#I need to break my throat and lungs

[my-sibling-wears-a-muumuu]

The world is horrifying and I don't know if I'm gonna make it.

[loveofastarvingdog]

i am.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[lovelyghst]

ghost has such a vast array of names he calls his sweetheart in bed, but the one that won’t leave my mind is porn star. just listen ok—

he doesn’t even mean it in a degrading way, whatsoever. teasing, maybe, but never outright cruel. he just loves admiring you and your aptitude; your willingness to break a sweat when you’re on top of him, your resilience when he asks you if you need a break and you shake your head fervidly because he hasn’t reached his peak yet.

he absolutely adores all the noises you make. the soft and dulcet hums in your throat when he’s making love to you, to the rapid huffs of air being pushed directly from your lungs when he grabs your hips and uses you like how you begged him to. god, and your expressions? your smile as you unbuckle his belt, and your giggles when he flips it around on you and sneaks a hand beneath your skirt. even when you’ve been fucked utterly dumb, you’re still the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. it’s all so erotic to him, like it belongs on film.

and so he eventually comes through to just that, taking out a camcorder that happened to be lying around; one that he definitely didn’t purchase for the exact purpose of filming a little sex-tape with you, certainly not ordering it online behind your back or anything.

you happily put on a little show for him, with the lively energy in your voice turning sensual and your exaggerated reactions that soon become all too real. the lens staring you down from above as he takes his time with you, cooing at you the tenderest of praises whilst breaking you down to a shuddering mess beneath him before he even gives you his cock. slowly massaging your aching pussy, past your hiked up dress and through your cotton panties, just to drag his hand up your body and have you suck on the very thumb that made the soaked spot on your underwear. he’s such a mean, mean tease.

he’s enamored with the way your cunt stretches to fit his cock, especially how it shows up on the small screen of the camera. each ridge dragging against your soft flesh wrapped so tightly around him, to the point where his breath is hitching in his throat and he’s failing to suppress those faint groans and swears spilling past his lips.

“makin’ all these depraved noises for me, and no shame you’re bein’ recorded? already fucked you that stupid, ‘ave i, sweet girl?”

you moan unabashedly at that, words that should be demeaning only hitting you right in the sweet spot. you can no longer keep your eyes on the lens above you, reaching out to grasp at the wrist connected to the fingers circling your raw pussy as you plead with your brows. you’re so overwhelmed, though enjoying it far too much to quit.

wrapping your legs around his back and pulling him in closer, eyes rolling back. swollen lips falling further agape and making him chuckle lowly. he goes on ramming his cock into the sticky mess of your cunt, thumbing your clit to push you over so that the last thing your fuzzy mind will hear is him calling you his favorite nickname:

“my pretty, little porn star… takin’ everything she’s given, ‘n with no complaint. just like a good actress does, right, baby?”

he spurs you on, grinning huge behind the camcorder he holds when you hum and nod along with whatever he says. you pull his free hand into your own, lacing your fingers with his; he always grounds you so well after he’s spun you higher than a ballerina. dazed and content, and simple happy to give him something to watch while he’s away. you never have to act when you’re with him, but you can’t help the butterflies swarming your tummy whenever he praises you for it.

“there’s my good fuckin’ girl… now smile for the camera, princess.”

[dudeitiskarev]

I Want to Hold Your Hand | Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau female reader

Summary: Hotch sends you home and you almost die, which only makes him realize how much he truly loves you.

Word count: 2.4k.

Tags/warnings: hurt/little comfort; season 1 Hotch my beloved <3; canon typical violence; Haley and Jack don’t exist in this universe oopsies; angst with happy ending; Hotch is a baby; probably very inaccurate medical talk bc all I know is from Grey’s; not beta read + English isn’t my first language so good luck with that.

Author’s note: remember when I said I was probably done writing for a Hotch? Turns out all I had to do was stop taking my antidepressant 🙄 anyway, don’t get your hopes high. I just needed to take a break from my never-ending Spence fic so I wrote this. Which is basically a rewrite of what happened with Elle. I just wanted to make Hotch suffer a little so I hope you like it!

MASTERLIST

A few hours ago, Aaron kissed the top of your head and sent you back to the hotel with a police officer.

Now, he was in a hospital waiting room with his heart in his throat, hoping the doctor would show up with good news.

You’d been attacked in your hotel room, and it was his fault.

“They’re gonna set up a bed for you in her room.” Jason walked in with a cup of coffee for Aaron. His fourth one already.

“She’s… not out of surgery yet,” Aaron shut his eyes. “We don’t know if —”

“The hospital chief, I know him.” Gideon sort of smiled. “I asked him if he could go check on her. All I know is that they’re closing her up now.”

The words began to sound far and faded as if Aaron was underwater. His vision blurred and his legs would’ve given up if he wasn’t sitting down already.

It was his soul returning to his body.

He didn’t want to get his hopes high, though. If they were closing you up it meant you were alive, but nothing else. There could be a hundred things wrong with you while being alive.

All he could do was nod and put his hands together over his lips like a prayer.

You were alive.

“The doctor should be here with the updates any minute now.” Jason sat next to Aaron and gave him a gentle tap on his back.

Gideon knew. Even when Hotch hadn’t told anyone about his feelings—not even you—he spent most of his day with profilers so of course the best one in his team knew about it.

“I’m heading back to the hotel soon,” Gideon continued. “See what the hell happened. Why… How did they let the unsub enter her room. Garcia should be landing soon. We need to check every security camera.” He smacked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head.

Aaron rose from his seat and tried his best to at least let his shoulders relax but every bit of him had turned into concrete.

“Where are Reid and Morgan?” He asked, pacing back and forth and stretching his neck from one side to the other. Even in moments like this, he needed to know where the rest of his people were. Especially in moments like this.

“Back at the local PD,” Gideon answered.

“JJ?”

“She’s talking to the hotel manager, making sure none of the employees makes any declaration to the press before we catch the guy.”

Aaron nodded, and soon, the doctor walked into the room with the updates.

“Surgery was a success,” he began. “We managed to repair all the damage and save her lung. Now, she flatlined once in the ambulance and then again during surgery so her brain has been through a lot.”

It wasn’t the time to profile anyone, but the way the doctor couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than two seconds told Aaron he was aiming at something more serious.

“Just tell us.” Aaron rubbed his thumb with his fingers.

“She’s not breathing on her own yet and according to her EEG, her last exam, her brain is swollen. It may take her a while to wake up.” The doctor gulped. “If she wakes up.”

Aaron’s entire world crumbled once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked to a corner to pull himself together.

This was his fault. You might never wake up and it was his fault.

“When can we see her?” Gideon asked for him.

“You can see her now but… you need to be prepared. A machine is breathing for her. There’s a tube down her throat and it might be a lot to look at.”

Just picturing you like that turned his stomach upside down.

God, if you don’t ever wake up—

“She’s gonna wake up.” Penelope’s voice entered the room and so did the light she carried everywhere.

She was one of Aaron’s comfort people. If Penelope was there, there was hope.

“Garcia,” Jason said in a don’t tone.

“She’s strong.” Penelope walked up to Hotch anyway. “And people wake up from comas. Miracles happen and—” Her eyes filled with tears once she touched Hotch’s arm to get his attention. “She needs us, she needs you. And we need her.”

Garcia also knew, apparently. And if she knew without being a profiler, everyone else knew.

“I found this.” She handed Hotch a Polaroid picture of you. You were leaning on Garcia’s desk, your arms folded over your chest and with your sweet, sweet smile. There was the hope. “I took it a while ago and kept it on my desk along with the others but…”

Aaron took it with a shaky hand. You were mesmerizing.

“García,” Gideon insisted.

A nurse interrupted to let them know they could see you now.

“You go,” Gideon said to Hotch, taking a step back. “Just call me if anything changes. Garcia, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Penelope gave Hotch one last hopeful smile before following Jason out.

Aaron looked at your photo again and took deep breaths to gather himself as walked to the endless hall that took him to you.

“We’ll set up your bed in a few.” The nurse smiled at him, gesturing for him to go in. “She looks good. It might not look like it because of all the machines but she’s doing good. She’s a strong woman.”

Aaron said a quiet thanks before the nurse left.

It was just you and him.

The steady beeping of the machine brought him a sense of comfort—it meant you were alive—yet his feet were hesitant to take him next to you. He stood at the door for a moment, watching you from afar.

As the doctor had said, it was a lot to look at. It reminded him of the last time he saw someone close to him like this: his father. The difference was that back then, he couldn’t wait for his dad to die.

Today, he’d found himself praying multiple times to a god he wasn’t even sure existed most times.

He dared to move and when he reached your side, he almost crumbled. You had a few bruises on your left cheek, your knuckles were split—you even had a broken finger, and you looked beautiful as ever. He wished he could see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, catch you smiling at him.

Guilt brewed at the pit of his stomach again. He should’ve gone with you. He should’ve been with you.

He lifted one hand to stroke your head and tears welled up as soon as his skin touched yours. His chin quivered and he sniffled quietly as tears threatened to spill. He used the heel of his hands to dry them away. He couldn’t cry, even if you were in a coma and couldn’t see him like this—broken. You believed people’s energy had effects on others, and you needed him to be strong. He needed to be more like you.

His bed was set soon after, right next to you. His eyes were heavy, and his muscles were sore. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down. He was scared to close his eyes. What if you died while he was asleep? He stayed sitting down, holding your hand and never losing sight of you.

“It’s raining,” he said out loud, talking to you. “Every time it rains I think of you.”

He smiled at the memories. You’d shown up at his office for your interview drenching, and he was smitten from the very first moment he laid eyes on you.

“Agent Hotchner,” your perky voice caught him off guard. No one inside the BAU building was perky—besides Garcia.

You stood by the door, both hands behind your back waiting for his signal to come in.

“Please.” He gestured with his hand to the seat across from him.

He took half a second to study you quickly. Raindrops were gathered over the shoulders of your blazer and your mascara was a bit smudged under your eyes.

“Forgot your coat, agent?” He commented, peeling his eyes off you and reading through your resume.

“Didn’t think I’d be raining by the time I arrived, sir. I don’t keep an umbrella in my car either. I apologize for my… appearance.”

It wasn’t your appearance that got you on his team, it was your outstanding resume. It made him wonder why you chose to apply to the Behavioral Analysis Unit instead of staying at ViCAP. Your performance there was impeccable.

“I wasn’t feeling comfortable there anymore,” was your answer. “And I want to seek other paths, sir. And I know I’m a good fit for your team.”

You started the very next day, and he partnered up with you to keep an eye on you during your first cases. You were a quick thinker, were fast on your feet, and stayed calm under critical situations.

Not once he felt at a disadvantage in the field for working with the new kid, which only showed him how good you naturally were. He was drawn to you and it wasn’t just because of your professionalism.

It was your fast food order. It was the first joke you ever made that only made him laugh. It was your perfume, the way you spoke with your hands, and how you raised your brows when making a point.

Everything about you made him take a deep breath. You made him dizzy. Lightheaded. Drunk.

Exactly how he felt right now while holding your hand, except that now, the room was spinning at the mere thought of losing you.

“I love you,” he murmured, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised knuckles with shaky lips. “I love you.”

He’d never said it before. He didn’t know he did until now.

“God, I love you so much. From the moment I saw you, you lit up my life. You made it better, made me better.” He kept talking to you, hoping that his voice would heal everything inside you. “I can’t lose you. I won’t make it.”

