shudder while his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking it softly. His arms wrap around your thighs from behind, hooking you in place. You twitch back, like you’re desperate to grind on his face, but worried to freak him out.

Steve’s far from freaked out; in fact, he’s delving his tongue deeper, nearly incoherent when he mirrors your earlier words, “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

That’s all the permission you need, rolling your body back as far as the gate allows, trembling as he sloppily makes out with your cunt. If only you could see the glistening mess on his pretty features. “Steve…”

He angles his nose against your clit just right, making you squeal into the empty forest around you. His tongue laps away, eventually tapering to fuck into you with it.

“Fuck, more, ple- please,” You pant, grateful Steve’s holding you upright, or you’d go limp against the tree. “Please— god!”

He slides a finger into you, curling it just right as he kisses and sucks back to your clit. He’s rougher this time when he suckles on the sensitive bud, rolling your eyes back and tensing your body up. You chant his name in whimpers, like a desperate prayer, only urging him to finger fuck you harder.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you’re gripping me so hard.” He groans into you, adding another finger. “Taste so good, I could be here all night—“

An orgasm startles you, going 0 to 100 without warning; lewd noises floating back through the gate toward Steve only challenge him to keep going.

“S- Steve, ha- hang on—“

“You want me to stop?” He slows his pace, but you ram yourself back into his hand and lips.

“No! Please, god, no—“

“Then what is it?” His tongue flits out, teasing around your sensitive nub.

“M- move your fingers up, back where you had it— ohhhmyfuckinggod—“

“C’mon, come for me, y’can do it again,” he coaxes, spitting onto your folds while relentlessly ruining you with his thick, long fingers. Your legs tremble wildly. “I can tell you’re close, angel. Make a mess, come for me again—“

This time, you cry out, praying whatever woods you found yourself in was deep enough, away from the public. Your hips twitch and convulse, while you flutter around his digits, soaking his face while he continues to delve deeper, as if that’s even possible.

The pumping pace of his fingers never relents, despite how overstimulated you feel already.

“St- Steve…”

“Got one more in ya’?” You feel his hot breath fanning over your folds again. It’s not long before he’s flicking his tongue back out, teasing your clit while adding another finger. “Christ… yeah… yeah, angel, that’s it…” He laps at the nectar dribbling from your centre, grunting as his free hand pulls you by your thigh, guiding you to bounce against his face. The fingers buried in you curl just right, earning a broken, breathy noise from the other side; he hits the right spot, and under a minute in, you’re gushing against his pretty face.

You can hear how drenched he is when he speaks, licking his lips between his words, “That was… oh, fuck, that… that was so… can we do that every day?”

Winded, you manage to laugh weakly, “If you can figure out how to get me un-stuck, I’ll let you do that as much as you fuckin’ want.”

You’d kill to see his face right now, dripping with your release, but until then you’ll just need to use your imagination.

“…. Can we—“

“Please.”

The head of his cock slides along your folds, teasing as it runs over your sensitive clit. You jolt back, and he grips you by the hip, holding you in place with one hand.

“Be patient for me, angel. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he slides in, taking his time, paying attention to your gasps. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh, ju- just go slow.”

Like earlier, when Steve tried pushing you through the gate, he soothes you with his touch, thumbs rubbing soft circles against your skin. He sinks a bit further, feeling you clench around him with anticipation. “Angel, gotta relax to let me in…”

“I- I know, m’trying, you’re just— you’re so… so…”

“Shhh, it’s okay, I have you. You’re okay…” He slides deeper, hips almost flush against your backside. “Just relax… that’s it, that’s my girl.”

The praise elicits a pornographic moan out of you, only triggering his cock to twitch against your walls.

“God, wish I could see your face right now,” his mumbling fades into a gravelly groan, sinking deep into you. 

“Y’can if you fuck me when we’re outta here,” you strain out, taking him to the hilt. His cock twitches again, making you both shudder.

“I dunno, what if we can’t get you out, sweetheart?” The tides turn with his tone. He pulls out slowly, teasing your clit with the head of his cock. You twitch and clench around nothing, making him smirk. “What if you’re stuck here forever?” Slamming back into you, your walls clamp down on him, tighter than before. “Oh, what, you like that idea?”

