#patchy u good

[whiskyarts]

hit me with virginia (#10)

battle_stance.gif

psith how do you keep picking stabbington stuff I SWEAR i'm not doing this on purpose

[as-thra]

aslan used to be the responsible one in this relationship

[andypantsx3]

OH MY GOODNESS ARE YOU WRITING MORE ABOUT THAT GROGEOUS LITTLE PIECE YOUR WRITE WHERE READER THINKS SHOUTO IS AN OMEGA BUT HES NOT AND THERE IS A SPARK!?!?!?!

Because if so I may pass out I'm so excited. I LOVED that piece, and I just love your writing in general especially when you write Shouto.

So um... will you let me know when you post it? 🥺👉👈

Patchy!!!! You think it's gorgeous?? 🥺👉👈

Yes!! That lil drabble would not let me rest so I'm turning it into a multichapter in which our poor idiot beta reader is subjected to alpha Sho's courting behavior while having no idea what to do with it. Meanwhile Shouto is trying his level best to be a gentleman and resist the urges that come along with courting...

I am thinking probably I will end up posting in November since I will be posting the last 2 chapters of incendiary in the next few weeks, then the Dabert halloween fic sometime mid-to-late October. But don't hold me to that because I also wanna get some work done on something in the water!! But November is likely. :)

[patchyworx]

The bots are getting even worse man

The emojis arent even being typed, they are deteriorating

[girlspecimen]

i truly struggle to motivate to study like u wouldnt believe so this semester my angle is to chuunimax and pretend im a witch engaged in study of my tomes. and hopefully that will help

[bluebellhairpin]

My aunt is also pushing the gold digger agenda on me - i think she may be worried about my finding a partner

Both my parents are making comments every now and then, so have a few aunts and I'm thinking they're hinting at me finally getting married and idk what to do about it.

[callme-holly]

Can u do a little thing with Steve where reader is soc-y and likes to dress up and she visits him while he's working and he wants to hug and kiss her but his hands are covered in grease and she doesn't wanna get her dress dirty and hilarity ensues

(Sorry, I'm half asleep rn)

𝐈𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 [𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

a/n: sorry y'all i finally got the motivation (and the chance) to write! might be a bit slow and patchy. i've got exams for three weeks LOL

The garage is filled with it’s usual noise when you arrive, the clattering of tools and the droning static of the busted radio filling the grimy space. The strong scent of oil permeates the air, rich and sickening, so strong it makes your head spin the second you step into the space; you’d think you’d be used to it by now, immune to it’s thick smell, but it still makes your stomach churn each time you breathe in. 

There's a car parked in the middle, jacked up on one side, and you easily spot Steve lying under it; he’s deep in work, entirely oblivious to your presence, humming idly along to the radio. It’s like a breath of fresh air seeing him like this, entirely in his element and away from the chaos just beyond the confines of the DX. There are no social expectations in here, no judgment trying to wriggle it’s way inside, and no reason to worry… 

Your heels click on the paved floor as you walk further in, trying your hardest not to brush against anything, dreading the idea of dirtying the freshly pressed material. It was a ridiculous thing to do, really, to walk in here dressed up like you’re going to some fancy party; grease and oil coat almost every surface, and the risk of you staining the fabric is so high it makes your head spin with dread. 

“Steve,” you call gently, your voice light and airy, carrying through the room, over the radio. You almost think he doesn’t hear you, and you wrap your arms around your middle, readying to call him again when he drags himself out from under the vehicle, smearing his hands down his jeans.

“What’s up, baby…” he trails off, steely eyes roaming over your figure amourously. You notice him swallowing thickly, and a wave of satisfaction washes over you at the look of awe written across his features. You’ve rendered him completely speechless. 

You tilt your head slightly, hair spilling over your shoulder in gentle waves, like a waterfall flowing steadily over rocks.

“You okay, tough guy?” The smile tugging at your lips gives you away entirely, and you know what you’re doing; that much is clear to anyone.

Steve pushes himself up slowly, his eyes still not leaving you as he takes in every indelible detail, engraving it into his memory.

“You look good,” he chokes out, voice barely above a whisper. “Like, really good.”

He steps towards you, arms outstretched, about to wind around you middle as they always do, but you’re quick to jump back, a startled gasp leaving you.

“No! You can.” You say quickly, eyeing the oil staining his skin. “You’re dirty.”

Steve cocks a brow, looking down at himself and then back up at you. “So? That’s never bothered you before. I thought you liked me dirty?”

Usually, you’d hit his chest for that, scold him for making such a crude insinuation, but it’s far too dangerous to even think about getting near him, so you keep your distance, staying as close to the wall as you dare get.

“You’ll stain the material!” You argue, gesturing to the flowing fabric with a small pout. “It’s too nice for your greasy hands to ruin.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, stepping towards you once more, a teasing glint shining in his eyes. “Oh really? So you show up here looking like that and expect me not to touch?” 

“Yes!” Your tone is filled with exasperation, and he looks surprised at that. He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out, the words getting caught in his throat.

He wipes his hands over his jeans again, almost as if that’s going to get rid of the stains coating every other part of him.

“Better?” He glances up at you expectantly, his eyes alight with hope, and you almost feel guilty for pushing him back. Almost. You give him a once-over; the corners of your lips pull up slightly, and you shake your head. "Not even close." 

Without another word, you grab a rag from the battered workbench behind you, it's legs leaning slightly and the wood chipped—and step towards him. With a tender hand, you cup the side of his face, bringing the rag up and wiping at the smudge of oil on his brow. Its smears paint his skin, and you scrub a little harder, not missing the way he watches you fondly, his eyes holding a subtle sense of adoration behind the layer of  coolness.

You tilt his face to the side, about to work on his jaw, when his hands settle on your hips, thumbs drawing lazy circles against your dress.

"Steve!" You gasp suddenly, dropping your hands to rest on his chest; you don't pull back, though. Despite your worries about him dirtying your clothes, you don't push him away; you can't . "You idiot..." You whisper, and he simply flashes you a grin in response, leaning in to capture your lips.

And this time, you don't resist. 

[tightjeansjavi]

Mornin’ Sunshine

A/N: this is a result of my post horny thots so you’re welcome! ♡ ♡ definitely in the realm of self indulgent hehe.

~word count: 1.5k~

Summary: early morning slow sensual fucking with Joel Miller

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! Reader

Warnings: smut with no plot, consent, unprotected piv (please wrap it b4 u stick it) slow sex, mutual pleasure, handjob, pussy play, creampie, Joel is such a passionate lover, nipple play, edging, praise kink, pet names, hella chemistry between Joel and the reader, he’s in love love, domestic Joel, soft! Joel, caring! Joel!, he just wants to make sure you cum first! Joel, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, mood board is just used to set the vibe, NSFW (+18) minors dni!

Main Masterlist

If there’s one thing that Joel Miller loves to indulge in as he adjusts to living a domestic life again, it’s you. More specifically; early mornings with you tangled in his sheets, thighs still sticky with yours and his cum from the night before simply because you were too worn out to clean up properly. That’s how he likes it, filthy. Raw. Sensual. He likes being able to dip his hand down between your thighs and gather up your pooling arousal between his calloused fingers. The scent of sex still lingers in the hazy early morning air as his arm drapes around your waist, and tugs you firmly against his chest.

You can feel his wiry patchy beard lightly scraping against the thin skin against your neck as he presses soft open mouth kisses, humming as he breathes out through his nose. Your legs are tangled together under the thick quilt, and he knows you’re beginning to awake from your deep slumber when he feels you reach for his hand, threading your fingers over the top of his.

He’s grinning against your skin, nibbling playfully on the shell of your ear with his teeth. You can feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your lower back. You love it when he wakes up immediately desiring you. Although, how could he not? Your beauty shone both on the inside and within.

He slowly rolls his hips forward, letting out a soft pathetic grunt when you gently push your ass back against him. “Mmm. Good morning to you too..” your voice is sticky with sleep, raspy, yet softer than his.

“G’mornin’ sunshine.” He croons. His voice dips down an octave sending a flush of arousal between your thighs. You’ll never get tired of his thick Texas twang. It’s buttery smooth with a hint of smoke and spice. It drips like sticky sweet caramel, and sets a fire deep within your belly like a splash of whiskey does.

The covers begin to rustle and bend as his hand curves around your hip, he gently squeezes as his hips roll forward once more. “D’ya want me sweetheart?” His question sends your thighs clenching together tightly as you suppress a moan from slipping out.

“Always.”

Pleased with your response, and mutual eagerness, his hand slowly slips from your hip, and down to the cleft of your ass. You're wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton panties as the rough pads of his fingertips gently stroke you through the thin fabric. His eyes are blissfully closed as he feels the dampness pooling. It brings him a sense of pride knowing that he’s gotten you this wet, and he’s barely touched you.

“S’wet.” He hums sweetly into the spot just below your ear, leaving more open mouth feather light kisses. “S’all f’me?” He knows it is, he just likes it when you boost his ego.

“All for you Joel.” You let out a soft-sweet sigh as a smile graces your features. Your arm slowly reaches behind you, fingers finding their way into his soft bed head. He loves it when you play with his hair, especially when your nails scratch against his scalp. He doesn’t even have to ask; your nails are already gently scratching his scalp. He loves it. He lets you know with a soft grunt. It rumbled from deep within his chest before passing through his parted lips.

He scoots his hips back slightly as his hand that was presently toying with you, was now slowly pushing his boxers down over his hips. He sighs as his heavy cock springs free. The bulbous head is weeping with a bead of precum leaking from the tip. He’s heavy in your hand as your fingers slowly wrap around the veiny shaft.

Another grunt, followed by a pathetic whimper as you swipe your thumb across the tip, collecting his arousal as you slowly pump your hand around him. He only seems to grow harder from your gentle touch as his hand brushes across yours, finding your covered slit with ease as he slowly drags his fingers against it, applying just a tad bit of pressure. Your thighs instinctively fall open so that he has easier access to where you drip for him most.

You toy with each other awhile longer, wanting to get yourselves worked up as much as you can. You know exactly what he needs, and he knows exactly what you need. It’s a partnership based on balance after all. Mutual pleasure is something you both deeply relish indulging in.

You’re both a whimpering chorus of sensual sounds. Maestros to your own tunes as you play one another like strings on a violin. He grunts praisingly, you whimper his name.

He’s gently tugging your panties down in a slow movement. He can’t help but chuckle when they stick to your puddle of arousal that has built up between your thighs. He gently peels the fabric down past your calves and ankles.