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

The rain stopped, the hours passed, and the sun never came out.

It’d been two weeks and he’d already made the habit of reading you at night.

“Studies have shown that playing music they really like and talking to the person in a coma increases their chances of waking up,” Spencer had said the day the entire team came to visit you.

Most nights he read case files. Others, he liked to read poetry.

You still hadn’t woken up, but the music, the poetry, and the flowers didn’t stop.

“I hope you don’t mind if I read something by Neruda,” Aaron said as he sat on the chair next to you. “Maybe not Neruda.”

It was one of those nights where hope had watered down with his tears.

He put the book down next to you and held your hand. He hadn’t stopped holding your hand; he hadn’t stopped kissing it either. He sighed deeply and stood up to draw the blinds, turning his back to you.

A loud smack against the floor startled him, making him turn around. The book he’d left next to you had fallen. He didn’t think he’d left it at the edge of the bed, but he picked it up without much curious and went to put it where it was.

Your hand twitched when he grazed your knuckles casually.

Then it twitched again—harsher—and a soft whimper came from your chest. That sound definitely came out of your body.

Aaron was quick to check on you, towering over you and watching you closely. Your eyelids started to move and the next thing he knew, he was making eye contact with you.

Those beautiful twinkling eyes took his breath away.

“We need a doctor in here!” He was quick to react, pressing the call button.

Nurses stormed inside and moved him out of the way to assist you.

“She’s awake. She’s fighting the tube,” was all he heard before a thousand tingles rushed through him.

You were awake.

Your doctor arrived soon after to examine you and Aaron stood there as they took the tube out.

You coughed and writhed with discomfort.

“Can you tell me your name?” Your doctor moved a small flashlight in front of your eyes.

You blinked a few times and searched around the room. Your eyes landed on Aaron. “Hotch?”

Your soft voice traveled to him and enveloped his heart, mending every bit that was broken.

“Hi,” he merely said.

You shook your head and said your name instead. Your doctor asked some more questions like your birthday, where you worked at and what was the last thing you remembered, and the entire time your eyes were trained on Aaron.

“It’s vague.” You took a sharp breath. “I think I was attacked but I don’t know how. I can assume by this unglued scar, though.” You put your palm on your chest.

“We’re still going to do some tests,” Your doctor said. “But you’re great. Pupils are responsive, your lungs sound healthy and there are no signs of brain damage. No memory loss. No speech loss either.”

“How soon can she go home?” Aaron asked, taking another step closer. He finally stood by your side, and you reached for his hand.

This was you. Sweet and caring even at your worst.

“I’d like to keep her under observation for a couple of days, then she can go. But just so you know, you can’t fly for at least two weeks after open-chest surgery.”

The doctor gave you some other indications before leaving, then it was just the two of you as it’d been for the past two weeks. Though now he got to see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, and catch you smiling at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, tilting your head to the side like a puppy.

“I sent you away and—“ he raised his brows.

“Don’t.” You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t… blame yourself.”

“I should’ve come with you. I should’ve— god, you almost died. You almost died,” he repeated in a whisper, shutting his eyes with pain.

The guilt was still there.

“But I didn’t.”

“I was so scared,” he admitted, daring to look back at you.

“I… don’t remember much. Just bits and pieces but I do remember that I wasn’t scared. I think. I… channeled you at that moment.” You laughed. “I remember thinking, Hotch wouldn’t be scared, he would put up a fight, so I did. I fought the guy, which got me almost killed but I wasn’t scared.” You lifted your hand and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek. “You have a beard.”

He chuckled. “Barely.”

“It looks good. I like it.”

He didn’t like it much, but he was grateful it was there so you wouldn’t see how hard he was blushing. He poured you some water and handed it you to distract himself from it.

“Where are we?” You then asked, taking a sip from the straw.

“Seattle.” Aaron raised his brows while licking his lips.

Last time you two were in Seattle, you’d kissed for the first time.

“Oh,” you mirrored his smirk. “So that’s gonna be like a three-day road trip back to Quantico?”

“It’s either that or two more weeks in Seattle until you can fly there,” he responded.

“Both sound amazing, don’t you think?” you scanned his face up and down and heat rushed to his cheeks again. “Thank you for staying with me, Aaron.”

I love you, he thought.

“How could I not?” he said instead.

Never said there would be a love confession now did I 🤭 But don’t worry, hotch confesses his love during the road trip <33333 also the title is a The Beatles song bc he played The Beatles a lot while reader was in a coma. And bc he held her hand a lot.

I hope you liked it!!!!

[joelsgreys]

fall into temptation | three

Post Outbreak Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock, right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you were underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[ddejavvu]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: your BeReal for the day is, perhaps, a little too real

contents/warnings: smut (18+, minors dni)

There's no mistaking the notification that chimes on your nightstand. It's BeReal, the unique sound lets you know, and you're not in the best position right now to answer it.

You're in the best position, period. You're sprawled out against Aaron's silky bedsheets, the fabric soothing and cool against your flushed skin. You're sweaty, hot, and bothered, your cunt begging for more as Aaron drives his cock repeatedly through your sopping folds.

"Fuck," You hiss, partially at the feeling of Aaron's teeth scraping at your collarbone, and partially because you panic at the sound, "Aaron, my- gimme my phone."

"Don't you think this is a little more important?" He grunts, nearly knocking his skull into your jaw as he lunges for a kiss. He takes you by surprise, and you're nearly pulled away from your urgency to post when his tongue practically slips down your throat.

You nearly gag on it, and your nails take a break from scratching up his back to weave through the short strands of hair at the back of his neck. It's not long enough to tug, but he huffs at the feeling of your nails scraping across his scalp, and rocks his hips into yours slightly faster.

"Oh, fuck, Aaron," You pant when he finally lets you breathe, burying his head in your shoulder to bite at the skin there instead, "Aaron this is so hot, I wanna- please, I wanna post it."

"No face," He instructs, and you're more than happy to choose a different area of his body to focus on, "Don't need Garcia figuring us out."

The moans that escape your mouth, albeit muffled by Aaron's own, are so pornographic that you're paranoid they'll somehow be captured in the photo you snap. When you finally get your hands on your phone you aim it at Aaron's back, as well as the red stripes left by your newly manicured nails, and snap a photo. Then, with the front camera, your jaw that's been sucked sore by Aaron, and in the corner of the shot, his short black hair and strong jawline nestled against your skin. You keep it just as he's instructed, vague enough of a profile so that your coworkers shouldn't be able to figure out that it's him, and his post without a second thought. You feel the buzzings of replies soon after, but you're no longer capable of caring about them while they vibrate against your nightstand, much happier to focus on Aaron's relentless jackhammering into your pulsating cunt.

--

Gathering in the conference room the next day means that you get a lot of shit-eating grins. You'd expected it, what with the soft porn you'd posted, and you're surprised when even Rossi offers you his congratulations.

"Nice going, kiddo," He knocks elbows with you, and you laugh sheepishly.

"You saw?"

"Morgan filled me in," He nods, "Garcia was the first one to know, of course, but it spread very quickly."

You don't have it in you to be embarrassed in front of your team too badly. You're all adults, and they're more proud of you than anything, even if Reid's smile is extra awkward today.

"Just be glad Hotch doesn't have the app," Emily laughs, and for a moment you forget that they don't know you're together. But you play it off with a wry smile towards her as your Unit Chief walks through the door, and you're happy to let your attention drift to him as he speaks.

His tone is authoritative, like always, and you fight to stop something from stirring between your legs. You tune into what he's saying instead, something about a double homicide in Kansas, and that helps dissuade any distracting thoughts you might have had.

"-and those pictures are... not on the monitor." Aaron narrows his eyes at the black screen, and Garcia nearly breaks the remote trying to get it to respond.

"Sir, I'm trying! I'm sorry," She frets, mashing all of the buttons at once in her panic, "It's not working, I- I think the batteries might be dead?"

"I changed them two weeks ago," Hotch shakes his head while taking the remote from her, stepping up towards the monitor to fiddle with the buttons beneath it, "It's alright, Garcia, it's not your fault."

He cranes his head down to peer at remote in his hand, intent on making sure no acid has leaked from the batteries, but when he does so, the back of his neck is no longer covered by his shirt collar, and it's bright red.

There's clear marks from your nails, red streaks that haven't faded in the mere hours they've been left alone and probably won't for another day. It barely takes any time for a room of profilers to connect two and two, and Penelope's position as technical analyst doesn't hinder her realization.

Your hand shoots over your mouth as the rest of your team exchanges incredulous gasps and jeers, all looking rapidly between you and Hotch. He turns to raise an eyebrow at them all and his eyes land on your bashful grin.

"Remind me to rub some aloe on the back of your neck when we get home," You mumble sheepishly, and there's only more scandalized comments made about how you two go home together.

Aaron's jaw clenches and he sighs defeatedly at the realization that you've both been caught, a hand flying up to cup the back of his neck.

Everyone waits with bated breath to hear what he has to say for himself but he can't manage to muster up anything to save the awkward situation.

"We'll look at the details on the jet," He grumbles, setting the faulty remote on the counter and snatching his bag off of the ground beside his chair, "Wheels up in thirty, and we never speak of this again."

[rafeandonlyrafe]

country club bathroom part one

words: 800

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, blowjob, mentions of female receiving oral and fingering, mentions of hooking up, semi public sex, pogue reader

part one / part two / part three / part four

“come on.” you tug at rafes hand, just as desperate for him as he is for you, following closely behind as you lead him into the staff bathroom, clicking the lock on the door, shutting you in together.

you’re on your knees in an instant, backing rafe up against the wall. you tug at his zipper and undo his button before pulling his pants down, mouth salivating when you realize he is already half hard in his underwear.

“fuck, such a dirty pogue, needing to suck me off so bad.” rafe groans as you lean forward, pressing open mouth kisses along his length.

“shut up, as if you don’t love this dirty pogue mouth.” you argue back. it started a few months ago, when you first got your job at the country club, ending your first shift by making out with rafe in a back hallway.

you’ve been hooking up since then, never going as far as to actually fuck, but you suck rafe off almost every time he comes in, and he makes it up to you by eating you out or fingering you.

“suck me baby, come on, enough teasing.” rafe says.

you are only on a fifteen minute break, not able to wait until the end of your shift to get your mouth on rafe, you need him now. you tug his underwear down, his hard cock springing up.

you grasp the base of his cock, spreading your lips to suck the head of his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking over the slit, tasting the precum that has begun to leak out.

“thats it.” rafe groans, pressing his shoulder blades against the wall. you bob your head, working half of his cock into your mouth, building up getting used to him going down your throat.

rafes length is impressive, maybe its what keeps you coming back to him, even though he hurls a few insults about you being a pogue every time.

“on your knees for the kooks, such a slut.” rafe moans, keeping his voice low as his hands fist in your hair. he doesn’t need to get caught, knowing it would mean you would get fired, and he would probably get suspended from the country club as well.

“not the kooks, just you.” you say, pulling off of rafes cock to take a deep breath, needing to refill your lungs with air after sucking him.

“damn right.” rafe says, moving his hand to the back of your head, forcing his cock back into your mouth as he pushes you down, making you take him fully. “only a whore for me.” rafe keeps his hips still, using his hands on your head to guide you up and down his cock, not caring about setting a gentle pace or slow tempo as you try your best not to gag around his length.

you moan around his cock, loving the feeling of him, of knowing that while you are on your knees, you have all the control for once. you blink up at rafe through your lashes, keeping your eyes on his face while he moans, jaw slackened, an intense look in his eyes.