“Steve…”

“You wanna be left here? Where anyone can walk by, use you however they want?” He draws back, snapping his hips back into your ass, relishing in the way you cry out. “Anyone can find you in the woods over there, use that pretty mouth of yours…” Gripping your hips, he pulls back slowly, thrusting in with everything he’s got. It’s becoming a torturous pattern, but he can tell you’re enjoying it with the way you’re soaking his cock. 

“Oh my— fuck…” You gasp from the other side, throwing yourself back into him as far as the gate allows you. He grunts as you meet his thrusts.

“You’d be up for grabs over here too, y’know…” Hands trailing back to your ass, he spreads your cheeks, spitting lewdly on your pretty, puckered hole. “But maybe you’re not that much of a freak—“ You don’t hold back the sinful sound building in your throat over his unfinished concept. “Oh. Oh. You’d like gettin’ fucked by some monsters too, huh? That’s so fuckin’ gross, babe.”

“That ain’t even the half of it,” you manage to reveal through panting and whimpering.

His mind races over the possibilities, slamming into you a little faster.

Steve circles the tight entrance with the pad of his thumb, throbbing deep inside you as he tests the waters, sinking in just a bit. You squirm and whine, relaxing as he continues on, eventually making it past his knuckle— which, wouldn’t be too much, but with the size of his hands, you feel so full off that alone.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, I don’t think I’ll l- last long,” he murmurs while he pistons his hips into you, growing sloppier by the minute. 

“S’okay… m’not…” You can’t grasp onto the words you need, not when he’s fucking you absolutely brainless between dimensions. “God, Steve, you’re so deep.”

His thumb slips out of you, leaving you emptier than before, making desperate, pathetic mewls and cries. Ignoring you, his hand slides underneath, pressing down onto the peak of your mound. “Where do you feel me? Here?”

“N- no, deeper…”

Steve splays his hand wide, fingers blanketing over your skin; he inches his touch up, just where your belly and pelvis begin to meet. The further he stretches his touch, the more he leans over you, kissing along any bare skin on your back he can reach.

“Here?”

You shake your head, but he can’t see. Your lapse in verbal response earns a smack on your ass, causing you to cry out into the expanse of the woods. 

“Where, babe? Tell me.”

“Up,” whimpering, you push back into him. Hand gliding up to your belly button, he stops.

“Here?”

Eyes rolling back, you let out a broken sob, “Yes!”

Steve pushes down on your belly, just enough for the pressure to meet his thrusts.

“You’re takin’ me like a slut… sound like one, too.” He grunts while bucking wildly into you. His hand disappears, only to join the other in grabbing you by the thighs, nearly lifting your lower half off the ground against him.

The sound is absolutely what you’d expect from two, hopelessly horny idiots, fucking in a circumstance like this one right here. Skin on skin slapping roughly, echoing out into the woods of the Upside Down, in time with his near-feral grunts and throaty groans. On your side, in your world, you can only imagine how close to an injured animal you might sound like, or someone in actual distress, unable to cover your mouth as you hold yourself up while he fucks into you relentlessly.

“M’pretty close, angel,” Steve pants through the gate, hips stuttering while he still gives his all, thrusting mercilessly into you. “Where—  where can I—“

“‘Side…” You groan out, lost in a lust-driven delirium.

Attitude softening, he manages to ask, “In— you mean inside?”

“Uh-huh, wanna be full,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “Make me yours—“

“Oh, fuck,” Steve’s hips freeze over your words, finally reaching his high. One final cry tears out of you as your fourth and final orgasm trembles through your body, rolling into his. The delicious squeeze and fluttering around him helps milk his release, doing just as you asked, filling you up with his spend. 

Involuntarily, his entire lower half twitches violently into you, and finally, finally, the gate gives, allowing him to tumble through to the other side, shoving you out first. He lands on top of you, rolling over onto the forest floor while you both groan. The woods are quiet, aside from occasional crickets and your loud, ragged breaths, weaving through the branches above.

Though the two of you are ready to fully collapse, the squelching sound of the gate constricting catches your attention; the damn thing closes completely.

Steve chuckles weakly, while you push past any shame that might still linger, shyly smiling over at him.

“Hey…” You attempt to greet him, now that you’re face to face— which, speaking of, his features are still glistening from sweat and your multiple releases. 