The sheets rustle as the mourning dove coos just outside the open window. A warm summer breeze kisses your skin as you let out a breathy sigh. He drags the tip of his cock through your sticky wet folds. When he finally begins to sink into your warmth, you both release a shuddered breath as his arms reach up to encase you. His broad size is overwhelming, yet comforting at the same time. He fills you up to the brim, stretching you out as you accommodate his thick size.

You're perfect for him. The perfect partner. The perfect cunt. He knows how much you love when he talks to you in an unbridled, filthy manner. He loves it too. “Perfect fuckin’ cunt.” He murmurs against your skin as he slowly thrusts his hips forward into your ass.

“Always perfect f’me.” He grunts low into your neck. His teeth are scraping your delicate skin while one hand is firmly grasping around one of your breasts with his pointer finger and thumb gently toying with your pebbled nipple.

You mewl out his name, eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he slowly fucks into you. You can feel every inch of his cock move inside of you. God, you love it when he fucks you like this. You love the feeling of him buried so deep inside you, it’s hard to grasp just where he begins, and where he ends.

“Good girl.” He lets out a hot puff of air as he holds you as close as he physically can to his chest. His hips grind against your ass in a circular motion.

Soft giggles are exchanged as he accidentally slips out after pulling his hips back too far.

“Too wet?” You teasingly muse.

He chuckles deeply while gently releasing your breast from his grasp. His hand dips down to where your bodies were previously connected as he grabs ahold of his length and eases it back inside of you. He playfully nips at your shoulder blade, “ain’t ever such a thing of bein’ too wet f’me darlin.”

True.

Instead of grasping your breast once more, his hand gently curves around the crook of your thigh as he coaxes it to rest around his hip with your toes planted firmly on the mattress. He has full access to your pussy, more importantly, your clit as he wastes no time to gently play with you once more.

Your moans increase as his fingers rub your sensitive nub of nerves in quick motions, faster than the rhythm of his hips are fucking into you. It’s a tantalizing combination that has been concocted just for you.

Your moans intensify from the growing sensation in the pit of your stomach. His name falls from your lips like a prayer that is shared just for the two of you. Your sweet little sounds urge him forward. He knows you're close when you try to get away from the intense pleasure surging through your veins. He doesn’t let you. He pulls you right back against his chest, tsking softly under his breath.

“Shh.” He coos. “You’re alright baby. I gotcha. She’s sensitive this mornin’ hmm?” You can feel him smirking against your skin that is beginning to bead up with perspiration. He licks the salty dew like a man starved as he buries his face further into the crook of your neck.

“Jus’ wanna make sure you cum.” He reassures you with one heavy jut of his hips that has you seeing stars between closed eyelids.

“Jus’ wanna love on ya.”

“My baby.”

“My honey.”

“My everythin.’”

Praises fall against your sweat stained skin as he buries himself inside of your warm pussy as deeply as he can reach. Deep enough that his tip is brushing against your cervix. You cry out his name as your nails sink into his forearm. A choked sob, an I love you, a post orgasm laugh as he stays buried inside of you, not wanting to part from your warmth just yet.

He’s kissing you all over as you softly giggle. Your noises that he loves so dearly are cut off when his lips finally find yours. It’s a searing slow kiss. You can taste the passion on his tongue as he breathes out deeply through his nose.

“How d’ya want your eggs? Scrambled, or over easy?” He asks, a boyish grin plastered on his face as he kisses you sweetly.

“Scrambled.” You softly responded, fingers tangling through his hair as you pulled him in close.

Tagging people I think will enjoy: @chaotic-mystery @cavillscurls @dinsdjrn @morning-star-joy @sinsofsummers @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @amanitacowboy @saradika @tessa-quayle @darkroastjoel @kirsteng42 @yazsos @casa-boiardi @lovers-liability @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Banners made by the lovely @saradika

[ju-liczka]

When it comes to Morgott we all can agree he is just build... different✨ (that shoulders five times his head *shivers*) So there are some of my thoughts if u wanna read them because they kinda explain my take on him in this drawing lol

I was thinking recently more about his fur and how it looks on his body. It's patchy, It looks rough and uneven... Even his tail when you look closer, It's shape is more defined by the muscles rather than the hair on it. Every artist drawing him gives him much more fluff and I truly think it's well deserved. And from the game design/lore perspective it's completely understandable. He is made to look grotesque, deformed, aged and ugly even... That's all intended... BUT!

I was thinking... What if it's mostly just lack of... maintenance? Lack of care. Malnourishment and neglect of a kind? We know that the Erdtree has a kind of sickening effects on Omens as well. Mohg is for sure holding up much better and I kind of don't believe they would be so much different from eachother (the influence of Formless Mother on Mohgs looks is after all not entirely known). He has more pride in himself and so he carries himself better than his brother that is still loyal and so close to the Golden Order. Mohg took his chance at getting away from the Erdtree and I think it is obvious that this freedom did him some good. I personally belive that Morgott could also achive such change if it wasn't for his deep rooted loyality to the Order and crippling self-resentment.

So to sum my thoughts up... What if he's just not thriving?

Just imagine this kind of idealistic scenario when he can finally put his needs first. When he can take care of himself or let others care for him. He puts on some more weight, rounding up his already muscular body giving it softer, healthier look. His furr thickens and follows up to the rest of his body not just limbs (could be just as thick as the rest or more like a soft fuzz maybe idk). His posture straightens, as with healthy body comes healthy mind. Of course, he is still an old man at the end of it. The years made their mark on his features and some of them are irreversable. But he is healing~

And I personaly love imaginging him in this healing state that unfortuntly is impossible to get in game. But game is game and fan work is fan work. And in my tiny rotten brain I give him little forehead kisses and tell him how precious he is uwu

[prncesschloe]

—𝜗𝜚 how rafe cameron and flower!reader met 💭

previously; flower!readers intro

god, how good did rafe cameron feel to be back in good ol’ obx, and not whatever tropical country ward had tried relocating the camerons onto. he’d already handled and checked off a few of the things he needed to do aswell.

convince barry to help him steal the cross? check. actually steal the cross back? check. make it clear to ward that he has the upper hand now? check. melt the cross down? work in progress.

so now— here he was, at barry’s place going over all the shit they would need to achieve this step of this whole cash grab. and i just want you to imagine the look on rafe’s face when you— someone he’d never seen— and almost took for a touron, just walks into barry’s crib, not even muttering a single word before barry’s up and abandoning their conversation. grabbing what seemed to be a shoe box, which he didn’t know existed until this very moment, that was decorated with white lace, glitter and words titled ‘blythe’s magic grass’ written in big dainty cursive on the top.

and too make everything even more of a mind fuck, you hadn’t even seemed like you knew who the hell he was. he thought that you were just playing games at first, acting all on edge in his presence. (which was just your irrational fear of kooks in general) to which he thought was in results of his return and the whole peterkin situation, only to find out it wasn’t after he’d asked you what your name was. he was immediately shot back with, “what’s your name?” he didn’t know wether to be glad that this odd looking pouge— that he was slightly intrigued by didn’t know who he was and what he was known for, or to be taken back at the fact.

but if there was something rafe cameron did know, on this new path of exploring life without having wards iron grip on him— chaining him down and shaping him to be a obidient dog. was that whoever this chick that he had never seen a single day in his life, was a once in a lifetime opportunity take now— or a never see her again type of girl.

as soon as you left the trailer, picking up the dropped beach bicycle out on the front of barrys patchy front yard.. rafe didn’t hesitate to ask all the details about you, barry having to stop himself from knocking the light out of him at the mention of ‘a hot, odd, piece of work.’

AN : this is my first ever fic so i hope u guys enjoy ^w^!!!

[psycho-static]

lmao the next two!! Me pickles n Nathan designs Nathan was hella hard to design cuz i just...didnt have any ideas for him, unlike pickles lmao what do u lot think? Design notes under cut: (warning very long lmao)

PICKLES .His neck is scrawny his frame is rather small but has like a weird potbelly less average more..skinny fat build (despite this hes still pretty strong when anegred, fuled by darkness and hatred 😍) .He wears a pretty thick bandana to hide his balding head .And he only has so many dread...alot of em probably fell out lmao .Said dreads are also....sentient??? idk man i think pickles having living hair would be cool asf lmao little tentacles that let him pick up 5 weed baggies at once! wahoo!!! (Inspired by the hamburger time dream sequence) .His vest is more distintcly ripped and has the exodia sign on it despite what its associated with, he still thought the shirt was cool, so he wore it anyway lmao .His trousers are hella baggy, thick comfy, and patchy, that man almost NEVER changes his trousers its like the only pair he has .So he has them custoimsed with skull kneecaps because thats BRUTAL!!!! .He has fishnets ontop of his cuffs because it looks neat, also weirdly both aquatic and metal??? it works lmao .This man would defo have a tattoo, in this case a massive drunk (or dead) octopus on his arm (his spiritual awakening told him it was a good idea ) (the only tattoo he has that isint complete shite) .The rest of the tats he got he was drunk asf when he got em (not pictured here but they defo exist lol) .His teeth and eyes are yellow cuz hes c r u s t y as f u c k . He has more peircings, pickles is a pretty big peircing enthusiast he some some on the back of his neck his nipples and probably his nuts too lmao .And obligatory arm hair lmao --------------------------------------------------------------------------- NATHAN. Ngl i had....no ideas for him lmao nathans design works as is tbh hes a pretty smiple guy he dosent need nothing fancy to be brutal HE IS THE BRUTALITY .Ik alot of ppl draw nathan pretty tan but ngl...i think hed be pale as fuck lmao nothing screams more brutal that permenant corpse paint .He has pretty dark black bags around his eyes aswell as some black drippy tears round them .His shirt n jeans are a bit ripped, but thats about it .His hair covers one of his eyes, topped with a menacing face shadow, the moment he flips his hair back though, he turns to a right sofite .And the obligatory body hair, he defo deserves some lol

[cherry-titz]

Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

Not figuratively, not literally. 

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff. 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets. 

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from. 

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“ 

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails. 

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame. 

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”  

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb. 

“Are you going in that direction?” 

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin. 

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.” 

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth. 

“If you’re sure.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up. 

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door. 

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM. 

“Long night?” 

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.” 

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction. 

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.” 

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen. 

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.” 

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?” 

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.” 

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?” 

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.” 

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.  

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin. 

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?” 

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?” 

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing. 

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus. 

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?” 

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes. 

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him. 

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?” 

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door. 

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her. 

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch. 

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding. 

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.   

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it. 

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?” 

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth. 

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her. 

“No— your— whatever you—” 

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth. 

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.” 

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all. 

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders. 

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.” 

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?” 

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.” 

“Not at all?” 

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.” 

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?” 