“gonna cum in your throat, slut.” rafe says.

you shake his hands off your head, setting your own pace, moving faster, needing to feel his release, to bring him his high. 

you feel rafes cock swell in your mouth, and you know he’s close. you work faster, knowing you’re going to bruise your throat and end up sore, but you don't care.

“fuck, yes.” rafe groans, his head falling backwards against the wall as he presses his hips forward, releasing down your throat. you suck him through his orgasm, milking every last drop that you can before pulling off.

rafe tucks himself back into his pants and redoes them before helping you stand, your knees no doubt bruised underneath your pants. “told ya you liked this pogue mouth.” you smirk.

“yeah, whatever.” rafe rolls his eyes, pressing his lips against yours, pulling you in by your waist as he kisses you.

“my break is almost over.” you hum. “i gotta go.”

“yeah, of course.” rafe nods. you open the door to the staff bathroom, glancing to make sure that no one is around before leading rafe out of the staff area, sneaking him back to the lobby.

“hey, wait.” rafe says as you start to step away.

“what is it?” you ask, looking around again to make sure no one is noticing your conversation.

“want to come over tonight? my parents are gone and i’ve got the house to myself.” 

you know exactly what rafe is asking for, and you couldn’t be more excited to finally get him inside of you. “yeah, yes.” you nod. you make sure again that no eyes are on yours before you press a quick kiss to rafes lips.

“ill pick you up after your shift.” rafe says, a smirk on his face as he heads out of the lobby to finish his round of golf.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude

[hier--soir]

night breeze

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: joel comes home to find you sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes. warnings/tags: established relationship, consensual somnophilia, oral [f receiving], joel loves when you wear his clothes, premature ejaculation, reader wears joel's clothes; body type is not described explicitly but his boxers are described as "snug" on her thighs. word count: 1.8k masterlist follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is envisioned as a part of the ALP universe [set between 7 and 8] but it can be read as a stand alone.

The air is calm at dusk.

Soft and sweet against your skin, the smell of salt in your nostrils.

The sky is a kaleidoscope of purples and pinks and blues, and a slick orange sun drips and wanes until its belly kisses the ocean. Lower, lower, until the sky spins navy and the water pitches black. You float in that black darkness, unbothered by the heavy swells that rise and roll beneath you. The water is rocky and rough, though the waves never seem to break. Too far from the shore, they simply build and build, with no end in sight.  

And the water should be icy, cold enough to chill you to the bone and set you shivering, but you just feel hot. A searing, stuffy heat that clings even as you float over the rolling masses, letting them lap at your neck and face. Humid and dry, you want nothing more than for the water to suck you in deeper. Down, down, until your body is covered, and your hair is a floating halo, and you are finally cool.  

Yet as time passes, you find that it is not the water that is warm, but you. That stifling sticky sun that sank beneath the horizon now burns at the centre of you, red hot and raging, ready to rise again already.

You try to smother it, to tamp it down. Tangle your legs on the water’s surface and hold your breath, but it burns still. A scorching scratch at the inside of your skin, your skull, your chest cavity. And something crawls its way up through your chest now. Something loose-limbed and drowsy, working its way past your stomach, your lungs, your throat, your—

A ragged moan wakes you.   

Your fingers twitch and tighten, gripping soft sheets. Eyes roll behind lids as you drift slowly into consciousness. The air in his bedroom is cold, but in the haze of your sleep-addled brain you can’t quite pinpoint why you’re so warm. Face down on a pillow, you blink lazily and start to piece together what’s happening.

Your shirt—Joel’s shirt—clings to your skin. Sweat beads along the skin of your back, soaking into the thin fabric. The waistband of his boxers is forgiving, resting against the soft flesh beneath your belly button, though the hem of each leg is snug around your thighs. Oh, your thighs…. something sturdy holds them apart.

Two solid weights pressing against the inside of your legs, spreading them wide across the bed. A third weight against the small of your back… a hand. Fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, bunching the material at the base of your spine, keeping your stomach flush to the bed. Another moan startles you, sharpens your mind a little. Your tongue feels heavy, mind a slow blur as you realise that the sound came from your own mouth. And as that understanding sinks in, you finally feel it.

Something hot and wet, lapping at the dark fabric shielding your cunt. And you’re wet. Fucking hell, you’re so wet it’s near uncomfortable. The sopping material clings to your folds, a persistent tongue pressing it in deeper, soaking the material in your slick juices as they drip from you. You gasp, trying fruitlessly to turn your head and see over your shoulder in the darkness.

“S’me,” he says then, and his voice is a pained, haggard thing. Rough and wanton with desire, with need, muffled from how his face is buried between your thighs. “S’just me… fuck, m’sorry.”   

“Joel,” you rasp, breathless as his tongue glances over your clit through his boxers. He groans and then the thick point of his nose is pressing between your cheeks, nudging at your covered asshole. The pressure there sharpens your senses to a point, and sends a surprised moan peeling from your throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just let me…” Joel inhales deeply, cursing under his breath when you lazily rut your sex back against his face.

“Jesus Christ,” you whimper. When you move your face, something damp tickles your cheek. Saliva, pooling out the side of your open mouth and leaving a small damp circle on his pillow. Embarrassment warms your face, but the sound of Joel moaning against your cunt is a welcome distraction.

Muscular shoulders keep your thighs wide open, and he mouths shamelessly at the material, licking and kissing everywhere he can reach, and it suddenly makes sense why you feel like you’re on the edge already. The boxers must be ruined; slick and spit mix together to soak the entirety of the fabric until it clings to your swollen skin.

“H-how… fuck, Joel, how long have you—”

“Don’t know,” he mumbles. “Twenty minutes? Fuck, I don’t—”

Lewd sucking noises fill the room and the muscles in your abdomen go rigid, mouth hanging wide open as his fingers curl around the gusset of the boxers, dragging them to the side. You moan and squirm against the bed as he dips his tongue between your folds, gliding it through the sloppy messy of you. His sounds match yours; hot exhales billowing against your exposed skin and sending goosebumps sprouting across the backs of your thighs.  

Joel pulls back for a minute. Keeps the material pulled to the side, allowing the cool night air to dance across the scorching skin between your legs while he watches you drip for him.

“Got home late,” he apologises, and you twitch as his breath hits your centre. He’s still so close. “Jimmy needed help with somethin’ and I—fuck, it doesn’t matter, but you were so perfect. My good girl, all tucked up in my bed, wearin’ my fuckin’ clothes, just waitin’ for me.”

“Tried to stay awake.” You hum softly, trying to inch yourself back against his face. But Joel just tuts, and you feel a sharp sting as he nips at the skin of your thigh. You pout against his pillow, body going lax and pliant once more. “Wanted to fall asleep with you.”

“I know,” he soothes, licking over where his teeth marks mar your flesh. His lips dance higher and higher until his tongue flicks into your hole. He swears low, resting his forehead against the soft plush of your ass. “But this? Comin’ home to this… fuckin’ luckiest man in the world, I tell ya.”

It's slow and steady when he lets his mouth fall upon you again. Soft little licks around your lips, tracing the dips and folds of your labia, mapping out every inch of you before his tongue dares graze against your clit. And when he does finally make contact, you jolt and whimper, already acutely aware of that familiar tingle in your spine.

Unable to reach him, your fingers tangle uselessly in his sheets, entirely at his mercy as he devours you from behind. Thick thumbs spread you open for his eyes to see, keeping you apart as he licks broad strokes up the entirety of your cunt before lathing languid open-mouthed kisses against it. Hot and wet and needy, his moans vibrate through you, letting you know he loves this just as much as you. Maybe even more.

Your clit pulses against his tongue, alive with a throbbing heartbeat of its own. And with every swipe and glide and circle you feel that heat swirl stiffer in your belly, the wave building and building. You can feel the way your hole, painfully empty, clenches over and over around nothing but air, winking at him and begging for more.

The slippery sounds of your arousal fill the room once more and soon enough you’re keening his name beneath your breath, spurring him on as you imagine the way it must shine on his beard, his lips, even in the darkness.

“Please,” you mewl, drooling against his pillow still, vaguely aware of your saliva gliding down your neck, thick and viscous. “Joel, fuck me, I want it, want you—”

“I will,” he swears, but you can feel how rapt he is by this. How every facet of his attention is trained on keeping his mouth on your pussy, his tongue rubbing firm circles around your clit just how you like. He gasps and pants against you, nodding a little, groaning when his nose glides through your folds and your scent coats his nostrils. “I will, I will, I just need you like this a little longer. I will. Promise.”

His grip is tender against the crease of your thighs, fingers digging in right where your leg meets the flesh of your ass as he eats at you. And you can tell by the way his noises deepen, turning guttural and depraved, that he won’t be making good on that promise tonight. Know it from the way his face ruts forward into your core every few seconds that he must be grinding his leaking cock against the mattress, feverish and desperate for relief. And the mere thought of it, of him hot and hard, straining inside his pants, has the muscles in your legs going taut.

Joel murmurs your name, so soft under his breath. His long tongue dips inside of you and then strokes up to flick against your clit, and finally you dissolve under his mouth.

The orgasm flows through you much like the waves in your dream. Joel coaxes it out from deep in your stomach until you’re a wet trembling mess beneath him; nothing but a rolling mass of waves for the sticky sun to sink into. Warm and wet, the high laps at your body from every angle until the edges of your mind are fuzzy, molten heat drooling from your cunt and onto his grateful tongue as he groans.

He doesn’t let up those soft swirls of his tongue until your hips are twitching away and you’re whining his name, and begging him to come up here. And so he crawls up your body, movements slow and sleepy as he drops heavily against your back. Thick thighs bracket your own, and that scruffy chin sits against the slope of your shoulder as he presses a kiss and a drowsy mumble of hey baby behind your ear.

“That was nice.” You smile when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. Curious, you work a hand between your back and his chest, fingers trailing down until you reach the damp spot at the front of his trousers. He exhales roughly, hips jerking backward, sensitive. “Fuck, did you come?”

“Shh,” he murmurs, his smile sheepish and shy against your skin. You laugh, heart swelling and eyes falling shut as you let him tip you onto your side and pull you back against his chest. A broad palm snakes over your hip, fingers dancing beneath the band of the boxers to rest against your skin, and he squeezes the flesh there greedily. “Gonna fuck you in the mornin’,” he vows.

You hum, already half asleep again despite how chilled your skin turns as your sweat cools. “Gonna wake me up with your cock inside me, hm?”  

“Fuck,” Joel chokes out, his grip on you tightening. “Yeah, baby. I will.”

“Is that a promise?”

“S’a promise.”

thank you for reading x

[bunnysbrainrot]

Blood Flow

Kinktober Prompt: Choking

Relationship: dbf!Joel Miller x Reader

Content: [i was going for something sensual and i failed.] Explicit sexual scenes, fingering, choking, squirting, praise kink, Joel’s kinda rough, teasing. No outbreak AU.

Summary: You curiously tread into the realm of choking, but you have no clue why people think it feels ‘good’. With Joel’s help, you realize that there’s simply a right way to do it.

A/N: pay attention to the last line. it implies exactly what you think it does. **ALSO! part 3 for this is out, it’s called Daddy’s Girl!

this scene is so weird, why is he choking her???

Your fingers flitted across your phone screen, texting as you watch a new show. In this scene, the two main characters finally broke their tension, and things were growing heavy. You watched the actor’s hand wrap around his costar’s throat, watching how her face contorted in bliss.

