#pinv

[thedarkcoven]

Loki Request

Minors DNI! 18+ content ahead!! Warnings!  Smut. PinV. Unprotected sex. Jealous Loki. Some bdsm themes. Misunderstandings. Mutual pining. Cursing/dirty talk. Confession of feelings. Public sex ;) “Dub con- aka Loki is “forceful” but reader wants it” (Sorry it took a bit <3 Loves yooooooou!!! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy! @aizawasecretlover) @charmed-asylum​ @pimosworld​

You've been friends of Thor and Loki for years now. Just recently you had confessed feelings to Thor and that is how the misunderstanding between you and Loki started. He became distant. Cold. Rude. He treated you like any other woman around Asgard. He was tired of it and was at his last straw... especially when he had to go to Thor's chambers to ask him a question and say you giggling while talking with his blonde brother, your dainty hand resting on Thor's bicep as it flexed in the middle of him telling you a story.  Loki's jaw clenched as his raven locks fell forward slightly, his green velvet cloak swooshing behind him as he turned just as you caught sight of the emerald fabric. By the time you turned to say your greetings to him, he was already gone. Anger taking hold of him. You let out a sigh, your heart and smile dropping. Thor noticed and placed a caring hand on your shoulder. "Dear Y/N. Please forgive my brother. He can be a bit much.” “I know, Thor. Its just... I care so much about hima nd I don’t know how to confess my feeligns. I just... I don’t know.” You replied softly, letting out a small sigh.  “Go. Talk to him.” Thor chuckled while nudging you playfully. “Do not keep the God of Mischieft waiting.”  When you entered Loki’s chamber there were in shambles. Items laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere, and Asgardian wine spilled. Your stomach dropped when Loki’s vision landed right on you as he glared at you from over his shoulder. He was breathing heavily, his raven locks a mess. You swallowed as he turned and began stalking towrd you as if you were some sort of prey for the taking.  “You..” He was on you in a flash. Gripping a large handful of your hair as he pulled you toward his giant bed.  The emerald plush was soft against your heated skin as he pushed you down into the mattress, pinning you down with one hand while shoving your silky Asgardian gown up toward your waist. He looked as if he were an animal in heat. Taking his prize that he so deprately needed. Green magic began to glow as he waved his hand. Golden ropes appeared around your wrists and were fastened to the golden pillars of his bed.  Before you could protest Loki slammed his lips into yours causing a metalic taste in your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed as he deepens the kiss, his large firm hands gripping your thighs before he unlaced his leather pants. In one swift motion he slid his hard length inside of you. A groan left you as you felt it twitch signaling its eagarness just for you.  “Thor thinks he’s going to steal you from me? You’re mine.” Loki growled, pulling out until he was almost completely out before slamming his hims back into yours causing your mouth to fall open in a silent scream.  “Lo-Loki!”  Loki froze slightly. His name falling from your sweet lips set the fire ablaze that burned slowly inside of him. That need and craving he so desprately needed fulfilled. Now it was going to be his duty to make sure that is all you would do. Singing his name on the top of your lungs like a praise just for the God of Mischief himself.  “What was that my sly minx?” He asked slamming his hips roughly into yours, gripping your hips in a death grip.  “Loki, please!!” “Please what?” He teased rolling his hips slower into yours, drawing out a long needy moan from you.  “Please don’t stop.” You whimpered, pulling his head down until your lips met into a passionate kiss.  Your cries rang through the golden halls of the Asgardian palace making maidens and guards alike turn red and turn heel the other way. When Thor heard your cries a giant smirk appeared on the blondes face as he popped a grape into his mouth, staring out onto the beautiful scenery of the kingdom below.  “Finally.” Thor said to himself. “Maybe now brother will stop being to moody.”  ~~~~~ Loki held you in his arms after cleaning you and making sure you were alright. Your breathing back to normal as you listened to the soft thrum of his heartbeat. Your bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. You smile softly but something was still chewing away at your mind. You lifted yourself slightly so you could look down at him, your eyes meeting his verdant eyes.  “Did you really think Thor and I were-.” When Loki looked away with a rosy hue on his pale cheeks you began to smirk. “Oh, Loki... I was spending so much time with him because I-... I wanted advice on how I could tell you how I felt about you. I love you, Loki.”  Loki’s head snapped toward you, his eyes glistening as his beautiful heart stopping smile spread across his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appearing and making your heart stutter.  “You do? I love you too, my love. So much. You have no idea how happy this makes me feel. I feel like the happiest god in this vast universe. I will love you until my dying breath and even in Valhalla I shall keep loving you for you are my purpose.” 

[glassbxttless]

Hey! Can I get a rustic sourdough, salami, pepper jack, and ketchup? And can you make it a combo with cole slaw? Thank you! :)

It’s a Real Nice Summer to Make a Baby

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k+

summary: Your journey in creating your family with Eddie, doesn’t stop just because there’s a change in scenery.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Smut, PinV, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Eddie and Reader are actively trying to get pregnant, Establish relationship

notes: It’s not stated explicitly in here, but Eddie and Reader are in their Mid and Late 20’s. These babies have been dating *six* years. There’s a whole timeline in my head lol. I didn’t have anyone read this over but myself, so please excuse any mistakes that might’ve been made (feel free to point them out so I can fix them! but otherwise, enjoy!)

The first day of camp always starts the same way every single year— like thunder rolling in before the rain. Vans pulling up the gravel drive, kids tumbling out like socks from an overstuffed drawer, the counselors shouting names over clipboards, and you in the middle of it all with a whistle around your neck and a ridiculous amount of sunscreen slathered on your face.

It’s your favorite part of the year.

You’ve barely gotten the last of the kids off the bus before someone’s already crying about losing their water bottle and someone else is shouting about how they found a frog in their duffel bag. And there you are— grinning. This is your happy place, and you slip right back into it like a second skin.

Eddie is… less delighted.

You spot him across the field, slouching under the too-hot June sun in a black band tee that he refuses to retire despite the armpit holes. He’s balancing two crates of produce in his arms and glaring at a counselor who’s dropped a popsicle stick on the path. His hair’s tied up in a low bun, sunglasses on his face, and his expression says he’s already counting the days till August as one of the other counselors mention that he’s not wearing his officially issued camp shirt.

When he catches you watching him, he moves the crates to his hip and flips you off— lovingly. You roll your eyes and blow him a kiss in return.

“Head Counselor!” one of the junior staffers yells your way, jogging up to you. “There’s a problem in Cabin 6. Jamal says there’s a wasp nest under his bed.”

You groan and turn toward the cabins, but not before glancing back at Eddie one last time. He mouths, See you tonight, and winks. It’s the kind of look that doesn’t mean much to anyone else, but you know exactly what it says. You’ve loved him long enough to know exactly what he means.