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries. 

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance. 

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too. 

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?” 

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions. 

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.” 

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock. 

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.  

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.” 

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.” 

“What a dickhead.” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums. 

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully. 

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth. 

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company. 

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.” 

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre. 

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?” 

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat. 

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?” 

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. 

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.” 

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.” 

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful. 

“But that’s not what you like.” 

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.” 

“What do you like?” 

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction. 

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.  

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.  

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?” 

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth. 

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.” 

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.” 

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion. 

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease. 

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched. 

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.” 

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not. 

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?” 

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly. 

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.” 

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does. 

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry. 

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently. 

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t. 

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion. 

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.” 

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.” 

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.” 

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting. 

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back. 

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself. 

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.” 

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.” 

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way. 

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears. 

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry. 

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings. 

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.  

“Say please,” Harry demands. 

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw. 

“Please.” 

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat. 

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering. 

“How d’you beg?” 

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.” 

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl. 

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her. 

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.” 

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works. 

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.” 

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes. 

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”  

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated. 

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.” 

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch. 

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?” 

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops. 

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism. 

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone. 

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?” 

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her. 

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms. 

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“ 

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan. 

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?” 

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough. 

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind. 

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.” 

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving. 

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.” 

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic. 

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.” 

Bark. 

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum. 

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant. 

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away. 

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open. 

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked. 

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine. 

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again. 

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?” 

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly. 

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.” 

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs. 

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy. 

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.” 

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise. 

Harry sighs. 

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness. 

“I said, bark.” 

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives. 

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out. 

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.” 

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.” 

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.” 

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.” 

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?” 

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh. 

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?” 

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder. 

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?” 

There are. 

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?” 

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away. 

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?” 

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out. 

“Maybe I do.” 

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled. 

“Is that right?” 

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.  

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly. 

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.” 

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head. 

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon. 

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?” 

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle. 

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back. 

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own. 

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame. 

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.” 

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts. 

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow. 

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff. 

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused. 

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away. 

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip. 

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in. 

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse. 

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.” 

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off. 

He tells her, “This is my stop.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?” 

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?” 

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights. 

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. 

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise. 

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle. 

“Hello?” 

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line. 

“Y/N.” 

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again. 

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms. 

“I was going to kill you that night.” 

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck? 

But then he keeps talking. 

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.” 

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again. 

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.” 

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—” 

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead. 

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.

[raspberrybesitos]

Tear You Apart | joel miller x f!reader

Main Masterlist

Summary: Joel hates Halloween, but he loves you. You drag him to your best friends’ Halloween party, who are dying to meet the older man that’s making their friend so happy. However, a side of him you’ve never seen before is unleashed after both your boundaries are pushed; and Joel reminds you who you belong to.

Word count: ~10k (jesus christ this got away from me)

Rating: 18+ MDNI (All ageless blogs will be blocked.)

Warnings: no outbreak AU, established relationship, age gap (reader is mid/late 20s, Joel is late 40s), possessive!Joel, (soft)dom!Joel, jealous!Joel if you squint, some angst (man harasses reader), Joel uses violence to defend your honor, semi-public sex (they fuck at a party in the guest room), oral (f and m receiving), thigh riding, mirror sex, squirting, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), Joel calls reader a slut once, biting, some nipple play, creampie, cum eating, some fluff, Joel is dressed as a vampire, lil bit of OOC Joel, reader is female and has hair Joel can pull but has no physical descriptions, NO USE OF Y/N

A/N: Graphic is for aesthetic purposes only and does not depict reader, she is completely faceless and a reader insert through and through. Loosely based on Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

It's here! I hope y'all enjoy, I had so much fun with this one!

Special thanks to @nostalxgic @gracieheartsspedro @undrthelights @jenispunk and @mandoisapunk for listening to me scream about this for weeks. I love u girlies <333

Stunning graphic by @nostalxgic

Divider by @saradika

“It’ll be so much fun, babe, I promise! Jas and Matt have been dying to meet you too,” you tell Joel about the Halloween party your best friends are throwing. They’ve been dying to meet him, curious about the man who’s made their friend so happy the past 8 months. 

You’re perched atop the counter, feet swaying as you keep him company while he works.

Joel’s crouched down on his knees, fixing the leaking faucet in your apartment that you’ve been complaining about for a week now. “I don’t know, darlin’, y’know ‘m no good at socializin’ ‘n stuff. ‘N why’re they so excited to meet an old man like me?” Joel grunts as he works under the sink. 

“Because, an old man like you makes me really happy and they just want to meet the reason for my new ‘glow’ they like to call it.” 

With one last grunt, he tightens the pipes and rises to his feet. “So you think ‘m old?” He huffs, brows furrowed, sweat beading down his temple. “What would you do if I said yes?” You tease, as you bite back a smile.

“Then I’ll jus’ have t’ show you what this old man’s capable of,” he says as he leans down to nibble at your neck. You yelp at the feeling, dissipating into laughter. You can feel him smirk against your skin. “That reminds me! I’ve already picked out our costumes,” you say, wrapping your arms around his back, tilting your head back to grant him more access as he litters kisses along your neck and collarbone.

“Oh yeah? ‘N what are we gonna be?” “Vampires. I’ve already got the fangs and a cape for you. I think it’s very fitting, considering what you’re doing right now,” you giggle, his patchy beard scratching your skin.

“Ain’t vampires like a hundred years old?” Joel lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “Even more fitting!” You press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, hopping off the counter. He pulls you back by the waist before you can leave. “Watch it, darlin’,” playfully warning you.

“I’m kidding, baby,” you reassure him, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his temple. “Mm,” he grunts as he playfully smacks your ass. He leans down to press one more kiss to your lips - a soft, gentle one. You leave to order dinner for the two of you. 

“Oh, and Joel?” “Yes, baby?” “I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. You can show me after dinner, after you try your costume on,” you tell him before exiting the kitchen. He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

The shit he does for you.

“I feel silly, darlin’,” Joel mumbles as you finish applying the fake blood on his chin. “It’s a Halloween party, Joel! Everyone there will be wearing costumes, no need to feel silly,” you tell him as you adjust the collar on his cape and smooth out his white button up. His chest is slightly exposed, a few buttons undone. 

“And for what it’s worth, I think you look really sexy. You’re really working those fangs.” You swear you see him blush as he shyly chuckles, the fangs peeking through his smile.

“You seen yourself, darlin’? Sexiest fuckin’ vampire ever. Jus’ wanna lay you out and eat ya for hours,” he says pulling you flush against his chest. His hands roam up and down your body, you’re adorned in a black mini dress and lacy black stockings. Fake blood dripping from your red and black painted lips and matching subtle fangs.

“Joel Miller! You kiss your mother with that mouth?!” You playfully smack his chest, flustered by his statement. “Nope, jus’ you, baby,” he laughs, nose nudging yours as he kisses you. You smile as you melt into the kiss, his arms, him.

You breathlessly pull away from him. “No more of that, or else we’re never gonna leave,” you say as you wipe the smudged fake blood and your lipstick from his lips. “I ain’t got a problem with that, honey.”

The bass is booming so loud you can feel the vibrations of the music from outside the house. There’s small crowds scattered throughout on the lawn smoking weed and cigarettes, the smell permeating the damp evening air. 

The two of you walk up the porch, fingers laced in each others’. Joel holds a 12 pack of beers in his free hand, a bottle of tequila in yours.

You hear your name called from behind you near the porch, whipping your head around the see who is trying to get your attention. You spot a man in a devil costume, gasping as realization hits you.

“Oh my god, Matt! Hi! Jas said you had to work, so I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be here, how are you?!” Matt, your friend Jas’ - Jasmine - boyfriend and your good friend, engulfs you in an awkward hug as you continue to hold Joel’s hand.

“Of course I’m here! Wouldn’t miss meeting the famous Joel Miller,” he lightheartedly laughs. Your hand still in Joel’s, you pull back and bring Joel forward. “Joel, this is my friend and Jasmine’s boyfriend, Matt. Matt, this is my boyfriend, Joel,” you gesture in between them. 

Joel lets go of your hand and extends it out to Matt. “Nice to meet ya, Matt,” he says politely. “Back at you, man. Jas never stops talking about how happy you make her, so it’s nice to have a face to the name,” Matt says as he firmly shakes Joel’s hand.

“Didn’t know I was a household name,” Joel jokes as he reaches for your hand again. Matt laughs and you bite back a smile. 

“Yeah, you’re a popular subject in this house. Let’s head inside, Jas has been waiting for you two to show up,” Matt says as he opens the front door to lead you two into the party.

It’s loud in the house. Bottles, cans, neon shot glasses, and red solo cups are littered all over the house. Caution tape and cotton cobwebs are draped on the walls as jack-o-lanterns are scattered throughout the living room. The color-changing lights flash throughout the room. People are clumped in groups, dressed in varying costumes, dancing and conversing over the music.

You can sense Joel’s shift in his mood, feeling his nerves and you squeeze his hand to reassure him that everything’s good. He looks down at you and gives you a soft smile. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“Jas! Your special guest has arrived!” Matt shouts over the music as you three walk into the kitchen. Jasmine whips around at lightning speed, her angel wings bumping into the people surrounding her. She lets out an excited scream. 

“You came!” She drops the cups she was holding on the counter and lunges at you, giving you a bone-crushing hug. “Of course I did! I wouldn’t miss the party of the year!” You let go of Joel’s hand and wrap your arms under her wings. 

She gasps as she pulls back. “And I see you’ve brought the special someone! Hi, I’m Jas, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Joel!” She reaches out to hug Joel. He shifts a little, caught off guard by the hug, but adjusts to it immediately.

“Nice to finally meet you too, Jasmine. She talks about ya all the time, I know you two are thick as thieves,” he says while returning the hug with a smile. You can sense his relief.

“Oh, please call me Jas. And I could say the same about you! She never shuts up about you. I kept asking her ‘when am I finally gonna meet this mysterious Joel you keep talking about’ and it only took her eight months to introduce me,” she turns to you as she emphasizes her words.

“Pardon me, Jas. I was part of the stallin’. Just nervous to be around a younger crowd ‘n also want t’ make a good impression. I know ya mean a lot to her,” Joel tells Jas.

Jas softens at his words, her lips curling upside down with her hands pressed to her heart. “No need to be nervous! I like you already, Joel,” she says with a toothy grin. She turns to you again. “You were right, he’s as sweet as pie,” a rush of embarrassment floods your body, shyly smiling at her words. 

“Oh, and you brought more alcohol?! Such a Southern gentleman! Thank you so much, you two,” Jas giddily exclaims as she takes sight of the bottle of tequila and 12 pack from you and Joel.

“‘Course, what kinda guests would we be showing up empty-handed?” Joel asks, handing the alcohol over to Jas. She and Matt place the beer in one of many coolers and the bottle at the make-shift bar on the counter.

“Good ones,” Jas says, disappointment lacing her tone. “Mostly everyone showed up empty-handed, so we appreciate this so much. Thank you again! Now, let’s get you two some drinks!”

Jas pours the four of you some shots and passes them around. “To new beginnings and a great night!” Jas shouts as she raises her glass in the air. “Cheers!” The three of you say, copying her actions. You toss back the tequila, immediately chasing it with a lime wedge, grimacing at the burn.

“Was smooth,” Joel says, completely unfazed by the taste and sensation. He chuckles at your reaction and pulls you into his side. His large hand rests on your waist, toying with the hem of your dress. You look up at him, giddy like a schoolgirl as you try to keep your composure under his touch, feeling electrified as he shows you off and claims you as his.

“If you don’t mind, could I steal you away for a bit? I wanna get to know you a bit more, if you don’t mind, brother,” Matt asks Joel while glancing in between the two of you. “No fair, babe! I wanted to interrogate him first,” Jas huffs while she mixes cocktails for you and her. 

You and Joel laugh, his coming out a bit more uneasy than he intended. “Sure, man, I don’t mind. I promise to answer all your questions,” Joel says, letting go of your waist.

Jas hands you a red solo cup filled with something and Joel is about to be whisked away by Matt, but not before he leans down to press a swift kiss to your lips, careful not to ruin your makeup or his fake blood.

“He seems like a keeper,” Jas says smugly as the men walk away and the two of you sip your drinks. “You haven’t stopped smiling at him since you got here. You got it bad, babe.” You choke on your drink, a mix of embarrassment and disgust as the taste of the drink settles on your tongue.

“What the fuck did you even make?!” Jas laughs, “Your favorite! Rum and diet coke with a twist, but I might’ve put in a little more rum than diet coke.” You wince, but go back for another sip. Joel is driving so you could enjoy yourself, so why not?

“But in all seriousness,” Jas yells over the music while leading you two into the hallway away from the bustling kitchen. “You’re the happiest you’ve ever been and that’s all I want for you. I’m assuming he’s treating you right… right?”

You soften at her sentiment. “Yeah, babe, he treats me right. And I am happy, like beyond happy. He’s amazing, and you know I don’t just say that about any man so easily” you joke, the two of you giggling over your drinks.

“So the two of you have been together for what, 8 months now? I’m glad you could finally join us, and I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. Jas and I’ve just been so impatient waiting to meet you ‘cause she never stops talking about you,” Matt says while taking a sip of his beer, Joel mirroring him as they stand on opposing sides of the foyer. 

“Yeah, 8 months now. ‘N no, no hard feelin’s, man. We just both wanted t’ be sure about each other before introducing each other to people. She told me you and Jas have been together for 4 years, so ‘m assumin’ ya know about her past experiences if Jas has told ya anythin’,” Joel says while taking another swig of his beer. 

“Yeah, I know about ‘em all. Saw her go through some rough shit with her last ex. She’s been through hell and any friend of Jas is a friend of mine. I hope you get what I’m trying to say,” Matt says. 

Joel nods in understanding. “Yeah, I do, man, don’t worry. ‘S a big reason why it’s taken me so long to come around, so I get where you’re comin’ from,” Joel tells Matt as he nudges him with his elbow. “And what’s the other reason, if you don’t mind me asking?” Matt awaits Joel's answer

“Ain’t it obvious? ‘M fuckin’ twice y’alls age,” Joel says, brows furrowed in confusion with a smirk on his face. “Ah, that, man? We’re all grown! And she’s got a mind of her own, she can make her own decisions. That shit don’t matter, man! Were you that nervous to meet us?” 

Joel laughs gratefully. “Hell yeah, I was! I was worried we wouldn’t have anythin’ t’ talk about. Sometimes, she makes references ‘n I don’t understand what the hell she’s sayin’, but ‘m real glad that don’t matter to any of ya,” he says, raising his bottle to Matt. “Yeah, man, that don’t matter, as long as she’s happy! Which she seems to be,” Matt says. “Hope she is,” Joel mutters, the two of them clinking bottles together.

“It looks like they’re getting along! That’s a good sign. Matt normally isn’t open to meeting any of your dates, especially after Christian. He was a complete asshole, but I’m glad things are better for you now, babe. Seriously,” Jas tells you, the two of you huddled together on the loveseat, sipping your 5th rum and diet cokes.

You’re definitely feeling the effects of them now, your head feels warm and fuzzy along with the rest of your body. “Joel was so nervous to come tonight, Jas - more nervous than me. His age obviously doesn’t bother me, but does it bother you? Be honest,” you ask her, nervously fiddling with your nearly empty cup. 

“No, babe, not at all. And you should know this! You know I’ll always support you as long as you're happy. You weren’t happy with any of those assholes from the past, which is why I wasn’t supportive of your relationships with them,” she says.

You shift in the loveseat, casting your gaze towards the floor. “But, I support you now,” she quickly adds, placing her hand on top of yours, forcing your eyes to meet hers. “I support this. He’s good for you, I can tell. And I think you’re good for him too.” You both smile at each other. This time, you lunge at her, pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” you say into her ear, embracing her for a moment. The two of you pull away.

“Matt needs to hurry up so I can talk to Joel, he’s hogging him,” she says as she rises from the loveseat. “I’m gonna get a refill, want one?” She asks, holding her hand out to you.

“I’m good for right now, I think I’m already drunk, so I’m gonna slow down for a bit. I’m gonna go find Joel though, I wanna dance!” You tell her, rising from the loveseat with her hand in yours. 

“You think he’ll dance with you? Don’t get me wrong, I love that he makes you happy, but he doesn’t seem like the dancing type.” “Babe, he’s already wearing a costume and came with me. I think he’ll do just about anything I ask of him,” a smug smile plastering your face. Wobbly from the liquor, you carefully make your way towards Joel and Matt.

“Hey, baby,” you slur, interrupting their conversation as you clutch Joel’s strong forearm to gain some sort of balance. “Woah, you good there, babydoll?” Joel asks, catching you as you struggle to stand still. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just drank a lot without moving, so I’m feeling it. I hope you two had a nice talk because I’m about to steal him away. Sorry, Matt,” you shrug.

Matt has a shit eating grin on his face. “No worries… babydoll,” he barks out a laugh. You feel warm, and not just because of the alcohol. Heat radiates all throughout your body, your stomach flipping at Joel’s affection and Matt’s teasing. Joel playfully swats Matt on the shoulder. “Watch it, man.” Matt doubles over at Joel’s lame attempt to warn him. Joel feels his face heat up with embarrassment. Matt takes great joy in seeing the two of you flustered.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Matt says while putting his hands up in surrender, leaving you two alone in the hallway. The first time the two of you’ve had a moment to yourselves since arriving. You look up at him, chin resting against his thick bicep. He looks down, his eyes hazy with a mixture of love and lust. 

“Hi, baby,” he says while pressing a kiss to your head, beer bottle now placed on a decorative wooden table. “You and Matt getting along? Seems like it.” “Yeah, he’s a cool guy. Real protective of you.” He wraps his free arm around your waist, maneuvering the both of you so that your chests are pressed together. “Well, Jas is like my sister and he’s been with her for years, so he’s kind of like a brother to me in a way. Both of them just want me to be happy.”

He takes in your words, rubbing small circles on your lower back. “Are you happy, babydoll?” He seems to know the answer, but you can feel his confidence waver. You scoff in disbelief, that you can’t help but mess with him. “That’s a crazy question, Joel. Of course I’m not happy, I actually can’t stand you. I only keep you around to fix stuff for me.” Joel rolls his eyes and smirks. 

“Mmm, is that so, darlin’?” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your neck, sucking on that spot near your collarbone. You throw your head back into a fit of giggles. “I’m just joking, Joel. Of course I’m happy, baby. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He hums into your neck, lightly kissing the spot before lifting his head. “Me too. I love you, darlin’,” he says, meeting your eyes. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I love you too, baby.”

You tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips, completely melting into his embrace. He moves one hand from your waist to cup your cheek, pulling you in closer. Both of you sighing into the kiss, relishing in your solitude.

“How much do you love me, Joel?” You breathlessly ask when you pull away. He quirks his brow. “More than anythin’, baby… why?” He can’t help but feel curious as he sees a smirk make its way onto your face. “You love me enough to dance with me?” 

Dancing has never been his scene, socializing has never been his thing, but you’re everything.

Your fangs peek through as you bite your bottom lip awaiting his answer. He sighs, “‘Course I do, darlin’. Y’know I’d do anythin’ for ya, also can never say no to ya. I showed up to this party in a goddamn vampire costume, didn’t I?” You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, going in for another kiss. Joel moves his hand down your ass and squeezes it, eliciting a yelp from you and breaking the kiss.

“Joel!” You scold him, no trace of malice in your voice. He just laughs, letting go of your waist and taking your hand in his. His empty beer bottle now perched on the table in the foyer, along with many others as the two of you make your way to the makeshift dance floor in the living room.

The color changing lights flash to the beat of the music. You feel the floor vibrate beneath your boots. You can’t hide the smile on your face. Joel is a little awkward at first, unsure of what to do with his hands and in general. You guide him, taking his hands in yours and place them on your waist. You rhythmically grind your hips against his to the beat of the music. 

He’s a bit stiff. “Loosen up, babe! We’ve danced together before, I know you can dance!” You shout in his ear over the blaring music. “We’ve only danced in private, darlin’, not with an audience!” You playfully roll your eyes. “Babe, everyone here is either drunk, high, or both! No one cares!” His hesitation meets his eyes, but he powers through.

Joel grabs your hips and turns you around, your ass now grinding against his clothed hard-on to the beat. You smile and throw your head back in a fit of laughter, your hand reaching around to caress the back of his head. You both sway to the beat, sweating from the alcohol and the amount of people in the house.

The song transitions into the next and you turn around in Joel’s grasp. “I’m gonna go get another drink, do you want another beer?” You shout into his ear, holding onto his wide shoulders for balance. “Sure. Thanks, baby! I’m gonna see if I can find Matt again,” he shouts back. You lean up to press a quick peck to his lips before beelining to the kitchen.

The music is still loud, but not nearly as loud as it is in the living room. The paper thin entry door to the kitchen only somewhat drowns it out. There’s only a handful of people lingering in the corner of the kitchen and near the bar.