Cause it feels good, sweetheart, Joel replied.

Bringing your own hand to your neck, you pressed against your windpipe and choked, like really choked, but it didn’t feel like you thought it would. And your face definitely did not make those same expressions as the woman in the show.

Clearing your throat, you replied to Joel. A few years ago, this kind of conversation would earn you an intervention with your parents. This was your dad’s best friend, and you shouldn’t be texting him about being choked, of all things.

But fuck, was texting Joel a wonderful time.

A single message could have you squeezing your thighs together. Every baby girl, sweetheart, and honey was imagined in his voice as if he were there, whispering them into your ear. You would imagine his fingers dancing across your skin as he showered you with those sweet pet names.

tried it on myself, and i can confirm that it feels awful. coughing my lungs out right now

Joel read your text and let out a hearty chuckle, quickly replying back. He knew you were a tad… inexperienced with things like this, and that you wouldn’t ask just anyone about this. He had you wrapped around his finger, as you did him.

Baby doll, you’re probably pressing on your windpipe. It’s a little tricky to do it on yourself

You groaned at the text, still frustrated at your little mishap. The reply you gave him was rather bold, but you anxiously sent it anyway.

maybe you could show me

The two of you had flirted a lot more since you came back home from college. Four years of hard schoolwork had you taking a break back home with your parents to choose your next big step in life. At first it started small - little compliments on your clothes, on your intelligence, on how much you’d come into your own. Your glances at Joel lasted too long to be friendly, and it didn’t help when you ran your foot along his leg under the table at big family dinners.

In short, you were driving each other absolutely wild, pulling the tension taught between you, waiting for it to snap.

But Joel wanted to go slow. This was dangerous territory, and he needed to take his time.

Maybe I could

You stared blankly at the phone screen, reading over the message with a fluttering heart behind your ribs. A wave of warmth spread over you with a beeline between your thighs. You clenched your legs together as you texted Joel back.

right now?

J: Door’s unlocked, I’m just watching TV. If you want to join me we can watch that show you were telling me about

Like an alarm went off you shot out of bed, hurrying to your dresser and closet to find a more impressive outfit. Joel wouldn’t care all that much - he liked seeing you in anything. It didn’t matter how much or little you had on, you were always beautiful to him.

headed out now!

Joel have a swift reply that buzzed in your pocket.

Someone’s eager.

You trekked over to the neighborhood next to yours, practically skipping with each step up to Joel’s house. Thankfully, his daughter, Sarah, would be at a friend’s house this evening, leaving you and Joel all to yourselves.

Joel’s head perked up when he heard you knock. He, almost too excitedly, shot up from the couch and headed to the front door.

He was an effortlessly handsome man. And now, in a simple pair of sweatpants and v-neck shirt, he looked more stunning than ever. For you, it also didn’t matter what he wore - he always looked handsome.

“Hi,” you said, offering him a small smile.

Joel raised an arm and leaned against the doorframe. His lean muscles shifted under his tan skin, hardened by those years under the Texas sun, and caught the light from inside to accentuate his bicep. He caught you ogling, and laughed.

“Sweetheart, I’m not just eye candy,” Joel’s voice was soft after the long day he had, “You comin’ in, or what?”

Your smile widened as you stepped in, dipping under Joel’s arm to step in the living room. He had already closed the blinds preemptively to shield yourselves from any prying eyes. You sat on the couch and waited for Joel to join you.

He slowly made his way over, “So, what show were you watchin’?”

You sighed dramatically, “Well, now it’s just embarrassing. We can watch something else, instead.”

Joel shook his head at your offer, gesturing to the TV, “Not embarrassing at all. ‘Sides, I got a plan for it.”

He snatched the remote from the arm of the couch and chose a spot right next to you. After a series of questions, you began to play the show you’d seen, found the right episode, and played the scene in question.

Joel remained silent the entire time, glancing between you and the TV. His stare bore into you, but it was unclear as to what was going through his mind.

But the scene, to your relief, ended, and the shyness you’d felt could be over. Joel paused the show in the middle of the next scene and finally met your eyes.

“Alright, I think I know where ya went wrong,” he commented. You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“It’s all about controlling the blood flow, not pressin’ on the windpipe. That’s a one way ticket to the man upstairs,” Joel laughed and brought his hand to your cheek, cupping your face carefully. His thumb passed over your cheekbone before he shifted down toward your neck.

He placed his thumb and index finger on either side of your throat, right under your jaw. The pressure was uncomfortable at first, pressing into you in a way that sparked some faint nausea. You cleared your throat and swallowed to dull the feeling.

“Pressin’ here,” his grip tightened, “reduces the blood flow. It’s still a lil’ hard to breathe, but it doesn’t risk your safety.”

A lightness began to creep through you as Joel pressed into your throat. Blackness clouded the edge of your vision, blurring Joel’s features, though you could barely make out a lazy smile.

After a few long seconds, he let go, and you could freely breathe once again. The rush of blood back to your brain throbbed at your temples, though the brief headache was nothing compared to the rush of pleasure it delivered.

To your surprise, the rush went straight to your core, leaving you shifting your legs together.

Joel leaned forward and planted a kiss on your cheek, his voice was a low whisper.

“See? Feels good when someone does it right, don’t it?”

You nodded, still held securely by his hand around your throat. His lips traveled across your face, to your temples, to your jaw, and finally finding your own, flush and fluid with your own movements. Joel tightened his grip again, and the same rush came flowing through. It was tricky to keep kissing Joel at the pace he set. Instead, your mouth slacked open as a moan escaped you, swallowed eagerly by Joel.

He spoke slowly against your lips, nipping at them between his words.

“How is it, baby doll? Still feel good?”

It was wonderful. Had you not messaged him about this, you would’ve been completely in the dark about this whole new world of pleasure. So wonderful, in fact, that you could feel a new slickness in your sex, about to soak into your panties. Instinctively you ground your hips, pathetically pressing your aching pussy into nothing substantial.

Joel moved his other hand lower, raking over your shifting thighs, “Tell me, sweet girl, does it make you feel good down here?”

His hand cupped your clothed sex, pressing against your slit and slowly massaging your core. Your breath trembled as you gave him another nod - a small sign of permission to take things further.

“Joel… Joel,” you whispered, fighting against his grip on your throat. Amidst the rush going through your head you could barely hold onto what he was saying, let alone reply coherently.

His lips had wandered to your jaw, peppering a trail of kisses around his rough fingers, “What is it, baby girl? Tell me whatcha need.”

You choked out your reply, “In.. inside.”

A low laugh danced across your skin, “That’s my girl. Always needing something fillin’ her up. ‘Least when I’m involved, anyway.”

He pressed harder against your aching sex - the abrasion of the fabric turned you into a whimpering mess in a matter of seconds. You needed more. You needed him.

Joel groaned against your skin when you tugged his hand past the waistband of your pants, pushing him lower toward your core.

“Need me to make you feel good, sweet girl?” his voice thrummed through your chest. You nodded, urging your lungs to take in sweet, fresh air amidst the constriction. Joel loosened his grip ever so slightly, letting you catch your breath.

He hummed against your jaw as he adjusted his hand with his fingers teasingly at your entrance. A single finger played with your wet hole, swirling around carefully, not fully giving you what you need. Not yet.

You mewled a slurred version of his name, eyes rolling back when his grip tightened around your throat.

Joel’s fingers didn’t stop, but rather pushed further, sinking past your soaked folds and into your tight pussy. A small whimper from you made him smile, carefully eyeing you as he moved his fingers, curling them up to brush your sweet spot.

“Joel… fu-fuck,” you choked.

His fingers plunged deeper into your warm cunt, curling harshly to draw a long-awaited moan. Until now, Joel hadn’t had the joy of hearing you utter anything above a whisper.

You cried out, straining against his grip, but was sent back to fighting for that sacred blood flow back to your brain.

You brought your hand up to meet the one at your neck, tapping against the back of his hand. A beat passed before Joel realized the mistake. He swiftly released you and cradled your head, slowing his movements between your thighs.

“Sorry,” you rasped, “that was just a little too hard. I couldn’t really make any noise without coughing.”

Joel leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He broke away with the softest tone you’d heard all night.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for, honey,” he replied, spreading his kisses to your cheeks. “Got a little too ahead of myself there.”

He kissed you until you were left breathless and panting. By now your lips were plump from the bites and nips Joel had given them.

“Maybe we could try a different position, whaddya say?”

After a beat of thought, you nod in agreement and follow his lead. He removed his hand from your pants, lightly sucking at his soaked fingers, and moaning at your taste across his tongue.

This was the closest he’d been to truly tasting you. Words escaped him as he tried to describe the feeling of heaven on his very lips.

You stood from the couch and watched Joel taste yourself on his fingers. He was completely entranced, and monitoring your every movement as you waited for his direction.

Darkness filled his eyes, “Y’might need to take those pants off, sweetheart. Need a good angle for this.”

Now right in front of his legs, you urged Joel to spread them apart and stood between them.

He took this as a silent request for his help. Joel gave you a smile and sat forward, letting his hands climb up your thighs, taking their sweet time to cover as much of them as he could.

Joel hooked his fingers on your waistband and gently tugged, unwrapping you like it was Christmas morning.

Your bottoms dropped to your ankles, and all was left was your soaked panties, the last barrier between Joel and what he’d wanted to see most. Joel leaned further, leaving a trail of kisses from your mid-thigh to your hip, alternating to the other side. Each touch of his lips set you ablaze. His gentle touches paled in comparison to the heat roiling through your belly, trickling right down to your aching pussy.

At long last he peeled your panties off of you, slowly sending them down your legs until they joined your pants. Your lower half was bare for him now; you were a gift unwrapped, the best present he could’ve asked for.

“Christ,” Joel muttered. His eyes scanned over your half naked form, giving you a curious look at your chest.

He wanted nothing more than to wander up there, letting his hands dip below the fabric and slide up to your chest. Your tits were selfishly hidden from him, with your perfect, perk nipples poking through, enticing him to search for more.

You wrapped your legs on either side of him, pushing Joel back against the couch so you could get into position. His legs stayed spread open, thus making you open yours across his.

Spread perfectly wide for whatever he had planned for you.

Joel cupped the back of your neck and pulled you in for another kiss, working his hands over your thighs in the process. You could feel a couple of damp fingertips from where he’d fingered you before. Those same fingers now crept toward your needy hole, teasing you ever so slowly.

You bucked your hips and positioned them over his hand, whining at the lack of touch.

“Joel, please,” you mumbled, keeping your lips in tandem with his own. Joel grumbled out a reply you couldn’t discern before a hand made its way to your throat.

Joel pressed down on either side of your windpipe to deliver that sweet head rush of elation.

“I’ve got you, baby girl, I’ll take care of you.”

And that, he did. His hands moved with pure greed at your neck and pussy, sending two fingers up into your tight cunt. You cried out against his lips as he slowly pumped into you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let it all out.”

You were relieved you could make at least a little noise. It was better than it was at home, where you’d spent countless nights touching yourself, moaning against your hand or a nearby pillow.

But here… here you could cry out as Joel touched you. You could freely show him how good he was making you feel.

You let out a soft whine, but it was not well-received by Joel.

“I wanna hear you, baby.”

A louder moan drew from your throat. Joel’s fingers curled inside of you, pressing into the spongy part right past your entrance. Your walls fluttered gently around his fingers, pulling him in further.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” said Joel, still mumbling against your lips. You offered him a smile, proud that your body was to his liking. It was all you’d hoped for, to be perfect for him.

“Not sure how this little pussy’s gonna handle me, though,” he continued in a cocky voice. “But I think you could do it.”

He curled his fingers harshly, causing you to slur your words together. Something about Joel, and harder, and please.

“Such a good girl. Bet you’d take anything I gave you, huh?”

You nodded slightly, constricted under his grip to move any further.

Joel pushed his fingers deeper, picking up his pace until the wet sounds of your ravaged cunt filled the room. Your juices flowed from your pussy and onto his hand, leaking down from his fingers to his palm, pooling your sweet slick before it trickled to the floor below.

His pace became relentless, though the grip on your throat loosened. You let out a shuddering moan as he furiously pumped his fingers, making your cunt squelch with the most obscene sounds you’d ever heard.

“Attagirl,” Joel praised, “Just keep still. I gotcha.”

The reassuring tone kept you conflicted - it totally contrasted from what he was doing to your body.

Fuck, if this is how it was with just his hands alone, you silently prayed that you could handle what else he could give you.

There was a new tightness in your abdomen, pooling around in your sex, but it was a deeper sort of pressure you’d never felt. It felt like…

“Joel,” you protested, “I think I gotta pee.”

He laughed against your lips, “Just work with me here, darlin’.”

You squirmed on his hand as this new sensation spread through your pussy. This kind of pressure wasn’t something you could’ve gotten from your own hand, let alone any toy.

No, this was the masterful work of Joel Miller’s fingers, unraveling you around him.

He struck deeper, twisting his wrist to get a better angle, curling each thick digit against your sweet spot. You choked on a gasp as the pressure in your abdomen built, threatening to break apart.

With a flurry of swift motion the tension broke, and a beautiful symphony sounded - the rush of your juices that poured onto his hand, the strangled moan that fell from your slacked mouth, followed by the pleased groan Joel drew out.

“What… hah… was that..?” you panted. Joel kissed your cheekbone as he worked you through your high.

“Did I just… did I sq-“ you could barely make out the word.

“You did. And you did such a good job, sweet girl.”

The praise roiled through your gut. A soreness flooded through your sex, trailing toward your cervix. You swallowed nervously at the thought of anything bigger, and what it could do to your insides.

Joel slowed his pace and released the hand that had been trained to your neck. You both worked through your climax, coming down smoothly to where you now laid slumped against Joel’s chest.

His hands still roved over your skin, gently kneading your ass and thighs as you caught your breath.

“How you feelin’, honey?” his Southern drawl intoxicated his words with a sickly sweetness.

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck a let out a small, content mmm, taking in his scent. The mix of his cologne and sweat sent something possessive through you, to have this all for yourself. It felt too selfish for that pining to be one-sided - for you to want him as much as you did, without knowing if he held the same ferocity about you as you did him.

“Thirsty.”

“I bet. That’ll take a lot outta ya - let’s get a glass of water and getcha cleaned up.”

You worked your legs off of his thighs and stood shakily. After sitting in that awkward position and having your senses scrambled, your knees buckled beneath your weight, desperately trying to hold your quivering thighs steady.

“Hold on, sweetheart, I’ve gotcha,” Joel said, swiftly standing on steady feet. You pouted at the unfairness - his hands tore at your sex and left you trembling while he was perfectly fine.

“You better not laugh at me,” you snapped, though the drained tone in your words had Joel chucking slightly.

He held you steady with both hands and led you toward the kitchen, “You look like you got a hip replacement.”

“You’re nearing that age, aren’t you?” you quipped. Joel gave you a firm smack on your ass as his reply.

“Better watch it, I don’t do well with brats.”

hi y’all! thank you so much for reading and supporting, and happy Kinktober!

If you’re looking for the part 3 of this, it’s called Daddy’s Girl! I would love if you gave it a read

ily xoxo

[kvnis]

౨ৎ ﹒ head so good she a honor roll !

── ୨୧：sub!choso x dom!reader

୨୧﹑ synopsis :; you merely want to see your boyfriend fall apart from your tongue.

୨୧﹑ genre :; smut, nsfw

୨୧﹑ cw :; fem!reader, blowjob, overstimulation, cum eating, hair pulling, choking/ gagging, throat fucking, not proofread.

﹒notes ! ⸜⸜ a break from the requests ... i finally wrote for choso !! he’s acc been stuck in my head for so longg i’m so happy i got round to writing for him. ( art by syrnrr )

    choso was panting for breath in a frenzy, his hands roaming under your shirt as your lips interlocked in a greedy kiss as your fingers dipped into the waistband of his pants.

    the way you touched him was addicting. it dragged him in, entrancing him and making him want more, more, more. the softness of your hand on his jaw, tilting his head whichever way was convenient for you, sent him reeling.

    it wasn’t enough. your hands only lightly grazed his erection through the fabric of his pants and he couldn’t take it. the feeling of your tongue brushing up against him sent sparks flying down his spine, straight to his cock and making it painfully harder. 

    he tried to hump his hips up into your hand, but it didn’t grant him the same type of friction he so desperately needed. you swallowed up his noises, silencing his pleas and cries against your lips. 

    “please…” he begs, albeit slightly muffled due to your tongue ravaging the inside of his mouth. you relished in his taste, making sure to savor it fully. 

    you pressed your palm against his clothes cock, palming it through the fabric. melodic, airy whimpers leave his lungs, his hips instinctually grinding up into yours. 

    his hand goes to your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss before pulling away for air. you both are left panting, hot breaths mingling in the air, immediately bringing a flush to your cheeks. 

    “more…” choso drawls, hands balling into fists in your hair as you tug down his pants and underwear in one swift movement. he bites his lip hard as he sees you start to trail your hand down his torso, leaving shuddering kisses on his neck. 

    your hand finally wraps around his length, thumb swiping along the flushed, weeping tip. choso immediately lets out a soft cry, the relief he’s receiving is unmatched. his watery eyes lock onto your movements as you stroke him, gradually getting faster with every move. 

    his eyes nearly roll back in his head from watching you, his face heating up with embarrassment.

    you loved seeing the way he ends up shying away from your heated gaze, refusing to take in your shameless activities. the way that your eyes gazed up at him, half-lidded, makes his stomach tie in knots and sends blood rushing to his dick.

    you leave one last kiss on the corner of his lips, venturing kisses down his chest before reaching his thighs. you rest in between them, giving the plush a playful bite just to make him jolt.

    “s-stop that…” choso frowns, almost devolving into a whine as you drag your tongue up his thigh. “just suck me off…!”

    a breathy, mocking chuckle from you brushes against his leg, sending a shiver down his spine. your hand slows down, plump lips pressing against the tip teasingly. he gasps, hand in your hair trying to push you down onto his length. the meek warmth from your lips wasn’t enough. he needed more.

    and fuck—he swears he almost passes out as you part your lips to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. your tongue swirls, gathering his pre in your mouth before shallowly taking even more of his length.

    he could feel your hot saliva coating his length as you attempted to take him deeper and deeper into your comfortable mouth. your eyes squeeze shut as he hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly.

    his hand readjusts its grip on your head, forcing you all the way down onto his cock, your nose brushing against his pelvis. his stomach tenses as your tongue licks a line up the underside of his cock, your mouth going back up to swirl the muscle around the sensitive tip before slamming back down.

    choso moans out, looking down at how pretty you looked with your mouth stuffed with his cock. your eyes were slightly watery from your gags, but it all made you more attractive in his eyes.

    once your dazed eyes look up to his face, he lets out another soft moan. your mouth was hypnotic, making him lose his mind just from some simple licks. his free hand rests on his sweaty forehead as he throws his head back, eyes screwing shut out of raw pleasure.

    your head bobbed up and down, settling on a rhythm that you knew would make him absolutely crumble. he drinks in the sight of you slightly struggling to breath, taking in big gulps of air through your nose.

    experimentally, he thrusts his hips up into your mouth, gauging your reaction. you cough around his length, swallowing around it as you try to get used to his thrusts. every time he pumps his length into your throat, it hits the back and almost makes you choke.

    he shakily exhales, using your head to guide his thrusts deeper and deeper into your mouth. your hands fly for purchase on his thighs, your grip almost bruising as he fucks your throat.

    a moan of yours sends vibrations through his cock, making him groan and pull on your hair harder. he begins to chase his own high, pounding harder and harder into your mouth.

    “f-fuck… s’good, please… don’t stop…” he pants out breathlessly, making sure you don’t pull away from him. your tongue swirls around his cock, coaxing more and more pathetic sounds out from him.

    his chest rises and falls with unsteady gasps, his hand coming off of his forehead to twist into the sheets. he bites down his tongue, attempting to silence his shamefully loud noises.

    your movements in pleasuring him go faster, more intense, and there was no way he was going to be able to suppress any of his noises for longer. it was degrading for him in a strange way, yet it turned him on to no end knowing you were the only person capable of pushing him to this point.

    drool pools in your mouth, the motions of his thrusts making it leak out and dribble down your chin, causing you to appear all the more captivating in his eyes. it was messy, lewd, choso knew that, but it was so fucking addicting.

    his shaky lips part, finally letting out his whimpers as his hips feverishly buck up into your mouth, feeling his high winding up in his stomach. it tightened and tightened, making his legs strain and breath waver.

    “close… ‘m close,” he whines out to you, immediately noticing the short hum you let out in acknowledgement. your tongue laps around his cock, eyes looking up at him glossily. your drunken gaze makes him melt, length twitching in your mouth as he reaches his high with a loud, drawn out moan.

    the hand on the back of your head grips your head tighter and pushes you all the way down on his cock. you could feel hot ropes of cum spill into your mouth and you struggle to swallow it all.

    it’s bitter, lingering on the back of your tongue, even after you take it all. however, it was almost like a drug to you, your eyes almost turning into hearts as you feel the first drop leak onto your tongue.

    every time you sucked him off, it left you practically craving more. he had this mind-breaking effect on you that none of your previous partners have had before.

    it made every sexual encounter with him all the more enjoyable.

    you’ve left choso in a hazy state, his eyes slightly teary as he watches you slowly pulling away, a string of your spit and his cum connecting your lips to his tip, before it snaps. he whimpers upon seeing how some of his fluids had dribbled down from the corners of your mouth. he watches your throat bob as you swallow what was left over in your mouth.

    you wipe your chin with the back of your hand, smirking up at him as your hands slyly creep to wrap around the base of his cock again, squeezing him teasingly.

    he immediately whines pathetically, trying to writhe back and away from your hand. you didn’t let him, as your mouth was back on him in an instant.

    “n-no… ah! i can’t take it…” he sobs out, a tear rolling down from the corner of his eye, which he wipes away instantly. your tongue sticks out to lick up the bulging vein, making him immediately shut up.

    “yeah you can… don’t worry,” you run your tongue down the side of his length, planting a kiss as you get to his tip. “i’ll take care of you.”

    with that, you open your mouth and take his dick back into the familiar comfort of your throat. even though every instinct in choso is telling him to pull away, he just couldn’t, your tongue manipulated him in ways words never could. it pummeled him down into nothing beneath you, free for you to shape courtesy of your will.

    he’s non-stop whimpering, his hand seeking refuge in the silky strands of your hair once more. his thrusts are sloppy, not enough effort being put into the action as he’s spent from cumming just minutes before.

    “i can’t…” he mewls out, despite being the one thats currently fucking your throat. “i-i’m already close…”

    your eyes flit up to him, as if to say ‘nothing’s stopping you’, but you could tell he wanted to relish in the feeling of your mouth for longer before it becomes too much for him to handle.

    his breath hitches as you take him all in your throat once more, hollowing your cheeks and sucking on him as if it was the last time you’d ever get to—gagging and choking on his dick as if you were desperate to please him.

    and that, you were.

    his moans dip a pitch higher, hips stuttering and breath staggering as you run your tongue along the sensitive vein again. it sends him into a mindless state of euphoria, the hot, searing temperature of your tongue constantly curling around the ridges of his cock making him lightheaded.

    “please, please, fuck—please…” his incoherent, slurred babbles fall unto your deaf ears. his thighs twitch in your hold as he reaches his peak once more with a muffled scream into the back of his hand, his eyes screwed shut as his load fills your mouth.

    his grip loosens on your hair, lazily resting his limp hand on the back of your head before relaxing on the bed, wincing once you pull away from his cock with a vulgar pop.

    his head is resting back against the pillow, trying to muster up the energy to lift his head up to look at you. you wipe the corners of your lips before swallowing, going up to grasp his cheeks and guide his eyes to meet with yours.

    you press a tender kiss upon his lips. it’s soft and loving, contradicting the way you were pushing him to his limits earlier.

    however, he was completely invested in the kiss, way too oblivious of your hand making its way off of his face and down to his cock, slowly wrapping around it.

    “can you take any more?” you coo against his lips in a mocking tone, your thumb circling his tip.

    he blinks once you pull away from the kiss. once, twice, before your hand begins to run down to the base of his dick. his lips part in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering closed—fully aware that he was done for.

    you wouldn’t be leaving him alone tonight until you broke him.

©2024 kvnis do not copy, plagiarise, translate or repost any of my works.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Reminder; Don't Forget

(Scrap)

❥Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: i want park seonghwa to be mean to me while wearing a tank top, that is all ➯a/n: i'm going to start posting drafts that haven't been touched in over a month so they don't just collect dust, enjoy ya filthy animals

✃ "You need a reminder of who's good girl you are."

✫彡wordcount: 2.7k

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: YANDERE SMUT (hinted mafia/crime au)

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: THIS IS A DARK FICTION. EMPHASIS ON DARK FICTION. i do no condone pretty much anything seonghwa does in this fanfic. this is very dark, the darkest i've gone so if you are uncomfortable with that check out something else. we have here: dark/yandere/savior complex hwa, degrading, unsafe physical restraint, choking, destruction of personal property, shaming, dubcon, extremely possessive behavior, some ddlg themes, slapping, praise, yelling, captivity, crying, knifes thrown at reader as a punishment(none hit!!), threats of violence, manipulation, mind break, hair pulling, mention of edging, face humping, throat fucking, messy bj, not proof read

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Did you forget your place, hm? It certainly seems like it, acting like a slut when you're mine!" His grip on your neck tightens, a chuckle leaving his furled lips as you grab at his tank top desperately trying to force out apologies through the pressure he puts on your wind pipes. "What, you can't even say that you're sorry? Another's man's number in your phone and you can't tell me you're sorry?"

Oh he's evil, he loves to see you squirm. And squirm you do: pushing against his heavy weight on your hips and clawing at his arm as your lungs beg for air.

He lets go, arms crossing his chest as he leans back nonchalantly, every bit of his weight in your lap as you heave. "Hwa-seong...Hwa, I'm s-sorry! I thought, thought, it'd be okay hes just a f-friend-"

   "You thought," he laughs cruelly, "are you even capable of that? Dumb little girl," he slaps your jaw, lightly, but it still makes you face the wall with a look of defeat.

"I think for you, is that clear?" You nod, tear stained cheeks gleaming in the light.

"Hey, am I clear?" he shouts this time, making you jump.

    "Yes! Yes, Hwa, clear..."

   "There's my good girl—" He brushes back your hair, cooing as you lean away, "you're the prettiest girl I ever laid my eyes on, and you think men don't see that? You think they're blind? Or are you really just that naiive, pretty baby?" His cool finger tips trail down to the blooming bruise on your neck, pressing softly to make you whine. "Give me your phone."

   He's up and off your body in a second flat, letting you catch your breath as you slowly manage to pull yourself to your knees. He doesn't press you to hurry or yell, he doesn't do anything but sit back in the bean bag chair he gifted you for previously good behavior and watch you like a hawk. His legs spread and hands on his knees, resisting the urge to snatch you up. When you turn and see him on the other side of the room, you simply outstretch your arm with the old prepaid phone he provided you with a few weeks ago. "Bring it here," he commands lowly, eyes tracking your every move as you slowly move towards him on your knees- having no energy to stand.

He spreads his legs further, a silent instruction. You slot yourself between them and hold the phone to him tentative, shoulders relaxing as he takes it. "Thank you, beautiful. See, isn't it easy when you listen to me?" He unlocked the phone quickly, eyes flicking to you darkly when you go to take it back. "Got something to hide?" You shake your head, looking down as he takes your hands and places them on each of his thighs. "Don't move."

So you don't, simply breathing deeply to replenish your abused lungs while he combs through your phone with a fine toothed comb. You know you haven't done anything truly wrong, but it seems like he has different definitions to you.

"Good girl..." He whispers to himself as he sees the message of you shooting down the idea your friend tried to corrupt you with, to go out without him. "Stupid, but good..." He continues as he reads through every message with the phone number of the man. He monitors everything you do, it was only a matter of time before he got around to checking all of the numbers in your phone and their owners.

"Aw, you really are just naiive, huh? My poor little angel. Cant even tell when someone's trying to take you away from me-" He tuts his tongue, setting the phone down on the floor. When you go to pick it up, he kicks your hand away. "Sorry, Baby, you can't be trusted with big girl stuff yet. Gotta learn first." He smashes the device beneath his booted heel, a squeal passing through your lips at the loud metallic crunch.

"Hwa!" A pouty whine comes before you can stop it, tears welling up in your eyes all over again. When he cocks his eyebrow up, you cower between his legs, stuttering quietly. "Sorry, m'sorry..." He swipes the destroyed phone to the side with his boot before tapping your hip with it. You shuffle quickly, untying his shoes with a shaky breath.

"I know you get bored baby, but I can't have others corrupting your mind. I'll get you some new books, maybe even a TV for in here if you're extra good." You whisper a soft thank you, and a promise you will be as you set his shoes off to the side neatly.

"Look up at me, Doll. C'mon don't be angry," you look up at him as softly as you can, a groan of affection bubbling past his throat, "there's my pretty little thing." You rub your fingers on his jean-clad legs in an attempt to ground yourself as he looks down at you like a predator that's spotted it's next meal.

"Aren't you so happy you have me to take care of you? Who knows what others would do to that pretty face of yours— not to mention that pretty cunt."

A heat immediately finds it way to your face, and he laughs deeply. "Oh, please, don't be coy. You know as well as I do that if I didn't take you out of there that that little hole would be ruined in an hour. I saved you."

You hide your face in his lap, mind racing. It's true that he's more gently than other people you've had the dis-pleasure of encountering in his line of work. But that doesn't make him any less over bearing and obsessive. His possessiveness bordering on ownership. Sometimes you're truly thankful he scooped you up before anyone else could touch you- other times you curse him for it.

He rubs the back of your head gently, leaning up in the slouching chair, like he can sense your thoughts. "You aren't going anywhere, Baby. You're mine- until the day you die and even after that. Even God himself couldn't pry you away from me. You are mine. Do you understand that?" You nod into his lap, a quiet 'yes,hwa' muffled by his jeans. "Such a sweet thing," he whispers before gripping your hair and pulling you up, earning a gasp.

That glint in his eyes- "Hwa, wait, wait—" he did no such thing, standing up with his clothed crotch in your face, pulling your hands up to his belt.

"You need a reminder of who's good girl you are-"

"No-"

"No?!" He laughed in disbelief, nails digging into your scalp as he makes you look up at him, the stretch of your neck uncomfortable as he cranes it up. There's a sharp hunger in his eyes, "you're so cute -so, so, so, cute when you're defiant... but I'm not in the fucking mood. Get your ass up," he tugs you up by your hair, ignoring the sharp yelps that tremble past your lips.

     "Ple-ase don't take me downstairs! I'll be good, I'll be good!"

    "It's okay baby, we aren't going downstairs," he positions you back to the wall and backs up, pushing you back when you try to follow and apologize. "I'm too tired." The glimmer of hope is stomped out as he unlocked his side of the nightstand. "You can take your punishment here."

   "Hwa... I'm real sor-" A skinny throwing knife that thuds into the wall next to your head shuts you up quick, a squeal replacing your pleas.

   "Been looking after you so much, I'm rusty-" He throws another with a groan, hiding his smirk as you jump, "stay still baby, I'm out of practice." You can't help but duck as it thunks into the wall just above your head.

     "Stand up straight!" His booming voice shakes you to your core, and you stand as straight as you can manage with the knot forming in your gut. You grip the wall with your finger tips, looking down at your feet so you don't see the sharp objects coming. You've found that it's less fearful that way.

Knife after knife is thrown, each dull thump making you twitch as they're buried into the drywall in the outline of your body.

When they finally stall, his sock clad feet come into view, his curved knuckle lifting your chin. The flame in his eyes has faded to a simmer, an almost fond one. "Are you done being a brat? Or should I let my hand slip next time I need target practice?"

   "I'm done..." you speak with a gulp, body still frozen against the wall lest you move and graze against the blades.

He seems to sense your thoughts once again, cooing softly as he notices your tense shoulders. "C'mon, sweet girl," he carefully pulls you straight out from the wall and twirls you around.

He wraps his arms around under yours and grips your shoulders, holding you close to his chest and resting his chin on your head. "Your life in my hands... Such a delicate thing you are." You eyes trail over the outline of your body, traced with throwing daggers. "If you just behaved, I wouldn't have to scare you. It's the best way for you to learn, my love. That fear you feel when we go downstairs, when I have you pinned up- that's the fear you would feel every waking moment without me. Just be a good girl, and let me protect you..."

"...Okay, I'm sorry, Hwa... I don't know why I act out," You don't know if you're telling the truth anymore. It is even acting out? You sometimes think you have a right to.

Maybe— "Maybe you like it when I'm mean to you."

You don't know what you would have thought, but that wasn't it. You think he likes being mean to you. He always finds a reason to punish you: whether it be with bone chilling fear or being pushed to your sexual edge and then repeatedly denied.

    Some days, he's softer with the sexual aspect of his obsession with you.

He turns you back around and shoves you to his knees, right back into his clothed bulge where you started. "I want to claim you, I'm going to claim you. Every part. Take it off now before I decide to skull fuck you." Your breath hitches in your throat, lip trembling at his threat, knowing full well he will follow through.

Today is not one of those days, you realize.

You hands quickly find their way to his belt, unbuckling the golden buckle and letting it dangle, the button undone next and the zipper followed. He didn't bother to kick his jeans off, or even pull them down. Only his cock out, twitching to life infront of you inpatiently. "You belong to me, I'm gonna get that through your thick skull" -he flicks your head- "even if I have to use my cock."

He rubs against your cheek, sighing out in pleasure at the feeling of your hot embarrassed face. "Say my name," he whispers deeply, eyes swirling with an unreadable mix of emotions.