And by the time you wrangle your girls into their bunk beds, go over flashlight rules, soothe a homesick eight-year-old, and confiscate a pair of scissors someone smuggled in for friendship bracelet warfare, your throat hurts and your back is so sore. But your feet somehow know the way to the staff showers without needing your brain to even catch up.

The trees are loud with cicadas as you walk. The shower house is lit up like a low-budget horror movie. But there’s one door at the end— second stall from the left— that’s always been unofficially yours. And as promised, Eddie’s already waiting there. He’s sitting on that little wooden bench in that stupid old Hawkins High hoodie you loved and he hated more than anything, the sleeves were rolled and shoved up to his elbows. When you push the door open, he glances up from where he’d been sketching something in his notebook.

“You’re late,” he says softly, but it’s not annoyed. It’s soft. He says it with a smile. Like he’s been waiting all day to say anything just to you.

“You’re clean,” you tease him softly, stepping over the threshold, letting the door knock shut, and then you lock it behind you.

“Figured if we were trying to make a baby, I should probably not smell like the beef chili we had for dinner.”

You laugh as you make your way over to stand between his knees, leaning down to kiss him. His lips slow and familiar against yours. His hand reaches out and finds your thigh automatically, tugging you closer as he stands. Your bodies are pulled together now, flush. “God, I really fucking missed you today.”

Your eyes exchange silent words with one another, hoping he can sense how much you really missed him too. You missed him enough that it felt like you’d left the other half of your heart each time you step foot into your quarters. His hands slide up from your waist and gently pull the hoodie from your body, a shy smile tugging at his lips. It makes you weak in the knees. 

You both strip each other in loving silence, every single one of your movements slow, not because it’s seductive but because you’re exhausted. First it’s your shirt, fingers slowly sliding across your skin as he drops it in the pile with your hoodie. Then it’s his jeans. You drop his belt and shove the denim to his ankles, helping him step out with a soft sigh. And once you’re fully bare, Eddie turns the knob on that rusty shower handle, hot water starting to pour out against the tile and steam rolls over the both of you as you step into the small stall together. The heat is a godsend on your sore muscles after a day in the sun.

Inside, it’s quiet— there’s no kids, no whistles, no pots clanging about in the kitchen. It’s just you and Eddie.

You stand beneath the water and let his hands roam your body— they start by washing and rinsing the shampoo from your scalp, then move onto rubbing the knots from your shoulders, then he’s brushing his fingertips down the curve of your spine, like he’s trying to memorize your body all over again before you disappear for the night.

It’s not always sex at first, sometimes it’s just touch. Him showing you the love you deserved to feel. Sometimes it was just you being held, him being as close as he can get. But tonight, you both linger a little longer in your touches. You press your cheek to his chest and feel the rise and fall of him beneath your ear as you let out a soft sigh. As nice as it was, the calendar doesn’t wait for anyone.

“We should try,” you say quietly, your voice muffled by his skin and the sound of the water hitting his back.

Eddie kisses your forehead, his hand running up and down your back so gently you feel like you’re falling in love all over again. “Yeah. Let’s try.”

Your cheek rests against Eddie’s chest, your breath slow and even now that the day’s over, but your body’s still buzzing— like your nerves don’t know how to stop working after fifteen hours of keeping the kids from lighting each other on fire. He’s warm against you, both of your skin sticky with humidity and steam. He brings his hands around, kissing up your neck, letting one lazily stroke up and down your side while the other cups your breast. His thumb grazes over your nipple with just enough pressure to make you arch a little and then he squeezes.

You shift around slightly, both of you moving with the practiced coordination of people who’ve done this so many times before— This was your second year trying for this. This was the second year of navigating cramped showers and whisper-thin moments between chaos when that ovulation date creeps up on your calendar. Your back brushes against his chest, and his arm slides around your waist to pull you close to him again. You can feel him hardening against the curve of your ass, growing thicker by the second, like it’s a reflex. Like wanting you isn’t even something he thinks about anymore— it just is.

“I’m all slippery,” you mumble softly, tilting your head just a bit as his lips brush under your jaw. You reach behind your body to rest your palm on his hip.

“Perfect,” He moves his kisses up, stopping right under your ear, whispering oh-so-gently. “Gonna slide in real easy like this then.”

His voice drops on that last part, heavy with something you’ve longed for over and over again— it was want, sure, but it was also more than that. His voice was full of a deeper need that’s lived between you both for the past two years. The kind that grows heavier every single month, every test, every almost. It never stops being tender, never stops hurting. But sometimes it burns.

He palms your hip, guiding you to bend at the waist slightly, and you brace your hands against the tile wall as you listen. The position makes you feel raw, exposed, open, and something about that— about doing it like this, here, where you both have to be quick and quiet— makes your heartbeat thrum all the way up to your ears.

Eddie’s hand slides down between your thighs and he groans softly when your hips jolt forward against his touch. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbles against your skin, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “This is what you wanted, huh? Just needed me inside you.”

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut. “Want you to cum inside me.”

“Oh my god,” he says quietly, his forehead thudding gently against the back of your shoulder as he lets out a heavy breath. “Say it again.”

You smile, a little dazed and a little breathless, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “Wanna feel you fill me up, Ed. Want you to get me pregnant.”

He shudders against your body, his grip tightening around you. “Jesus. You’re gonna kill me.” And then he’s pressing forward just a bit more, his opposite hand thumbing the base of his cock until he’s sliding through your folds. He nudges your entrance, prodding with each little bump forward of his hips before he’s pushing into you with a low, drawn-out moan. He goes slow— so fucking slow— like he’s savoring every inch, like he’s trying to feel every part of you take him in.

You brace your hands on the tile wall in front of you, letting your head drop as he bottoms out. He stays there inside of you, buried to the hilt, and you can feel the way his hips tremble against your ass. His hands slide up your body, settling on your breasts, cupping them with his hands. He kneads gently, squeezing, brushing his thumb along the swell of your tits. “This pussy’s gonna be the death of me, puppet.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Always so warm, so fucking tight. She knows me, baby. Knows I belong right here.”

You whimper at his words, at the weight of him behind you, the burn that comes with the stretch, the desperate want. He pulls out, just a little, then he rocks back in, and you gasp— it’s quiet, but sharp, like it makes you a bit dizzy.

“That’s it,” he breathes out softly. “You let me in like that every time and you know I’m gonna fill you up, don’t you? Gonna fuck my cum so deep it has to take this time.” One of his hands slides down to your belly, his palm wide and possessive over you. “Right here. Right fuckin’ here’s where it’s gonna grow. M’gonna watch you swell up with our baby, and everyone at camp’s gonna know I did it. I put it there.”