“Hi,” he breathes, eyes trailing over your figure, landing and pausing on your exposed core, dripping a lewd mixture of fluids. “Fuck…” He leans forward, but stops himself, mumbling, “If we weren’t in the woods, I’d, uh, help clean you up, but…”

Your eyes widen, taking in his words; neither of you are in a state to fuck around any further, but you make a mental note of the suggestion for the future. “I’m— I’ll remember that.”

Surging towards him with an ounce of renewed energy, you capture his lips in a long-awaited kiss. He makes the cutest noise of surprise, melding against you. Pausing, he murmurs against your lips, “Sorry we couldn’t do that first.” It’s a wild shift in his demeanor post-sex, from a dominant, feral wreck, to this soft, precious person before you.

“We can make up for it though.”

“After a super long fuckin’ nap.” Then he cringes, “And the— y’know, the whole—“ He waves his hand around, rolling his eyes, “the Vecna thing.”

“Right. Yeah. Priorities.” You’re looking forward to all of this coming to an end. All you want is to curl up in bed with Steve, and sleep a whole day away, but that’ll have to wait. 

As clarity brings you back down to earth, you realize you’re still naked from the waist down… which means— 

“Um… Steve?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“… Where’s my shorts?”

[galexystern]

jadey, could I request some hurt/comfort with hangman (or Steve or Eddie if you’d prefer) where he asks reader out and they’re like “are you sure this isn’t a joke? or a prank? or a bad decision you’ll regret tomorrow?”? and he’s really sweet and kind about it? cause ngl with how shitty my dating life’s been so far, any man that approaches me with romantic intent is gonna have to do so with the same gentleness and tact as someone who rescues and rehabilitates neglected dogs.

“Look out,” Liv says, nodding toward the front of the arcade and then quickly turning away, “Harrington’s back.”

Why she says it like a chore you’ve no idea. You hurry to clip your mirror compact closed and shove it under the desk into a bucket of Chinese finger traps and pencil toppers. You look ridiculous in your polo with your Palace nametag taking up a solid two inches of your chest, but Steve Harrington used to wear a little sailor’s uniform with tiny teeny shorts, so perhaps he doesn’t hold it against you. You really hope he doesn’t. 

Steve looks less smiley than usual —he isn’t surrounded by his usual troupe of friends, the younger kids Nancy Wheeler’s brother and the gaggle of dorks that keeps getting bigger. He pretends they piss him off, and sometimes they really do, but when Max needs to go stand outside for a minute he always goes with her, and when Dustin flinches at a seriously loud noise, he clasps the boy by the shoulder and tells him it’s alright. He clearly doesn’t mind that he’s inherited a brood of younger siblings.

But today he’s frowning, nearly, something steeled about him as he stops at the desk. You smile carefully and he smiles back, but it quickly fades as he opens his mouth, you assume to talk. For a second, nothing comes out. 

“Hi,” he says finally. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good, yeah. Thank you.” You raise your eyebrows. “How are you?” 

“Nervous.” He scratches the back of his neck, peeking quickly down at his hand and then wiping it roughly into his thigh. “Shit. Listen, I think you’re so pretty, and I practised this part in my head but it’s not– I got another look at you as I was coming in and I forgot what I was gonna say.” 

You don’t mean to ask, but, “You think I’m pretty?” 

“It’s dire,” he says seriously, hair flopping into his eyes and half-heartedly batted away. “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, it doesn’t compute. 

“Oh. Well, thank you,” you say softly. 

“Shit.” Steve shoots a look at the door. You follow his gaze, wondering what the hell he’s looking at. Did he bring somebody with him? You’d thought he was alone, but maybe he’s not. 

“Steve, are you okay?” 

“That’s why. This is why I’m– I’m fucking up monumentally. I didn’t think I’d be nervous. Like, sure, I felt like I was gonna throw up all morning but I’m usually better at the asking part.” Steve straightens up. A light beige polo is neatly buttoned at his neck, and his hair looks nicer than usual, super shiny under the overhead. When he turns to you, the red light coming off of Dig-Dug paints him with a pink hue, emphasising the dash of blush filling the tops of his ears. “You wouldn’t want to hang out some time, would you? Or– shit. I don’t want to hang out. I do, but– Do you want to go on a date?” 