You politely make your way to the bar, excusing yourself as you shimmy between the group. You grab a red solo cup and make yourself another rum and diet coke with a twist, opting to keep mixing liquors to a minimum.

You make your way to find Joel, cocktail in hand, when you realize you forgot his beer. Spinning around, you turn back to grab him one from the cooler. You rise to leave and bump into someone as you try to make your way back to the hallway, your drink sloshing over the side a bit.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You look up and see who you’ve bumped into - a younger man, around Matt’s age, dressed as a pirate. He’s nowhere near as tall as Joel, shorter and slimmer too.

“No worries, sexy. If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask,” he slurs out. You can smell the alcohol on his breath. You nervously chuckle, going to leave until your only exit is blocked by him. “Hey, where ya goin’?” He asks, offended at your attempt to leave. You tense as you feel your body go into fight or flight mode. 

“I’m so sorry for bumping into you, I didn’t see you when I turned around. I’ll get out of your hair,” you say as you try to move around him. He continues to block the door. “Aw, don’t leave, baby! Is it ‘cause I didn’t say sorry back?” You give him a tight lipped smile, still struggling to get away. 

“Sorry for bumping into you,” he sighs. “I didn’t realize I was that close to ya while you were bent over showing me that pretty little ass digging in the cooler.” A flash of heat washes over you, rage surging through your body. You try to size him up, swallowing down the fear, and assert yourself.

“Could you move please? I’d just like to get back to the party,” you sternly, but kindly ask him, despite him being undeserving of your kindness. He moves closer, backing you into the counter, caging you. “You here with anybody?” “Yes, my boyfriend. Now please, move,” you try to duck underneath him, but he grabs you by the waist.

“Wait, that old dude?! You serious?! I saw you two dancing, but I thought that was a joke. Come on, baby, you can do better than that old man, especially when I’m right here,” he shouts. Panic settles in as you struggle to escape his grasp.

The kitchen door swings open with Matt and Joel in tow, but unbeknownst to you with your view still blocked by this creep. “Hey, the hell’s goin’ on here?” Joel barks. The creep whips his body around and laughs. “Oh, so you’re the boyfriend. Thought she was fuckin’ with me when she told me she was here with you.” 

Joel steps forward, chest heaving as he sizes up the man harassing you. “Hey, cool it, Joel. And you, Anthony, get the fuck out of here, you’re not even supposed to be here,” Matt shouts, intervening. With his back turned, you manage to escape Anthony’s grasp and you in and rush into Joel’s arms.

“You alright, baby? What happened?” Joel asks as he crushes you into his embrace, cupping your face in his hands. As you’re about to answer, Anthony cuts you off with a scoff while walking towards you two. “Nothing fucking happened! That bitch was fucking rude, she tried to leave while I was still talking to her!”

You see something you’ve never seen before flash in Joel’s eyes before he turns to Anthony - something protective, angry, primal. He fiercely places you behind him, blocking you from Anthony. “The fuck did you just call her?!” Joel’s voice booms over the music as he shoves Anthony into the kitchen island. Shoving Anthony again, Joel yells, "the fuck did you do to her?!"

“Hey, what the fuck, man?! I didn’t do shit! She’s the one who’s being fucking dramatic! All I asked was for a drink and a dance!” Seething, you find the courage to stick up for yourself.

“You know damn well that’s now what happened, you fucking jerkoff! You fucking grabbed me after I rejected your ass and tried to leave!” You shout from behind Joel. All three men are looking at you, along with the small crowd in the kitchen. 

Joel shoves him again and shouts, “You fuckin’ touchin’ my girl?! The fuck’s wrong with you?!” Anthony shoves him back. “Fuck you, man! I didn’t even know she was your girl!” Joel grabs him by the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t fuckin’ matter if she’s my girl or not, you don’t go puttin’ your fuckin’ hands on women after they said no,” Joel snarls. Matt tries to pry Joel off Anthony, but it’s no use. Joel’s got a death grip on Anthony’s collar.

“Let me go, you fucking psycho. Go stick your limp dick in your whore’s loose fucking pussy!” It all happens so fast that you don’t see it, but you hear it - a resounding crunch. Anthony groans as his nose gushes blood and Matt finally yanks Joel off him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?! You fucking broke my nose! All for that bitch over there?!” Anthony quite literally spits as blood dribbles onto his lips.

Joel grabs Anthony by the collar again and shoves him to the ground, following suit to pin him down. Anthony tries to swing at Joel and misses. Joel delivers one sickening punch after another to Anthony’s face.

You stand frozen in shock as Joel delivers another punch to Anthony’s face, his lip busted open, eyes bruising. It’s wrong, you know it’s wrong, but something about Joel defending you sends a rush through your body and a burning sensation to your core. None of your past partners have ever stood up for you before. Not even when you were openly harassed in front of them.

Seeing this angry, feral side of Joel has you all riled up for an entirely different reason now. You know you should stop him, but your feet are glued to the floor, unable to move and intervene.

Matt rushes to stop the fight before it escalates even more as Anthony lay there helpless on the floor, no match for the older, broader man. “Joel! Joel! Enough, man! I think he got the message,” Matt shouts over the commotion of the fight and the music, wrestling Joel off Anthony.

Jas runs in through the door at the sound of Matt yelling. She wiggles her way through the crowd that’s gathered to see the fight to your side, pulling you back from the scene. You hadn’t realized how close they'd gotten to you while fighting. She cradles you in her arms, screaming Matt’s name.

That pulls you out of your trance. Shuddering out of Jas’ grasp, you rush to the thrashing trio. “Joel!” You scream at the top of your lungs. Joel is about to deliver another punch when he hears you.

He snaps his head around and meets your gaze. You silently plead with your eyes to stop. You glance at Anthony as Joel rises to his feet. He lay on the floor groaning in pain, but that doesn’t stop Matt from forcefully getting him up and shoving him out the door.

Joel strides to you, gripping your face in his now battered hands. The two of you breathlessly lock eyes. You can hear Jas clearing out the crowd that’s gathered in the kitchen, but it sounds muffled, all your focus being on Joel.

“What the hell happened?!” Jas screeches while cleaning up the floor, a few cups and bottles were scattered on the floor in the midst of the fight, if you can even call it a fight. A few specks of blood stain the floor and that gets your attention. You grab a random rag on the counter and swiftly wipe it up as Jas continues picking things up off the floor.

“‘M sorry, Jas. Was my fault, not hers. Guy was just a prick,” Joel quietly says, guilt and shame evident in his voice. You quickly shake your head. “It wasn't your fault, Joel. That guy, Anthony, was harassing me when I came to get a drink for me and Joel. He blocked the door so I couldn’t leave. Then he grabbed me by the waist and caged me in between him and the counter and well... you can guess what happened next,” you explain to Jas, quick to justify Joel’s actions.

“Anthony?! What the hell was he doing here?! He wasn’t invited, we made that very clear to him,” Jas screeches. You and Joel give each other the same confused look. “Why wasn’t he invited, babe?” You ask Jas. 

“Because he was trying to make a pass at another friend of ours the last time we hung out. He didn’t get his ass beat, but we did tell him he wasn’t invited tonight. I’m gonna fucking kill him and whoever he came with,” she explains, exasperated and angry.

“Well now I don’t feel so bad for beating the shit out of him,” Joel mutters, a humorless chuckle escapes him. “Oh, Joel, don’t feel bad. If anything, I’m sorry that he got past us. This could’ve been prevented had Matt and I been more vigilant,” Jas says, tears pricking her eyes. 

“Hey. No one is to blame, but him. This is all on him, no one else. Am I clear?” You say, but both of them stay silent. “I’m okay, guys. I promise,” you firmly state.

Matt barges into the kitchen, frantically rushing to Jas’ side. “I’m so sorry he got past me, I told him last time to watch himself and that he wasn’t invi-,” 

“Matt, stop,” you cut him off. “I was just telling Joel and Jas that it’s no one’s fault, but his. I’m okay, guys. I promise. Beating yourselves up isn’t gonna change what happened. I’m just grateful that you guys walked in when you did,” you tell them. 

Joel huffs again. You reach for his uninjured hand. “Hey. You did good. You saved me. I’m okay, baby,” you say with a reassuring squeeze to his hand and a gentle smile on your face. Joel’s lips slightly quirk up at your expression. You glance down at his other hand and clear your throat. 

“Let’s get some ice on that. You could’ve broken it, we need to clean you up,” you tell Joel, gently inspecting his battered hand. “It ain’t broken ‘n you don’t gotta do all that, baby. No need to fuss over my dumbass. I did this to myself,” Joel groans.

“Oh! Let me get you something to ice that with,” Jas says, completely ignoring what Joel said and walks to the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen vegetables.

“There’s also a first aid kit in the guest room bathroom, if you two want to freshen up in there. I understand if you two want to leave, but the space is there… if you want,” she sheepishly says. You gratefully take the make-shift ice pack she hands you and squeeze her hand in the process.

“Thank you, babe. We’ll take you up on that,” you tell her, grabbing Joel’s hand to lead him out of the kitchen. Matt and Jas follow suit. “Upstairs, down the hall, last door on the left. Take your time,” Matt says, glancing between you and Joel, clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder.

He and Joel nod at each other. Matt looks at you, concern lacing his features as his brows knit together. You give him a sheepish smile, an unspoken “I’m okay.” He gives you the same nod, and gestures towards the stairs.

You and Joel make your way upstairs and to the guest room. Joel follows in behind you, shutting and locking the door behind you.

The music is still loud, but slightly muffled now, the need to yell gone. You pad into the bathroom to get the first aid under the sink, returning to the bedroom. Joel sits on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands. 

“Hey,” you say, placing the first aid kit down next to him. His head snaps up and you can see the guilt in his eyes. “‘M so sorry, darlin’. I just got so fuckin’ mad. Mad that that fuckin’ prick was gonna hurt ya and mad at myself for not bein’ there sooner. Shouldn’t’ve let ya go in there alone,” he quietly says, voice barely above a whisper.

You push his legs apart a bit, making room for yourself on his lap to straddle him. You cup his face in your hands. “Hey, no. None of that, okay? I’m okay, baby. I promise. Like I said downstairs, the only person at fault here is that asshole. No one could’ve known he was gonna try anything, let alone be here. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do. Besides, you stopped him before he really tried anything,” gently caressing his cheeks with your thumbs.

He stays quiet for a moment. “‘M still sorry, darlin’. Your friends probably think ‘m some crazy fuckin’ old man.” “Joel, stop. You heard them yourself, they’re grateful you stopped him. And for the love of god, stop saying you’re old! You’re not even 50.” 