The moan you let out is almost too loud for the location, and you slap a shaky hand over your own mouth, shivering as his hips start to snap even harder into you. “Shh, I know, puppet. I know,” he whispers, his mouth hot against your neck. “You’ve gotta be quiet for me. Gotta be good. But you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. You take me so perfect every time.” His thrusts stay deep and slow, dragging you open and stoking the fire in your belly higher and higher. You’re already close— maybe from the buildup, maybe from the words— but it’s more than that. It’s him. It’s the grip of his arms around you, the sound of his breathing in your ear, the love you feel for him and how desperate you are to give this to him. 

“I want it, Ed,” you pant out softly. “I want you to cum inside me. I want to keep it this time.”

Those words shatter whatever was left of his self-restraint. He growls— almost actually fucking growls— and fucks into you harder, his rhythm snapping with urgency. “You’re gonna, baby. I swear it. I’m gonna make you a mom right here in this fucking shower, and you’re gonna carry me with you every fuckin’ day.”

It’s not long until your orgasm rushes over you like a wave, your knees nearly buckling as you clamp down around him. Your fingers on your free hand scrambling against the tile for anything to grab onto. You cry out  into your hand, trying not to sob his name as you fall apart.

And Eddie’s right behind you, his hips jerking out of rhythm as he slams into you deep and stays. His cock pulsing as he empties his spend inside you. He’s moaning against your back, hot and wild, pouring everything into you like the only job he has is to get you pregnant— like it’s his fucking right.

You’re both panting, swaying slightly. You’re still connected at the hips, and his forehead rests between your shoulder blades. “…Did we just conceive our child next to a pile of someone’s abandoned flip-flops?” you ask, still breathless and flush.

Eddie kisses up your spine, dragging his nose against your skin as he smiles. “God, I really hope so.”

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head slightly. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love,” he says dramatically. “There’s a difference, thank you.”

He slips out of you slowly, catching your hips when you nearly stumble forward. You both wince at the mess dripping down your thighs. He watches it for a second, before dropping a hand to scoop up what he can, slipping his fingers back into you. “Don’t want you to wash it away yet.”

You raise an eyebrow, your lip catching between your teeth. “What? You want me to waddle back to my cabin like this?”

He grins, reaching with his other hand to push your wet hair off your neck. “Yes. Full of my cum like a good girl. How else am I supposed to knock you up?”

You blink at him, half-dazed again— partly from good girl and partly from the thick digits he’s using as a plug. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll clean you up,” he promises softly, dropping to his knees with a groan, his fingers unmoved. “But then we’re trying again tomorrow.”

tags ;; @thejordiverse @vinecstasy @kripkie101-blog @prettycalla @robinbuckleywife @dancininseptember

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: Joel was a bad man. Perverted, dirty-minded, and old. He couldn’t keep you out of his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. You were the new neighbor across the way, though he’d made sure you’d never spoken. He kept his distance, kept to himself. Until Dina nearly dragged you into his dining area, forcing you to sit with him as he averted his gaze. And just like that, she got up and left—leaving you to whatever quiet little plan she'd already set in motion. || smut MDNI 18+, peepaw!joel, oldman!joel, big ol' girthy age gap (not specified but LEGAL), soft!joel, the man's obsessed, perv!joel, daddy kink, pinv, f!receiving oral, masturbation, << joel watches you, joel mentions reader's body is 'little' but only because he's a big boy, big dick joel miller, idk what else to put here, this fic lives in a world where creampies ≠ pregnancy, this takes place *before Ellie & Dina get together || a/n: couldn't stop thinking about this all damn night. Ok he’s actually an angel but THINKS he’s a bad man

Just focus on the wires, Miller. The wires.

But the zap bit into his fingers the second he looked, eyes drifting up just for a moment, out the window and onto you.

You were kneeling in the garden bed along the edge of the street by your house, wrist-deep in dark soil, the late-spring sunlight gilding your skin like something out of a goddamn dream. Your shirt had ridden up your back as you reached forward, and he caught the bare curve of your spine, the subtle arch of it with every shift of your hips.

He hissed quietly at the sting in his palm, jerking his hand back from the breaker.

He was supposed to be working. Minding his own business. In his own house. At his own dining table. Just tinkering. That was all.

Wasn’t his fault the window faced the street. Wasn’t his fault you were outside in cutoff shorts and a t-shirt, sleeves shoved up as you planted an unruly bramble of something in the dirt.

God bless late spring, he thought. Then immediately cursed himself for it, trying in vain to look away. But you stretched your arms over your head, back arching. Your shirt lifted with the motion, a sliver of skin flashing above your waistband before falling back down.

He blinked, hard, and dropped his head.

The wires. Focus on the wires.

The breaker sat in his palm, cold and sharp-edged. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his nose, trying to reorient himself with the tangled mass of copper and springs he was meant to be working on. His pliers hovered over the rusted coil, but his mind had already betrayed him.

The air inside felt too still. Dust floated through shafts of sunlight that slanted across the kitchen floorboards. A breeze fluttered the thin curtain over the sink. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped. A dog barked. Life, irritatingly, continued.

Then he heard voices. Loud enough to pull him from his head. He looked up.

Dina was out there now, talking to you, animated as ever. You frowned at something she said, then shook your head. He didn’t know why that made his chest ache, but it did. 

He wanted to know what she’d asked. Wanted to know what you needed. If you asked, he’d do it. Build it, fix it, find it. He’d do it with no hesitation.

But asking meant talking. Talking meant being near. And Joel didn’t allow himself that kind of luxury with you.

Because if you saw him— really saw him—you’d see right through the practiced nods and gravel-toned grunts. You’d see the way his eyes trailed a second too long, the way his jaw clenched when you laughed at someone else’s joke. You’d catch the heat of it. The filth of it.

And you’d run.

He wouldn’t blame you.

But God, he wasn’t sure he could take it if you did.

And yet… if you hated him, at least you’d be thinking about him.

As he stared out the window, Dina suddenly gestured toward his house, thumb hooked over her shoulder. Then your eyes followed. You looked right at his place. And shrugged.

Shrugged.

He had to sit back for a second, stunned. What the hell did that mean? Were you talking about him? Dina was, clearly. But you…were you indifferent? Unbothered? That hollow thud behind his ribs wasn’t from a breaker.

He told himself he didn’t care. He tried. But then she was dragging you to your feet.

No.

You resisted at first. Body language stiff, reluctant. But Dina…Dina was not the kind of girl to take no for an answer. Joel knew it well, she was Ellie’s closest friend, after all. And now she was dragging you up his walkway.

“Joel?” Dina called out, knocking.

He scrambled to look busy, heart pounding, thoughts buzzing like flies.