“With you?” 

He winces. “With me, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for so long it makes you both uncomfortable. Slowly, Steve’s face starts to lose the squirmy nervousness he’d brought in with him, and a familiar softness fills his eyes, his brows pinching at their starts, lips pursed. 

“You look upset,” he says. 

In the tens of times you’ve seen Steve Harrington come in here, and the fewer times he’s come up to the desk to talk, you can’t confess to thinking he’d ever ask you that. You’d imagined it once, how he’d lean against the display of teddy bears and smile at you just so, like you already knew what he wanted. 

“No,” you say, watching his expression for some sign that this is a trick. It doesn’t seem like it is. You can’t say you think he’d be that cruel, but you can’t not ask, either. “I’m wondering if this is a joke.” 

“A joke? No.” Steve frowns. “Did someone do that before?” 

“Just doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve is a nice guy. He’s asked you so many questions about yourself you can’t remember what he knows and what he doesn’t, but you aren’t eager to tell him why you think what you’re thinking now. 

You shy away from him, letting your eyes fall to the pencil erasers. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the desk without touching you, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not kidding around, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I– guess I thought this would go better if I waited. You don’t have to say yes.” 

“You really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You swear?” 

“I swear. I mean, duh. Who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you? I sort of wake up thinking about you.”

Your eyes fly to his face. “What?” 

“Not in like, a loser way. In a cool way.” 

You still don’t really believe Steve wants to take you on a date until he’s knocking on your door, 7PM sharp, handing you a bouquet of twelve red roses and a hopeful smile. “Told you,” he says, grinning as you step down onto the path with him, something you recognise as nervousness in his smile, but elation, too, “Jesus, I knew you’d look pretty, but this is just something else. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?” 

You hit him very gently with the flowers. “Stop.” 

He grins. “No. Don’t think I will, babe.” 

[galexystern]

Read the fic on AO3

[galexystern]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here  

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks. 

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.” 

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out. 

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask. 

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says. 

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world. 

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation. 

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person. 

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about. 

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.” 

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him. 

“He was nice,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?” 

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?” 

“You’ll be alright?” 

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands. 

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare. 

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought. 

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage. 

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little. 

“Darling.” 

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand. 

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says. 

Me, you think. 

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.” 

“You didn’t,” the woman says. 

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.” 

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense. 

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks. 

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?” 

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.” 

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.” 

“Gentleman and the tramp.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.” 

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape. 

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth. 

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water. 

What the fuck? 

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down. 

Your head races with hurt feelings. 

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman. 

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees. 

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched? 

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is. 

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.” 

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky. 

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in. 

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal. 

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing. 

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse. 

She was unbelievable. 

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.” 

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean to come out here.” 

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?” 

“Scavenging for food.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.” 

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…” 

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.” 

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…” 

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable. 

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it. 

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath. 

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands. 

“These aren’t good tears,” he says. 

He’d know. They’re not. 

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not you.” 

“But something does hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs. 

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.” 

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not. 

He looks sick. 

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage. 

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring. 

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly. 

“It’s so stupid.” 

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.” 

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin. 

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.” 

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.” 

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.” 

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble. 

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.” 

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.” 

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says. 

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying. 

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.” 

“Aaron.” 

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.” 

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.” 

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown. 

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.” 

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.” 

“Aaron!” you laugh. 

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.” 

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased. 

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.” 

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.” 

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.” 

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask. 

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.” 

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.” 

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze. 

”You said it.” 

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.” 

“I’m glad you asked me.” 

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now. 

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders. 

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress. 

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.” 

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.” 

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.” 

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear. 

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast. 

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast. 

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind. 

“Are you eating that one?” you ask. 

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?” 

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.” 

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?” 

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?” 

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.” 

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.” 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.” 

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour. 

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.” 

“I thought Miss Jareau went?” 

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.” 

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks. 

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.  

“Hey,” Aaron says. 

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw. 

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe. 

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?” 

“I didn’t take any, sorry.” 

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says. 

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.” 

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text. 

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal 

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding? 

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that 

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless. 

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette 

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right? 

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online. 

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D 

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake. 

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thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake