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mssalo · 8 months ago

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worship

Ignored and humiliated by your husband, you find yourself in Joel's arms-his best friend who's been silently craving you for far too long. One heated night pushes you both over the edge, and Joel isn't holding back. He's ready to give you what your husband never could: everything.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, cheating, body worship, your husband treating you bad, Joel treating you good, oral (f receiving), kissing, (P in V), pinning, cumming Inside, breeding kink, Joel gets nasty with it, 10k

Part: 2

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The late afternoon sunlight filtered gently through the lace curtains, casting soft patterns across the dining table where you sat with Sarah, helping her with her homework. Your smile, though kind, felt heavy today. You leaned over the table, explaining a math problem to her with patience, even though your mind was clouded with thoughts of your husband.

It had been weeks—maybe months—since he’d been fully present. You had long suspected something was off, but now it was undeniable. He came home late, if at all, and when he did, his eyes never seemed to meet yours. You’d catch glimpses of texts on his phone, messages you weren’t supposed to see. You weren’t stupid. You knew.

But you’d spent so long being the perfect wife, the one who never caused trouble. He’d always introduced you as his “trophy,” an arm to show off at events, beautiful and polished. It was the role you’d filled for years, playing the part he wanted you to play. Smile, be perfect, don’t question. And you had been doing just that for far too long, even though inside you were crumbling.

You brushed a strand of hair from your face and forced a warm smile as Sarah struggled with her fractions.

You adored Joel’s daughter. She was smart, sweet, and had a lightness about her that made your heart ache with a longing for the family you never had. Sarah was only fourteen, but she had a way of reading people that made you think she saw right through you.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” you encouraged her softly. “Just think of the numerator as the number on top and the denominator as the number on the bottom.”

Sarah gave you a soft smile, but it was clear she wasn’t fully focused. Her big, brown eyes studied you carefully, picking up on the sadness that lingered just beneath the surface of your cheerful demeanor.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice hesitant but filled with concern. “You seem… off today.”

Your heart sank a little at the realization that she noticed. You were supposed to be the adult here, the one keeping it all together, but it was getting harder to hide the cracks. You blinked back the tears threatening to well up, reaching over to give Sarah’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whispered softly, trying to steady your voice. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Sarah looked at you for a moment longer, her brow furrowed as if she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t push it. She was too kind for that, too sweet. You wished your own husband had even a fraction of the empathy this girl had. Instead, he barely acknowledged your presence anymore, leaving you to feel like a ghost in your own home.

After Sarah finished her homework, you walked her to the door, sending her off with her usual hug. She hugged you back tightly, sensing more than you were letting on, but when you said goodbye, you assured her again that you were fine. She gave you one last concerned look before heading home.

After Sarah left, the silence in the house became overwhelming, filling every corner with the weight of your thoughts.

You leaned against the door for a moment, closing your eyes, fighting the urge to let the tears spill over. It was getting harder to keep up the facade. The loneliness, the sense of being unseen in your own marriage—it was suffocating.

You’d done everything you could to save the relationship, to bring back the warmth that had once existed between you and your husband, but there was nothing left.

With a deep breath, you pushed away from the door and headed to the kitchen, trying to busy yourself with anything that could distract you from the ache in your chest. But the sound of a knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you opened it, Joel stood on your porch, concern etched into his rugged features. His broad shoulders seemed even larger framed by the doorway, his familiar Texas drawl cutting through the silence as he spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle but serious. “Sarah told me you weren’t doing too good today. Figured I’d come by and check on you.”

You blinked, surprised but not unwelcome to see him standing there. It took a moment for you to gather your thoughts, your heart catching in your throat at the sight of him. Joel had always been kind to you, always present in a way your husband wasn’t. He was a steady, comforting presence in your life, one you had grown to rely on more than you ever intended.

“I—I’m fine,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to worry her. It’s just been a long day.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t hesitate to step inside, closing the door behind him. He looked down at you with those dark, thoughtful eyes of his, reading you in ways you wished your husband still could. His gaze softened, but he didn’t buy your answer for a second.

“You don’t gotta put up a front with me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I can tell somethin’s been bothering you.”

It was those words—the way he said them with such understanding, such care—that made something in you break. You couldn’t hold it together any longer, not with Joel standing there, offering the kind of concern and kindness you hadn’t felt in so long. The tears you had been holding back began to well up again, this time falling before you could stop them.

Joel stepped forward, his hands settling gently on your arms.

“Hey, hey now… don’t cry,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

His words, so simple yet so full of warmth, only made the tears come faster. You wiped at your cheeks, embarrassed that you were falling apart like this in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just… everything feels so wrong.”

Joel’s grip tightened slightly, a gesture of reassurance. He guided you over to the couch, sitting beside you as you tried to compose yourself. You leaned into him instinctively, finding comfort in the solid presence of his body next to yours. Joel had always had this way of making you feel safe, like you could let your guard down without fear of judgment.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly, his hand still resting on your arm, warm and steady.

You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. You’d kept it all inside for so long, afraid to say it out loud, afraid that acknowledging it would make it all too real. But sitting there, with Joel looking at you like he genuinely cared, it all came tumbling out.

“He doesn’t care anymore, Joel,” you murmured, the words spilling from your lips, weighed down by the months of heartache you had been carrying. “It’s like I’m invisible to him. He doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t even look at me… and I know he’s seeing someone else.”

The effect on Joel was immediate. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to contain the anger that flared up inside him.

His eyes darkened, filling with a storm of emotions—disbelief, frustration, and something protective, primal. His hand, which had been resting gently on your arm, tightened its grip slightly, grounding you as he processed your words.

He stared at you for a long moment, his face a mix of shock and disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could treat you that way.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Joel muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice low and rough. “How could he—how could anyone—do that to you? To you of all people?”

He shook his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His voice softened, but the rough edges of his anger were still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You deserve so much more than that. You deserve someone who sees you, who knows just how lucky they are to have you.”

Joel leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur as he continued.

“You’re kind, thoughtful… hell, you’re always puttin’ everyone else first. The way you care for Sarah like she’s your own, the way you keep your home so warm and welcoming, the way you’ve always been there for him… you’re so damn good, and he doesn’t even see it.” He shook his head again, the disbelief etched deep in his furrowed brow.

“How could he not see that? How could he throw that away?”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, filled with a mixture of admiration and frustration.

“It breaks my heart to see you treated like this. You deserve someone who cherishes you, who shows up for you, every day… who loves you for exactly who you are.”

His words hit you like a wave, each one wrapped in the raw sincerity and care that had always been so natural for Joel. You could see the anger and confusion in his eyes—he truly couldn’t understand how anyone could treat you as anything less than extraordinary.

You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that it was enough to be the perfect wife, to keep playing the role you had been assigned, but Joel’s kindness made you question all of it. His care, his attention—it was what you had been craving for so long, and now, here he was, offering it to you without asking for anything in return.

“But I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the weight of everything settled heavily on your shoulders. “I’ve tried so hard to make it work, to be what he wants, but nothing’s enough.”

Joel’s hand lifted to your face, gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his palm grounded you, the rough texture of his skin a stark contrast to the tenderness in his touch. He guided your face to meet his eyes, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You don’t need to be what he wants,” Joel said, his voice low, almost a growl, roughened by emotion.

“You deserve to be seen, to be loved for who you are. Not just for what you can give someone else.”

His words hung in the air between you, wrapping around your heart, pulling at the deepest parts of you that had felt so neglected, so starved for this very thing—connection.

The space between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken emotions that had been simmering for far too long. It was as though every unexpressed feeling, every suppressed desire had built up into a moment that neither of you could stop.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the ache of loneliness and longing that had been gnawing at you for months. Joel had always been there, quietly, steadily, offering you the care your husband never could.

And now, sitting so close to him, his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his body radiating toward you, the pull between you was undeniable.

“Joel…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your gaze flickering between his deep brown eyes and his lips, so close, so tempting.

He didn’t move away. Instead, his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His touch was tender, but his eyes were dark, filled with something deeper—something that had been quietly building between you for longer than either of you cared to admit.

“I’ll take care of you,” Joel whispered, his voice rough with the promise of protection, of something more. “You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.”

Your heart raced, torn between the vulnerability of the moment and the undeniable comfort of his words.

The way he spoke, the way he looked at you—it was everything you had been craving for so long. The tenderness you had missed, the feeling of being truly seen, appreciated, cared for. It was overwhelming. And yet…

Before you could fully process what was happening, Joel leaned in. His lips brushed against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. The world around you seemed to disappear, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his hand still cradling your face.

The kiss was gentle at first, full of the tenderness and care you had longed for, but there was something else beneath it, something more intense, more primal, as if he had been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if needing something to hold on to, something solid in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

His kiss deepened slightly, his other hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you closer. It felt like everything you had wanted—someone who saw you, who cared for you, who wanted you.

But just as quickly as the warmth of the kiss had filled you, the weight of guilt crashed down like a tidal wave. You broke away, pulling back suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, breath coming in short gasps. You shook your head, stepping out of his reach, the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, but your mind already spinning.

“I—” you stammered, the words barely forming as you backed away, your hands trembling. “I can’t… I’m sorry, Joel, I just… I can’t do this.”

The look on Joel’s face was one of hurt and confusion, but also understanding. He stood there, his arms falling to his sides as he watched you retreat.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice gentle, though the rough edge of his emotion was still there. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You took another step back, trying to steady yourself, your heart in your throat. “It’s not right,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to rationalize everything that had just happened. “I can’t… I’m still married, and this… this is wrong.”

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and a quiet sorrow.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt anymore,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You deserve better than the way he treats you.”

His words hit you hard, but you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t face the reality of what had just happened, of what you had almost allowed yourself to feel. The guilt was too much, too overwhelming. You turned away, your hands still trembling as you moved toward the stairs, needing distance, needing space to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice barely audible as you left Joel standing alone in the living room. You hurried upstairs, your heart heavy, your mind racing, every step a reminder of the pull between you and Joel that you had just tried so desperately to resist.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, your hand gripping the banister as you tried to steady your breath. You could still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, the safety of his arms around you, and it terrified you.

Because for the first time in so long, you had felt something real, something you wanted. And yet, the weight of everything else—your marriage, your vows, the guilt—it was too much to bear.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel Joel’s presence downstairs, lingering in the quiet of the house. His words echoed in your mind, and despite everything, you knew deep down that what he had said was true: you deserved more. But admitting that meant facing the truth about everything you had been avoiding for so long.

And you weren’t ready for that.

· · ─────

The days following the kiss were thick with awkwardness and tension that hung between you and Joel like a fog neither of you knew how to clear. Every time you thought about it—his lips on yours, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had made you feel seen and wanted—your stomach twisted with guilt. But there was another feeling too, one that gnawed at you in the quiet moments when you were alone: longing. That kiss had stirred something deep inside you, something that had been buried for far too long, and now, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You longed for that feeling again—the safety, the warmth, the tenderness that had been absent from your life for so long. It made the distance between you and your husband feel even wider, the coldness in your marriage more unbearable. But despite how much you tried to shake it, that kiss was constantly on your mind.

Then came the day Joel came over to watch the football game with your husband. You knew it was coming—your husband had mentioned it in passing—but you weren’t prepared to see Joel again. The thought of being in the same room as him after what had happened made your heart race and your palms sweat.

When Joel arrived, you could hear his familiar knock on the door, followed by your husband’s slurred greeting. He had already been drinking, you noticed. You had hoped he would keep it under control, but knowing him, that was never a safe bet.

You opened the door and found Joel standing there, looking as calm and collected as ever. But the moment his eyes met yours, a wave of heat rushed to your face, your heart skipping in your chest. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was impossible to ignore the way the memory of that kiss flooded your senses all at once.

He shifted slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets, as if he was just as unsure of how to handle the tension between you. His gaze flickered over your face for just a second longer than it should have, his eyes darkening with something unspoken before he quickly looked away.

You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your cheeks growing warmer by the second. You cleared your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to greet him without giving anything away.

“H-hi, Joel,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look at him, even though your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of your shirt, desperate to find something—anything—to do with your hands.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours briefly, and you could see the hesitation there, the same uncertainty you were feeling. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his voice coming out low and gruff, but with a warmth that only made you blush harder.

“hello there,” he said, his tone casual, but the way his eyes softened when he looked at you made your stomach flip.

The awkwardness was palpable, like neither of you knew exactly what to say. You wanted to hide from the intensity of the moment, to avoid the feelings that had been swirling between you since that kiss. Your gaze darted down to your feet, your fingers still twisting the fabric of your shirt nervously.

Your husband’s voice suddenly bellowed from the living room, a loud demand for more beer, pulling both of you out of the charged moment. Joel winced slightly, his brow furrowing in mild annoyance at the sound, but you just gave a small, flustered nod.

“Uh, I’ll get that for him,” you mumbled quickly, stepping aside to let Joel in, your skin tingling with the awareness of how close he was as he brushed past you.

As Joel entered, you couldn’t help but glance at him one last time, your heart racing again when you saw the way his eyes lingered on you for a brief second before he turned toward the living room, where your husband was already half-immersed in the game.

“Thanks,” Joel murmured softly, his voice still gruff but gentle as he moved to sit beside your husband.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You knew tonight was going to be hard—being in the same room as Joel, pretending that nothing had changed. But the way your heart leapt every time you caught his eye made it clear that things were far from normal between you.

The night dragged on painfully, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. Your husband’s drinking had started early, his excitement for the game quickly turning into something darker, something meaner as the alcohol took hold. It wasn’t unusual for him to drink during football, but tonight, it seemed worse than usual. Each beer drained away whatever patience he had left, and you could feel his mood souring with every sip.

“Get me another one,” he grunted, not bothering to look at you as he pointed at the empty bottle on the coffee table.

You moved quickly, not wanting to cause a scene, especially not with Joel sitting there. The last thing you needed was for Joel to witness the full extent of your husband’s irritability. But as you handed him the beer, your husband’s gaze flickered up to you, and his expression turned sour.

“Can’t you just do one damn thing right?” he muttered, snatching the bottle from your hand. His words were slurred but sharp, laced with frustration as if your mere presence irritated him.

Your cheeks flushed with humiliation, the familiar sting of his words settling deep inside you. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you from across the room, but you didn’t dare look at him. The embarrassment was too much. All you wanted was to get through the night, to make it out of this room with what little dignity you had left.

But it only got worse. As the game continued, your husband’s tone grew harsher, his demands more insistent.

“Get me some more chips,” he barked, barely glancing at you. You quickly obliged, fetching the bowl from the kitchen, trying to keep your hands steady as you placed it on the table in front of him.

Joel, always polite, nodded in your direction. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice warm and sincere. The contrast between Joel’s quiet gratitude and your husband’s increasing belligerence was jarring, and it only made the ache in your chest worse.

As you turned to walk back to the kitchen, you felt it—your husband’s hand coming down hard on your ass, the slap echoing through the room. You froze in place, your entire body going rigid as the sting of his hand sent a wave of humiliation crashing over you.

“Good girl,” he slurred, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re real good at one thing at least, huh?”

The room felt like it was spinning, your face burning with shame. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, to even breathe for a moment. Joel was right there. He had seen it all.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the humiliation overwhelming, crushing. You had endured so much already—his cruelty, his indifference—but this? In front of Joel?

You couldn’t stay in the room any longer. Without a word, you turned and walked quickly toward the stairs, your vision blurring as the tears threatened to spill. You could hear your husband muttering something under his breath, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

As you reached the bathroom, you closed the door behind you and leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as the tears finally came. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to hold it together, but it was no use. The humiliation, the shame—it was all too much.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection blurred by the tears that streamed down your face.

What had happened to you? How had things gotten this bad?

You had spent years trying to hold onto the marriage, trying to make things work, but now it felt like you were nothing more than an afterthought, a servant in your own home. The sting of his hand, the cruel way he had dismissed you—it was unbearable.

You didn’t know how long you had been standing there when you heard a soft knock at the bathroom door.

“Hey… it’s me,” Joel’s voice came from the other side, low and cautious, full of concern.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You weren’t sure if you could face him, not after what had just happened. Not after he had seen the way your husband had treated you. But Joel wasn’t like your husband. He had always been kind, always understanding. He had seen you—truly seen you—when no one else had.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You hesitated for a moment, wiping at your tear-streaked face as you tried to compose yourself. Then, slowly, you unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to let him in.

Joel stepped inside, his presence filling the small space, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes softened when he saw your tear-streaked face, his brow furrowing in concern.

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean for things to get like that.”

You shook your head quickly, wiping at your eyes again. “It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “It’s just… this is how it is. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Joel’s expression darkened slightly, but not with anger—just with sadness, frustration at the situation. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a tear from your cheek, his touch so different from the harshness you had just experienced. His fingers were warm, careful, like he was afraid to push you any further than you were ready for.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “You deserve better than the way he treats you.”

His words broke something inside you, and you felt your lip tremble as another sob escaped. You had been holding it in for so long—holding everything in, trying to be strong, trying to make it work. But now, standing here with Joel, it all came crashing down.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I feel so trapped.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, full of understanding. And then, quietly, he spoke again.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. Whatever you need… I’m here.”

The warmth in his words, the tenderness in his touch—it was more than you had felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt seen, felt valued. It stirred something deep inside you, something desperate and raw, a need that had been pushed down for so long.

Before you could even think about it, you lunged toward him, closing the small distance between you and crashing your lips into his. It wasn’t delicate or hesitant—it was a kiss born out of longing, out of months, maybe even years, of being unseen, unheard.

Your hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer as your body pressed against his, needing more, needing all of him.

Joel responded immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you back with a fierceness that matched your own. There was no hesitation in the way his lips moved against yours, no doubt in the way he held you tight.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his mouth hungry, demanding.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire, igniting every nerve in your body. His kiss was rough, filled with a desperation that mirrored your own, like he had been holding back for too long and finally, finally, he could let go. The tension between you, all the unspoken words, all the stolen glances—it was exploding now in this moment, and neither of you could stop it.

Your heart raced as your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him under your fingertips. The years of loneliness, of being ignored, melted away with every touch, every kiss. Joel’s hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, pressing you against him as if he was afraid to let go.

He pulled back just slightly, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick with emotion, his lips still brushing against yours. “God, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You couldn’t respond with words—you didn’t need to. Instead, you pulled him back into the kiss, your lips crashing together again, more desperate, more urgent. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he backed you up against the bathroom wall, pinning you there as he kissed you harder, deeper.

There was no space left between you, no room for doubt or hesitation. Your body responded to his in ways you hadn’t felt in years, every nerve alight with the intensity of it. His hands slid down your sides, rough and possessive, holding you tightly as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You could feel the heat rising between you, the desperation building, as if all the longing, all the frustration had finally found an outlet. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, each touch making your breath hitch, your body arch into his.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice breathless, barely able to get the words out.

But he already knew. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was even more intense, more consuming than before. You were lost in him, lost in the feel of him, the taste of him. Everything else—the hurt, the humiliation, the loneliness—faded away until there was only this moment, only Joel.

This was what you had been missing. This was what you had been longing for. And for the first time in so long, you felt alive.

Joel’s breath was hot against your skin as his lips moved along the curve of your neck, each kiss searing into you, grounding you in this moment, in him. His hands gripped you firmly, possessive yet tender, his touch a reassurance that you were more than what you had been made to feel for so long.

“God, you have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with need. “You’re everythin’. You deserve so much more than what he gives you. So much more.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the intensity in his tone, the sincerity. You could feel the heat between you building, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, kissing along your collarbone, your chest. You were lost in the sensation, the way his hands moved over you, the way his breath ghosted over your skin.

Joel's kisses became more urgent, more fervent, as he slowly knelt before you, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants. He paused for a moment, looking up at you with an expression that was both filled with desire and a silent question—a request for permission, for trust.

“Let me worship you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hands steady as he began to ease your pants down, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent sparks through you. “I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want you to feel everything.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity as he pulled your pants away, his eyes dark with want as he drank in the sight of you.

Joel stood, lifting you effortlessly in his arms, turning and pressing you gently but firmly against the wall. The coolness of the tile was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off of him, his body holding yours securely, every inch of your weight supported by his strength.

“You’re everythin’,” he murmured again, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss before trailing down your neck. “You deserve the world. And I’m gonna it to you.”

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted you slightly, his hands gripping your thighs as he held you against the wall. His mouth moved lower, his lips, his tongue, trailing over your stomach, your hips, until he was kneeling before you again, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh.

The sensation of his breath against your skin made your head spin, the anticipation building as his kisses grew slower, more deliberate, inching closer and closer to the center of your need. Every kiss, every touch felt like a promise—a promise that you were cherished, that you were seen.

Joel’s lips trembled against your skin as he kissed down your stomach, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips tightly as though he was afraid to let go.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with desire, and his breath came out hot against your bare thighs as he spread you open for him, his tongue flicking out to tease the edges of your soaked entrance.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he growled, his voice deep and husky. "I've been waitin’ for this, waitin’ to taste this sweet pussy. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about it—about you."

You gasped as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue flat and wide as he dragged it through your folds, groaning like he was savoring every drop.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as your legs trembled, and he groaned again, the vibration making you whimper.

"God, you're perfect," Joel mumbled against you, his voice muffled as he licked you with long, languid strokes. "This cunt is all mine tonight, yeah? You feel that? You hear that? This pussy's mine."

He sucked noisily, deliberately making sure every stroke of his tongue was loud, wet, and filthy. You could hear the lewd slurping sounds as he devoured you, his mouth greedy and desperate as if he’d been starving for this moment.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your whole body burning under his relentless attention.

“What if he hears?” you whispered, your voice shaky as your head fell back against the wall. “Joel… what if—”

“He won’t hear shit,” Joel cut you off, his voice rough with possessiveness. “That asshole’s passed out cold on the couch. Even if he could hear, I wouldn’t stop. He doesn’t deserve you. But I do.”

His tongue plunged into you, fucking you with wet, deep strokes, his nose brushing against your swollen clit as he grunted against you. “This pussy tastes so fuckin’ sweet, baby. All I want is to hear you moan for me. Let him fuckin’ hear it.”

You couldn’t help but whimper, your hips bucking against his face as he growled, his tongue thrusting deeper, his lips and chin coated with your arousal. He pulled back for just a second, his breath heavy, his eyes wild as he looked up at you.

"Fuck, I could eat this pussy all night," he murmured, his voice almost a snarl as he gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you even closer. "I want to make you come on my tongue over and over, until you can't stand. You deserve to be worshipped like this. I’m not stoppin’ until you scream my name."

With that, he dove back in, his tongue swirling over your clit as he sucked you harder, his mouth relentless. You moaned louder, your fingers tugging at his hair as your body arched off the wall, pleasure crashing through you with every filthy stroke of his tongue.

He groaned again, louder this time, savoring every moment as he devoured you, his mouth hot and hungry, like he couldn’t get enough.

He alternated between sucking your clit hard, his lips tight around the sensitive bud, and sliding his tongue deep inside you, fucking your pussy with slow, torturous strokes.

Each time you gasped, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, his hands gripping your thighs so hard it felt like he was staking a claim.

"Yeah, that’s it," he murmured between licks, his voice raw. "I want to hear you scream for me. Let me hear how much you love it when I eat this sweet little cunt."

Your moans grew louder, filling the bathroom as Joel’s tongue worked you harder, faster, his groans matching your own as he lost himself in the taste of you.

His hands slid up your body, gripping your breasts roughly as he continued to feast on you, the pleasure so intense it was overwhelming. You couldn’t stop yourself anymore—every nerve was on fire, your mind blank as you gave in completely to him.

"Joel, fuck, I’m gonna—" you gasped, your thighs trembling as you teetered on the edge of release.

"Cum for me, baby," he growled, his voice hoarse as his tongue flicked over your clit again, harder, faster, relentless. "Cum on my tongue. I want to taste all of it."

With a final, devastating suck on your clit, you shattered. Pleasure slammed into you, your entire body shaking as you screamed his name, your nails digging into his scalp as he held you in place, his mouth still working you through the waves of your orgasm.

Joel didn’t stop—he kept licking, kept sucking, devouring every drop as your body convulsed, the intensity of it making your legs shake.

He moaned against you, his tongue softening slightly but still teasing your swollen clit as you came down, his grip on your hips loosening just enough to let you catch your breath.

When he finally pulled back, his face was slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with lust as he looked up at you, his chest heaving.

"You taste like heaven," he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction as he stood, pressing his body against yours again, his lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, feel the raw, aching desire still burning between you, and you knew this was only the beginning.

“That’s what you deserve,” he whispered, his hands roaming over your body, possessive and loving all at once. “And I’m not done worshippin’ you.”

Joel’s hands moved up your body slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second his fingers touched your skin. His breath was still ragged, and his lips were barely an inch from yours as he whispered against them, his voice rough but tender.

“If you were my woman, I’d never let you leave the house without makin’ you cum at least twice,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver through you. “And here he is, treatin’ you like garbage. Doesn’t he see? You’re a goddess.”

He paused, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch gentle but insistent as he slowly pulled it up, over your head, tossing it to the side. His eyes darkened with hunger as he gazed at your bare skin, his breath coming out in a heavy exhale as he traced his fingers along the curve of your waist, up to the clasp of your bra.

“You represent everything good in this world,” Joel continued, his voice deepening as his fingers worked to unhook your bra, his eyes locked on yours. “He should feel so damn lucky to have you. How can he not see what he has?”

Your bra fell away, and his eyes dropped to your breasts, the sight of them making him groan deeply, the sound vibrating in his chest. His hands cupped them reverently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as his lips curled into a smirk.

“These,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, “prove my point exactly.”

Without another word, Joel dipped his head, his lips brushing against one of your nipples before he drew it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, your back arching as you gasped, your hands instinctively finding his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned again, his hand kneading your other breast as his mouth worked your nipple with expert precision, sucking harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Every movement of his mouth, every touch of his hands, felt like he was worshipping you, like you were something precious and sacred.

“I swear,” Joel mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing to your other nipple, sucking it into his mouth with the same intensity.

“If you were mine, I’d worship this body every damn day. You deserve to be treated like the goddess you are, not some afterthought.”

His teeth grazed your nipple, sending another wave of pleasure through you, making you whimper as he continued to suck and lick, his hands never leaving your body, constantly exploring, worshipping. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you, his mouth greedy, his hands possessive, but all of it wrapped in the tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his breath hot against your skin as he switched between your breasts, lavishing each one with the same amount of attention. “Every part of you is fuckin’ perfect.”

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, his erection hard and insistent through his jeans. The friction only added to the heat between you, the tension building with every kiss, every touch. Joel’s lips moved back up to your neck, his breath ragged as he pressed soft kisses along your jawline, his words spilling out between them.

“I could spend all night tastin’ you, touchin’ you,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with raw emotion. “You deserve to feel this good all the time. I’d make sure you never forgot it.”

Your mind was spinning, your body burning under his touch. Every word he spoke, every movement of his mouth, was like gasoline on a fire, and you were completely consumed by him, by the way he made you feel—seen, wanted, worshipped.

Joel’s hands slid back up to your breasts, kneading them as his lips claimed yours in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body radiating heat, his need for you palpable.

“Tell me,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how much you want this.”

Your breath hitched, your lips parting as his words hung in the air between you. The heat in his eyes, the intensity of his touch—it was overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding.

“I want it so bad, Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky with need, your body arching into him. “Please… take your clothes off. I need to feel you.”

He groaned at your words, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his erection pressing harder against you.

“Yeah, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing yours, “you need to see a real man. Feel a real cock, not just someone who acts like one. I’ll show you the difference.”

With a swift movement, Joel pulled back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing the broad, muscular chest that you’d only stolen glances at before. His skin glistened with sweat, his muscles flexing as he moved, and the sight of him made your mouth water. Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as you let out a soft moan of appreciation.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice breathless as your hands wandered lower, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Joel smirked, his hands already working to unbuckle his jeans, his voice dropping to a rough, dirty whisper. “You want this cock, hm? You’ve been starving for it—starving for a man who knows how to take care of you, who knows how to make you cum like you deserve.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion, his thick, hard cock springing free, already leaking with precum. It was big—thick and long, veins running down the shaft, the head swollen and glistening.

He gave it a slow stroke, his eyes locked on yours, the sight making your thighs clench with anticipation.

“See this?” he growled, tapping his cock against your thigh, making your breath hitch. “This is what you’ve been missin’. And I’m gonna make sure you never forget what a real man feels like.”

You whimpered in response, your hands reaching out to touch him, to wrap your fingers around his length, but he pulled back slightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of filthy promise. “I want you to feel it everywhere first.”

With that, Joel pressed his cock against your stomach, dragging it slowly across your skin, leaving a slick trail of precum in its wake. You moaned, the sensation driving you wild, your body arching into him as you felt the heat of his shaft sliding over your skin.

“Fuck, you look so good with my cock on you,” he groaned, his hand gripping his length as he slid it up between your breasts, over your chest, your neck, and then back down again. “You want this. You want to feel it inside you, stretchin’ you, fillin’ you up.”

“Yes, Joel, please,” you whimpered, your voice shaking with desperation. “I need it. I need you. I want your cock so bad, I can’t stand it.”

He chuckled darkly, his hand moving to tap the thick head of his cock against your clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you cry out.

“You want it here, yeah?” he growled, slapping his cock against your swollen clit again, harder this time, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You want to feel me inside this tight little pussy, fuckin’ you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Oh, God, yes,” you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body trembled with need. “Fuck me, Joel. I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to ruin me.”

His eyes flashed with pure desire as he tapped his cock against your clit again, the wet head of his cock throbbing as more precum leaked out, mixing with your own arousal.

He dragged his length through your folds, coating himself in your slickness, groaning as he teased you.

“I’m gonna make you scream for me,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never even think about another man again. You’ll be mine, baby. This pussy will be mine.”

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you, making you ache for him. Every word he spoke, every filthy promise he made, sent another wave of heat crashing through you, your body desperate for the release only he could give.

“Say it,” Joel demanded, his voice rough as he slid just the tip inside you, stretching you ever so slightly. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter as you felt him start to push inside you. “I’m yours. Please, fuck me. Make me yours.”

With a deep, guttural groan, Joel thrust into you, his cock stretching you wide, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, your body arching into his as he buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips as he held you in place.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of you in slow, deliberate strokes. “This pussy is mine now, baby. And I’m gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll forget anyone else ever existed.”

Joel’s thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but the delicious pressure only intensified the raw need coursing between you. His cock filled you so completely, stretching you to the point where you could barely think straight, only able to feel him.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Joel groaned, his voice rough with lust as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you with a force that made you gasp.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your ragged moans and the wet, lewd sounds of your pussy taking every inch of him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice low and rough as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “This is what you’d get with me all the time. Not that half-assed bullshit you’ve been settlin for. You’d get this—my cock fillin’ you up, my hands on your body, making you cum until you can’t even fuckin stand.”

He punctuated his words with rough, powerful thrusts, his cock driving deeper into you with each one. Your head fell back against the wall, your legs trembling as he held you up, completely at his mercy.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as his hips snapped into you again and again. “You deserve this, you deserve to be fucked like this every day. Not treated like you’re worthless.”

Joel’s mouth was everywhere—his lips moving over your neck, nipping at your skin before kissing and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he fucked you harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice thick with praise and hunger. “My perfect little good girl.”

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing lower until he found your breasts again, groaning as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. The sensation of his mouth on your sensitive skin, combined with the relentless pace of his hips, had you gasping, your body on the verge of breaking apart with pleasure.

“Fuck, ’could suck these tits all day,” Joel murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your nipple as he switched to the other breast, sucking and licking, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he fucked you harder.

“So fuckin’ beautiful. You’d get this all the time with me, baby. You’re my good girl, hm?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, your nipples aching under his relentless attention. “I’m your good girl. Please, don’t stop.”

Joel growled, a deep, primal sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he kissed his way back up to your mouth, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue invaded your mouth, hungry and demanding, as he continued to pound into you, each thrust harder than the last, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You whimpered beneath him, your nails digging into his back as he pounded into you, his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming you, and you could barely form coherent words. All you could do was moan his name, begging for more.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel rasped, his lips trailing down your neck as his hips snapped harder, faster. “You love this, baby? You love havin’ my cock so deep inside you, fuckin’ you the way you deserve. Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you need it.”

“I need it,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as your head fell back against the wall, your body trembling with pleasure.

“I need you so bad, Joel. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me harder. I love it. Please, Joel, don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop,” he growled, his hands sliding up your body, cupping your breasts again as he continued to thrust into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“I’ll never stop. You’ll never go a day without feelin’ this. Without knowing how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

His lips moved across your face, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, before finding your neck again, sucking and biting at your skin as he pounded into you. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer to the brink of release.

His tongue claimed your mouth with the same intensity as his cock claimed your pussy, his hands still worshipping your body as if he couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good,” he growled against your lips, his breath ragged as his hips continued to slam into you.

“This is what I’d do every single day if you were mine. I’d wake you up with my tongue on this perfect pussy, make you cum before breakfast, fuck you until you can’t even think straight.”

You moaned loudly, your body arching into his as his filthy words made your head spin, the pleasure building inside you with every thrust of his cock.

His hand slid down your body, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles as he fucked you, his touch sending sparks through your veins.

“I’m gonna make you cum, babygirl,” Joel whispered, his voice thick with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue dominating yours. “I want you to cum all over my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you love it.”

You whimpered, your body trembling as the pleasure mounted, your mind going blank as Joel’s cock slammed into you harder, deeper. His hand on your clit, his mouth on your neck, his body pressed tightly against yours—it was too much, and you felt yourself spiraling toward release.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough as he felt you tighten around him. “Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

With a final, devastating thrust, the coil inside you snapped, and you screamed his name as your orgasm tore through you, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him as he groaned deeply, his hips never stopping, prolonging your pleasure as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Joel’s hips slowed, but his thrusts remained deep and deliberate, his cock throbbing inside you, the heat of him radiating against your skin. His breath came in hot, ragged bursts against your neck as his hands roamed possessively over your body, caressing every inch of your trembling form.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hips ground deeper, each thrust making your body arch against him. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. My good girl.”

His words sent another jolt of desire through you, your body still sensitive from your orgasm, but you could feel his need, the tension in his body as he held back. His cock twitched inside you, and you knew he was close—so close.

Joel’s pace slowed slightly, his cock throbbing deep inside you as he hovered over you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. His hand slid down your side, possessive, as if every inch of your body belonged to him now. He kissed along your jawline, his voice husky, thick with lust and something deeper.

“Where do you want me to cum, baby?” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his cock still twitching inside you.

“Tell me where you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You felt a rush of heat, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment. Your voice came out shaky, but full of want as you gasped, “Inside, Joel. Please cum inside me.”

A guttural groan escaped his throat, his eyes darkening as he stared at you, the words hitting him like a spark to gasoline.

"God, I’ve been dreamin’ of hearing you say that," he growled, his hips bucking forward again, harder this time. "Pumpin’ you full of my seed. Fuck… the thought of you pregnant with my child?"

“The thought of you, round and swollen with my baby—fuck, sometimes I just cum from imaginin’ it,” he growled, his voice growing more desperate as his thrusts quickened, his cock hitting deep inside you with every movement.

“You’d be so beautiful, so perfect. And you’d be mine—all mine.”

His words sent a shock of pleasure straight through you, the intensity of his dirty talk igniting every nerve in your body. Joel’s hands gripped your hips harder as he thrust deeper, his cock filling you completely with each powerful stroke. His voice was raw, full of desperate hunger as he whispered in your ear.

��Imagine it,” he rasped, his breath hot against your neck, his cock pounding into you relentlessly.

“You, swollen with my baby. I’d make you cum again and again while my child grows inside you. I’d take care of you, worship you… make you feel like the goddess you are.”

The filthy images he painted, combined with the overwhelming sensation of his thick cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, made your body tremble, your mind reeling with the intensity of it. Your fingers dug into his back as your moans grew louder, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

His pace grew faster, more frantic as he chased his release, the idea of you full of his cum, of you carrying his child, driving him wild. You could feel him getting closer, his grip on your hips tightening as his cock swelled inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“You’d be such a good mother,” he groaned, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, baby. I’m gonna cum so deep inside you. I’m gonna make sure every drop stays inside. ’ gonna be so full of my cum.”

You were lost in him, lost in the way his body felt against yours, the way his words wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the pleasure.

“Yes, Joel,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your body trembled with anticipation. “Please, cum inside me. I want it so bad.”

“Take it, baby. Take all of it. I’m fillin’ you up. God, you feel so fucking good.”

With a deep, primal growl, Joel’s hips slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside as he came with a force that made his whole body shudder.

He held you tightly, his breath ragged as he groaned your name, his cum spilling inside you, filling you completely.

You could feel every twitch, every hot pulse of his release, the sensation sending you over the edge again, your body convulsing as a second wave of pleasure crashed through you.

His body shook with the force of his release, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants as he held you tightly, his cock twitching inside you as he emptied himself.

He stayed like that for a moment, his body pressed tightly against yours, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he caught his breath. His cock still twitched inside you, his cum warm and thick as it filled you completely. His hands caressed your sides, his touch tender and loving despite the roughness of what had just happened.

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he buried his face in your neck, still trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm. “Fuck… you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft but full of emotion. “’ everything I’ve ever wanted.”

His cock still twitched inside you, the warmth of his cum spreading through your core as he slowly pulled back, pressing soft kisses along your neck, your shoulders.

Joel's breathing was still heavy, his chest pressed against yours as he held you tightly, his cock still buried inside you. He kissed your neck softly, murmuring between deep breaths.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this,” he rasped, his voice low and raw. “You have no idea how long I’ve been savin’ this for you, baby. No one else could ever do it for me. You’re the only one… the only woman I want. I’m full of it, every drop of cum was meant for you.”

His words were tender but possessive, the weight of what he was saying wrapping around you. His hand slid up your side gently, still exploring, as though he couldn’t get enough of touching you. His lips brushed your ear, and his voice took on a pleading tone.

“Please, baby,” he whispered softly, his fingers tightening around your waist. “Leave him. You deserve more. You deserve to be worshipped, loved, the way I’ll love you every single day. You’re mine now. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart pound at the weight of his words, your body still trembling from the intensity of the moment.

As the intensity of the moment began to fade, the weight of Joel's words hung in the air between you. You felt the warmth of his body still pressed against yours, his breath steadying as he held you close, but now, the frantic passion had simmered into something deeper. Something certain.

For the first time in what felt like forever, clarity washed over you. Joel had peeled back all the layers of doubt, of shame, of loneliness, and left you with the undeniable truth—you deserved this. You deserved more.

You shifted slightly in his arms, and he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was soft, no longer driven by raw desire, but by something far more profound. There was a silent question there, one he didn’t have to ask out loud. He had already said it all.

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. You didn’t need to say anything right now. You didn’t need to make promises or decisions this second. But for the first time, you knew. You knew what you wanted, who you wanted.

And Joel knew it too.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple, the tenderness of the moment grounding you both. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You nodded, feeling lighter than you had in years. You weren’t just his now—you were finally yours.

As the room grew quiet, the weight of your choices settled in, but it wasn’t daunting anymore. It felt like freedom. Like the start of something new.

The beginning of everything you’d been missing.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

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bitty-bytes · 2 years ago

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"Your boyfriend is evil!" "Your boyfriend is cruel and horrifying!" Well, he's a joy to me. Maybe it's a you problem.

#self ship #self shipping #f/o: hades #f/o tag: soulbound #oc x canon #evil f/o #villain f/o #blorbo posting

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oceantornadoo · 4 months ago

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inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

#simon ghost riley #tornadothoughts #cod 141 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #fluff #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x oc #fwb simon #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x f!reader

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scikisser · 2 months ago

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Shoutout to sleepy selfshippers. Reblog if you’re a selfshipper and also tired as fuck.

[ Dividers by @/kodaswrld ]

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millers-girl · 2 months ago

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bitter/sweet

a Dr. Jack Abbot one-shot (The Pitt)

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: when a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—or someone—he didn't plan for…

warnings/tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, fainting/medical emergency, mild language

word count: 5.5k

a/n: my new hyperfixation i guess ???

“Fuck,” you grumbled, clutching your thumb in a blood-soaked kitchen towel, the fibers more crimson than cotton. The pain throbbed in pulses, each step sending a sharp reminder up your arm. You kept your eyes on the linoleum floors, following the resident as he led you deeper into the chaos of the emergency department and into an exam room.

“Oh,” the resident, Student Doctor Whittaker, said, his voice pitchy as he glanced at the kitchen towel. He quickly averted his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yeah, maybe we should keep that wrapped.”

You arched a brow at him, settling onto the exam table as the paper crinkled beneath you. The air in the room smelled sterile – alcohol wipes, latex gloves, and that faint antiseptic sting. “You’re not afraid of a little blood, are you? Because hate to be the one to tell you – you might be in the wrong profession.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “No, no – just… been a rough day,” he said, the humor dropping from his voice. “Can’t really handle another loss.”

You paused, tone softening. “Oh. Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You glanced down at the towel, now visibly seeping. “Did you get a hold of my sister?”

He shook his head, eyes already shifting toward the door. “I tried, but she’s in the OR; still scrubbed in. But, don’t worry; Dr. Abbot is the attending on call tonight. He’s one of the best – ”

You frowned. “Abbot? Where’s Robby?”

Before he could answer, the door opened and a tall man entered the room, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves with a practiced snap. His scrubs were black, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his expression was carved from stone. His salt-and-pepper hair was short but wavy; he easily had fifteen or twenty years on you… Still, he was cute.

“Well,” he began, his voice low and even, “It’s almost nine, and contrary to popular belief, even Robby needs to go home and rest. So, lucky you – you get me.”

You blinked. “Wow, smart and pretty. Lucky me indeed.”

He gave a subtle eye roll before his gaze met yours – steady, unreadable, deeply hazel. “So, what’ve we got?”

Whittaker stumbled to present. “Uh – female, 27. Has a deep laceration on her thumb. Cut it open on a grater – ”

“Mandoline slicer,” you corrected.

Abbot moved toward you, taking a seat on the wheeled stool. As he unwrapped your hand, you couldn’t help but ask, “Careful – you’re not gonna get queasy, too, are you?”

Without missing a beat, he stoically answered, “Only if this turns into something worse than a hand injury… like small talk.”

You let out a surprised laugh, half from the pain, half from how dryly he delivered the line.

“You’re funny,” you grinned. “I like you.”

He said nothing in response, merely peeled the cloth away, sticky and crimson, revealing the deep gash across the side of your thumb. Cold air kissed the open skin, and you hissed. He examined it without a flinch, gently turning your hand between his fingers.

“So, what were you doing with the mandoline slicer?”

“I’m a chef,” you answered. “The prep rush was insane today – guess my hand just slipped.”

He pressed carefully at the space between your thumb and index finger. You flinched, instinctively pulling back, but his other hand caught yours firmly, anchoring it.

“What?” you asked, watching his expression shift as he looked up.

“Stitches,” he decided.

“Fuck that.”

He arched his brow. “It’s a deep cut; can’t just put a bandaid on it and kiss it better.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t tried,” you flirted, finding it to be an easy distraction from the pain. Still, his face remained unchanged. “Come on, are you serious? You really can’t just wrap it up and call it a day? I have to get back before the dinner rush.”

“It’s not optional,” he informed. “It’s not gonna heal if it’s not stitched up.”

“Don’t worry,” Whittaker piped up again, voice chipper. “Dr. Abbot could do this in his sleep.”

“I could,” Abbot said, already reaching for gauze. “But Whittaker’s going to do it instead.”

“What?” You both asked, heads whipping to him.

“It’s a good learning opportunity,” he replied casually. “And Robby’s always goin’ on about how we’re a teaching hospital. Besides, it’s just a few stitches – a teenager could do it.”

“A teenager is about to do it,” you muttered.

“He’s older than you,” Abbot pointed out, making your frown set on him.

“I want you to do it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he got queasy just looking at the kitchen towel,” you explained. You and Abbot both turned to Whittaker, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “It’s either you, or I wait for my sister to finish surgery,” you stubbornly gave him an ultimatum. “And she told me about those patient satisfaction scores.” You let out a low whistle.

Abbot stared at you for a beat, then turned to the student doctor. “Whittaker.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Go get me the lidocaine.”

You grinned in victory before offering your hand back out to Abbot.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he muttered, arms crossing.

“You and my sister should start a support group,” you shot back.

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

When Whittaker returned, Abbot explained the procedure before getting to work: numbing first, then the sutures, probably six or seven. His voice was calm, precise. You clenched your other hand into a fist, eyes fixed anywhere but the needle. The sting of the lidocaine made your jaw tense.

“Ready?” Abbot asked. You nodded silently, lips pressed tight.

His hands were rough but skilled, careful – you could sense it.

As your eyes gazed over the room, they settled on the chain tucked beneath the neck of Abbot’s scrubs.

“Military?” you asked, voice quieter now as your free hand reached out to pull at the dog tags.

Without looking up, Abbot momentarily halted his work to swat your hand away. When your hand settled back by your side, he replied, “Used to be a medic. Liked the chaos so much, I went to med school for emergency medicine.”

You winced as one of the stitches tugged. “You good?” he asked, glancing up.

You gave him a wry look. “If I cry, will you hold my hand?”

“I’m already holding your hand,” he deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Then, buy me dinner? Or, let me buy you dinner, at Francesca.”

“Francesca?” Whittaker perked up. “Wait – you work there?” You nodded, smiling. “That’s cool. I’ve heard some of the other residents talking about it. They really love the food.”

You turned back to Abbot with a pointed smile. “See? Good food, good company – what more could you ask for?”

“Probably some peace and quiet,” he muttered. But, before you could press, he was already tying off the sutures and wrapping your hand with fresh gauze.

“So,” you said eventually, “what’s the damage?”

“You’re a rightie?” he asked; you nodded. “It’s your dominant hand. That, and the fact that restaurants have a high risk of infection – wet, hot, high-contact. It’s gonna take a minute to heal. Probably five days off work to initially heal and reduce strain; another five until you’re back to full-duty – and when you are, make sure you wear some sort of splint or gloves. Come back then and I’ll take ‘em out. Sound good?”

A week off work.

You already knew you weren’t waiting that long.

Still, you grinned up at him. “Whatever you say, handsome.”

Two weeks later––four days after you were meant to get your stitches out––you finally found yourself back in the hospital. You couldn’t say you missed the bright fluorescent lights or the constant beeping of machines – you weren’t sure how your sister did it every day.

You did, however, miss Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody.

That’s what you’d started calling Dr. Abbot in all your conversations with your sister. She’d blinked at you, been less amused, and professionally corrected you every time you brought him up.

“You mean ‘Jack’?” She’d say, and you’d grinned at that, ready to use this ammunition against him.

And, even though you had every intention to return earlier so you could see Jack sooner, work at the restaurant had gotten busy. Between a busted oven and two line cooks calling out, you’d been elbow-deep in chaos. You’d barely been convinced by Eleni, your sous, to come back even now. She had to practically push you out the front door.

Taylor, the charge nurse who brought you in, gave a smile as she informed you, “Dr. Whittaker will be in in just a few minutes.”

Your spine straightened immediately. “Actually, can you get Dr. Abbot? Tall one with the storm cloud for a personality. You know the one.”

Taylor nearly dropped her tablet laughing. “Oh, I like you,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Let me see what I can do.”

Luckily, it seemed like a slow night in the ED––well, slower than usual––and in a few minutes, your request had been granted.

“You know,” Abbot said by way of greeting when he entered the room, “you don’t get to request a specific doctor in the ED. That’s not how it works.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? Then how come you showed up?”

He ignored that. “Why didn’t you let Whittaker take them out?” He already sounded annoyed, and it brought you much more glee than it should’ve. “You know he’s perfectly capable of removing stitches. And putting them in.”

“And pass up another moment of your stellar bedside manner? Now, why would I do that… Jack?” You smiled sweetly.

His eyes flicked up fast at the sound of his first name. “I hate your sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“She’s the best and you know it.”

Instead of arguing, Jack gently pulled the wrap from your hand. His fingertips were warm through the gloves, deliberate in their movements as he examined the injury.

“You didn’t wait the five days before going back to work,” he said flatly, frown setting in.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course I did – In fact I – ”

You cut yourself off when you saw the look he gave you. All stern disapproval and low-simmering frustration – hot. And in a moment, you crumbled.

“Okay, okay, fine – but I took three days off! That has to count for something! I was going stir-crazy in my apartment, Jack.” You squirmed under his gaze.

He let out a deep sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled, brows pinched slightly as he prepped the suture scissors in that deliberate, quiet way of his.

You couldn’t watch as he moved with steady practiced precision. Instead, your eyes settled back on his dog tags and after a moment of silence, you asked in a soft voice, “How could you tell? That I went back to work early?”

He met your eyes then, frowning. After a beat, he answered. “The skin around is red, irritated. The inflammation just started going down. You should’ve come in early if you were gonna go back to work. I said day 10.”

“I know.”

Dryly, he continued, “This is day fourteen.”

“I know, Jack.” You frowned now too. “You know, if you keep on like this, you’re not getting your present.”

That was when he noticed the light pink bag that sat on the chair by the exam table.

“I brought you something. As a thank you for stitching me up.”

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Not a bribe to soften the blow because you knew I’d know you went back to work early?”

You smiled up at him, this time in a way that asked for his forgiveness. “Why can’t it be both?”

Jack rolled his eyes, then began removing your stitches. “It’s healing,” he noted, “but slower than it should be. You pushed it too hard.”

“I was careful,” you defended. “I let Eleni do all the chopping and lifting heavy pans – I just ran the line… and plated.”

Jack hummed, observing. “You’re holding tension through your whole arm. That’s not careful.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but just then, he snipped one of the sutures and you flinched with a hiss of discomfort. His hands paused immediately, and his expression shifted – not annoyed this time, but concerned.

“Still hurts?” he asked, quieter.

You tried to play it off, half-laughing. “Hurts less than not being in the kitchen.”

Jack sighed again, shaking his head. “You think I’m impressed by your stubbornness?”

You gave a crooked grin. “No, but I think you like it.”

He didn’t answer, just focused on removing the next stitch. Silence stretched between you, the only sound the soft snip of scissors. When he finally leaned back, he said, “Okay, that’s the last one. Take it easy, okay? I mean it. Just plating for now – carefully.”

You lifted your head. “And if I don’t? You going to come hold my hand through the dinner rush?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’ll come by the kitchen if I have to.”

You watched him, smile growing. “Still thinking about saying yes to that dinner I offered?”

Just as quick, he quipped, “I’m thinking about you not landing in my ER again.”

Your brow rose. “Keep it up and you’re not getting the tiramisu.”

As he was wrapping your hand in new gauze, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. “Tiramisu?”

“My sister said you wouldn’t stop talking about it a few days ago. Got a craving.”

“Yeah, for DiAnoia’s,” Jack corrected.

When he was done wrapping your hand, you hopped off the exam table and offered him the light pink bag, with a tiramisu boxed inside.

“It’s better than DiAnoia’s,” you promised, already halfway to the door.

He snorted at that, not believing you. “But, be careful, it's sweet. Might clash with the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.”

“I don’t brood,” he called after you.

You turned at the doorway, walking backward as you smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to your face.”

Then, you spun on your heel, feeling his gaze on you as you let the door swing closed behind you.

You couldn’t tell if the emergency room was changing or if you were just getting used to it. The fluorescent lights felt ambient now, the loud chatter muffled, and the beep of vital machines now felt distant.

“Miss me?” You grinned up at Jack as he strolled towards the nurse’s station. You leaned casually against the counter, trying not to let your excitement show too much.

Without looking up from the chart in his hands, he replied, “Still haven’t recovered from the last time.”

You glanced over at Taylor, who sat typing behind the station, and dropped her a wink. “That’s not a no,” you stage-whispered, giggling.

Jack finally looked at you then, eyes tired but alert, like your voice had stirred him awake. “What are you doing here?” he asked, handing off the chart to Taylor.

“What, can’t a girl visit her local cute, broody doctor?”

“I already told you I’m not that,” he frowned.

You tilted your head. “Cute?” you asked, pretending to be confused.

He narrowed his eyes on you. “Broody.”

“Right,” you nodded solemnly. “Of course not.”

The silence between you lingered a second longer than expected – long enough for you to catch the faint circles under his eyes, the crease between his brows. His scrubs looked wrinkled, like he’d been running nonstop since the start of shift. Your smile softened.

“I’m dropping some food off.”

His brows furrowed now. “For me?”

Your smile only widened, but faltered just a touch as you took in just how off he looked, a little out of rhythm. That bone-deep kind of tired. You wondered if he’d eaten at all tonight.

“For my sister,” you said lightly, though your feet were already carrying you toward the break room. You grabbed a paper plate and plastic fork, and returned just as quickly. You set the plate down and began undoing the takeaway box you’d packed.

“Wait,” Jack started, a note of warning in his voice – he already knew where this was going. You ignored him, and scooped a generous portion of pasta onto the plate before sliding it his way. The steam curled up toward Jack’s face.

“Try some.”

He sighed, saying your name like it was both a complaint and a surrender.

“Come on,” you coaxed. “Just a bite. And if you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”

He gave you a long-suffering look – but brought the fork to his mouth anyway. The first bite had his eyes fluttering closed, just for a second. A soft sound escaped him – barely audible, but unmistakable. You caught it.

“That was a compliment,” you accused, pointing at him with a victorious grin. “I heard it! Everyone heard it!” You turned dramatically to Taylor, who watched with a dry amusement before shuffling over to a patient’s room.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ok, hotshot, relax. It’s just pasta. Hard to mess it up.”

You scoffed. “You’d be surprised.” He shrugged, and you took it as a challenge. “Okay, then what? What can I make to convince you it’s not just luck – it’s these magic hands.” To make a point, you wiggled your fingers.

To your surprise, he actually gave it some thought. A flicker of memory seemed to pass through him. His voice was quieter when he spoke.

“There was this dish we used to get when I was in the military – in this little town outside Kabul. Locals made it in the market stalls. It was kind of like a lamb stew, over some flatbread. Spicy. Kinda messy to eat. But damn good.”

You blinked, surprised he’d offered to share something so personal. You cleared your throat, softly asking, “You were stationed in Afghanistan?”

Realizing the slip-up, Jack shrugged it off like he regretted saying anything. His eyes drifted to a fixed point behind you.

“Jack,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand over his, which rested on the counter of the nurse’s station. The gentle tone of your voice kept him from pulling his hand out from underneath yours. If anything, that, alongside the glint in your big eyes, made him want to spill everything.

“It was the 68W program – for combat medics,” he revealed, using his free hand to pull the dog tags from under his scrub top. “Standard issue accessory.”

“I disagree,” you murmured, playful but sincere. “I’ve heard medics are some of the toughest ones in the room.”

Jack let out a tiny almost-smile. “We were just the ones who didn’t get to shoot back.”

You paused, then asked, “What was it called? The dish.”

He thought for a second. “I don’t remember. I think maybe – palau something – or – I don’t know. Doesn't matter.”

You shook your head, heart melting. “If it stuck with you… it matters.”

Jack didn’t say anything to that, but his gaze found yours again – direct. You caught him staring. He didn’t look away.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to think you like me,” you teased, tone light.

He didn’t even deny it, just shook his head – either in denial or disbelief, you couldn’t tell.

“That’s okay. I like you enough for the both of us.”

That brought a pink tinge to his cheeks.

Instead of bringing attention to it, you simply offered a half-smile. “Okay. Challenge accepted. One mystery lamb dish, coming up.”

At that, Jack raised a skeptical brow. “You’re gonna recreate something I haven’t eaten in ten years, from a place you’ve never been, with no recipe?”

You shrugged. “Maybe it’ll finally convince you to come to the restaurant.”

And there it was – just for a second. The edge of a smile. Maybe even the beginning of a laugh. You nudged his side with your elbow.

“Admit it. You’re rooting for me.”

Jack just shook his head, but didn’t speak. Didn’t stop smiling either. Didn’t even say no.

The next time Jack saw you in the hospital, the occasion was less momentous. You didn’t have a light pink box with the Francesca logo on it and a sweet treat––or Afghani dish––inside. You weren’t your happy, bubbly self jumping around the place. Forget jumping, you weren’t even on your feet.

You were in a hospital bed, fluids pumping steadily through an IV line taped to your arm. into your veins through IVs. Your sister, elbows resting on the edge of the bed, was scrolling through her phone with the ease of someone used to hospitals – until Jack stumbled in.

His eyes immediately found yours, and whatever breath he’d been holding on the way in came out sharp.

“Every day you’re here – you come and find me. Every day,” he said, voice low and urgent. “So, what changed today? Why was Robby the one to tell me you fainted?”

You and your sister exchanged a glance. She was already putting her phone down, her expression turning serious.

“Because it literally happened an hour ago…?” you offered, wincing a little. “And that’s still day shift.”

Jack raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every sharp movement.

“Robby had it covered,” your sister said, trying to calm Jack.

It didn’t help.

“Did he do an ECG?”

“Yes.”

“Echocardiogram?”

“Yes, Jack,” she sighed.

“What about a head CT?

You frowned. “Why would he do a CT?”

“Because you probably hit your head when you fell.”

You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t hit my head.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Eleni caught me.”

Jack’s eyes bounced between you and your sister. “This happened at work?” You nodded, slowly. “Did this happen because of work?”

Suddenly, you were having a hard time meeting his eye.

To make matters worse, your sister answered for you. “She was covering for one of the other line chefs, stressed about a critic visit – Eleni said she was barely sleeping – ”

“The critic’s a big deal!” you defended, “and Luca was getting burnt out. He needed a break.”

“No, babe,” your sister cut in, not unkindly, “You need a break.”

Jack stepped closer to the bed, scanning the IV bag. His fingers brushed against your arm, checking the line, then pressing gently against your wrist. “Did Robby hook her up to saline?”

Your sister nodded.

“What about electrolytes? She’s dehydrated.”

“He – ” Your sister paused, then asked, a little surprised, “How did you know that?”

“Her lips are dry,” Jack responded, as if it was obvious. “She squints every time she looks up at the lights. And her leg is tense – probably cramping earlier.”

You and your sister shared another look, then you grinned up at him, pushing his hand away from your arm to grab it in yours, warm and steady. “What?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“You were worried about me,” you grinned, all grin and no apology.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his free hand defeatedly over his face. “Oh, my God. You fainted and this is what you’re focused on?”

You gave him a small shrug. “I’m fine.”

And, truthfully, you were starting to feel better. Color was returning to your cheeks, and the constant throb behind your eyes had dulled to a whisper. The IVs were helping; the rest, too.

A voice crackled over the intercom, paging your sister to OR 3. She stood, hesitating.

“Go,” you said, waving her off. “I’ll be fine. Go back to work.”

“Fine, but tell someone to page me when they discharge you. I’ll get someone to drive you home.”

You rolled your eyes but nevertheless nodded. As she stepped out, Jack moved to sit on the edge of the chair beside your bed, one hand running along the railing.

“How mad do you think she’s gonna be when I tell her you’re not going anywhere? I’m keeping you overnight.”

Your head whipped toward him. “What? Why?”

“For observation. I want to make sure it really was stress-related and not some underlying medical condition.”

You groaned, tilting your head back against your pillow. “Jack,” you groaned, frustrated by this decision.

“Oh, I know,” he mocked gently. “How could I do this to you? Keeping you overnight to make sure you’re healthy? I’m the worst.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as dramatically as you could manage while tethered to an IV.

“Don’t be like that,” he tried, his hand uncrossing yours. Then, the same hand lifted to gently cup your cheek. “You know, you didn’t have to faint just to get my attention. Could’ve just called.”

The blush that crept to your cheeks was immediate, and you cleared your throat, looking away. “Dr. Abbot with the jokes – never thought the day would come.”

“What can I say?” he replied with a shrug. “I’m a complex guy.”

He tugged your blanket higher, gently tucking it around you like it was second nature. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

You nodded, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle behind your eyes. As Jack slipped out, he left the curtain half-open so he could keep an eye on you from the nurse’s station or while he was passing by to other patient rooms.

Instead, you found your eyes drifting to him. Even through the haze of sleep, you watched him move through the ED like a controlled current – swift, focused, unshakable. He was in full command, teaching, managing, healing. Something about how intense yet calm he was eventually lulled you to sleep.

When you woke again, sunlight was peeking through the slats of the blinds, and Jack was beside your bed, carefully unhooking the IV line.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice soft as it pulled you from your deep slumber. “How are you feeling?”

You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and let out a groggy sigh “Wow, thought I died and went to broody heaven.”

“I’ll take that as ‘fine,’” he said dryly, grabbing a paper cup of water he’d filled for you and maneuvering the straw toward your lips like it was muscle memory.

“Can I go home now?”

He nodded, his eyes still scanning your vitals, “Soon. Just gotta fill out your discharge paperwork and then shift’s over. I’ll drive you home.”

“Drive me home? I’m wearing you down, old man,” you grinned sleepily up at him.

He rolled his eyes, raising a hand to press the back of it to your forehead. “You feel okay? No headache? Dizziness? Nausea?”

“Good as new,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Must be these magic hands.”

He smiled at that, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles before letting go.

“So,” you began as he signed off on your chart, “does being injured get me privileges?”

He arched a brow. “What kind of privileges?”

“Favors,” you said with a shrug. “Like you finally coming to the restaurant.”

Jack let out a low groan, head shaking. “It’s too early for this – you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not till you say yes. And, as you know, I’m very persistent.”

“Oh, I do know,” he said, then held his hand out. “Let me see your thumb.”

You blinked. “Why?”

Still, you offered it up. He examined it gently, brushing his fingers over the healing skin.

“When this heals completely, I’ll come to Francesca.”

You beamed. “In that case, let’s speed up the process…” You wiggled your thumb closer to his face. “Never did try that technique of kissing it better, huh?”

He gave you a look – but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb.

When he set it back down in your lap, your stomach fluttered.

“Now, can I take you home or are you going to make me do a blood oath first?”

“You’ve been burying the lede, Abbot,” you teased, making your presence known as you walked across the hospital rooftop and joined him on the concrete ledge. Your shoes scraped lightly against the gravel as you sat, legs swinging just off the edge.

He glanced over, brows furrowed in confusion. No one but Robby ever came up here.

“Taylor told me where you were,” you informed. “How many conversations have we had – and you never mentioned this place? Or the crazy views it has?”

The city was sprawled out below you, glittering the dark earth. A breeze tugged at your jacket, crisp with late night chill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, checking his watch. 2:56am glowed dimly in the moonlight.

You shrugged, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His concern was immediate, instinctual. “Is it the stitches? Are you feeling dehydrated?” He was already reaching for you, fingertips brushing your wrist as if searching for a pulse.

“No, Jack,” you laughed, pushing his hands away. “I’m fine. I just… woke up with a thought.”

He stilled, waiting for you to explain what thought could’ve roused you out of bed in the middle of the night and forced you here.

You reached behind you and retrieved a familiar pink Francesca bag, the paper crinkling softly in your hands. In thick Sharpie ink, you’d scrawled his name with a lopsided heart beside it. His brows lifted in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he murmured, greedy fingers snatching the food container out of the bag and tossing the lid aside like it might disappear if he wasn’t fast enough.

Inside sat the Afghani dish Jack had told you about that one day at the nurse’s station. The rich, spiced aroma was carried through the night air – saffron, cumin, caramelized carrots.

“It’s called qabili palau,” you offered, watching him tear a piece of naan, scoop up a mouthful, and take a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes immediately rolled to the back of his head and he exhaled a quiet sound that was half-groan, half-moan.

“If you’re making those kinds of noises at my cooking, just imagine my skill in the bedroom,” you teased, flashing him a grin.

That earned you a look – but not one you expected. Quiet, intense. His mouth twitched at the corner like he was trying not to smile, and then he went back for another bite. And another. You watched him eat in silence, the wind occasionally rustling his curls, and you couldn’t help but feel the intimacy of the moment, on this quiet rooftop, and this ridiculous hour.

He quietly finished the food, sharing it with you. And, when the food was gone, his eyes drifted out across the skyline. He looked… lighter somehow. And it reminded you why you loved being a chef – because food had the power to take people home, even when they were miles and years away.

You nudged him. “Oh – I almost forgot!” You excitedly held your hand up like a prize, thumb out. The skin had healed cleanly, leaving not even a scar behind. “All better.”

His eyes found yours, amusement dancing in them. “I’m pretty sure I said when it’s healed, not the exact moment it is.”

You scooted closer to him, shoulders brushing, as you accused, “Oh, no. You’re not gonna get out of this.”

He shook his head at you, like he had countless times before, but this time… this time the look in his eyes changed. Slowed. Softened. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, sitting here, choosing him.

His smile faded as he lifted a hand to your face, brushing a windblown strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to,” he said softly.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed – not some messy, passionate crush. It was slow, intentional. The kind of kiss that people waited a long, long time for. His lips were warm, and soft, and they fit perfectly against yours.

You melted into it, one hand curling around the front of his scrubs as the city disappeared beneath your closed eyelids. The hospital lights, the stars, the hum of distant traffic – it all faded until it was just the two of you. Just Jack.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far – just rested his forehead against yours, his breath brushing across your skin as he murmured, “You know, you scare the hell out of me. Make it hard to stay behind the lines I drew.”

You smiled softly at that, brushing your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “Good. Means it’s real.”

There was a beat of quiet. Then, he gently took your hand again, turning it over to inspect your healed thumb. You rested your head against his shoulder, grinning – you both knew exactly what this meant.

He sighed dramatically, mocking defeat. “What’s the dress code?”

“No scrubs,” you teased.

“Button-up?”

“Only if it’s black. Very broody.”

“Deal,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

read part 2 here !!

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paradoxbeta · 5 months ago

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de ce ai un rain world oc pe nume fat frumos please i must know (also zmeu. i see what you did there)

oh am i excited to talk about this. buckle in because it is a bit much

preemptive tldr: i have a rainworld adaptation of the făt-frumos tales where f-f stars as an overly prideful slugteen (pictured below looking moody) getting a body horror-y reality check

so! the name of this adaptation is the împărăție colony and as mentioned above its my little for-fun project based off of the original făt-frumos stories. for those who don’t know, f-f is a romanian folkloric character

some elements were changed (f-f is no longer the son of a king because there’s only one slugcat colony in this region, so i could only have a prince or a princess but not both if i wanted to keep the generic romance plot) but most were preserved, with f-f still having calul năzdrăvan (now a noble blue lizard steed inherited from his father) and with there still being the classic villains such as both balaur (infamous mutated red lizard) and zmeu (random iterator the slugcats abstracted into the Big Bad)

the story goes that the local iterator is collapsing and its bioprinters have gone haywire, so now it bleeds out nasty and highly mutagenic sludge. the local slugcat colony has not taken kindly to the deadzone and mutated fauna, but they also dont really understand what a bioprinter or hazardous chemical agent is, so they formed a mythological universe around the iterator

his name is zmeu, he’s a wretched 6 legged monster, he’s bleeding poison, he’s representative of all ill will and evil in the world, and all of his children are accursed nightmares. anything that’s been afflicted by zmeu gets the misnomer “child of zmeu” (misnomer because almost every "child of zmeu" was not born that way)

so in comes f-f: he’s the son of rege (who is again not actually the king), and rege was renowned for his incredible fighting prowess until the balaur got the best of him and left him unable to fight like he used to. f-f isn’t supposed to step up to his fathers position yet but his dad’s hand is forced, so he hastily passes on his trusted lizard (calul) and goes hey son, surprise! youre taking the mantle effective immediately

f-f eventually ends up on a mission to go slay zmeu and to find ileana, the colony leader’s daughter, who had gone missing very recently and who f-f also happens to have a fat crush on. so boldly he sets off with calul năzdrăvan

the story starts off very lighthearted and in its own head– f-f is young, rowdy, concerned with superficial things, and he’s had his ego gassed up by his colony which has its emphatic faith in him. he’s in a total fantasy world off to slay this big monster and come home as the hero with the girl, but as the story goes on, things get too real for him. balaur hunts him relentlessly and tests his grit, he sees the extent of the pollution and the environmental havoc, everything he's heard in mythos becomes less of a concept and more a frightening reality, and surviving in rainworld is just plain difficult, so his self confidence wanes. it reaches a breaking point when he eventually finds ileana, who is by now to his horror a child of zmeu

he does find his way to zmeu’s puppet chamber but it doesnt bring him any sense of completion. his only real options are to leave empty handed or to “kill” the puppet, both of which don’t solve anything... its all in all not a fun time but it teaches him some really important lessons about humility and about how small he really is in the world

its not a narratively complex or serious story and it can be cliché or even nonsensical at times, but i have a lot of fun with the characters, and im entertained by the idea of morphing a fun and shallow fantasy shindig into something frightening and slightly depressing over time

(also this ask reminded me to go back and add zmeu to the colony tag, thank you!)

#+ theres nothing better than having a character named “horse” who is not even close to a horse #quite a few smaller details have been omitted here but its more than long enough. you get the idea #ive been wanting to do individual character bios for each of the characters for a while to get a more in depth look at their personalities #maybe i can get to that now im on break and have more free time than i know what to do with #ask #lorepost #rainworld #imparatie colony #împărăție colony #edit: forgot to oc tag for the picture #oc: făt-frumos #oc: f-f #oc: cal #oc: calul năzdrăvan

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captainpricespuppyboyfriend · 2 months ago

Text

Me when a stranger on the internet says my selfship is canon to them

Pro.shippers/com.shippers DNI please

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hivemuthur · 4 months ago

Text

The Ugly Thing

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut, love confessions, D/S dynamics (if you squint or if you know what I'm talking about), pining, dom!viktor (but also not, if you squint, something something), Viktor-centric, AU college/university + modern era (again, you have to do some squinting for it to be relevant)

word count: 4,9K

summary: Yet another self-indulgent one-shot of Viktor and Reader. It's just an exploration. I want to believe this is erotica, but you tell me. Subspace/Domspace if you squint. Just squint, alright?

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Viktor was, at the very least, difficult. That was what he had called himself, and he relished the label, as it allowed him to be all things at once—sweet, shy, bold, cruel, smart, oblivious, observant. He walked through life making observations and turning his conclusions into actions, placing people exactly where he needed them, ensuring they couldn’t place him somewhere he didn’t want to be.

His relationships were fleeting moments of leniency—sometimes even kindness—offered only when he felt inclined. Occasionally, the kindness transpired twice, or three times, but never more, as the risk of forming a one- or double-sided attachment was undesirable. Viktor’s desires lay elsewhere, and in his pursuits, he indulged the weakness of the flesh while keeping his ultimate goal—recognition of his brilliant mind—crystal clear.

Always polite, so that nothing could hurt him. His armour of politeness and astute behaviour shielded him from the lingering hands that sought to cradle him through the night, from the tender offerings of morning coffee, and from the quiet intimacy of shared silences. Viktor didn’t crave these things. He made sure his politeness was cold, detached, and practised—a skill perfected to keep others at bay. There was no warmth in it, no invitation to linger.

From time to time, he indulged in fleeting encounters, moments where he allowed himself to surrender to the pull of human connection—physical, but never emotional. Emotional, but not lasting. It was a necessary recharge, a way to quiet the body’s demands, but he was always one step ahead. He ensured his partners understood that whatever fragile universe they built together in the night would dissolve with the first light of morning, leaving no trace beyond the cooling embers of his skin.

All that was left was being polite—a polite smile in the hallway, a pencil lent during a lecture, an elevator held for his perishable lover rushing to class. Their names never forgotten, but their warmth never wanted again.

Until you. Until you invaded his orbit and refused to be erased. Until you befriended Jayce, making it easy to keep meeting him, keep looking at him, keep exchanging amusements and something more than politeness—exchanging kindness. Until it turned out you were smart and driven and managed to scare him once or twice by pinning him with your joke.

Until he had slept with you, giving you his mediocre self—not the calculated, observant one, but the needy, touch-starved, pathetic one that moaned your name and groped you with begging hands. All during a completely unorchestrated evening in your dorm room, still half-clothed, just lustful and impatient. Just really fucking hungry in your mutual understanding, though you understood absolutely nothing. Oblivious to the ugly thing in him. Oblivious to the concept of boundaries. Oblivious to the need to protect yourself from prying eyes that might see the truth of what they were.

And the way you stared at him afterwards, gave your body a long stretch, and your limbs flopped back onto the mattress. And the way you said, “It’s ok if you want to go,” an understanding smile cracking across your face—yet you understood absolutely, utterly nothing. A way out he craved, but he wanted to carve it out for himself with his politeness, not with this—this knowing, wise look in your eyes that came from nowhere, because you knew nothing. He almost wanted to stay, just to spite you, but found himself only nodding, scrambling to his feet to fetch his brace and cane, and bidding you goodnight with a polite nod.

And the way you remained friendly. Not friendly—the way you two remained friends. The long nights spent in study groups, pulling straws to determine who was doomed to coffee duty, your head slumped in sleep on Jayce’s shoulder, his head resting on Mel’s. Your bare, cold feet stretched out, toes brushing against Viktor’s thigh, sending ice through his veins—and the way he didn’t mind. The way he contemplated cradling your feet in his palm, warming them against his better judgement.

The way your touch lingered on his arm when you grabbed him in the corridor to show him something funny on your phone. And the way the thing on your phone actually was funny—a picture of Jayce passed out in the library under a mountain of plastic cups balanced on his shoulders. The way his own laugh startled him, made his chest shake and his face lean in close to yours.

The way you would fall asleep in the common room, watching old horror films, your throat vulnerably exposed on his lap. And he just wanted to grab it, squeeze it tight, choke the confession out of you—that you lingered because you wanted more, because this friendship was unthinkable.

The way you got upset when he was mean, and the way he went out of his way to apologise with a childish, shit-eating grin. His arms reaching out for you, your palm pressing his face away in that same friendly gesture.

When he flushed his system with alcohol, all he could think about was fucking you senseless. And when your gaze lingered on him, burning all the way down into his ugly thing, you would ask what was on his mind, and he would say, “Physics.” And you would laugh his lie out.

The way, once, he gave you a lingering kiss on your doorstep and stopped himself. But seeing the question poised on the tip of your tongue, he sunk back in, turning the kiss into a sloppy, drunken mess, so you would be the one to push him away. A gentle pat on the shoulder, sending him off with the unspoken instruction to come back sober. And how he never came back for that.

All of this made him so fucking angry. His carefully mended self, constructed from sweetness, shyness, boldness, cruelty, wisdom, and oblivion, was crumbling under your pensive eyes—and the way you floated atop the pissed-off ocean of his mind.

And oh, he loathed himself on that evening, loathed the way his feet carried him to your room because he was feeling vaguely sad and distracted. He loathed his feet for doing so, loathed his finger for pressing the elevator button, loathed his knuckles for placing a quiet knock on your door. It was all so gross, so out of character, and he loathed it all.

And there you were, opening the door, your face full of dinner, hair messy, cheeks puffed out as you curled them into a closed-mouth grin and gave him a wave to come inside. A quiet “hi,” followed by a chuckle as you tried to swallow before chewing—and a cough when the gulp was too massive for your throat.

“Are you busy?” Viktor found himself blurting out, scanning the room. Your flatmate was gone for the weekend—her bed made, her shoes and coat missing. Observed, concluded. His eyes flicked over to the other bed: messy but cozy, notes scattered across it, a steaming cup on the bedside table, and a laptop propped in the leg area playing background noise. Studying, of course.

“I am always busy,” you grinned at him, your teeth bare and beautiful like the rest of you, as you dropped your dishes into the sink and put the kettle on. “Watching Dexter and studying. Do you want tea?”

“Maybe,” Viktor mused, biting his lip. He negotiated silently with himself, wondering what it was he hoped to find in this room that might sweeten his sour mood—and why his mood was sour in the first place. His hand wobbled on his cane, the traitorous thing, and he leaned against the doorframe to deflect, refusing to decide whether to step fully in or out.

“Okay, what’s gotten into you today?” you huffed, picking a mug you deemed suitable for him. Good Vibes Only, with a middle finger printed on the bottom of it, seemed fitting.

“Meaning?” Viktor cocked an innocent eyebrow, feeling the burn of your inquisitive gaze. Oh, to yank that lovely head by the neck and shove it between his legs, to ease the torment in his mind.

“This is the third time you’ve bothered me today. It’s the weekend. You usually work on the weekends. You’re being vague but resistant to probing. Did something happen?” The countdown of his sins, and it was only the count of one day. Nothing had happened, and that was the issue.

“I suppose I’m feeling… down?” He shrugged, the movement worn down, defeated. His brain ached, and he felt lonely. It had started to feel indecent to pursue others—and for that, you deserved a whack as well.

“Do you need a hug?” A mocking snort reached his ears. A long pause as the scales tipped between a ‘no’ and a ‘yes.’

“Yes.”

Another long pause, as you blinked and scanned him for any signs of a sham, your expression still uncertain. You had to make sure again. “Do you need a hug now?”

“No, in fifteen fucking minutes.” His undignified huff earned him a pair of raised eyebrows from you, and a remark already rolling off your tongue—but he cut it short. “Yes, now. Come here.” His head hung low, and only his hand made a beckoning gesture.

You smiled, disarmed by the black cat of Viktor, finally trying to scramble into your lap after months of teasing and playing around—head bumping and blinking at each other from afar. You walked up to him, your hands hesitant, as if this open display of need was unthinkable.

Before you could settle, Viktor snaked himself around you, his cane propped by the door, his frame bent and draped over you, leaning his body weight forward. It was the grabbiest, the neediest hug he had ever given—or that anyone had let him have. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, smashing his nose against your skin, and inhaled you deeply, through both mouth and nose.

His palms, open and wide, raked as much of your body in one go as they could. They slipped under your clothes, seeking the taut skin stretched across your back and shoulders. He wanted to go lower but could only squeeze.

You weren’t hugging him; he was hugging you. Caging you in his grip, controlling when the hug would end—and as far as he was concerned, not ever. You stilled under his touch, your hands resting obediently on his chest as he rubbed his face on yours, purring like a cat.

“Viktor?” Your voice was barely a whisper, bouncing off his mouth, an inch away from yours. “Would you like me to kiss you?” He sang his swan song in that moment, almost asking permission, granting you the illusion of control, the illusion of choice—when in truth, it was him silently begging for the kiss to happen.

“Would you like to kiss me?” Of course. A deflection. Nothing he wasn’t prepared for.

“I asked you first.” A cruel blow, almost childish. He pulled his face back a few inches to watch you wrestle with the indignity of the situation. The whine you tried to suppress at the loss of contact didn’t go unnoticed, and the snake in Viktor’s belly coiled its head up, smug and poised.

But then you did the thing he didn’t expect—twisting the serpent’s head off and tossing it aside with quiet defiance. You moved closer, nudging his chin with your cheek, your wide eyes pleading for his plea. His resolve shattered instantly.

He held you in place, his lips hovering just above yours. His whisper was longing, desperate. “Can I kiss you?”

A silent ‘yes.’ He only knew it was a ‘yes’ because he felt the movement of your lips on his—but he didn’t let you finish. He sank into your mouth with a disturbing, possessive urgency, pressing his tongue inside, licking your beautiful teeth, biting your beautiful skin.

He kept you locked in, pressing you down under the weight of his kiss. His mouth drooled into yours obscenely as he breathed heavily through his nose. It was the ugliest kiss he had ever given anyone—the ugliest anyone had ever taken from him. And yet, it was taken with such grace, such gratitude, that he wanted to give you everything else.

With inhuman strength, he pulled you both apart and placed his thumb on your lower lip, still glistening with his saliva. He traced it lazily, transfixed by the shimmering reflections on your skin. His heart swelled as he observed the redness blooming around the spots he had bitten. He wanted you bruised by his love—for everyone to see.

“What are you doing tonight?” Another plea, another promise, fell between you. Viktor cursed himself for being so open, so exposed. Because even though you knew nothing, you would understand this question.

“Watching Dexter and studying,” you said in an absent voice, your eyes following his, following the path of his thumb. The silence stretched between you, taut, until you felt the need to fill it. “Do you want to watch Dexter and study with me?”

“No.” The word escaped him in a croak, sung low and jagged, as if he had only just realised this wasn’t what he wanted at all. “Are you wet?” was all he wanted to know.

“What?” The word escaped you, surprised, almost appalled. Viktor braced himself for you to pull away, so he tightened his grip—but you didn’t. You just stared at him with those beautiful eyes on your beautiful face, your pupils dilating at the vulgar perversion of his question.

“I think you heard me. Are you wet right now?” He leaned in to whisper the filth into your ear, feeling his snake grow out a new head at the full-body shudder that went through you.

“What if I said no?” you asked shyly, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

“I would demand proof,” he murmured, holding the sides of your face as he poured his poison straight into your ear, his voice so quiet and rude that your eyes fluttered closed.

“What if I said yes?” You found some bravery in yourself, tracing your fingers along Viktor’s neck, just under the line of his hair. You smiled at the feeling of goosebumps rising under your fingertips. He couldn’t have this, of course.

“I would demand proof regardless,” he responded, his lips grazing the shell of your ear before licking it, slow and deliberate. He craned his head back to look at you. You appeared frightened and excited all at once, and if Viktor had no restraint, he would have run his fingers through your hair to soothe you. Instead, he placed a flat palm on your stomach, fingers pointing down, waiting for your permission.

He received a timid nod, but it wasn’t enough.

“Use your words.”

“You can check.” You closed your eyes and exhaled, as though allowing yourself to be judged for your crime. And as the crime was that of lust, Viktor, somewhere deep down, knew he didn’t really need proof, and that your punishment would be light. Because he didn’t truly want to punish you. He wanted to love you in an ugly way.

He slid his hand down, down beyond the waistband of your pants, down your lower belly straight to your womb, palming your cunt through the underwear and gasped, “Oh lásko, look at you.” His chest fluttered at the first touch, with joy and accomplishment, but also because he was right, when he slid the fabric to the side and ran his finger through your slit. Warmth dripped onto his fingertips, and he felt himself grow hard beneath the restraint of his own clothes.

“Do you really like me this much?” he cooed, so pleased that just one ugly kiss had managed to drench your knickers and make you feel so ashamed you nearly flinched away.

“Viktor—” You looked at the floor, your brows furrowed, your face burning from being so exposed, so naked. And you looked so, so beautiful.

“I am not mocking you,” he murmured, placing a reassuring hand on your cheek and caressing it gently. It was almost a praise, though he dared not say it yet. “What makes you want a cripple so much? Is it your heart that longs for me, your mind that thinks you can change me, or just your body?” he mused, revealing too much merely by asking.

You looked almost offended by how blunt he was about knowing what you wanted, just not knowing why. His fingers now parting you, playing at your entrance, teased you but you wouldn’t flinch. You just searched his face hesitantly and as Viktor grew tired of waiting, he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them, mercilessly bumping your wall, forcing you to flinch. He really wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, and he really wanted to hear his name distorted by a breathy moan.

“Which… would be the worst?” Your breath fanned his face as you steadied yourself on his shoulders. Truly, you weren’t ready for any of the options to be soured.

Viktor thought for a moment, his fingers slowly retreating, almost absent-mindedly. When his answer was found, he pushed back in, smiling innocently, his face moving close to yours. “The first. The second,” he mused, another slow, unbearably so, thrust. “I could fuck out of you. The third, well…” A gentle kiss on your lips, almost loving. “I see no fault in the third.”

“Of course, you don’t,” you scoffed, your grip on his shoulders tightening with each minute. “And what brings you back to me over, and ah,” a gasp escaped your mouth when Viktor brushed his thumb over your clit. You closed your eyes and evened your breath. “Back to me. Heart, mind or… body?” you asked, your brow furrowed in concentration against Viktor’s efforts to throw you off course.

“Which would be the worst?” He quirked his lips against yours and chuckled at another concentrated huff. He could feel your unrelenting grip on his shoulders, was convinced that it would leave a mark, and it made his cock twitch in his pants. To be marked by this gentle creature, a dream.

“Any of them, without the others,” you quipped, your eyes shut. Viktor’s movements stilled at that. You had managed to surprise him. Again. Of course, you would want to devour him as much as he wanted to devour you. Eat you whole, spit out the bones and build a shrine out of them. Ugly.

He retreated his hand and chuckled at the muffled whine that followed. He licked his fingers clean once your eyelids fluttered open, making sure you were watching. Rude. But he was going to kiss you with this mouth.

His hands snaked back up your spine, your body pliant against his, providing him with warmth. His teeth and lips got back to work on the swell of yours, and you fell right into it, mouth open, when his tongue pushed itself down your throat as Viktor began his meal. “I will die if I don’t fuck you,” he rasped. So fucking dramatic over nothing, over just a kiss and some unfinished fingering, and a clipped conversation about what he wanted.

He could abandon it here. He could walk out; he could sit on your bed and just study and watch Dexter. He could drink his tea, already cold, he could make you blush all evening, bid you goodbye and go back to his grimy room to jerk off and fuck off. But he couldn’t stop.

“Please, I’ll be so good to you,” he prayed to you, your hands so warm on his waist as he kissed you till he was out of breath. “You don’t know what you are doing to me.” Pathetic, moronic wail escaped him. And he knew you only grew wetter and wetter, your lips getting hotter on him. Panting, you pulled him by the belt and walked the two of you over to the bed, leaving Viktor with no other support than yourself.

He had never rid himself of his clothes so fast. Everything he had on, tossed and crumpled by the bed, next to your own little pile. All the layers of the second, the third skin abandoned, his brace, his pants, his boxers, embarrassingly soaked with sweat and precum, when he crawled on top of you just to keep kissing you and biting your neck, leaving nasty marks everywhere. He panted, his own breath betraying him as your skin came in contact and Viktor whined simply at his cock rubbing against your thigh and he wanted more.

“If you want to stop, tell me.” Another raspy, absolutely dishonest, but a proper plea, asking for the complete opposite. Please, never ask me to stop. “Do you understand?” You nodded, again—not good enough. Your eyes so wide, he could barely see the colour. When you were splayed flat below him, he could see your heart twitching, your chest contracting. A minuscule movement, but he could see it.

“Words, I need to hear your words, lásko,” he growled, stunned by his own impatience.

“I understand.” A kindness in your voice enveloped him. He slid you down the mattress by the ankles, his cock rested against your slit. With clumsy hands he put on a condom, stole a pillow from under your head to support his bum leg and adjusted his crooked crouch. You had the audacity to chuckle at the commonality of his movements and he bit your calf in response.

Absolutely unhinged, you hooked your foot behind his neck, and he immediately loved the weight that pulled him down, steadied him, as he teased your entrance. You held a breath; he had forsaken the privilege of air long time ago.

The first thrust was just blissful. He could feel the crease on his forehead relaxing, his mouth opening, his jaw hanging heavily, just joy and warmth, him awash in it. He felt so full, so complete, yet it was you who was full of him as your bodies slotted together easily, differently to the last time, which left him feeling awkward and ashamed and unfinished.

You rested your hands on his hips, gripping the sharp angle of his bones, your fingernails leaving crescent marks that he would run his fingers over in the morning. “You are doing so well,” he whispered in awe, and it was honest, and you loved it, he felt it in his cock getting squeezed in a silent gratitude.

He felt his ugliness leaving him with each pump of his hips, each sloppy sound of your bodies bumping against each other, his cock twitching inside you, and he needed one more thing to make this even less ugly.

He brushed his thumb over your clit, stretching it, teasing you and taking in all your huffs and puffs, your contorting stomach muscles, your tightening walls. A longing look and an echoing question followed. “Do you love me?”

“Viktor, don’t be cruel,” you answered so fast, he almost retreated. How could you think so? A childlike curiosity creeped onto his face.

“I am not. I really ought to know. Just say yes or no,” Please, just say yes. He felt you twitch at the question, and it made him think he was right. But he could have also been completely deranged. Brain burnt by lust and all the ugly things.

“Viktor—” you pleaded at the loss of his thumb on you.

“I can feel you. Yes or no?” A hard thrust, right up your guts. You yelped, and he could see the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and the sight was something to behold, keep in the palace of his mind forever.

“Then, why are you asking?” You were ready for filth. For his erotic weirdness, for his awkwardness, for all the want he would suppress every time you interacted. You felt it all in his fleeting touch, in the warmth of his thigh when your naked toes rested against it idly, unintentionally, though very intentionally. But this was how you coax a cat. And this was not how cats responded.

“You will see,” he promised, more to himself. “Do you love me, now, in this moment, when I’m fucking you? Yes or no?” Another twitch of your cunt at ‘love’. He left himself unguarded, shielded only by the mould of your womb.

“Yes.” A tiny, shy ‘yes’. But it fell right into Viktor’s heart and there it grew into a big promise, and he would keep it and take care of it and cherish it.

His body bent in half, his mouth seeking yours. A sloppy kiss, painful, with teeth at your tender lip. Another, earnest, slow and careful. Another, quick and fleeting, before he found your ear. Between them, “I love you,” whispered back like a secret, like a prize for your struggle.

Your breaths grew frantic, you wanted to keep him close. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging him in, so you could lick the sweat from his neck, bite it and claim it. Your leg slipped onto his hip, and you curled it around him, his bone digging into your thigh.

“Do you see? How it feels?” he rasped into your ear, gripping you tight. “To be loved while being fucked? Tell me how it feels.” Viktor moaned with each of his thrusts, holding back getting harder and harder. His cock getting more swollen. Your walls getting tighter.

“Amazing,” you whispered, pulling his mouth back to yours. “I love you.”

Viktor’s eyes rolled back into his skull. He slumped onto you, his hands snaking behind your waist, and he could feel your sweat merging with his as your chests pressed together. “I love you,” he cooed weakly. “You can come now, lásko.”

He felt your thighs clutch on his hips, a long spasm twisting your spine underneath him. You came with an orgasm wrenching breath out of your lungs, leg bending, blinding. The ‘I love you’ falling from your lips over and over again, and Viktor could finally let go and spill all his ugliness out. He came with a loud moan seconds after, his brain fucked out, his heart swollen, as he came loved for what he was.

He held you tight through it, chests heaving, when he felt a quiver and wetness on his cheek. “Are you hurt?” he whispered.

You sobbed onto his chest, hands caged in his arms as you tried to release them and wipe the tears away. “No, no,” you shook your head. “What is this… feeling?” It had no name. For Viktor, it was a dumbing bliss. He could cry too if he wasn’t so warm.

“How do you feel?” He wanted to know what it was like on the other side. No one ever told him, no one ever shared this with him.

“Hollow. Ah… fuck. Empty,” you struggled to find the words, trying them out on your tongue, but they felt wrong. “I feel like you took something… bad from me. And now I don’t know what to do with the space left—” you gasped between sobs as Viktor rolled you to the side and pulled your hair to expose your neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his shoulder. Tears fell on their own, and Viktor wanted to drink them and cry them out himself. When the sobs transformed into clipped breaths, and clipped breaths transformed into one long exhale, you asked carefully, “Viktor, you don’t really love me, do you?”

“Well, do you really love me?” His chest was swollen, his head heavy. He was triumphant. He was so invincible he had it in him to love you.

Silence, for a while. Viktor nudged you gently with his chin and whispered a soft command, “Go to the bathroom, I’ll be here.”

You looked at him, the practicality of it spreading a strange warmth in your belly. Wordlessly, you got up and disappeared, still naked as day, and Viktor watched your feet shuffle in the creak of the bathroom door. He got up, put on his underwear, and drank his cold tea in one go.

When you got out, a relief glimpsed through your face, as if you were expecting him to be gone. He waited for you with a cup of tea and a clean sweatshirt, beckoning you to slide into it. Once you both had a singular piece of clothing on, he pulled you back into bed and cuddled sweetly into you. “How do you feel now?” he asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“I feel… like I really need you to love me right now,” you let it slide out. Even though your sweatshirt shielded you from the chill of the room, your soul was still completely bare and shivering. And Viktor loved this nudity, the weirdness of it, the feeling of belonging it gave him.

He found that is was his hands that were lingering now, that the tender thought of the morning coffee was no longer distorted by fear, the quiet and the silence became comfortable in a good way. He felt so wanted, so beautiful in your eyes. He felt all the right things and none of the wrong things. His ugly snake was skinned and turned into a beautiful object. In this beautiful space only beautiful words seemed fitting. “I really do love you right now.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation

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cinnxmxngxrl · 11 days ago

Note

could you do something like joel’s love interest has strict parents and joel waits for her RELIGIOUSLY and proves to her that he’s a risk worth taking for but then the angst part is that the parents verbally and mentally abuse the reader into thinking joel will leave eventually but joel sees through her and offers her freedom by running away together. he gives her a life without fear❤️

“Run Away”

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: When your controlling and religious parents forbid you from being with Joel, he offers you the chance to run away with him.

WC: 5-6k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk, fingering, virginity loss, praise kink, creampie, grinding, inexperienced reader, undisclosed age gap, emotional abuse, misogynistic comments, religious beliefs, controlling parents, no outbreak

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You didn’t even know how you and Joel had become this—whatever this was.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Hadn’t even seen it coming. But now you couldn’t imagine your days without that invisible thread tying you to him, pulling you closer. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was the only thing that felt real.

Maybe it started months ago, when your parents hired him to fix a leak in the roof. A simple job. A stranger with a toolbox. But the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, like he already knew what you were hiding behind all that silence—set something off in your chest. The way he moved was deliberate, careful. Every swing of the hammer, every step on the roof—he did it like it mattered. Like he was trying to fix something more than just a leak.

It began with stolen glances. You’d bring him fresh, homemade lemonade after hours spent working beneath the brutal Texas sun. He’d smile, say thank you in that low Southern drawl that wrapped around your ribs like a rope. Another time, he’d cut his finger on a piece of jagged metal, and you’d rushed to help him, gently cleaning the wound with trembling hands and bandaging it while pretending not to notice the way his eyes never left your face.

At night, you’d lie in bed thinking about him. Thinking about the way sweat soaked his T-shirt, clinging to his broad chest and outlining every hard-earned muscle. The veins in his forearms. The callouses on his hands.

And God—his hands. So much bigger than yours. So rough. So capable. You imagined what those hands would feel like on you—rough against the softness of your thighs, warm against your bare skin. You pictured the way he might say your name, slow and deep, the way his eyes might darken if you touched him the way you wanted to

You didn’t quite understand what you were feeling at first. You’d never felt this way before. About anyone. Heat would pool low in your stomach. You’d press your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made it worse. The slickness, the need—it terrified you.

Your parents would’ve gone ballistic if they ever found out the kind of thoughts you were having about him. Or any man, really. Because thoughts like that were sin. Especially for a girl.

Especially for you. The good daughter. The quiet one. The one who never talked back, never raised her voice, never strayed outside the lines they drew for you. You were meant to stay pure. Untouched. But every thought you had of Joel was a knife slicing through that expectation.

Your mother had caught you staring once—just standing by the window, watching Joel as he worked with sweat beading on his brow. There was something primal in it—watching a man work with his hands, muscles flexing beneath sun-warmed skin. It made your pulse stutter. Made your throat go dry.

“You wanna end up like your sister?” she hissed, voice full of disgust. “Pregnant and alone without a man because she couldn’t keep her legs closed?” She’d looked at you like you were something dirty. Something broken. “Go to your room. Now.”

The shame hit you like a slap. But beneath it, deeper still, was defiance. A flicker of something fierce. Because even if she saw filth in your desire, you’d never felt more alive than when Joel looked at you like you were something he wanted.

And so things stayed the same. For weeks.

You kept your head down. Pretended to be the obedient daughter they wanted. Pretended Joel wasn’t all you could think about.

Until one weekend, your parents left town. A rare thing. They were too overprotective to leave you alone often, but they trusted you. Thought you were too docile, too submissive to ever disobey.

That Saturday evening, there was a knock on your front door.

“Hey, m’sorry to bother you. I needed to pick up my toolbox before I leave,” Joel said, standing on the porch.

He was standing there, golden in the setting sun, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he should be there—and all you could think was yes. Yes, please, come in. Stay. You’d let him in without hesitation. He walked through the house like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“So… I guess the job’s all done now,” you said quietly. There was a hint of sadness in your voice, something vulnerable. You’d enjoyed having him around. Just seeing him made your day better, made life feel like there might be something more beyond your parents’ rules.

Joel offered a polite smile. “All done. Roof’s fixed. Shouldn’t be givin’ y’all any more trouble.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your ears. Then, in a whisper, “I liked having you around.”

He paused, toolbox in hand.

“You, uh… thanks for the hospitality.”

He turned to leave.

“Joel, wait,” you blurted, stepping forward, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Please… stay. My parents are out and… I’d like some company.”

You didn’t know where the words came from. That shy, quiet girl who never spoke unless spoken to—she was gone. Replaced by someone bolder. Someone hungry. You were starving for connection. For warmth. For the one man who made you feel like you weren’t just a shadow in your own life. He looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t something to be scolded or hidden.

That night, Joel stayed. You watched a movie together, ordered food. Laughed. And when he finally stood to leave, he leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Gentle. But filled with tension—weeks of craving packed into one breathless moment.

His lips were dry and warm, hesitant at first—like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away. You didn’t. You leaned in. Melted. Every nerve in your body lit up like a struck match. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A confession. A promise.

It was your first real kiss. Not some silly little peck on the lips behind the church when you were eight that had you believing you were going straight to hell. This one meant something.

He kissed you like he wanted to fix every broken thing you never spoke about. And in that moment, you believed he could.

After that, Joel came whenever he could. Stolen moments while your father was at work and your mother was busy volunteering at church. Even if he could only stay for thirty minutes, he came. The drive from his place to yours took longer than the time you had together. But that never stopped him.

Every time he showed up, you felt like you could breathe again. Like you were alive. You counted the minutes together like treasure—every touch, every laugh, every brush of his hand against yours a kind of salvation.

He’d hold you close, bury his face in your hair, and inhale deeply—like your scent was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You loved how small you felt in his arms. How safe. Like nothing could touch you when he was there. He smelled like cedar and sweat, like hard work and comfort.

Sometimes he brought you sweets. The kind your parents never let you have. “Too many chemicals,” they said. Sometimes he’d take you for a ride in his truck, the windows rolled down, his hand resting on your thigh. Those touches were everything. Not sexual, just grounding. Reassuring. The weight of his hand on your leg told you: I’m here. You’re mine.

No matter what you did together, it always left you with that glow. That warmth that stayed long after he was gone. Like his touch lingered on your skin. Like his voice echoed in your chest.

But you felt guilty sometimes. You couldn’t offer him much. You couldn’t give Joel what he deserved. You couldn’t go with him on real dates, couldn’t sit across from him at a diner booth and laugh over milkshakes, couldn’t walk down the street with your fingers laced together in the open air like a normal couple.

You couldn’t even kiss him without glancing over your shoulder, checking the curtains, your breath hitching at the sound of every creak in the floorboards.

You wanted to show him off. You wanted to stand beside him proudly, chin high, heart full. You wanted to tell the world, he’s mine. You wanted everyone in that suffocating little town to know that this was the man that loved you.

But the world wouldn’t let you.

Your parents wouldn’t let you.

So you kept him a secret, tucked into the corners of your heart.

“Why don’t ya let me talk to them?” Joel had said once, tracing soft circles on your arm with his fingers.

“You don’t know them like I do,” you whispered. “There’s nothing you could say that’d change their minds. They’re too stuck in their own ways.”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” And he kissed your forehead like that made it all okay. And for a moment, it did. His lips on your skin felt like a shield. Like maybe he could protect you from everything—even your own family. Even yourself.

That same day, while kissing on the couch, you’d let your hands slip beneath Joel’s shirt. You didn’t plan it. Your fingers just moved on instinct—drawn to the heat of his skin, the strength beneath it.

He didn’t stop you. Not at first. His breath hitched when your fingers skimmed across his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch. He let you straddle his lap, his hands firm on your waist.

You could feel him beneath you—hard, unmistakably aroused, pressing against the soft heat between your thighs through too-thin layers.

And still, neither of you said a word. You just looked at each other—his pupils blown wide, your chest rising and falling in tandem.

Eventually, like always, he’d gently pull back.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I should go before your folks come home.”

This time, you didn’t let the moment die. You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers trembling but determined. He caught your wrist. Gentle. Careful. But firm, and placed your hand back on your lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“No… no, baby. It’s not that.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.“It’s just… not now. I don’t wanna rush it.”

“But I want to,” you said softly. “It’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“I know. I know. And I want it too. But not tonight.”

Things were as good as they could be under the circumstances. Bittersweet, but yours. Until everything shattered.

A pretty little box, tied in a ribbon, with a folded note tucked neatly inside:

For the sweetest girl in town –Joel

He exploded. You’d never seen him like that. He grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He shook you like he was trying to knock the sin out of you.

“Please stop! Dad, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

“What the hell’s gotten into that head of yours?” he yelled, rapping his knuckles against your skull like it was a door. “Is there anything even in there?”

“I told you,” your mother snapped. “We failed with this one too. She’s a filthy whore just like her sister. What did we do wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The shame crawled up your spine like ice water, seeping into every crevice of your body. Your cheeks were wet, your throat closed, and all you could do was stand there—frozen. Trapped. Worthless.

“What do you think he wants, huh?” your father spat. “You think he loves you?” He laughed bitterly. Cold. Cruel. The sound scraped across your skin. “What do you have to offer? You’re just a stupid little girl.”

“All a man like that wants is your body,” your mother added. “And once he has it, he’ll throw you away.”

“It’s not like that! He loves me! You don’t understand!” you sobbed.

“You’re a disgrace. As a woman. As a daughter,” your father growled.

His fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to hit something. “Going after a man like that. You should be ashamed, acting like a worthless slut.”

“She is a worthless slut,” your mother sneered. “That’s why she acts like it.”

“No respectable man wants a girl like that,” your father said. “An easy woman with no self-respect. You’re an embarrassment.”

Then he yanked you by the arm and threw you into your room, locking the door behind you.

Neither of them spoke to you for two whole weeks. They wouldn’t even look at you. They acted like you didn’t exist.

You cried into your pillow every night, the silence of the house louder than any scream. You couldn’t see Joel. Your mother quit her church duties so she could stay home, always keeping an eye on you. You weren’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Couldn’t even close your bedroom door.

But every evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, you’d press your forehead to the cool glass of your window. And there he was. Joel. Leaning against the hood of his beat-up truck. He never stayed long, just long enough for you to see him. To know he hadn’t left.

He’d smile, mouth the words “hello baby,” and even though you couldn’t hear it, you swore you felt it in your bones, in your chest. He never missed a night. He never gave up on you, always showed up religiously.

He waited. Every single day.

After a month, the frost between you and your parents began to thaw—but only barely. They still hovered, still watched you like a hawk circling prey. Your mother called every half hour when you left the house, her voice tight with suspicion masked as concern.

But little by little, they let the leash loosen. Just enough to breathe.

And all you could think about—what you ached for—was Joel. His touch. His voice. His arms around you. But all you could think about—what your body ached for—was Joel.

The way he looked at you like you were something he chose, not something he stumbled into.

You were starving for him. And this time, you weren’t going to hold back.

It was now late in the afternoon. Your mother had gone to a bake sale at church, claiming she’d be gone for hours. You’d told her you’d stop by to help later, maybe sell some cookies, smile at the neighbors. But that had been a lie the second it left your lips. You had no intention of showing up. You’d already made your mind up—heart racing, pulse hammering beneath your skin. You were going to see Joel.

It was your first time taking the bus, and the nervousness made your stomach twist the entire ride. Your legs bounced, fingers twitching in your lap, trying to ignore the looks from strangers around you. When you finally got off a few blocks from his place, your hands were trembling, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You needed to see him.

The moment he opened the door and saw you standing there, his eyes went wide, like he didn’t trust they were showing him something real, and then he wrapped his arms around you. So tight. So desperate. It felt like he was trying to fold you into his body, like he could take you somewhere safer just by holding you close enough. You could barely breathe, and you didn’t care.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” His voice cracked with awe, like he’d been dreaming of you and didn’t believe this was real.

“I needed to see you, Joel, I—”

“I missed ya so much. You have no idea,” he said, clutching you tighter. “You’re all that’s on my mind. Day and night.”

He didn’t wait. He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been starving for you. His mouth found yours like a man breaking a fast, starving and half-mad with need. His kiss was messy, frantic, breathless—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands in your hair, on your hips, everywhere.

Heat surged through your chest, through your spine. He kissed you like he thought you might disappear again.

His arms lifted you, half-carrying you into the house as the door slammed shut behind you. You didn’t even notice where he was taking you—you just knew his mouth was on yours, and nothing else mattered. You ended up like you always did, tangled together on the couch, lips moving frantically, hands already searching.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, hungry and trembling. You dragged your palms across heated skin, over the rise of muscle and the scars that told a hundred quiet stories.

He shuddered under your touch, a sound tearing from his throat—low, rough, involuntary.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you again,” he said against your lips. “Felt like I was gonna die without you.”

“Me too… I need you so much, Joel,” you breathed, dragging his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Your lips latched onto his neck, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Mmm, baby, you gotta stop with that,” he rasped, breath shaking.

“I don’t wanna stop.” Your voice was already thick with want, your hips pressing down into his without you even thinking. And then you felt it—his hardness, thick and hot beneath you, pressing right against your core. You gasped and rolled your hips, needing the friction, the contact, the relief.

“Fuck—enough. That’s enough for now,” he said, voice soft but edged with warning.

“Please… it feels so good,” you whispered, your hips still grinding on the bulge in his pants. You couldn’t stop. It felt too natural, too right—like your body already knew what it needed, and it was him. Only him.

“Baby, I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready to do. You don’t owe me anything. Not like this. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“It’s not that,” you said, sitting up to look him in the eyes. “I want it. So much. And I’m ready, Joel. I promise. I am.”

His gaze searched your face, so serious and gentle, like he needed to be absolutely sure. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. A hundred percent.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if he were memorizing every part of your face—your swollen lips, the blush in your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. His jaw flexed. You could see how much it meant to him, how he was holding himself back, terrified of crossing a line.

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Then, with careful hands, he eased you back against the cushions. The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred—made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

He hovered over you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering, “Is it okay if I take this off?” as his fingers tugged gently at your shirt.

“Joel,” you whispered, “I want you to take everything off.”

He growled, low in his throat, and your shirt joined his on the floor. His hands were everywhere—reverent and hungry—cupping your breasts, lips finding your nipple, sucking with a hot, eager mouth.

His palms were rough, calloused, and warm as they molded to the shape of your tits like he was memorizing every contour. His mouth was fire—wet, open, relentless—his beard scraping your skin as his tongue flicked and circled, teasing the delicate peak with a maddening rhythm.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your whole body. His tongue was slow at first, teasing, swirling around the sensitive bud before latching on again, sucking harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You gasped, back arching, overwhelmed by the newness of it all. Your nipples pebbled under his tongue, thighs squeezing around his waist, trying to ground yourself. It was all so much—so electric. You were trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re giving yourself to me, such a good girl.”

His lips trailed lower, kissing down your stomach, tongue teasing over your skin. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, lit up, aching for him. His hands undid your pants, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until you were bare beneath him. Your legs trembled. You felt exposed. Vulnerable. You’d never been this naked in front of anyone.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a prayer. “We can stop whenever you want, yeah?”

Your fingers dug into the couch. The air was cold on your skin but his eyes were molten, and you felt like you were glowing beneath him. You should’ve felt shy, but with him looking at you like that? Like you were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen? You just felt wanted.

“I won’t ask you to stop,” you said. “I want it all, Joel.”

“Just relax f’me,” he said as he settled between your legs, pushing them gently apart. “I’m gonna get you ready, babygirl. We’ve got all night. No need to rush.”

His fingers hooked under your underwear and pulled it aside. You were soaked. Embarrassingly soaked. He groaned.

“God—that’s the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

The way he said it made your belly clench—filthy and reverent all at once, like he was worshiping at an altar.

Your cheeks flushed deep red. His bluntness, the way he said those filthy words with reverence—it made your head spin.

“You’re so wet, baby. It’s all soaked,” he muttered, staring at you like he was hypnotized.

You squirmed, embarrassed, instinctively covering your face with your hand.

“No, no,” he said gently, pulling your hand away. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes. Means I’m doing my job right. Means you’re getting ready to take me.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, and you nearly jerked off the couch. Your hips bucked, chasing his touch, your body burning for more. He started rubbing slow, deliberate circles. The feeling was like nothing you’d ever known. You couldn’t quite understand such pleasure. White-hot, intoxicating, overwhelming.

“Feels good, love?” he asked, his voice low and patient.

“I—it…” you moaned, breath hitching. “It feels weird.”

He chuckled softly. “Bad weird?”

“N-no… it’s good. K-keep doing it.”

“Just relax, love. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself go. Let his fingers carry you. Let the warmth spread and grow and gather. You’d never known sex could feel like this. You’d been taught it was about biology—about duty, about giving men children. Never about this. About trembling and pleasure and the way your thighs started to shake as he circled your clit again and again.

Suddenly, the pressure snapped. It tore through you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your body arched, a ragged cry escaping your lips. You didn’t fully knew what was happening in your body, but you felt the world stopping for a second.

He slowed his fingers and leaned over you, smiling. “Jesus, you look like an angel when you’re cummin’.”

“I-I don’t know what that was,” you gasped, eyes still wide.

“You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You shook your head.

“Did you like it?”

“It felt so intense… like nothing before. God, it was amazing.”

He beamed, proud and hungry. Then his tongue flicked out, dragging a long, wet stripe up your slit. You shivered violently. It felt filthy and perfect and everything in between.

His mouth was merciless—tongue exploring every inch of you with patient, devastating precision.

The wet, firm drag of his tongue against your hypersensitive skin sent you reeling again, your back bowing with a gasp. He didn’t rush—just tasted you, slow and deep, letting his tongue slip inside you before licking up to your clit again.

“Mmm, you taste amazin’,” he growled. “Delicious little cunt.”

“Joel… I want your—”

“I know. We’ll get there. But I need to work you a little more. Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers?”

“Y-yes.”

His middle finger circled your entrance before sliding in. You gasped, the stretch making your body tense.

“You’re so tight, baby. You gotta relax if you wanna take my cock.” His voice was low, guiding. “Just breathe—yeah… slow breaths. Just like that.”

You forced yourself to breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky rhythm. He eased his finger in deep, letting it rest for a moment before starting to move, slow and steady. The rhythm was hypnotic. Each stroke of his finger brushed something deep inside you that made your toes curl. You could hear how wet you were, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

Then he added a second.

You whimpered. The stretch burned—but it also made you moan. He pumped his fingers in and out, watching your face, gauging every sound, every twitch of your body. It was almost too much—so full, so thick inside you—but the burn was addictive. Your hips started to rock on instinct, needing more, desperate for what was coming.

“You think you can take another one, love?”

“Yes—yes, please, Joel.”

His third finger pressed in. Your walls clenched, thighs shaking. He curled them just right, searching until he found the spot that made you gasp. Then he kept hitting it, slow and focused, coaxing more slick out of you, letting you fall apart all over again.

“I think you’re ready, baby… you’re all pretty and opened up f’me.”

He sat back, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants and underwear. And then you saw it—his cock, thick, hard, flushed red at the tip, leaking clear fluid. Your breath caught.

The sight of it made your pulse thunder in your ears—huge and heavy and veined, the head glistening, twitching as he stroked himself.

“We can stop if you want.”

“I want to. Please. Keep going.”

“I know it looks scary, baby. But I promise I’ll be real gentle. I won’t hurt you.”

He stroked himself slowly, one—two—three slow strokes, then guided the leaking tip through your folds, slick gathering on his cock as he dragged it through your soaked heat, teasing your clit with the swollen head. You were dripping for him, open and trembling, your body aching for the stretch of him. He positioned himself on your sweet hole.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and tender, a deep rumble that vibrated through your bones, steadying your nerves. And then he started to push in.

It was too much. Too big. Too overwhelming. The blunt pressure at your entrance forced your body to open inch by inch, your inner muscles fluttering in protest and desire. Your hands clawed at the couch cushions, closed eyes squeezing. Feeling the pain of being split open. It felt like pressure, heat, stretch—every inch of him pushing you wider, deeper, fuller. You couldn’t stop the little sob that slipped out.

“Oh god—shit,” he groaned. “You have no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. So warm and tight… Jesus—Tightest little cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You whimpered. your thighs shaking, chest rising and falling with short, gasping breaths.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

“I’m alright… don’t stop.”

He kept his thrusts slow, gentle, controlled. Each push was deliberate, patient, giving your body time to bloom around him. He didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel every second, every inch, to take him fully, sweetly.

Only the tip first, only a little at a time, inch by inch. Letting your body get used to him. He wanted you to have the best experience possible, wanted you to enjoy it.

“My love… so good f’me. Doing so good. Takin’ me so good… Letting me fill you up all full and nice.”He breathed, voice trembling with restraint.

He kept carefully slamming into you, scared to hurt you. But you adjusted to him slowly. Your body learned him, molded around him, grew greedy for the stretch.

“Takin’ your virginity like this—fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” He murmured, brushing your hair from your face.

The pain began to blur into pleasure, enjoying the way he felt. The stretch faded into fullness. Every slow drag of his cock against your walls made you clench tighter, made your toes curl and mouth fall open. Each time he pulled out even slightly, your cunt ached to pull him back in, to feel that deep pressure again. You couldn’t believe something so big could fit inside you. Could feel so good.

“Harder, Joel,” you whispered. “Please… harder.”

And he gave it to you. Hips slamming forward, the sound of his skin smacking yours echoing in the room, wet and rhythmic.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. So damn brave, lettin’ me have this first. So proud of you.” He muttered, pride and hunger thick in his voice.

It was deeper now, his cock bottoming out inside you. Your body welcomed him with every thrust, greedy, slick, shaking. Your head lolled back against the couch cushion, lips parted in ecstasy.

“You take this cock like it was made to be inside you,” he grunted. “Your cunt was made to take me.”

The filthy praise made your walls flutter, your nails dragging down his back in helpless, desperate pleasure. His name spilled from your lips over and over as he rutted into you—hard, needy, like he was trying to pour himself into your soul.

“I’m close, baby… I’m really close,” he panted. “Gonna pull out—”

“Inside,” you said quickly, clutching at him. “Inside, Joel.”

His hips snapped forward one last time, and he groaned loud into your neck as he came, deep and hot, emptying himself inside you with everything he had, painting your walls in white. You felt every spasm of his cock, every pulse of heat flooding your core. It made you gasp, your body clenching tight around him, milking him dry.

He didn’t pull out. Not right away. He stayed deep inside you, cradling your body against his, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart even for a moment. His skin was damp with sweat, his breath warm against your temple. He just held you, breathing hard, brushing his fingers through your hair. Slow, soothing strokes, like he was trying to memorize the texture of you, anchor himself in the reality of what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

“I’m good—I…” You suddenly felt overwhelmed, a flood of insecurity creeping in. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” he murmured, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t very good. I’ll get better and then—”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. “Don’t even think that. Not for a second.”

He cupped your face, stared into your eyes. There was nothing but honesty in them, nothing but fierce, protective love. As if he could see every ugly thing you believed about yourself and wanted to tear it all down.

“Doin’ this with you was the most amazin’ thing in the world.”

Then he kissed you. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. Your forehead. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to heal. To tell you wordlessly that you were enough. That you were everything.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I’ve never felt this good. Not ever.”

You stayed there, without any rush, any care in the world. Just being in his arms, safe. The weight of him on you was grounding. Protective. As if nothing could touch you so long as he was near.

His heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath your cheek, the warmth of his chest wrapping around you like a blanket, anchoring you to the moment. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside, the weight of your past, the fear of the future—it all slipped away in the comfort of his hold.

“I don’t want you goin’ back there…with your parents,” his voice was soft, you could feel the tremble in it “Come live here with me.”

“As if they’d ever allow it,” you said quietly. You knew all the risks. Their control. Their wrath. The strings they’d pull. The shame they’d sling like daggers.

“Then let’s run away. Together. Just you and me, startin’ over somewhere else.”

“Joel—”

“No. Don’t Joel me. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t do it. You’ll be free, we’ll be happy together.”

“Because you’ll get bored of me. And you’ll leave me. And then I’ll be all alone.”

The confession fell from your lips before you could stop it, your voice cracking under the weight of your deepest fear. It was the kind of truth you never meant to say out loud, the kind that lived in the corners of your mind and poisoned everything good. The words felt like blood drawn from a wound you thought you’d hidden well. Your throat tightened. Eyes burned. You couldn’t look at him.

“Did they tell you that? Did they make you believe that bullshit?” He said it with anger—not at you, never at you—but at them. His voice was shaking, laced with fury that anyone had made you feel so small, so disposable. He hated the ones who planted that fear in your head like poison. His jaw clenched, and you felt it where your cheek rested on his chest. His hands were gentle even as his voice shook.

“Baby, I love you more than I love myself. What do I have to do to convince you?”

His hands braided your hair softly. Each motion was careful, reverent, like he was weaving pieces of you back together. Undoing all the harm they’d done, knot by knot. Each stroke of his fingers through your strands was a vow. The kind of tenderness you’d never been given. Not once. You closed your eyes and let the slow rhythm calm you, ground you.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, my top priority. All I want is to keep you safe and happy. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“When?” you asked him, barely above a whisper. The question trembled in the air like a fragile thing.

“You pack your things and let me worry about the rest. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, full of certainty. Not a single hesitation. Just a promise, and you knew, right then, he’d burn the world to keep you safe with him.

And part of you wanted him to. Wanted to watch him light the match, watch it all go up in flames, just so you could finally be free—with him.

A/N: Soo, to the person who requested this, I really hope i didn’t let you down and it was everything you wanted and more. Thank you so much for your request!!🫶🫶

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

1K notes · View notes

mssalo · 8 months ago

Text

access

You and your husband, Joel, share a deep understanding - your body is his, to fuck and taste whenever he desires, without question or hesitation.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, free use dynamics, oral (f receiving), somnophilia (woken with head), getting fucked awake, rough possessive sex, Intense dirty talk, breeding kink, light choking and nipple play, cum play

5k, smut, one shot

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the first rays of early morning sunlight slipping through the cracks in the curtains. Everything was still, the kind of quiet that comes just before the world begins to stir.

The air was warm, thick with a sense of calm, and the only sound breaking that silence was the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing as you lay beside him, deeply asleep. You looked peaceful, the blankets tangled loosely around your legs, your hair spilling across the pillow.

You were completely unaware of the storm building beside you.

Joel lay next to you, half-propped on one elbow, his gaze fixed on your body. The soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the curve of your hips barely hidden beneath the sheets, the way your lips parted ever so slightly as you exhaled—all of it stirred a deep, familiar hunger in him. His eyes moved over you slowly, tracing every line, every curve, like he was memorizing the sight of you, though he had done it countless times before.

His cock was already hard, pressing insistently against the fabric of his boxers, the ache intensifying with every second he spent watching you. The urge to reach out and touch you, to feel your warmth beneath his fingers, was overwhelming. He wanted you, needed you, in that primal, all-consuming way that had woken him up in the first place.

You were beautiful—peaceful, serene, utterly unaware of the effect you had on him. But the heat building in his belly, the tightness in his groin, was becoming too much to ignore. His desire for you had grown with every second, and the free use pact you shared meant that he didn’t need to hold back. You were his to take whenever the need struck, and right now, that need was impossible to resist.

His hand hovered just above the sheets for a moment, hesitating only long enough to savor the anticipation. Then, slowly, he let his fingers brush lightly over the curve of your hip, the warmth of your skin seeping through the thin fabric of your sleepwear. His touch was featherlight at first, testing, waiting to see if you stirred. But you remained blissfully asleep, your body soft and pliant under his hand.

He grinned to himself, the heat inside him intensifying. His fingers traced a slow path down the length of your thigh, parting your legs ever so slightly, making space for him to take what was already his.

You shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips as his hand crept higher, brushing against your soft pussy. He groaned quietly, his breath hitching at the contact, his fingers exploring further. He could already feel the wetness gathering there, your body responding to him even in your sleep, and it sent a shiver of anticipation through him.

The room was still quiet, bathed in that soft morning glow, but the tension was palpable. Joel’s body was tense with desire, every nerve alive with the need to take you, to feel you, to bury himself deep inside you. And with the way you lay there, so peaceful, so completely his, there was no reason to wait any longer. You were his, and this morning, he was going to claim you all over again.

Without making a sound, he moved down the bed, the covers slipping away as he positioned himself between your legs. His eyes lingered on the way your thighs pressed together, how peaceful you looked in your half-awake state, blissfully unaware of what he had planned for you. He could already feel his cock twitch in anticipation.

Slowly, gently, he eased your legs apart, his hands warm against your skin as he spread you open, revealing the soft folds of your pussy glistening faintly in the dim light.

He didn’t rush, savoring the moment, his lips hovering just above your heat, close enough to feel the warmth of you but not touching yet. His breath ghosted over your skin, and you stirred lightly, but you didn’t wake, your body still pliant under his hands.

He grinned to himself, eyes dark with lust as he lowered his mouth to your cunt, his tongue darting out to taste the very tip of you.

The first contact was light, barely more than a teasing flick against your folds, but the taste of you already had him groaning softly against your skin.

His tongue flattened, dragging up the length of your pussy with slow, deliberate strokes, the heat and wetness of you making him dizzy with need.

He didn’t stop, his tongue swirling around your clit, flicking and sucking gently, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your sleeping body.

You stirred again, a soft moan slipping from your lips as your hips shifted slightly against his mouth, but you still didn’t wake. He could feel you responding, feel the way your body was starting to tremble under his touch, and it only drove him wilder.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your soaked folds as he spoke. His voice was low, thick with lust, and the sound of it sent vibrations through you. “So fuckin’ sweet… always so perfect for me.”

He buried his face deeper between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread you wider.

His tongue slipped between your folds, licking deep into your heat, fucking you slowly with each stroke. You whimpered in your sleep, your body responding to the pleasure even if your mind was still clouded with sleep.

He groaned as he tasted you, his tongue delving into your slick, warm cunt, savoring every drop of arousal he coaxed from you.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he growled, his voice muffled as he sucked your clit into his mouth, teasing it with slow, wet kisses. “Even when you’re sleepin’, baby, your body knows what it wants.”

He licked you harder, his tongue swirling over your clit before dipping back down to flick against your entrance. He alternated between sucking on your sensitive bud and thrusting his tongue deep inside you, his lips and tongue working you over with practiced ease.

He could feel the tension building in your body, your thighs trembling around his head as he devoured you, his mouth relentless in its assault on your pussy.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. His lips closed around your clit again, sucking harder now, his tongue flicking rapidly against the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips bucked against him, a breathless moan escaping your lips as you finally started to wake up, the pleasure pulling you from the haze of sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you felt was his mouth on you, his tongue licking and sucking with a desperation that made your toes curl.

Your body jerked in surprise, but he held you down, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he continued to eat you out like a man starved.

“Mornin‘, baby,” he murmured against your folds, his voice dripping with lust. “You’re gonna cum for me. I’m not stoppin’ until you do.”