“Yeah,” he called, low and even. “Come in.”

The front door creaked open in the corner of his eye, the sound of footsteps soft and careful as they moved closer. And then your legs came into view. Long, bare, sun-warmed. He had to force himself not to look higher, not to follow the shape of you all the way up to that sweet little body wrapped in tiny shorts and a thin tee, practically begging to be devoured.

The wires, Miller.

“Hey,” Dina said cheerfully.

“Howdy,” Joel replied, short and clipped.

“What’re you working on?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside him.

He kept his tone casual. “Old breaker. They were gonna toss it, but it’s just a spring issue.”

She leaned over the table, inspecting it. “Teach me?”

He grunted in what he hoped passed as agreement. Felt the chair next to her shift. Felt your hesitation fill every inch of the room.

There was a beat, some hushed whispers of Dina urging you again, but Joel still kept his eyes down.

Then the chair across from him scraped, and you sat. Tension spiked in his chest.

“Joel,” Dina said sweetly, “have you met my new best friend?”

Joel lifted his head just enough to look at her. “Thought Ellie was your best friend.”

“She’s in the Hall of Fame. But this one—” she beamed at you “—makes the best apple pie in Jackson.”

“I know.”

Ah, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

You gasped. A soft little breath that made his stomach twist. He still didn’t look at you, but now he could picture it perfectly. The way your lips parted. The way your eyebrows probably lifted.

He wasn’t supposed to know.

You’d left it for him on a rainy afternoon. Knocked once, maybe twice, then stood there for a minute like you were trying to decide if you should wait. But when he didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft against the damp porch.

He’d seen you enough around town, neighbors fawning over your story, your smile, your damn cooking. He didn’t want any part of it. Didn’t want to be another man pulled into your orbit just because you were sweet and sunny and made people feel something.

He told himself he wouldn’t touch it. But later, when the sky had gone pink and the house was quiet, he peeled back the foil, took one bite, and almost dropped to his knees.

It was perfect.

The kind of taste that sent him spiraling back through decades. Holidays at his grandmother’s house. His little hands and floured countertops and the sound of laughter he hadn’t heard in years.

He tried to hate it. Hate you for making it.

But Joel Miller was a lot of things. Stubborn, angry, mean when he had to be.

He was not strong enough to hate you.

Not even close.

Dina leaned over the table, elbows planted, chin in hand. “So listen,” she said, flicking a glance toward you before turning back to Joel. “Ellie told me you’ve been fixing up old stuff again. Thought maybe you could take a look at my space heater—it’s making this really weird buzzing sound, and I’m ninety percent sure it’s not supposed to smell like burnt popcorn.”

“What you need that thing for now? S’warm out now,” he grumbled over to her.

Dina’s brow furrowed at him, “My place is freezing!”

Joel rolled his eyes, grunting, eyes back on the breaker. “Probably just dust. I can swing by later.”

“Sweet,” she said, clapping her hands once. “I told Ellie you’d say yes.”

You shifted in your seat, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Joel could see it in the corner of his eye, the way you didn’t quite know where to look. Your gaze darted from the breaker to the worn tabletop to the window. You didn’t want to be here.

Dina, ever the social architect, didn’t miss a beat. “Anyway,” she said, standing suddenly and brushing her hands down her jeans, “I’m gonna run back and check on Ellie. She’s making me a cassette tape in the garage.

You looked up, surprised. “Wait, I thought we were gonna—”

She cut you off with a little wave of her fingers. “You’re fine. Stay. Learn how to fix shit. Or don’t. Flirt awkwardly. Whatever works.”

Joel finally looked up at that, shooting her a warning glare, but she just grinned and backed toward the door.

“Thanks, Joel. You’re the best,” she said sweetly. Then, turning her back to him, shot you a wink.

And just like that, she was gone.

The front door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell over the house again.

Thick as syrup.

You cleared your throat softly, the sound barely audible over the ticking wall clock and the quiet hum of the fan. Outside, the breeze rustled through the garden beds, and you could still hear the soft creak of Dina’s boots fading down the porch.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just let the silence stretch, long and taut, like a wire about to snap.

Then he finally exhaled, “She can be a bit…”

Your eyes lifted to his face, and he had to remind himself to hold your gaze. Don’t be impolite. Don’t be a scrooge. So he looked up a you.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, lips quirking at the sides.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he said, voice low as he looked back at his hands and quickly busying them, placing in a spring to the small breaker.

“I know…” you said, hesitating, and then, sitting straighter, you added, “Actually, I was gonna ask you…think somethin’s wrong with my water heater.”

His gaze snapped up. 

Anything you needed.

He’d do it. 

Fix it, build it, find it. 

“Been a few days now,” you continued, rushing the words under his stare. “Water’s comin’ out freezin’, and the pressure’s been real weak. Can you come look at it for me?”

Joel paused, the breaker in his hand feeling like a hundred pounds. 

Don’t, Miller. He told himself. But his mind, his imagination, the unhelpful bastard that it was, already lept at the thought.

You, naked under a stream of frigid water. Shivering. Nipples tight from the cold. Your fingers rubbing at your arms, slick and bare and goose-pimpled. Hair heavy, dripping, clinging to your collarbones. That soft little sound you might make when the water hit.

He swallowed hard, fighting the flush rising under his collar. He couldn’t have you suffering like that. No man in his right mind would leave you to freeze in your own house.

“Yeah,” he said, voice catching. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. “Yeah. Sure.”

“How’s tomorrow?”

Joel nodded, quick and clipped. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t already planning it out down to the damn hour. He’d come by early. First thing. Get it done and gone before he did something stupid like linger.

But early meant sleepwear. Meant you might answer the door in those tiny shorts he pretended not to notice through his window.

Afternoon, then.

That’d be safer.

“Just, uh,” he said awkwardly, fingers twitching around the pliers. “Maybe don’t be there when I show up.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, brief and sharp, “In the shower.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, “Right. No—of course. Definitely not.”

But his ears burned. And no matter how hard he tried, the image came back anyway.

You. Cold. Naked. Wet.

He was so fucked.

Joel felt sick to his stomach just crossing the street.

Would you know?

Could you tell he’d spent the whole damn night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your tight little body haunting every inch of his imagination as he tugged at his fist beneath the covers?

He felt filthy. Perverted.

Bad.

He was a bad man, and worse, he knew it.

He probably didn’t need that second cup of coffee that morning—his limbs jittery, his hand aching as he lifted the old metal toolbox from the shed beside Ellie’s garage. His knees popped as he straightened, the ache behind his eyes a dull throb. He was too old for this.

Too old to be thinking about you like this til all hours of the night. Like some teenage, horned-up fool.