"Seonghwa," you pant out shyly, eyes closed as you feel him rutting against your face, his pre cum smearing on your cheek bone. His grip is continually becoming softer, loving as he lewdly humps your head. Your hands find purchase on his sock clad feet, helping you lift up your body into him. "Seonghwa," it comes out as a moan, and a thick groan comes from him in response.

He steps back just an inch, looking down at your tear stained face, his fresh pre-cum glimmering on the side of your face.

His full lips curve into a smile, his previously angry facade fading as quick as it came when he busted in the door earlier, while he lifts you to the bed and lets your head hang.

He's even beautiful when viewed upside down-

    "You make it hard to ever leave your side, pretty girl. I could spend the rest of my life buried in any of your gorgeous holes, I love you so much."

"I love you, Hwa. I-" Your breath catches in your throat as the words tear through your throat. "I do want you to claim me, I want to know I'm yours." One of your hands seems to sprout a mind of its own, wrapping around the base of his thick and smooth girth. "Let me take care of you, and you take care of me."

A groan dies on his lips, shuddering as you slowly stroke him, the words you speak shooting through his heart and down to his balls. "Let me be your good girl. Please, I know I can!"

The fear he instilled in you just moments ago festered into a need to please, to solidify your place by his side so he would never leave. He never would dream of it- leaving you. You are his heart and soul personified. You hold his entire being in your hands, and you have no idea.

"Yeah? Gonna be my good girl again? Make it up to me?" His heart flutters as you nod enthusiastically, your mouth opening wide for him and tongue lolling out."Fuck, that's a good girl," he spreads his legs around your dangling head, slim fingers gathering yours to your chest and holding them ever so softly as he slips right down your throat.

The hot, velvety skin encasing him makes him moan loudly, squeezing your hands to ground himself and keep himself from fucking your skull like his life depends on it. But, oh, how he wants to—

"Good fucking girl, that's it, just like I taught you," you gulp around his overwhelming length, eyes closing as you focus on breathing through your nose, the smell of his body wash somehow soothing to your fried nervous system.

   He holds himself back as long as he can, thrusting in your throat slowly and basking in the warmth of it. But as your saliva builds, nowhere to go, and the wet and lewd squelch of your throat grows louder, he can no longer do that. He intertwines his fingers with yours and lets you squeeze tightly, a soft growl letting you know his arousal is at a peak before he loses all control-

   His hips draw back and slam into you, the head of his cock poking at the very depth of your throat and making you gag, and the noise just stirs him on, going again and again and again to hear that sweet sound of you choking around him. Sticky saliva tainted with the white of his pre-cum drips from the corners of your stretched mouth, dripping up your face. It seems like the onslaught will never end, but he has bigger plans for his building release.

     The moment your throat is free of his cock, you draw in a large gasp, all of the wetness in your mouth dripping like a waterfall, letting you heave as he watches with dark eyes. Not that you can see the lust driven look on his face, if you were to open your eyes you'd be blinded by spit and cum.

  He discards his pants and top as he lets you catch your breath, cooing all the while about how good you just did for him. He uses the softness of his tank top to wipe away most of the filth on your face, and you finally peek your eyes open as you feel him lift you.

   You swear there's hearts swirling in the darkness of his eyes as he scans your messy face, a permanent smirk plastered on his features. "Pretty girl, you're such a mess for me," you can only pant in response, leaning into the palm he places on your cheek as he lays you down right-side-up, letting your head collide with the soft pillows.

The moment he put a pillow under your back, you knew you were in for a long ride.

And by the end of it, you wouldn't forget who you belong to.

[ervotica]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

[littledemondani]

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

warnings: 18+ mdni, mentions of p in v sex, fingering, overstimulation, mentions of oral (f receiving), love bites, pet names (baby, sweetheart, my girl), squirting, fwb to lovers

wc: 0.9k

a/n: this is not edited so if there's mistakes, deal with it. not sure how i feel about this one but i couldn't not post for y'all.

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

“eddie,” you moan breathlessly, squirming a little as his thumb rubs tight circles on your puffy, sensitive clit. “s’too much…”

eddie hums in acknowledgment against the crook of your neck, though he doesn’t make an effort to slow his movements down. he continues to nibble and suck at your exposed skin, occasionally peppering gentle kisses here and there.

from the moment you walked through his apartment door he was on you, not even giving you time to hang up your jacket and keys. 

in the entirety of yours and eddie’s…little arrangement…he had never shown this type of needy affection towards you. he never kissed you, never held your hand, or called you endearing pet names. it was strictly sex. no strings attached and non exclusive. 

he kissed you with urgency, his hands roaming all over your body and pulling you as close to him as he could  get you. his actions made your head spin with a million questions, but they were all pushed to the back the second his hand cupped your pussy underneath your dress.

eddie made you cum several times after that. on his cock, on his tongue, on his fingers. he couldn’t get enough of you. completely drunk on watching you fall apart for him again and again.

“it’s too much?” he asks as he gently eases two fingers inside of your cunt.

you moan softly, gently tugging on the base of his hair. he chuckles, slightly lifting himself up on his forearm to get a better look at you.

his eyes stay glued to you as he pumps his fingers into you. your lips are parted, eyelids fluttering, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, hickeys littered all across your neck and chest. every inch of you was marked by him in some way and it made his cock twitch against your thigh.

“come on, baby,” he whispers, giving you a crooked smile. “you can give me one more.”

he quickens the pace of his fingers and your back arches off of the mattress. everything feels intense, like you’re hyper aware of all the sensations in your body. it hurts but fuck does it feel so incredibly good at the same time. his thumb finds your clit again and the contact has you moaning out in relief.

“i-i d-don’t know if i —fuck!—if i can,” you mewl.

“of course you can, sweetheart,” he says between sucking fresh hickeys onto the column of your throat.

eddie is the only one who can play your body like this. who can bring you to your limit and push you over the edge repeatedly. he’s the only one who you would let do whatever he wanted to you if he asked. you try to hide your budding feelings for him away, but with the how he’s been with you all night, so tentative to you in ways he hadn’t been before, you’re finding it to be nearly impossible.

you reach your hand to cup eddie’s face, your own eyes staring deep into his. like you’re trying to search for something deep within his chocolate eyes. and you’re pleasantly surprised when you find him searching yours right back. then his lips are on yours, completely stealing the air right from your lungs.

your second kiss of the night is nothing short of feral. you both claw at each other, needing to be utterly consumed by the other. eddie’s fingertips graze against your sweet spot and you moan into the kiss. he rubs the small patch over and over until you’re practically shaking beneath him.

he finally breaks the kiss only to nibble and suck another love bite onto your heated skin.

“you look so fucking beautiful like this,” he says breathlessly. “covered in the hickeys i made. mine, mine, mine.”

your head is spinning in a lust filled haze that you can’t even form a coherent sentence. you’re babbling some nonsense mixed with ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘please’.

“aww, my baby’s so fucked out,” he says in a mocking tone. “can’t even fucking talk right.”

“mhm,” you mewl, nodding as you do. “eds…”

“cum for me,” he demands. “you can do it, baby. come on.”

eddie pulls his fingers from your cunt and rubs fast circles against your clit. he adds a bit of pressure, just enough to send your orgasm barreling right through you.

you cum hard with a loud cry of his name, squirting over his hand and soaking the sheets below you. you can’t think, your vision whitens and your hearing goes slightly fuzzy. all you can feel is the blissful pleasure that’s overtaken you.

“oh fuck, baby, that’s it. mmm—fuck you’re such a good girl. my good girl. shit!” eddie groans, continuing to rub your puffy clit through your high.

it takes you a good minute or so to come down from your high, and when you do, you push eddie’s hand off your pussy, the sensation having felt painful and really sensitive.

the two of you stay there, chests heaving as you glance at each other. 

“yours, huh?” you question. you’re not sure why you even brought that up, but you can always blame it on your post orgasm state. 

eddie suddenly turns red. unsure of how to answer that. he hadn’t even realized what he was saying. completely caught up in the moment and how fucking horny he was. he tries to rack his brain for an explanation, but you cut him off before he can even find one. 

“omg relax, munson,” you say teasingly, biting down on your lower lip. “i know it was only your horny brain talking.”

he plays it off well but your words kinda hurt him. it wasn’t just his horny brain talking because he was wrapped up in you. it’s because he wants you.

[classypauli]

𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹’𝑺 𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!Reader

Summary: Tara´s asthma attack requires doctor´s treatment and having a hot doctor taking care of her is just a bonus, safe to say she likes the bonus better.

Word count: 2.5k

Tara was in her room, scrolling down on her phone having nothing to do. Her sister was somewhere in the house, getting ready to go out with her boyfriend. Tara sighed, she wasn´t jealous of her sister, she was glad Sam had someone to be by her side other than her. But in times like this Tara felt lonely. Chad was now on his practice and Mindy was having a date. So she was alone, lying in her dark room with the only noise of cars driving behind her closed window.

She stood up and went to the kitchen to grab some water. She needed to find some distraction, this wasn´t good for her mental health, rotting in the bed all day. Besides school, Sam and her friends she has nothing to do or talk to.

And she tried, she used to watch a lot of movies, especially the scary ones, and talk about them, analyze their plots and characters, acting, and cinematography. It was her element. But now it´s different, it brings her feeling and memories that aren´t right. Tara loved having nights out and watching horrors while eating popcorn sitting in her living room. But those thoughts only brought her to one of her ex-friends who betrayed her.

Tara´s chest started to rise and her throat became narrow as her breathing got only worse, she grabbed the bottle of water with shaking hands and started to drink it. This wasn´t her first time having asthma, she had it lots of times, Tara was familiar with it, but still, she couldn´t control it and it was scary.

„Hey I´m heading out-“ Sam came to the kitchen finding her sister leaning against the counter, eyes closed and her hands gripping onto the table. Her knuckles were white from how hard she was holding herself from falling.

„Tara“ she immediately came by her side, eyes wide, holding her sister so she wouldn´t fall, leading her into one of the chairs to sit her down. „It´s gonna be okay, don´t worry...“ she helped her sit and rushed out to her sister´s room for an inhaler.

Sam cursed under her breath, she looked everywhere for it but couldn´t find anything. Finally one was lying in her drawer, she picked it up and ran to the kitchen. Tara´s face was now white, her sternum was rising up and down in a fast way, tears running down her cheeks as her hand was holding onto her shirt.

„Shhh here, take it“ Tara grabs the inhaler with shaking hands almost not able to hold it. After the inhale Sam was expecting her sister to get better, to finally get some oxygen to her lungs. But nothing, Tara tried it again but with no change.

„Fuck“ Sam grabbed her phone from the pocket of her jeans and dialed Danny´s number.

„Hey you ready to go-?“

„Danny! I need your help!“ Sam shouted into her phone as she still was trying to calm down her sister. „Tara´s having an asthma attack!“ Her voice was breaking as she was getting more worried by each second. „Oh God okay okay! I-I´m going to be there in second!“

„Please hurry!“ Sam cancelled the phone call and her hands found their way to her sister´s cheeks. „Just breathe, you know how we do it every time.“ The older sister started to breathe with her, taking big inhales with her nose and exhaling with her mouth. Tara was repeating her sister´s action, looking into her scarred wide eyes.

Danny soon came and helped Sam with Tara into his car. Whole car ride, her breaths were the only thing Tara could hear, her head was spinning and her hands were gripping everything that was near. She was trembling and sniffing the whole ride. Thankfully the hospital wasn´t far and the traffic wasn´t as bad.

„Please! My sister has an asthma!“ Sam yelled as soon as they made their way into the building. Behind the reception table was a woman, she was sitting in her seat, phone in her ear having a conversation with someone. She only looked at them with no interest.

„Ma´am you need to wait-“ Sam cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.

„Are you kidding?! She´s having an asthma attack and you are telling us to wait?!“ a couple of nurses heard her yell and went to help.

„You must calm do-“ the woman tried again, Sam was so angry at the moment that if she wasn´t holding her sister she would jump across the table and beat her up. „I won´t calm down!“

One of the nurses immediately went to find a doctor and the other came by their side and helped them to go down the hallway of the hospital. Tara was now barely walking she was so tired from breathing and her head was spinning.

„Bring her here!“ Sam heard one of the doctors and was so happy that at least someone tried to help, she was so scared. „Okay let's put her here.“ The doctor was pointing at the bed and carefully was holding Tara´s body so she wouldn´t fall.

The nurse came to Sam´s side and started to gently pull her out of the room. „Ma´am please.“ She wanted to be by her sister´s side, she didn´t want to leave her here alone. Sam was afraid something would happen to her, she would never forgive herself. „She will be okay, I promise... There´s no need to worry, we just need you to wait outside.“ Sam nodded, if it meant that Tara would be okay then she would make this sacrifice.

In the room Tara was lying with her knees up leaning her back into the bed, her brain was barely processing what was happening. She just knew that Sam or Danny were no longer with her, which only created more anxiety. Someone was kneeling in front of her.

„Hi... I know how you feel right now and it can look absolutely scary but you won´t die don´t worry.“ The person was giving her some pills „I need you to take this... It will help. I promise.“ Tara took them and was now leaning again trying to calm down. Your voice was calming down her nerves, it was smooth she wanted to hear it again. As she looked up at the person, her heart almost stopped.

You were one of the hottest doctors she has ever seen in her life and she has seen them a lot. You looked so young to be a doctor, she couldn´t even guess your age. You were wearing a white coat with white pants, and around your neck was hanging a stethoscope. These were things she caught before her eyes made it to your face. Your eyes, softly looking at her, and your small smile that was greeting her eyes. In those white clothes, she almost felt like you were an angel.

„Good just slowly breathe in and out... There´s no need to rush.“ Tara kept looking at you shamelessly, not caring about how it may look, you were hot. She didn´t even notice that her breathing calmed down and now she was just sitting there looking at you.

„See! It´s already over.“ You smiled even wider at her, still kneeling in front of her looking up at her face looking for any change. Thankfully, Tara was now absolutely fine and it didn´t look like she would have an attack anytime soon. „Have you ever had an asthma attack before?“

„Yeah, this wasn´t the first time... I´ve been having it since I was a kid.“ She let out, almost whispering her answer as if she was embarrassed by it. „But this was the first time it went this far, usually the inhaler is enough.“

„Well sometimes attacks like this get triggered by situations the body is put into or thoughts, or it can come from nowhere... the symptoms of asthma are often nonspecific and can be precipitated by other disease processes... but based on your mimic and what the girl was yelling in the hallway I knew.“ You winked at her and stood up to go to your table.

„Asthma is a chronic inflammatory disorder arising from not fully understood heterogenic gene-environment interactions-“ 

Tara stopped to listen to you somewhere in the middle. She kept nodding her head as if she understood everything you were talking about. She didn´t understand one word that came out of your pretty lips.

„-features variable airway obstruction and bronchial hyperresponsiveness-“ God you were so hot when you talked like this. You looked too intelligent using all the medicine words that she could only dream about understanding.

„I gave you bronchodilators... it helps airways, or bronchi in the lungs to open and relax more.“ Tara kept looking at you from head to toe, you were tall and your body build was like a Greek god even under the doctor´s coat. You sat behind your desk and started looking for something, when you found it you smiled at her and went back by her side. 

The way you talked with your body language so confidently was sexy and she was trying so hard not to drool because of you. It got her thinking how old are you, you looked young to be a doctor, or maybe your genes were just good.

„Here... when it gets harder for you to breathe take this.“ You gave her an inhaler, she looked at your hand. Was there something about you that wasn´t attractive? Your hand was much bigger than hers and she could just imagine how her small hand would feel in yours. Tara slowly took it from your hand, making sure that she touched your smooth skin. „I know you have a lot of these at home but this one is a bit stronger.“

You smiled at her still keeping eye contact with your patient, looking for any sign of discomfort. „So I think you are ready to leave.“

Tara didn´t want to leave, she just wanted to look at you even if that meant you wouldn´t talk or pay attention to her, she could just stare at you and how you doing your work. A soft knock was heard on the door and a nurse came in. „Hey we are already done, can you please call the other girl inside?“ you asked her and she immediately went out to call Sam.

Sam rushed in, wide scared eyes looking for her sister. „Tara! Oh God... I was so scared.“ She hugged her, putting her chin on her head, pulling her away to kiss her on the forehead, her hands still on Tara´s side of her face. „Please don´t even scare me like that...“

You watched the whole interaction with a small smile visible on your face. Sam turned to you and thanked you for taking care of her younger sister.

„You don´t have to thank me... it´s my job.“

Sam helped Tara to get on her legs, slowly pulling her up, and holding her afraid that her legs would be too weak. You opened the door for them and they slowly walked outside of your room to the hallway.

„I´m so sorry for our receptionist this shouldn't be like this, I´ll take care of that, you can rely.“ You smiled at Sam and then Tara, winking at her again. The girl blushed at your action and looked down. Why was she so nervous around you? Her heart was beating and her body just wanted to reach out for yours.

„Take care! Hopefully, we won´t see each other under these circumstances again!“ you laughed and slowly started walking away down the hallway of the hospital. Tara now was looking at your back till she felt Sam´s arm tighten around her to hold her better.

She was now sitting in a car, looking out of the window, she wanted to see you again, so badly. She didn´t even know your name! Her mind was submerged by your face and your body, the way you smiled at her and talked to her, you were paying attention to her, and that made her so special. Being around you felt so different, like a fresh air in her life, even when she was with you only a couple of seconds.

When Mindy and Chad found out what happened they came to the Carpenter´s house. Everyone stayed by Tara´s side the whole day, talking, joking around, laughing, watching movies... and Tara still couldn´t stop thinking about her hot doctor.

„You are more quiet than usual, care to share?“ Mindy sits beside her on the couch looking at Tara. The girl only let out a sigh and looked back at her friend.

„Mindy... that doctor... was so hot.“ She threw her head back and closed her eyes. Mindy laughed at her and punched her thigh slightly.

„Don´t tell me you have a crush on some old fart.“

Tara turned her head to her lowering her eyebrows at her as she shook her head. „She wasn´t old, she looked really young! Almost our age!“

Mindy looked confused at her, most of the doctors were old, or at least around forty. Either you looked young or you were a young medic. They wanted to find you somewhere on social media but Tara didn´t even know your first name, so they went to the official page of the hospital and started looking at the personnel working there but they didn´t find anything.

Until they came across the photo of the all hospital workers, doctors, and nurses smiling at the camera. There was you, besides the nurse that was with you today and some other doctor, wide smile across your face.

„Damn! You are right she looks hot!“ Mindy moved her eyebrows up and down in a teasing motion, zooming the photo at you. „You got lucky Tara...“ she whispered looking at the photo. Tara snatched the phone from her hands and held it by her side in a protective way.

„I found her first! Find your doctor!“ Tara yelled at her friend but she only put her hands up.

„No need to be defensive, I won´t take her away from you.“

„You better.“ Tara mumbled, looking at her phone again, making a small pout with her lower lip. You caught her attention instantly, everything about you was mesmerizing. Tara only hoped that you would meet again. She was thinking about all the ways how to end up in the hospital... in your doctor´s bed. Or maybe even your own.

„Well getting treatment from a young doctor is definitely a jackpot.“ Mindy commented and laughed at her friend. „And even HOT doctor! That sounds like a big bonus to me.“

Yeah, Tara liked the bonus much better.

[purinfelix]

"scratchy"

pairing: gavi x reader (established relationship) summary: you love your boyfriend's new look, but it proves a slight challenge when it comes to kisses warnings: none! w/c: 712

a/n: when i made this post abt this idea after seeing the pics at first i wasn't expecting so many ppl to like it 😭 ... so i'm really hoping i did it justice !!! pls enjoy !!!

taglist for this fic! (love u all <3): @gadriezmannsgirl @emz2092 @spidybaby @goldenalbon @gavisuntiedboot @zowanew

“Baby,” you cooed, trying your best to sound apologetic and not burst into a fit of giggles at the sight of your boyfriend standing at the corner of your bed like a sad puppy. The pet name only seemed to make things worse though, his pout deepening as he shrugged off your attempts to use affection to win him back.

With a soft sigh, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows so you could look at him properly - and so he could properly see the remorse and guilt on your face.

”I already said I’m sorry,” your tone was soft - at least as soft as you could manage whilst holding back laughter at how adorable he looked - “please just come back to bed so I can make it up to you.”

“I can’t believe you pulled away from my kiss.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Did you not want it?” his brows were furrowed in confusion as if the concept of you dodging his show of love was genuinely puzzling to him. It was equal parts endearing and heart-breaking.

”It’s not that, it’s just that …” you trailed off, eyes already busy scanning your boyfriend’s face. All of his familiarly handsome features laid bare for you, his deep brown eyes looking at you with an intensity that could only be accompanied by his perfect lips which were twisted into a frown.

Still, you couldn’t help but let your faze drift to the most recent addition to his look - a tiny bit of stubble that dotted his jawline and upper lip. You hadn’t really noticed how dark his facial hair had gotten until just now, when he had swooped in for a kiss and the short hair had scratched against your face. It was an odd feeling, to say the least, and you had pulled back without thinking much of it, your face twisted into an expression of discomfort.

You were brought back to the current time when your boyfriend cleared his throat, urging you to continue your explanation.

“It’s just that,” you pause for a moment to let his brows raise in curiosity, “your facial hair - it’s a bit scratchy.”

At your confession, his accusatory stance dropped as his shoulder drooped slightly. “I thought you liked it though,” he said in a tiny quiet voice, not even looking up at you as he said it.

You hurried to assure him. “I do! I think it makes you look more mature, more manly, more …” you paused once more, searching for just the right word to express your appreciation for his new look, ”more handsome.”

This seemed to do the trick, as a sheepish smile spread across his face before he lunged onto the bed beside you. He buried his face into his pillow, both to stifle a fit of boyish giggles and to hide the pink blush your compliment had caused. You couldn’t help yourself from running a hand through his hair, before cupping his face and pulling it gently to face you. Instinctively he leant in for a kiss with his passionate roughness and you had to stop him once more.

“Gently,” you reminded him, not needing to speak much louder given how close his face was to yours. He understood you perfectly though, moving smoothly with a gentle tentativeness as he connected his lips to yours, cautiously avoiding rubbing his facial hair against your face. He let out a satisfied hum, almost melting into the kiss he had been waiting so long for.

Finally, though, your lips parted as he pulled away - eager to ask another question.

“You really don’t mind the beard?” he withdrew the hand that had been previously wrapped around your waist to rub at his own jaw.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a beard just yet baby, but I do like it. I’d like you with any look,” you assured him with a soft giggle.

“What if I went bald?”

A slight pause as you thought. “Maybe not.”

Gavi only chuckled at this, pulling you in once more for another kiss - and you didn’t have to remind him this time as he kissed you with such gentleness it made your heart flutter purely with how precious it made you feel.