You gasped, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he licked you faster, his mouth working you over with a precision that had you seeing stars.

His teeth grazed your clit lightly, just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body, before he soothed the sting with his tongue, swirling it around your swollen bud until you were trembling beneath him.

He groaned, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through you as he buried his tongue inside you again, fucking you with it in slow, deep strokes. His nose brushed against your clit, the friction making you cry out, and he growled against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you open for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, his voice thick and rough as he licked you harder, faster. “I can feel how close you are. You’re gonna cum all over my tongue, aren’t you? Gonna soak my fuckin’ face.”

You whimpered in response, your body writhing beneath him as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. His mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking against your clit in quick, sharp strokes that had you gasping for breath, your hands clutching at the sheets as your orgasm surged through you.

He moaned against you, his mouth still working your clit as you came, the taste of your release flooding his senses.

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up for a second as he licked you through your orgasm, his tongue swirling over your sensitive bud until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips brushing against your folds as he spoke. “Cum for me, baby. So fuckin’ good for me. I could eat this pussy all day.”

You were still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he moved back up your body. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt the hard press of his cock against your entrance.

“Time to wake up, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His cock slid inside you slowly, stretching you open as he filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips with possessive strength, holding you in place as he began to thrust, each deep, deliberate movement sending a shock of pleasure through your body.

His gaze darkened with lust, the intensity in his eyes making you shiver.

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice low and rough, his hips grinding into yours. “That’s my cock inside my perfect wife. You’re not just sweet —you’re mine to fuck, my own personal slut. Made for this.”

The way he said it, the ownership in his voice, made your body tighten around him, clenching his cock as if to keep him inside.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against yours, his breath hot against your skin.

His mouth found your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before sucking it deep into his mouth. He bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, the sharp jolt of pleasure-pain only heightening the sensation of his cock pounding into you.

His other hand cupped your other breast, fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between them, the roughness driving you wild.

“Such perfect tits,” he groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing the swollen bud again before sucking harder. “These belong to me too—just like this pussy. I love the way your body reacts to me, how you beg for more without even saying a word.”

He shifted his hips, slamming into you harder, the rhythm relentless now, his thrusts deep and rough.

The bed creaked beneath the force of it, your body jolting with every powerful movement, and all you could do was moan, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

“You love being mine, don’t you?” he rasped, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before moving to the other, biting down just enough to make you shudder. “You love knowing that I own you. My sweet little wife on the outside, but behind closed doors, you’re nothing but my filthy fuck toy.”

His words were so filthy, so degrading, but they only made your arousal spike higher. The dirty talk sent a rush of heat through you, your pussy squeezing around him as if begging for more.

“That’s right,” he growled, his pace quickening as he fucked you harder, his cock slamming into you with a raw, unfiltered intensity.

“I’m gonna fuck you until all you can think about is how good it feels to be filled by me. This is what you were made for—taking me, being mine, every inch of you.”

He shifted his weight slightly, freeing one hand from your breast to grab your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “I love seeing you like this,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and ragged.

“Begging for my cock, letting me use you however I want. You love being filled by me, don’t you? You love being my perfect little girl.“

His hand tightened around your throat as his thrusts became erratic, harder, more desperate.

He was close, you could feel it in the way his cock twitched inside you, the way his breathing became heavier, more labored. “You’re gonna cum for me again,” he commanded, his thumb brushing over your nipple in time with his thrusts.

“You’re gonna milk my cock while I fill you up, baby. I’m gonna breed you, fill you with every last drop.”

His cock throbbed inside you as he pounded relentlessly, the wet sounds of his body slamming into yours filling the room. His hand tightened around your throat, while his other hand gripped your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple hard, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

He leaned down, biting at the soft skin of your neck before dragging his lips to your ear.

“You feel so good, hm?” he rasped, his voice dark and dripping with lust. “You love being owned like this. My perfect little girl, taking my cock like the slut you are for me.”

His thrusts grew deeper, harder, making you gasp with every movement, each one hitting the perfect spot inside you that made you tremble.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before he released it with a wet pop. He moved to the other breast, repeating the rough treatment, his eyes flicking up to watch your face as you moaned helplessly beneath him.

“You want me to fill you up, baby?” he growled, biting down gently on your nipple. “You want me to breed you, to fuck you full of my cum until it’s dripping out of you.”

The filthy words sent heat flooding through your body, your pussy clenching tighter around him, making him groan deep in his throat. His thrusts became more frantic, his hips slamming against yours as he fucked you harder, deeper.

“I’m gonna make you a mommy,” he snarled, his voice rough with lust. “You want that, sweet girl? You want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to be your fuckin‘ daddy?”

His words made your mind spin, and you whimpered beneath him, the idea of him filling you, making you his in the most primal way, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

“Yeah, you do.” he growled, his cock pounding into you with brutal force.

“You want me to fuck you so deep, to breed you, make you a mommy with my cum. You’re gonna take it all, every last drop, and I’m gonna fuck you until I’ve filled you up. You want a daddy to fuck you, huh? You want me to give you my baby?”

You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, the pleasure overwhelming as his dirty words pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His hand tightened around your throat just a little more, and his pace quickened, his hips slamming into you with wild desperation.

“I’m gonna breed you, baby,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy with my cum, make you mine forever. Gonna be your daddy and fuck you full until you’re dripping with it. You’ll be swollen with my baby, and you’ll love every second of it, won’t you?”

The tension snapped inside you, your orgasm hitting you like a wave, your body convulsing around his cock as you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Your pussy clenched hard around him, milking him for every drop, and he groaned deep in his chest, his cock twitching as he finally let go, his release crashing over him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice strained with pleasure as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came hard, filling you with his cum. “Gonna make you mine, baby. Gonna fuckin’ make you a mommy. You’ll be carrying my baby, swollen with it.”

He stayed there for a moment, buried deep inside you, both of you panting as the aftershocks of pleasure washed over you. Slowly, he pulled out, his cum already starting to drip from your swollen pussy, and he watched with satisfaction, his hand sliding down to gently rub your lower belly.

“You’re gonna look so fucking perfect with my baby inside you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before whispering, “You’re mine. And I’m gonna fill you up again and again, until you can’t think of anything but being my good little wife… and the mother of my children.”

Joel stayed buried in the moment for a few more seconds, his hand gently stroking your belly as if imagining what it would be like to see you swollen with his child.

His touch softened, his expression turning from the raw lust that had consumed him moments before into something much more tender, loving. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, his eyes full of warmth as he looked down at you.

“Think it’ll stick this time, baby?” he asked, his voice quiet, but filled with hope.

You smiled softly up at him, reaching up to stroke his face. “I hope so, baby,” you whispered, your voice teasing but full of affection. “You’re certainly doing your best to make sure of it.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead, the sweetness of the gesture making your heart swell. “You enjoyed every second of it, huh?” His tone was playful now, the intensity from earlier fading into something much more comfortable, more intimate.

“Every second,” you replied, biting your lip as you added teasingly, “Daddy.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, but it was playful, his hand swatting your thigh gently. “You’re gonna make me start all over again, talkin’ like that.” He leaned down, nipping at your neck in a way that made you giggle. “Stop it, I need to get to work.”

You laughed softly, still catching your breath from everything, and wrapped your arms around his neck for a brief moment before letting go. “Can you grab eggs on your way home later, baby?” you asked, the domestic request slipping easily into the conversation, as if nothing about the morning had been out of the ordinary.

Joel grinned down at you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said softly. “But first, let’s get some coffee in us. Come on.” He gently nudged your legs apart and got up, offering his hand to pull you with him.

You accepted his hand and climbed out of bed, feeling the warm, comforting domesticity settle between you both like a cozy blanket. As the two of you headed to the kitchen, Joel kept one arm around your waist, holding you close as he moved about, getting the coffee started.

“Can’t believe I’ve got to leave this behind and go to work,” he said, shaking his head as he looked you up and down with an affectionate smile. “All this bliss - my woman teasin’ me with her ‘daddy’ talk, and I gotta put on a construction hat.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you nudged him playfully. “You’ll be home before you know it. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”

Joel gave you a sly grin, pulling you into his chest for a brief, but warm kiss. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” His voice was teasing but full of affection as he kissed the top of your head. “I might just quit and come back early.”

“Don’t you dare,” you laughed. “We need those eggs.”

Joel chuckled, reaching for the mugs as the coffee finished brewing. “Alright, alright, eggs it is. But tonight—” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his voice a playful growl, “we’re pickin’ up where we left off. No escapin’ that.”

You smiled up at him, your heart full as he handed you your cup of coffee. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

· · ───

After Joel left for work, the house grew quiet, filled only with the soft hum of daily life. You went through the motions—cleaning up the breakfast dishes, folding some laundry, and putting away the little things that needed tidying. As the day passed, you couldn’t help but think of Joel, out there working hard, pushing through the long hours, his body no doubt aching from the labor.

You knew that when he came home, he would need you. That’s how it was with him—he carried the weight of the day on his shoulders, and by the time he stepped through the door, he was ready to let it all out.

By late afternoon, you decided to unroll your yoga mat in the living room, letting the warm light of the setting sun fill the space as you moved through your poses. The deep stretches pulled tension from your muscles, and for a moment, you were completely lost in the rhythm of your breathing, your body relaxing into the poses.

You didn’t hear the front door open, didn’t notice Joel coming home early. You were in a deep bend, eyes closed, when you felt the familiar presence behind you.

Before you could straighten, his hands were on your hips—firm, possessive, the way they always were when he came home after a long day. He didn’t speak at first, just a low, throaty grunt as he tugged you back into him.

You could feel the heat of his body, the intensity rolling off him like a storm, and before you could even process what was happening, he yanked your leggings down in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel muttered, his voice rough and thick with that familiar drawl. “You have no idea what kind of day I’ve had.”

His hands slid roughly over your hips, gripping you tightly as he leaned down, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

You didn’t have time to say a word before he freed himself from his jeans, pushing them down just enough to press his hard cock against your entrance. The anticipation made your body tighten in response, and you could feel your own arousal building as he held you there, hovering just at the edge of control.

“All damn day,” he growled, his voice low and strained, “all I’ve been thinkin’ about is gettin’ home, bendin’ you over, and takin’ you like this.”

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely in one rough, deep stroke. You gasped, your body arching as he stretched you wide, his cock slamming into you with an intensity that made you dizzy. Joel didn’t ease into it—he took you hard, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you back against him with each brutal thrust.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, his voice tight as he drove into you again and again. “This is what I need. All day, bustin’ my ass, and I come home to this tight little pussy waitin’ for me.”

The words were filthy, but there was a rawness to them, a desperate need that you could feel in every thrust of his hips.

He was letting everything out, the tension of the day pouring into you with every stroke of his cock. You could barely breathe, the pleasure and intensity of it all overwhelming as he used your body, his movements relentless, demanding.

“You’re always so fuckin’ perfect for me,” Joel growled, his hands sliding up your body, rough fingers grazing your skin as he yanked your tank top down, exposing your breasts.

His hands moved to your chest, grabbing your breasts roughly, his thumbs brushing over your nipples before pinching them hard. The mix of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through your body, and you whimpered beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice low and dark as his hips slammed into yours, his cock filling you over and over.

“Always so good for me. I work my ass off all day, and this—this is what I need when I come home. My sweet girl, just lettin’ me take what’s mine.”

There was a tenderness hidden beneath the raw desire, the way he spoke to you like you were his safe haven, the one place where he could let go of everything. But his actions were anything but soft.

He gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back onto his cock with a force that made you moan, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” Joel groaned, his pace quickening as his cock slammed into you harder, deeper. “You, here, ready for me every damn day. Letting me fuck you just like this. I don’t deserve you.”

You whimpered in response, the intensity of his words and his movements driving you closer to the edge. He was rough, unrelenting, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter as his hands roamed your body, his grip possessive, his touch demanding.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, his voice rough as his pace became even more frantic, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, baby. Gonna empty my fuckin’ balls inside you until you’re dripping with me.”

His words sent a shiver through you, and your body responded, tightening around his cock as the pleasure built to a peak.

You couldn’t hold back anymore—the tension snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as you came hard around him. Your pussy clenched tight, and Joel groaned, his grip on you tightening as he felt your release.

“Fuck,” he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby. You’re mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, Joel buried himself inside you, his cock throbbing as he came, spilling his hot cum deep inside you. The warmth of it spread through you, and you shuddered, still trembling from your own release as he held you there, his chest pressed against your back, both of you panting.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Joel stayed inside you, his breathing ragged, the rough edges of his desire finally softening.

But when he pulled out, his eyes darkened again, watching as his cum started to drip from your swollen pussy, a low, filthy groan escaping his throat.

“Don’t you dare let it go to waste,” he muttered, his hand suddenly firm on your lower back, pushing you down slightly so you were exposed to him fully. “Push it out for me, baby. Let me see it.”

You whimpered, your body still trembling from the intensity of everything, but you did as he said, pushing his thick cum out of you, feeling it leak from your entrance. Joel’s eyes were locked on the sight, his gaze filled with raw hunger.

“Good girl,” he growled, his hand sliding down to gather the dripping cum on his fingers. Without warning, he pressed two fingers back into you, forcing his release back inside, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as you gasped at the sudden sensation.

“You’re gonna keep it in there,” he commanded, his voice low and rough as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out, spreading the warmth of his cum inside you again.

“I’m not done with you yet. Not until I make sure you’re filled.”

As you clenched around his fingers, still sensitive from everything, he pulled them out and raised them to your lips. His eyes locked with yours, dark and full of intent. “Open,” he ordered softly, pressing the cum-covered fingers to your mouth.

You obeyed, parting your lips and letting him slide his fingers inside, the taste of him filling your mouth as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Suck ‘em clean, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice both tender and commanding, watching as you did exactly that, his gaze softening just enough to make your heart flutter despite the intensity.

“Good girl. You don’t know how good you are to me,” he said quietly, his voice now a mix of gratitude and desire as he watched you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the roughness from earlier replaced with a deep, tender affection.

You smiled softly, his fingers still in your mouth as your eyes met his. “I’m always here for you, daddy.”

He chuckled low in his throat, pulling you closer into his chest, his breath warm against your hair. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, baby.”

After a moment of stillness, Joel slowly helped you up, his hands gentle but firm, lingering on your skin with a touch that made your body tingle. His eyes softened as they met yours, and the intense hunger from earlier melted into something warmer, more intimate. He guided you toward the bathroom, that teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and affectionate. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, darlin’. Can’t leave my girl like this.”

You smiled, leaning into him as you walked, feeling the heat of his body still close to yours. Once inside the bathroom, you couldn’t resist a playful grin as you remembered the errand you’d sent him on. “So… did you get the eggs I asked for?”

Joel chuckled, his deep voice vibrating against you. “Yeah, fresh from the farm, just like you wanted. Thought of you the whole damn time,” he added, his tone dropping suggestively. “All I could think about was how you were gonna thank me for ‘em.”

You bit your lip, feeling the familiar heat return between you as he stood close, his fingers brushing your hip. “Well, I can’t wait to try that new recipe. You’re gonna love it.”

Joel leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you’ve got cookin’. But let’s not pretend I’m not thinkin’ about that other way you thank me, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with that familiar, playful growl.

His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer as he added with a grin, “But first… let’s get you cleaned up. I need you fresh and ready for later.”

You laughed softly, your body warming under his touch, even as you let him guide you into the shower. The water was warm, cascading over your skin as Joel’s hands followed, his fingers gentle but still teasing, touching you with an ease that made your heart flutter.

His hands slid over your body, but every once in a while, he would pause—his touch lingering just long enough to make you tremble.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said, his voice softer now, filled with affection as he washed away the day from your skin. “Don’t know what I’d do without you here to come home to.”

You smiled, leaning your head back into his chest.

Joel let out a small hum of satisfaction, his lips brushing your shoulder as his hands continued their slow exploration of your body. He wasn’t rushing, savoring every second of the intimacy between you, even as you could feel the undercurrent of playfulness in his touch.

His hands slid down your stomach, stopping just short of teasing you further, and you let out a playful whine.

“Not yet, darlin’,” he whispered with a chuckle. “We’ve got dinner to make first.”

As you stepped out of the shower, Joel wrapped you in a soft towel, pulling you close for another lingering kiss. You could feel the warmth of his love in every gesture, even in the way he gently brushed the wet strands of hair away from your face.

“So, what’s this recipe that’s got you so excited?” he asked, his voice light and teasing as he led you toward the kitchen.

“A new quiche recipe,” you said, feeling your excitement return. “I’ve been wanting to try it for a while.”

Joel grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection and mischief. “Quiche, huh? You sure you ain’t just makin’ it so I’ve got something to eat after I’ve worked you up again?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at him. “Maybe it’s a little of both. I’ve got to keep you satisfied one way or another.”

He stepped up behind you as you pulled out the ingredients, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. “You know I’m already more than satisfied,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “But I won’t complain if you keep spoilin’ me.”

You leaned into him, your head resting back against his shoulder. “Well, you deserve it after a hard day’s work.”

“That I do,” Joel whispered, his hands roaming again, teasing but not pushing. “But I can’t wait for dessert.”

You laughed, swatting him playfully. “Patience, cowboy. Dinner first.”

Joel chuckled, his breath warm against your neck. “Yeah, yeah,” he teased, stepping back to let you work, though his eyes followed your every movement. “But later… you and me, baby. Quiche ain’t gonna be the only thing I’m devouring.”

You glanced over your shoulder with a smirk, the playful heat between you always simmering, always alive. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As you continued to prepare dinner, the warmth between you two lingered in the air. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you with that teasing grin, but in the domestic ease you both shared—the simple joy of being together, of teasing and loving one another, no matter what the day had thrown your way.

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