Still, he made his way over, the weight of the box not half as heavy as the tension in his chest. At his feet, the little garden bed was already blooming—blackberry bushes nestled in the soil and climbing your freshly painted fence. They suited the house. Suited you. Sweet, wild, a little thorny. He wondered what you planned to do with them. Jam, maybe. Pie, if he was lucky. If he was ever lucky again.

He doubted he’d get the chance, not after today.

Not with the thoughts scrambling around in his head, sharp and dirty and desperate to spill out.

He knocked once with his knuckles, quiet, almost hoping you wouldn’t hear.

Maybe you were out—off at the community garden, like he’d seen you some mornings with a basket slung over your arm. Or off sweet-talking the horses, sneaking carrots to your favorites. Maybe you forgot.

But no such luck. The door opened.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes widening like you hadn’t expected him to actually show. The sound of your voice—saying his name for the first time—ripped something open in his chest.

Say it again, he wanted to beg. Please. Just once more, so I can keep it locked away. So I can die with it in my memory. 

You smiled, a little sheepish.

He didn’t smile back. Just kept his brow furrowed, his expression hard. He couldn’t afford to let you get close. Couldn’t let you mistake him for someone safe.

“Hi,” he nodded, voice low.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Uh, my shower’s just… in here—”

“Need to take a look at the water heater first,” he cut in.

“Oh,” you blinked, hands still gripping the door and its frame. “Right…”

“Can I come in?” he added, one brow raised. A flicker of something like amusement in his voice. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was.

“Course,” you said quickly, stepping aside. “Please.”

He stepped inside.

Into your world.

It smelled like cinnamon. Like apples and woodsmoke and something fresh baked—though he saw no tray of anything waiting on the counter. Just your scent, clinging to the walls. Like you lived here completely. Like you’d settled in, made it your own.

Of course you had.

Fresh flowers sat in a mason jar on the table. Little framed paintings dotted the walls—ones he recognized from the barter-and-trade shop, and a few of horses that made his chest ache. One in particular, just a lone cowboy on a mountainside, was his personal favorite.

“The uh… water heater’s down in the basement,” you said, already walking toward the narrow door at the back of the kitchen.

Joel followed, but when you stayed behind, hovering uncertainly near the top of the stairs, he didn’t protest. It was better that way. He needed to get himself under control.

He ducked into the dark, found the breaker box, and the old water heater behind it. It didn’t take long to spot the issue.

The main switch was off.

Just… flipped off. No blown fuse. No leak. No damage.

He stared at it, confused. Then narrowed his eyes.

No.

No, no, no. That wasn’t right.

Had someone messed with it? Played a prank? Messed with you?

But he’d never seen anyone else go in or out of this house. You lived alone. He was sure of it. Which left only one possibility.

His pulse thumped in his ears.

He flipped the switch. Waited for the hum. Then made his way back upstairs, each step landing heavy beneath his boots.

“You should be all good now,” he said as he reemerged.

“Yeah?” you asked, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy,” he nodded.

Easy. To get him here. To get him to look. To fix it.

Fix it, build it, find it. He was your man. He wanted to be your man.

“Well,” you said, fidgeting, “you sure you don’t need to check it upstairs?”

Joel moved to the sink instead, turned the handle all the way to hot, and waited. Within seconds, steam curled up from the basin. He held his hand under it, felt the sharp bite of heat.

“Good to go,” he said, glancing at you. He wondered if he would’ve noticed it before, but this time he was certain. You turned a little pink under his gaze, pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Good.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave.

He didn’t want to.

Not now that he knew, by some cataclysmic star crossed miracle, you’d brought him here on purpose. That you’d wanted him here. But he wasn’t sure what that meant. What he was supposed to do with it.

Still, you let him make his way to the door. Sweet as anything, practically shoving cookies into his hands as thanks.

He refused, hands up in surrender as he backed toward the entryway.

“Really,” he said, voice lighter now, accent thicker as he let his shoulders relax, “I’m fine, darlin’, please. Just—” his hand found the doorknob, “Just let me know if there’s anythin’ else you need. You just holler, alright?”

You smiled, soft and a little playful. “Alright. Well… thank you.”

But, somehow, your water heater broke again only a few days later.

Then the lights went out in your second bedroom. 

And then— his last and final strike—the curtain rod came crashing down from your bedroom window on a Saturday morning.

Joel stood on a small foot ladder beside your bed, boots braced on the tread, hand wrapped around the curtain rod bracket as he tightened the last screw into the wall. The hardware clinked softly against the metal as he adjusted the fit. You sat on the edge of the bed behind him, legs swinging, talking about something—weather, or the community garden, or a dog you’d seen with a lopsided face. He wasn’t really listening.

Not in a rude way. He just liked the sound of your voice more than whatever it was you were actually saying.

He hummed now and then, nodding at the right moments, letting you fill the space. It helped. Gave him something to focus on besides the fact that he was in your bedroom, that even your curtains smelled like you. That your nightstand had a little dish with jewelry in it and a book with a pressed flower between the pages. That your closet door was cracked just enough to show a glimpse of your laundry basket, and his brain, the traitorous thing, kept wondering what might be folded inside.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and gave the bracket one last twist.

“You sure must’ve worked real hard to get this damn thing off the wall,” he said, voice low.

Your words stopped mid-sentence.

He turned his head, just enough to catch the look on your face.

Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent.

Caught.

The silence stretched between you like something taut and dangerous.

Joel straightened up slowly, the curtain rod still in his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, voice gentler than it should’ve been. “Or should I just assume you wanted me back over here so bad, you started pullin’ things off your walls?”

“I—” you choked, voice barely above a whisper, the color draining from your face as the words stuck in your throat.

Joel caught the way your fingers curled against the bedsheet, how your knees shifted slightly, like you might bolt. And God, part of him wanted you to. Part of him needed you to.

But the other part, the selfish part, couldn’t bear the thought.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he said softly. “I like your company too.”

Your eyes lifted to his, wide and searching.

“You… you do?” you asked, like you didn’t believe it. Like no part of you had expected it to be true.

Joel nodded, slow. “Yeah.” The word came out tight. It took effort, like he had to shove it past all the reasons why he shouldn’t say it.

You stared at him, stunned and unmoving. He stood still for a long beat, then finally stepped down from his stool. The floor creaked under his weight as he crossed to your bed, each step slower than the last. He moved slower than he really needed to, but it kept him steady, until he finally sat beside you. 

Not too close, not touching you, but he could feel the heat of you anyway. He caught the faint trace of your perfume, something soft and warm and inviting, and it nearly knocked him out. He wanted to breathe it in until it lived in his lungs. He wanted it to cling to his shirt, to the collar of his flannel, so he could press his face into it later—alone in the dark—like that might be enough.

Or better, that filthy corner of his brain, the beast that lived inside him wanted you to smell like him. Wanted it clinging to your sheets, your wrists, the hollow of your throat. Wanted people to catch it in passing and wonder why you’d let a man like him get that close. 

But he wouldn’t. He was trying to be good, to have restraint.

His hands stayed on his knees, tense, knuckles pale where they pulled against the denim. This was your room, so soft and warm and clean. The kind of place he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful. 

“Ain’t a good idea, what you’re doin’,” he murmured, “I’m an old man, honey.”

Your eyes tracked over his face as he looked at you, “I like that you’re older, Joel.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, jaw flexing. Christ. You didn’t know what you were saying. 

“I’m old enough to be your daddy, baby,” he whispered. The words came out rougher than he intended.

He heard the way your breath caught. Saw the way your body stilled. Like something inside you had jolted awake.

He should’ve looked away.

Instead, his gaze found yours as he swallowed dryly. When he finally got control of his heavy tongue again, he asked, “That do somethin’ to you, sweetheart?”

You didn’t speak. But the answer was all over your face.

Joel exhaled slowly, leaning back just enough to get a better look at you. Still not touching, but close enough to see the flush rise in your cheeks.

“Gonna answer me?” he asked.

Your voice trembled. “Y-yes.”

His brow lifted slightly.

“Yes, I like… thinking of you that way.”

His stomach turned over. “You think about me, huh?”

You hesitated, lips parting, and for a second he thought maybe you’d lie.

Then your voice hit him square in the chest.

“All the time.”

Joel went still. Your words rang in his head, loud and clear. Like a bell tolling inside his ribs.

Now he knew. You wanted him. You thought about him the same way he thought about you. And if he so much as reached for you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

So instead, he just looked at you. He let his eyes rake over your face, your body, looking at how your thighs had pressed together. How your breathing had changed. How your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt like you didn’t know what to do with your hands now that the words were out.

And then, his voice came low and steady, like it was coming from somewhere deeper than his own body, “Show me.”

Your brows drew together in confusion, your mouth falling open. “What?”

His eyes locked with yours, and he knew you could see it. The way his pupils had all but swallowed the color from his irises, how tightly he was clinging to the last scrap of control he had left. He could feel the sweat at the back of his neck, the pulse in his throat, the ache in his hands from how hard he was trying not to reach for you. Not to ruin you.

He couldn’t let himself slip. Couldn’t let it crack wide open.

“When you think of me,” he said, quieter now, words coming like gravel dragged behind his teeth, “what do you do?”

You looked away for a second, your gaze dropping to the bed beneath you, cheeks heated and mouth parting like you didn’t know how to answer. But then your eyes found his again—wide and shining, nervous and breathless.

“You want me to… to show you?”

He didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly.

That was all he needed. Just to watch. That was the line. That was what he could live with. He wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t lay a single hand on your sweet, perfect, young body. He’d sit still like a good man, like a gentleman, and let it wreck him quietly. He’d carry the memory of it back across the street like a loaded gun and bury it deep where no one would ever find it.

You hesitated, breath shivering, legs pressing together as you sat there, body unsure while your eyes held his like they were searching for something—permission, safety, the truth of how far this would go.

“S’alright,” he said again, his voice soft like velvet, “Just lay back.”

He saw your throat bob, and then, slowly, you leaned back onto your elbows, shifting further onto the bed. The mattress dipped with your weight, the sound of your shorts brushing the sheets too loud in the stillness. He swallowed hard as you arched your back just enough to hook your thumbs in the waistband of those tiny, soft little shorts, sliding them down your hips, exposing the smooth skin beneath inch by inch.

“Slow–” he said, voice rough and wrecked. You paused, and nodded, eyes never leaving his face as you gently brought them down your legs. Your hand quickly and gently let them fall to the floor. 

And there you were. 

Laid down on your own bed, your legs bending slightly, thighs pressed together, hiding yourself from his fiery gaze. Joel’s knuckles popped with restraint to keep himself from spreading them for himself.

He tried to keep his eyes on your face, so sweet and flushed and burning with heat. You let out a breath, seemingly collecting your courage as you let your thighs fall to the sides. He couldn’t do it anymore, his eyes dropped almost immediately, giving in. Your precious puffy lips were outlined in the panties, light colored enough that he could see the stain of wetness forming in the cotton.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your fingers slid slowly down your stomach, over your panties, pressing lightly between your thighs.

Joel’s lungs locked. His jaw ticked. Every muscle in his body coiled tight as wire.

This is all I get, he told himself. This is enough.

He could feel his pulse hammering behind his eyes. His jeans were too tight, his hands were trembling, and he hadn’t even touched you.

You moved your fingers again, slower this time, dragging them up and over the damp fabric, letting out the softest sound—barely audible, but to Joel it was deafening. It struck him in the chest like a damn hammer.

He was going to die here. He was going to die right here in your bedroom with his boots on the floor and you moaning into your own palm, and he was going to deserve every second of torture.

You didn’t rush.

Joel thought maybe that would save him. That you’d move fast, try to get it over with. But you didn’t. You took your time. You let your fingers glide softly over the front of your underwear, lazy strokes that did more to him than anything explicit could have. Your thighs shifted, knees bending up and falling open a little wider, and Joel could see the heat of you blooming beneath the thin cotton, darkening it, making it cling.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, just to breathe. Just to stay sitting where he was and not reach for you, not grab your hips and tear those panties clean off your body. When he opened them again, you were watching him. Watching the way he breathed through his nose, the way his fists stayed locked tight on his legs, the way his gaze kept dropping down no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

You circled yourself again, slower now, the fabric catching slightly, and your breath caught in your throat. Joel’s heart was pounding so hard he thought you must hear it from where you lay.

His voice came out low, nearly wrecked. “Take ’em off.”

You paused, fingers freezing for a moment, your expression flickering with nerves and something else—excitement, anticipation, the realization that this wasn’t just about putting on a show. This was about him needing it. Needing you.

You slid your thumbs under the waistband and raised your hips off the mattress. He watched, helpless, as you peeled them down your legs—slow, hesitant, like maybe you were savoring the tension just as much as he was—and let them join your shorts on the floor.

Laid bare in front of him, thighs parted, glistening, flushed, and so fucking soft-looking it almost hurt to look directly at you, you looked like a god damn angel.  Joel swore under his breath and dragged a hand over his mouth again, like it might erase the things he was thinking. It didn’t.

His voice cracked when he spoke. “Touch yourself.”

You nodded, barely, and your hand slipped down again. But this time, there was no fabric in the way. Joel watched your fingers move over your folds, the way your hips tilted up to meet them. He could see everything now, every flicker of pleasure across your face, every little tremble in your legs. When you let out that first real moan—low and quiet, almost like you were trying to stifle it—Joel’s body jolted like he’d been shot.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.

You rubbed slow, steady, getting yourself wet, and his eyes dropped to where your hand moved, slick and glistening, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for what he wanted to see.

“Put a finger inside,” he said, and it came out lower than he meant it to—rough, almost angry with need.

You looked at him, lips parted, lashes heavy. “Joel…”

“Do it,” he rasped. “Just one, baby. That’s all.”

You hesitated, breath shaking. Then you did it. You brought your fingers lower, traced the slickness, and pushed one inside—slow, stretching, burying it to the knuckle—and Joel’s hands finally left his knees, flying up to rake through his hair as he groaned quietly.

He couldn’t fucking take it.

And neither could you.

Your back arched, mouth falling open with a quiet gasp—daddy—as you moved your finger in and out, your palm pressing down against your clit for more friction. Joel couldn’t even pretend to look away now. He was locked in, watching the way your body responded, the way you started to tremble.

And then he heard your voice again. Small, breathy. Needy.

“Please.”

Joel’s heart stuttered.

“Please, Joel,” you said again, whimpering now, your eyes shining, mouth wet, hips starting to lose their rhythm. “I don’t… I can’t… I need you.”

He clenched his jaw so tight it ached, his whole body bowstring-tense as he leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his thighs, fists clenched again, because if he moved even a little further he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t beg me, baby. I can’t—”

But you did. You begged anyway.

“Please touch me,” you said, breathless, desperate, your hand moving faster now, legs trembling under the pressure building in your body. “I want you, Joel. I think about you all the time, and I—fuck—I want it to be you.”

He shook his head again, slower this time, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. But then your leg moved—bare and trembling—and your ankle brushed against the back of his hand where it still rested uselessly on the bed.

And that was it.

That one small touch, like permission and invitation all wrapped into one. He didn’t think. Couldn’t. His fingers wrapped gently around your ankle, warm and steady, and for a second he just held it. The first time he’d touched you. The first contact after all this time spent trying to keep himself in check.

You whimpered under the weight of his touch, a soft, aching sound that nearly unraveled him. His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle against your skin, and his heart beat so hard it was nearly dizzying.

So soft. So warm. So alive.

He bent forward without a word, still clutching your ankle, and pressed a kiss to the inside of it. The smallest kiss. Barely even a breath. But it was everything.

His lips moved again—just a little higher.

Then higher still.

Trailing up your calf, slow and worshipful, his hand shifting to the back of your leg, guiding it gently as your thigh began to tremble. You were still breathing hard, hand stalled now, frozen against your center as you watched him.

He pressed another kiss to the inside of your knee. Then just above it. Each one a little firmer than the last, like he was testing the shape of you with his mouth. 

And then, eyes locked on your hand still buried between your legs, he grasped your wrist gently, his touch reverent but sure. He pulled your finger from yourself and brought your hand to his mouth and looked at you like he was asking permission, even now, even on the edge of ruin.

You didn’t stop him.

So he parted his lips and took your finger into his mouth.

His tongue circled it first, slow and wet, curling around the soaked digit, savoring the taste of you, dragging it over the pad with aching, deliberate pressure. He sucked it in deeper, lips wrapping tight as his tongue moved along the underside. You watched, frozen in intense rapture, mouth parted and chest heaving. His eyes never left your face, even as he groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering half shut.

You whimpered his name again—breathless, high, barely held together.

He let your finger go with a wet sound, still panting, his voice hoarse and ruined when he finally spoke.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby.”

You whimpered his name again, breath catching as he released your hand and kissed higher on your leg, faster now, the heat of his mouth so close to where you wanted him. He nudged your thighs further apart with gentle pressure, his hands firm but trembling slightly as they moved up the backs of your legs, his thumbs dragging over the delicate curve of your inner thighs.

He paused just before reaching you. Breathing heavy. Hovering.

“This is what you wanted?” he asked, barely a whisper. “You want me here?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already breathless, already gone. “Please, Joel.”

That was all he needed.

He dipped his head and finally—finally—dragged his mouth over you, slow and sure, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. His tongue parted you, flat and warm, collecting everything you’d made for him. He moaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, and his hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open like you were something sacred.

And God, you were.

Joel wasn’t delicate with it. But he was steady, focused. Slow only because he wanted to draw it out. He licked a purposeful stripe up your center, then did it again, dragging his tongue in slow circles over your clit until your back arched off the mattress.

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting into the graying strands.

Daddy daddy daddy fell from your lips like a prayer, and he groaned into you, tongue pressing deeper, tracing the way you opened for him. He noticed you said it the most when you were falling apart. When your brain was lagging and hazy. 

And couldn’t stop thinking—this is what you taste like when you think of me.

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just once, firm and slow, and your legs clenched around his shoulders as a broken sound tore from your throat.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, beard soaked with you.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh again, slower now, lips softer. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You begged again—don’t stop, please don’t stop—and he didn’t. He buried his mouth back between your legs and gave you everything. He wanted you to come on his tongue. Wanted to feel it. The way your body would tighten, the way your thighs would tremble, the way your breath would stutter in that pretty chest of yours before falling apart completely.

He was going to carry the sound of it for the rest of his life.

And still—he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t grind against the bed or reach for relief. This was for you. All of it.

If he could only have this, this taste, this sound, this moment, he’d take it.

And he’d burn for it later.

Joel’s tongue moved with steady, reverent purpose, his mouth open and hungry against you, like this was the only way he knew how to live anymore, by giving you this. His hands stayed firm, keeping your legs open, thumbs brushing softly against your trembling thighs, grounding you even as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge.

You were panting now, moaning freely, head thrown back against the pillow, your fingers tangled in his hair, his name falling from your mouth like it was the only one you’d ever known. He could feel the way your body was coiling, tightening, the way your hips were starting to stutter beneath him, like you were trying to chase that last bit of pressure before it ripped through you.

He sucked gently around your clit again, tongue flicking against it just right, and that was all it took.

You broke.

Your whole body arched, legs tightening around his shoulders, a sharp cry punching from your chest as you came hard against his mouth, your fingers fisting in his hair, holding him there while you rode it out. Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound dark and satisfied, almost possessive as he kept licking through it, gentle now, working you down slowly, coaxing every last tremble from you with his mouth still warm and wet against your skin.

He felt it, all of it. The way your muscles fluttered and clenched, the way your hands shook where they gripped him, the way your breath hitched as you tried to come back to earth.

And still, he didn’t stop touching you. Not yet. His lips moved lower, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, the crease where leg met pelvis, like he couldn’t stop worshipping you now that he’d started. His beard was damp with you, his mouth swollen, his hands still gentle where they rested at your hips.