You pull his head into your chest, his head pressed against your heart, basking in the silence. You pull away to press a kiss to his forehead before reaching for the first aid kit.

“Now, give me your hand. You need to ice it,” you say, reaching your hand out for his. He begrudgingly groans, slapping his large hand into yours. “I said you ain’t gotta do all that, baby. It’s fine.” “Joel Miller, stop arguing with me.” “Or what, darlin’?” You smirk, “or else, I’m not gonna suck your dick later.” His eyes nearly pop out of his head.

“‘N why’re you gonna suck my dick later? Hmm?” You unravel a piece of gauze as he ices his hand, rummaging through the first aid kit for some alcohol wipes and medical tape.

“I mean, you defended my honor. I gotta pay you back somehow, don’t I?” You tease, grinding against his clothed cock while cutting a piece of tape. He grunts at the friction. You reach for his hand, he mindlessly places it in yours with his mind preoccupied now.

“You liked me punching that guy for you, didn't you, babydoll?” Joel whispers. Your brows quirk up, smizing at him, "what would you say if I did?” He chuckles.

“I’d say you’re a dirty girl.” You pause, making eye contact with him, the muffled music vibrating the walls. Warmth blooms in your belly, traveling straight to your cunt. Your hands are shaky as you remove the makeshift ice pack from his hand and wipe his hand with an alcohol wipe. He doesn’t even wince at the sting, solely focused on you. 

You clear your throat, the energy in the room shifting. “Then I guess that makes me your dirty girl,” you whisper, teasingly grinding against him again while trying to secure the gauze with medical tape. Joel growls at your words, and snatches the supplies from your hands and tosses them on the ground.

“Get on your knees,” he rasps. Your eyes go wide. “But I wasn’t d-,” you’re cut off, and suddenly your lips brush against Joel’s as he pulls you in by your hair with his battered hand. “Get on your fuckin’ knees, baby girl,” Joel says, rising to his feet and gently lifting you off his lap.

A wave of arousal pools in between your thighs. You scramble to position yourself, your dress flashing your cleavage in the process. You settle in front of his clothed cock, a visible bulge poking through the fabric of his black dress pants.

“Show me how dirty you are, baby girl. Go on, don’t get all shy on me now,” he says, eyes blown wide and black with lust. You glide your hands up his hips and grip the waistband of his pants, slowly dragging them down to reveal his twitching cock, trapped in his underwear. 

Teasingly cupping his heavy, hard length in your hands, Joel groans as you slowly pull down his briefs to pool around his ankles along with his pants.

His cock springs free from the confines of the fabric, red and throbbing. Your mouth waters at the sight. “Get to it, pretty girl, or else ‘m not cumming in that pretty pussy later,” Joel taunts. 

You grab his length in one hand, the weight of it making your head spin. Stroking him as you teasingly kiss along the vein that runs up his cock, making your way to the head. You run your thumb over the tip and Joel hisses at the sensation. You take only the tip in your mouth, lightly sucking on it.

“Stop fuckin’ teasin’, babydoll,” Joel growls, tugging at your hair to make you look up at him. You bat your lashes at him before diving in. Hollowing out your cheeks, you take him in slowly. He’s so big, you always have to take your time when you suck him off. 

You only make it halfway down his cock before you’re gagging around him. Joel groans at the noise and the way your throat constricts around him. “Too big for you, princess?” He taunts.

“Mmm mm,” you hum, looking up at him with tears welling in your eyes. You pull back a bit, leaving a messy trail of spit on his throbbing cock. Catching your breath, you make your way down him again.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth always feels so goddamn good,” Joel grunts. You hum at his praise, the vibrations cause him to twitch in your mouth. Bracing yourself once more and steadying your breath, you bob your head.

“So fuckin’ wet ‘n warm, baby, my good fuckin’ slut suckin’ my cock so well, fuck,” Joel groans, his words going straight to your cunt, clenching around nothing.

Moaning, you slurp around him with spit dripping all over your chin and his cock, your lipstick and mascara smeared. You breathe through your nose as you take him all the way, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

Joel moans loudly as you hum with tears streaming down your face as you deepthroat him. “Oh, good fuckin’ girl, my perfect fuckin’ girl,” Sucking up and down on his thick, long cock, you make your way to the base once more. Your nose nudged in his wiry bush, you cup his balls in your hand and toy with them. 

Joel involuntarily bucks his hips, pushing himself further down your throat. You gag around him once more, sending more tears running down your face and even more spit collecting around him and on your chin.

“Fuck! Stop, come here, baby,” Joel hisses, yanking you off him by your hair. You gasp for air as a string of spit and precum dribble from your lips, makeup completely ruined. You whine as he lifts you off your feet, desperately seeking his cock anyway you can have it.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, still need to cum in that pretty pussy,” he says, kicking his pants off his ankles while settling you on his lap, facing him again. He crashes his lips onto yours, finally after what feels like hours of not kissing him. The kiss is sloppy and ferocious, teeth clashing together, the taste of him mixed into it. Joel hungrily sucks your tongue into his mouth and swallows your moans.

He lifts the hem of your dress and pushes your lacy thong to the side, his fingers ghosting over your glistening folds. “Suckin’ my cock got you that wet, babydoll? Hm?” Nodding, you whimper as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking your slick off them. He groans at the taste of you as you whine. 

“Joel,” you whine, pouting at him. “So needy, baby. Later, sweet girl,” he chuckles as he holds your hips in place and bounces you on his thigh. You cry out at the friction it creates. “Right now, I want ya to ride me like this, baby girl. Think ya can do that for me? Huh, pretty girl?”

You whimper at his words. He bounces you on his lap again, causing you to whine again. "I asked you a question," he growls. “Yes, Joel,” you hiccup. “Good girl,” he says, pressing a kiss to your chest. You slowly grind against him, your slick coating his bare thigh. The relief you’ve been seeking feels euphoric, your thong rubbing against your swollen clit with each thrust on his strong, sturdy thigh.

You grind faster against him, holding onto his broad shoulders to balance yourself. “Take what ya need, babydoll,” Joel rasps as he yanks down the front of your dress and matching lacy bra, exposing your breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, your back arching into him. You let out a high-pitched moan, a new wave of slick running down your cunt and onto his thigh. 

It’s slippery as you grind against him, your thrusts growing sloppy. Joel sucks your other nipple into his mouth, kneading your other breast with his bruised hand. He bites down, tugging on your nipple. Your eyes fly open, gasping as he smirks into your chest. 

“Joel,” is all you manage to stutter out. He bounces you on his leg as you continuously grind on him. He groans at the sight of your breasts bouncing in his face. It’s all too much, panting as you clench around nothing as you continue to relentlessly grind your aching clit against his thigh. 

“Come on, babydoll. Know you’re close, let go for me,” he says as he litters kisses all along your exposed chest. His words send you over the edge, endless moans streaming out of you as you cum all over his lap. “That’s it, babydoll. Atta girl,” he mutters as you twitch in his lap. Your breath stutters as you come down from your high.

He crashes his lips into yours, capturing them in another hungry kiss. He moans into your mouth while gathering you in his arms before tossing you on the bed. You squeal, landing on your back. Your tits bounce in the process, the both of you realizing you’re both still clothed.

“You like this dress, babydoll?” Joel asks, hovering over you, his lips ghosting over yours. “Mmhmm,” you respond, sucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. “I’ll buy you another one,” he says, ripping the thin black dress down the middle. You gasp, shocked at his ferality. 

“Joel! What’s gotten into you tonight?” You squeak as he shucks off his costume. “Tonight reminded me I could lose ya at any moment,” he mumbles hovering over you once more. You pause, frowning at his words. “You’re never gonna lose me, Joel.” He doesn’t respond, instead he silently litters kisses on your chest.

“Joel, were you jealous?” You ask, brows knitted together. He sighs, “No… just hated seein' that prick so close to ya. Hated the way he treated ya and I fuckin' hated the way these boys here kept lookin' at ya when we came in.” You twirl the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“What way, Joel? And you know I don't care about any of those boys.” He presses another kiss to your jaw. You can sense the shift in his mood - that he’s still in his head about the situation. “I know, baby, I know, but I do. These fuckin’ boys ain’t got no respect for you and are always jumpin’ on ya the minute I walk away,” Joel rambles.

“Do you trust me, Joel?” You ask, cupping his face in your hands to meet his gaze. “With my life, baby. It’s them, I don’t trust. Seein’ that prick with his hands on ya… just saw fuckin’ red. Shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like them,” he mutters, tearing his gaze from yours.

“I know, Joel, but shit happens. I promise you, I’m okay, baby. At least I’ve got a big, strong man to protect me. He did a pretty good job tonight,” you playfully hum, eliciting a breathy laugh out of him. “Yeah, you think he did good?” He asks, going along with your bit. “Mhmm, seeing him fuck up that guy for me was so sexy. I knew I had to have him,” you say, biting back a toothy grin.

“He’s a lucky man, darlin’.” You smirk, playfully teasing him, “actually, I think I’m the luckiest. He’s great at eating pussy, I wish he was doing that right now. He promised me more earlier.”

Joel’s brows quirk. “Careful now, baby. You know what happens when you act like a brat now, don’t you, darlin’?” “Mhmm, that’s why I’m acting like one,” you giggle. He growls as he pulls back from you, unhooking your bra and yanking your thong and stockings down in one swift motion.

He trails kisses up and down your body, sinking his teeth into that spot right below your ear, eliciting a soft moan from you. “You’re gonna get it now, little girl,” he rasps, sending a shiver down your spine.

Nipping at your neck and pressing a kiss to your chin, he snakes his battered hand down your body, landing on your sex. He spreads your lips and gathers your slick on his fingers, sucking them into his mouth once more. “My favorite fuckin’ meal in the world, I gotta have a taste, baby,” he hums. 

He swiftly crouches on his knees at the edge of the bed. You yelp as he drags you down with him to position himself in front of your pussy. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him take in the sight of your weeping cunt. His eyes are black, blown wide with lust. You feel heady, panting as the world becomes muffled just like the music playing outside the room. 

Anticipation blooms in your belly as Joel presses kisses to your inner thighs and works his way up to your pussy. One kiss to your lips has you throwing your head back, moaning. Joel continues to kiss your lips and avoid your clit. Not quite giving it the attention you’re looking for. You buck your hips up into his face, seeking relief.

He pushes them back down, pinning you to the bed with his uninjured hand. “Uh uh, none of that. I’m gonna give ya what ya want, baby girl, just gotta be patient. C’mon, be a good girl for me, sweetheart,” he says between your thighs. You moan, mindlessly nodding at his words.

A soft smack is pressed to your hips. “C’mon, baby girl, lemme hear you. Use your words. Ya gonna be a good girl for me?” You lift yourself up again, eyes hooded as you look at Joel. “Yes, Joel. Gonna be your good girl,” you whine.

“Atta girl,” he rasps. No warning, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips and onto your clit. Your eyes fly open, “Joel,” you gasp. He hums as he slowly flicks your clit with his tongue. The relief is intoxicating. He laps at the new wave of slick dripping from your pussy, moaning into you. Him getting off on eating you out makes you even wetter.

He licks through folds, gathering more of your juices on his tongue. “Feels s-so, so good, baby,” you stutter. He moves to fuck his tongue in and out of you, moaning at the way you clench at the tip of his tongue as a high-pitched moan escapes you. “M-more, Joel, more!” You yelp, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

You gasp as he presses two thick fingers onto your pulsating clit, flicking it relentlessly as he fucks his tongue into your sopping core. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, Joel, fuck right there, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, eyes squeezed shut. 

He groans into you, your words sending a bead of precum leaking down his cock - the vibration sends you tumbling over the edge. He laps at your cum like a starved man, wasting no drop as you ride out your orgasm.

You barely have time to register what’s happening while you come down from your high as Joel manhandles you off the mattress and into his arms again. 

“Turn around,” Joel snarls, gripping you by the waist as he lifts you off him, helping you reposition yourself in his lap, his angry cock brushing against your slit. 

You both hiss at the contact, your back pressed against his chest now. You rut your hips into Joel’s seeking relief. Joel tightly grasps your hips. “Did I say you could move?” His voice is husky in your ear, it sends a shockwave to your aching core.

You still. “Good girl.” You whimper at his praise. Joel brings a hand around and brushes two fingers against your lips. You suck them into your mouth. 

“Mmm, such a good girl, baby. Doing what you’re supposed to without me asking,” he says. You hum around them, hollowing out your cheeks. 

Joel pulls them out and you whine at the loss of contact, your frustration growing. A gasp escapes you when he swiftly presses his warm, wet fingers against your throbbing clit. 

You moan loudly, involuntarily wriggling in his grasp. He presses a smack to your thigh. “Stop moving, little girl.” 

Mustering all your strength to stay still, you sit atop him. His leaking, swollen head dribbling precum onto your ass as you settle in his lap, his fingers still pressed against your aching clit. “F-feels so g-good, baby,” you huff, breathless from the stimulation.

“Mmmm, yeah, pretty girl?” Joel hums. “Uh-huh,” is all you manage to say. Joel moves his fingers from your clit down to your soaked folds. “If you be good and stay still for me, baby, I'll fill you up. ‘S that what this pretty pussy needs, huh? My pretty pussy need my fingers?” You throw your head back against his chest, “yes, Joel. N-need your f-fingers,” you gasp.

Mustering all the strength in your being, you sit as still as you possibly can, awaiting your reward. Joel resumes flicking your clit as he snakes his other hand down to your dripping hole and teasingly prods his thick fingers at your entrance. “Think you’ve been a good girl, baby? Think you deserve my fingers?” He taunts, swirling circles just outside where you need him most. 

“Yes, Joel, please, I need them, baby, need you,” you beg, huffing all in one breath, completely flustered from his teasing. “Such a good girl, I don’t even gotta ask you to beg,” he smirks.

He shoves two thick fingers in your aching core, gasping as he fills you up. He fucks them in and out of you, curling them with each stroke as he lightly brushes your g-spot from the angle. He has you seeing stars.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant, gasping for air as he brings you closer to your orgasm. Suddenly, he pulls them out of you and his other hand leaves your clit. Tears well in your eyes, you grow frustrated from being edged. Without warning, Joel lifts you up and settles you on his angry, throbbing cock, leaking with precum everywhere.

You gasp as his thick, leaking cock enters you in one swift motion, filling you to the brim. “Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight.” You whimper at the delicious sting of the stretch, never fully getting used to his size no matter how many times you’ve fucked.

You slowly lift yourself off his cock to adjust to his size only for Joel to slam you back down, eliciting a scream from you. Your vision goes fuzzy for a second before coming to your senses.

The pain from the sting morphs into pleasure as you begin to bounce up and down on his cock at an eager pace. Moaning with your head thrown back against his sweaty bare chest, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Atta girl, babydoll. Fuck look at you. You look so fuckin’ sexy, look at yourself. Open your eyes and look at how well you take my cock, baby,” he rasps, roughly grabbing your face in his battered hand to lift your head up to face the mirror in front of the bed.

Your eyes flutter open, looking into the mirror at where Joel pumps in and out of your cunt. The wet squelch and the sight of him fucking into you has you clenching around him.

Joel moans in your ear as you squeeze him, spurring you on to keep bouncing. He brings a hand to your chest and cups your breast, aggressively pinching your nipple. 

You wail at the sensation and throw your head back, wrapping your arm around his neck to tug at the hairs at the nape. He sucks on the column of your neck, biting hard into your sensitive flesh as he toys with your nipples.

Sloppily grinding on his cock, you begin to lose your strength. “Joel, please,” you plead. “Come on, babydoll. Know ya can do better than that if you’re gonna beg for it. You did it earlier,” Joel taunts as he pulls your hair to reveal more of your neck to him, a bruise blossoming. 

“Please, Joel. N-need more. Need you to, hah, need you to fuck me, please! Please fuck me, baby,” you sob, desperate tears falling down your face. “That’s better,” he rasps.

He takes over, relentlessly fucking up into you. “Fuck, Joel,” keening as he destroys your cervix. The angle has him so deliciously deep, your third orgasm quickly approaching. 

“Fuck, baby, y’look so goddamn pretty bouncin’ on my cock. ‘S like you were made f’me.” He snakes a hand over your tummy, pressing down on it.

You gasp sharply at the pressure. The tight hold on your stomach and the way he’s crashing into your g-spot is too much. Your bodies stuck together with cum and sweat. 

Speechless at the newfound pressure, your vision is spotty with stars, eyes rolling back so hard you go cross-eyed, a writhing mess in his vice grip. His large, calloused hands roaming your body.

“Fucked you so dumb, your fuckin’ eyes are crossed. ‘S matter, baby? Cat got your tongue? You were begging just a minute ago for more,” Joel says, smug as his nose nudges the back of your head as he nibbles on your earlobe. You mumble incoherently through your moans as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder.

An unfamiliar pressure rises in your belly, only feeling this sensation with Joel once while he went down on you in the beginning of your relationship. You try to muster the strength to keep your eyes open, but the pressure is overwhelming. 

You’re squeezing Joel in a vice grip. “Fuck, baby! Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, you’re close. I can feel it,” he grunts, ruthlessly bucking his hips up into yours. The pressure burns white hot as he hits your g-spot with every stroke. The coil in your belly snaps, your cunt gushing all over Joel with no warning, wailing through your climax.

Joel groans in pleasure, smug and proud of himself for making you squirt. “Oh good girl, good fuckin’ girl, baby,” he drawls while fucking you through the high of your orgasm. Him following close behind, his pace growing sloppy. You can feel him twitch against your fluttering walls.

“Fill me up, Joel,” you gasp, still riding out the waves of your orgasm. “Yeah, you want my cum, baby? Look at me ‘n tell me whose pussy this is. Then, I’ll fill you up,” he taunts.

“Yours, Joel. It’s all yours. I’m yours, baby,” you slur, struggling to keep your eyes open as you watch him in the mirror. “What was that last part, sweetheart? Didn’t catch that. Who do you belong to, pretty girl?” He smirks, fighting off his own release until you say what he wants to hear.

“You, Joel,” you whine, the overstimulation setting in. “Say it again,” he growls. “You, baby, you!” You shout, and that’s all it takes to send him over the edge. He shoots his warm load into you, coating your aching walls. There’s so much, it’s leaking out onto your thighs mixing with your own release. 

Joel’s breath stutters as he comes down from his high and sees how big of a mess the two of you made. His cum leaks out of you, mixing with your slick and dribbling into the puddle of your release beneath you. He reaches in between your thighs and gathers cum on his fingers. 

“Open your mouth, baby,” he says huskily in your ear. He brushes his fingers against your lips. You welcome them into your mouth, too fucked out to protest. You moan at the taste of the two of you as you suck the cum clean off his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, turning your head to face him. He crashes his lips into yours in a heady kiss. Your head spins as he groans into your mouth, letting him taste the tangy, salty mixture of the two of you. You pull apart for air, the sound of muffled rock music and panting fills the air.

Your gaze meets Joel’s, a shy chuckle escaping you. “We made a huge mess,” you giggle. Joel goes beet red and breaks out into a toothy grin. “We did. ‘M sorry about your dress, darlin’. Promise I’ll buy ya another one.” You playfully roll your eyes. “It’s okay, Joel. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m gonna get out of here with no clothes,” you tell him. 

“Guess I didn’t think that through. You can wear my button-up, I’ve got a work shirt in the car, darlin’,” he offers while pressing a kiss to your shoulder before lifting you off him. You both hiss at the loss. Joel sets you down on the bed, padding to the bathroom rummaging in the cabinets for something.

He returns with a damp washcloth, wiping up the mess you two made off your lower half. You hiss at the sensation when he cleans up your used cunt. “Sorry, honey,” he says while carefully cleaning you up. “It’s okay." He cleans you up in silence, padding to the bathroom to discard the washcloth while you lay back on the bed.

He joins you in bed, sighing as he settles in next to you. You wrap your arms around his middle as he rests his arm behind your neck, rubbing small circles on your arm with his finger.

"What are we gonna tell Jas?" You ask. He whips his head to look at you, the two of you staring at each other for a moment. You two burst into a fit of laughter.

"We'll figure it out together, darlin'. Like we always do," he sighs.

You stare up at him, eyes glazed over, "like we always do."

taglist: @pedrospartner @littlegrungegirlaf @morallyinept @pedrodascal @party-hearses @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @lizzie-cakes @harriedandharassed

thank y’all sm for reading! 🫶🏼

[isacksteban]

KATT

would you write some lialex😼

Liam and his scruffy chin that needs to be shaved And thinking back to when Alex had that

Anywho Alex shaves Liams stubble basically cause get him clean shaven

Alright that’s all from me have a good day :D

I LOVE THIS IDEA SM HERE U GO FINN SWEETIE

Liam stood in front of the mirror, tilting his head as he examined the patchy, uneven stubble covering his jaw. It wasn't much — just some scruff that had grown out over the past couple of weeks, mostly because he'd been too lazy to shave. But now, looking at it properly, he had to admit it reminded him a little of the facial hair Alex had sported for a while not that long ago.

That thought made him smile. Maybe Alex would find it endearing. Maybe it would even make him look a bit older, a bit more distinguished.

When Alex walked into their bedroom, towel slung over his shoulder, he barely glanced at Liam before doing a dramatic double-take.

“What,” Alex said, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, “is that on your face?”

Liam grinned, rubbing at his chin. “I was trying something new.”

Alex stared at him, unimpressed. “Trying what? Looking like a teenager who just discovered he can grow facial hair?”

Liam gasped in offense. “Rude.”

“I miss my sweet, clean-shaven boyfriend,” Alex declared, crossing his arms and fixing Liam with a disapproving stare. “This— this is unacceptable.”

Liam let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if to defend the existence of his barely-there scruff. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

Alex arched an eyebrow. “Liam, baby, you seriously look like a teenager who just lost a bet and had to try growing facial hair for a month.”

Liam scoffed, but the laughter bubbling in his chest betrayed his amusement. “Rude.”

“True.” Alex stepped closer, squinting at Liam’s patchy attempt. “Nope, I can’t do this. I refuse to kiss that. You’re coming with me.”

Before Liam could protest, Alex grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the bathroom with the kind of determination that made it clear resistance was pointless. Liam followed, shaking his head but grinning as Alex flicked on the light and immediately began rummaging through the cabinet.

Within seconds, he had Liam’s razor and a can of shaving cream in hand. “Sit,” Alex instructed, nudging Liam onto the closed toilet seat.

Liam smirked. “You’re actually going to shave me?”

Alex turned, shaking the can of foam as he gave Liam an unimpressed look. “Obviously. If I don’t do it myself, you might start thinking this monstrosity is a good idea and keep it.”

Liam laughed but let Alex work, watching as his boyfriend carefully spread the shaving cream over his jaw. There was a surprising gentleness in the way Alex smoothed the foam across his skin, his fingers steady, his touch warm. It was oddly intimate, and Liam found himself relaxing under Alex’s care.

Alex was fully concentrated, biting his lip slightly as he picked up the razor and tilted Liam’s chin. “Hold still.”

Liam did as he was told, amused by how serious Alex looked as he dragged the razor over his skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Every now and then, Alex would pause, wiping excess foam away with his thumb before continuing.

“Never letting this happen again,” Alex muttered under his breath, shaking his head like Liam had committed some great offense.

Liam chuckled. “You act like I grew a full-on beard.”

Alex shot him a sharp look. “You didn’t. That’s the problem.”

Liam was still laughing when Alex finally finished. Setting the razor aside, Alex ran a hand over Liam’s now-smooth jaw, his fingers lingering for a moment as he inspected his work. Then, satisfied, he smiled.

“Much better.” He leaned in, brushing his thumb along Liam’s cheek with a pleased hum. “There’s my pretty boyfriend.”

Liam rolled his eyes, but the warmth blooming in his chest betrayed him. His cheeks turned slightly pink as he grabbed Alex by the waist and pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss against his lips — clean-shaven, just the way Alex liked.

[wannaeatramyeon]

THANK U FOR THE RECENT SAMUEL SEO im literally so obsessed with him i cant-

but!! he’s not the only one!!

could u try goo with a childhood friends!lover? (im just going through my list of red flags boyfriends with this trope heh)

To my requests. sorry for not answering in order. Btw I've got a school day/teenager long fic with Goo in the Gun + Goo masterlist... but how about this.

Goo Kim x Reader: Childhood 'friends'

G/N. Sorta childhood friends to lovers.

Goo descends into your life like an angel.

"Will you pay me if I beat up these boys?" he shouts over, giving the wooden baseball bat in his hand a few practice swings.

(He takes in your cowering body, cornered against the wall, the group of older boys slinging insults first.

Then your pristine, limited edition trainers and the expensive label on your clothes second.)

You look over at the short figure with the badly bleached blonde hair. He seems small for his age, same as you.

Best case scenario, he makes good on his word. Worst case, they beat both of you up.

You give a nod and all hell breaks loose.

.

.

Goo isn't an angel at all. He's a demon that has ascended and strutted into your life.

"Is this enough?" You ask, peeling open your velcro Sanrio wallet and removing a handful of bills.

"Thanks!" Goo swipes it out of your hand, tainting the notes with blood before tucking it away in his pocket with a reassuring pat.

A body at his feet lets out a groan and he gives them a hard kick. You think there’s a crunch of bone breaking. It’s not as sickening as you thought it would be.

"That one's for free." He gives you a gigawatt grin and you return it. In your eyes, not even what you just witnessed this boy doing could tarnish his shine.

"My name is Goo," he signals for your phone and you hand it over without a second thought. He taps in what you assume are his contact details before giving it back.

"Call me if you need any help." You reach out to take it and he leans in, smile taking a dangerous edge, "You'll need to pay though."

.

.

For fear of retribution, you ask Goo to walk you back home from school everyday for the next few weeks.

You text him a time and an address, and he texts you back his price. It's enough to drain your allowance, but not enough for you to risk your safety.

He waits for you by your school gates everyday, with his patchy hair and a scruffy jacket three sizes too big, and gives you a wave with both arms whenever he spots you.

He's chatty. Much chattier than you expected. Always just seemingly rattling off whatever is on his mind. Animes he has watched, manhwas he's reading. What he had for lunch, what he's craving for dinner.

You piece together that Goo is only a few months older than you. He should be in 6th grade by now but he never mentions school. You don't think he even attends school.

He also has a terrible sweet tooth, that you pay for of course. Stopping off at a convenience store together as he picks out a snack.

"Get whatever you want." you say the first time you catch him deciding between a drink or a bar of chocolate. "I'll pay for it."

He buys both.

That should have been a mistake. He drains your allowance further everyday. Yet you can't help thinking it's fine as he gives you a toothy grin that reaches his eyes.

The weeks pass by in the blink of an eye. When you reach your front door on the last day, Goo shuffles, fidgets uncharacteristically.

"I can keep walking you home," he says, eyes on the floor and kicking at dirt. "...I can give you a discount."

.

.

Goo starts seeing you at the weekend too.

You're the first person that sees him after getting his hair professionally done.

"I'm handsome, aren't I!" his bravado masks his nervousness. He doesn't know why he's nervous in the first place, but when you agree and ruffle his newly coiffed locks, it evaporates completely.

Payment comes in the form of food and drinks, snacks and street food, cinema tickets, small little gifts he has his eye on.

As consolation, at least he always shares.

.

.

When you first met you're sure he was shorter than you.

You don't remember when he matched your height, but now you notice you have to tilt your chin up to look at him.

You miss the scruffy jacket he used to have. The one that he rapidly grew out of, body filling out with muscle. It gets replaced by more and more luxurious brands. His hair looks more and more polished. He picks up glasses along the way to complete the look.

He still makes you pay every time you meet. You feel like he lets you off easy with cheap choices because his taste these days seems anything but cheap.

You wish you had more time with the boy you used to know, but you love the man he's growing into.

Goo never lets you sway too far away from him, keeps you by his side most weeks. Reaches out to send you silly memes or calls you just to ramble his thoughts when you're apart.

You're two peas in a pod.

.

.

The longest time you spend apart is when Goo is sent away to juvie.

An unknown number texts you, says they're Goo's cousin and breaks the news.

It doesn't come as a surprise, considering how you first met, the person he is. You've spent years together at this point and seen him at his most violent and bloodthirsty.

Still. For you, nothing can tarnish his shine.

.

.

On the day Goo is released, you're waiting for him outside the juvenile detention centre.

You're the first person he sees, and he waves at you with both arms before opening them, welcoming you, offering himself.

He’s even taller, more muscular. His features distinguished and jawline cutting. His hair, just like years gone by, is bleached and patchy. 

The grin is the same. It’s always the same.

You sprint and throw yourself full force into Goo, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He holds you tight. Clings on harder than he ever has. Missed you more than he will ever admit.

As if you're reading his mind, you murmur into his collar, "I've missed you.'

Goo takes a deep inhale, nose nestled in your hair and breathing in your familiar scent. Relishing your touch, your presence, you.

He doesn't plan on spending this long away from you ever again.

"Me too, Sweetheart."

[callme-holly]

hiii!

can u pls do hcs for dallas winston with a soc??? and he has like a majorrr soft spot for her

also like how the gang feels about her

love ur work btw!!

𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐬𝐨𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n: might be patchy bc my birthday is coming up and i have shit tonnes planned!! but im trying y'all <33

You seem to be an exception to every rule Dallas has ever set. He’s always vowed that he hates socs and wants absolutely nothing to do with them, but somehow you managed to worm your way into his life.

He will try to push you away first, trying to shrug off your love for him. He won't believe that you actually like him and refuses to accept anything that shows that.

But after a while, and after you actually stick around and he sees how much you care, he’ll soften up a bit. You steadily become the only girl Dally has ever really trusted and while he’d never admit it out loud, anyone who knows him can see it.

He’ll treat you so differently from how he treats everyone else; he’s softer with you, a lot gentler in the way he handles you and speaks to you. His voice will go quieter compared to when he’s talking with the guys, and he’ll let you sit close to him without pushing you away.

If you’re ever upset, he tries his hardest to comfort you even if he’s not the greatest at it. He’s insanely protective of you—you’re the first girl he’s ever truly let himself fall for and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

How the gang feels:

Darry is skeptical as hell. It’s incredibly rare for Dallas to settle down with anyone, let alone a soc, and he doesn’t want to see his friend get hurt by some uptight soc. He’s convinced for a while that you’ll ditch Dallas when things get rough, but when you stick with him through more and more rough patches, he realises you genuinely care about him and he respects you for that.

Sodapop adores you and thinks it’s hilarious how soft Dallas is for you. He’ll tease you both about it, calling Dallas soft, and you find that Soda is just comfortable to be around. He doesn’t judge and he sure as hell isn’t rude to you.

Ponyboy doesn’t really understand at first. He knows Dally isn’t a good guy and just can’t understand why a girl like you would like a guy like Dallas Winston. It will take him a long time to realise that the two of you actually have something and when he does finally notice, he just lets it go and doens’t really interfere.

Johnny is pretty surprised but he doesn’t judge. He’s just glad Dally has someone who cares about him and whom he feels comfortable enough to be loose around. He finds that he quite likes you and warms up to you incredibly fast because of how nice you are to him.

Steve and Two-Bit hate it at first and don't trust you one bit. They’re constantly reminding Dallas that you’re a soc and how unreliable socs are and how high your expectations are. But as time passes and you keep hanging around more and more, they just let it go and don’t stick their noses in any more.