But then your hands shifted.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers curling tight in the collar, and tugged.

“Joel,” you gasped, voice high and breathless, chest heaving as your eyes found his, wild and wanting, “Please.”

He lifted his head, eyes glazed, lips shining, chest rising and falling with every labored breath. “What, baby?” he rasped, even though he already knew. Even though his own body was screaming with the need he’d been trying to bury.

You pulled again, harder this time, dragging him up your body with shaking hands, your mouth still parted, your skin flushed and damp.

“Please,” you whispered, again and again, like you were unraveling, like the word was all you had left, “please, Joel… please, I need you…”

Your legs parted wider beneath him, your hips rising, searching, the fabric of his jeans rough between your thighs as he braced himself over you.

“I can’t—I can’t wait anymore,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your voice shaking. “Please—I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me, Joel. Please.”

And who was he to deny you?

Hadn’t he said it himself?

Anything you needed. Anything you wanted. He’d be the man for you.

He'd said the words and meant them. Even if they were only in his head, he meant them down to the marrow in his bones. And now, here you were, laid out beneath him, skin flushed, lips parted, pupils wide and pleading as you begged for him. Begged with your hands, your voice, your whole trembling body. And something inside Joel cracked so deep it felt like it might never close again.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue slipping past your lips so you could taste yourself on him. It was filthy, intimate, perfect. He should’ve been ashamed of how much he needed it, how tender it felt even with the heat still thrumming through him.

He’d always thought that stuff was bullshit—the way books and movies and every sappy romance insisted sparks flew when two people kissed. That it meant something. That it could change you.

But this… this was something else entirely.

This was fire and gravity and truth all wrapped into one aching, perfect moment.

And for a moment, Joel believed every goddamn word.

His hands fumbled with his waistband as his tongue explored your mouth, your sweet cooing noises filling his ears, your breath soft and sweet as honey as you gasped against him. The sound of his belt unbuckling and zipper lowering filled the room, sharp and electric. Finally, he wrapped his hand around himself, freeing his cock as it sprang free, tender, aching, and flushed dark and thick with need. He swore under his breath as the air hit him, the head already leaking for you. 

The idea of being a good man was long gone now. Left back on the floor with his restraint, his better judgment, his self-control. All that was left was you. Your scent, your skin, the desperate way you reached for him like you couldn’t bear another second of distance. Your gasp hit his mouth like a spark to gasoline. You moaned into him, hips lifting, thighs spreading wider around his waist as he rocked forward, lining himself up, his cock dragging through your slick folds.

He groaned deep in his chest, the weight of your heat soaking him instantly, the wet glide of your cunt against the underside of him making his whole body jolt.

And then you whimpered.

Joel pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips.

“I know, honey,” he cooed, his voice low and sweet, like a lullaby wrapped in filth. “I know it’s a lot, but you can take it. You can, baby. I know you can.”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious even as his cock pressed closer, sliding lower with each slow grind.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, barely able to breathe it out. “Knew you’d be so good, so sweet. Just let me in, honey.”

You whimpered, needy and breaking, and he slid forward again, this time pushing the head of his cock inside, slow and careful, watching every flicker of sensation cross your face. You were so warm. So tight. Your walls clenched around him instantly and his head dropped to your shoulder with a strangled groan.

“Jesus Christ,” he choked, his voice barely holding. “You feel so fuckin’ good, angel.”

You clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until you were gasping, trembling, completely filled.

Daddy. It was like a siren’s call from your lips.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to lose himself too fast.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You take me so good. So perfect for me.”

And then, finally, he moved.

Slow at first. Measured. Deep, rolling thrusts that pulled back just far enough to make you whimper before he pushed forward again, thick and steady, dragging every inch through your soaked, desperate cunt. He kissed your shoulder as he rocked into you, his voice hot in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doin’ so good.”

You were breathless beneath him, hips lifting to meet every stroke, your nails digging into his back, your mouth pressed against his neck as you moaned and gasped and whispered his name like a prayer.

Joel was unraveling with every sound you made, every pulse of your body around his cock. He held your face, kissed your lips, your cheek, your temple, the top of your head. He told you how beautiful you were. How tight. How fucking sweet you felt around him. Told you you were his good girl. His angel. His.

Joel moved inside you like he was trying to memorize every inch—slow, deliberate, reverent. His hands mapped your body like he’d never get the chance again. One gripped the underside of your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide for him, the other braced beside your head, grounding him, holding him back from fucking into you the way his body screamed for.

But he didn’t want to rush this. God, he couldn’t. Not when you felt like this.

So tight, so warm, so wet and fluttering around him with every slow thrust of his hips. Each roll of his body drew a breathy moan from your lips, and he drank them down like they were keeping him alive.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your cheek, his voice rasped and heavy with worship. “Just like that, sweetheart. Grippin’ my cock so good, angel girl.”

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, your body arching into his with each stroke, and every time your hips rocked up to meet his, he felt it—that trembling pulse in your cunt that told him how close you were.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, then lower. “So goddamn sweet. Feels like you were made for me.”

Your hands slid down his back, clinging, like you couldn’t get close enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice soft and shaking, “You feel so good—I don’t want this to end.”

His heart almost broke right there.

“Baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours, hips rocking slow and deep, “don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” you whimpered. “I—Joel, I think I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you. I used to dream about this. About you.”

Joel groaned, low and guttural as he kissed you. Not hard or frantic, just deep and warm, letting you feel every bit of how much that meant to him. How much he wanted to give it back.

He rolled his hips slower, deeper, angling just right until he felt your legs tense around his waist again, your body tightening, that little gasp he was starting to crave spilling from your lips as you tipped your head back against the pillow.

“There she is,” he whispered, voice rough and desperate. “You’re gonna come again, ain’t you? Gonna let me feel her squeeze my cock, huh?”

You nodded, mouth open, breath catching on each thrust. “So close—oh my God, daddy, daddy—”

“Come for me, angel,” he said, his voice shaking now. “C’mon, baby girl. Be my good girl and come.”

You cried out as it hit you, body seizing under his, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him in tight, wet pulses. You clung to him, your fingers locked in his hair, your mouth gasping out his name again and again. 

He kept moving, kept fucking you through it, slow and steady, letting you ride it out, watching the way you shattered so beautifully for him. He held you through every wave, every twitch, every soft sob of pleasure.

And then he couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your cunt still fluttering around him, soaked and tight and perfect—Joel’s control finally snapped.

His hips stuttered, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps, and he buried his face in your neck.

“Fuck—oh baby, I’m gonna come—Christ, you feel so good—I can’t—I can’t—”

He gripped your thigh tighter, pulled you flush against him, and thrust deep one final time as his release hit him hard, spilling into you with a broken groan. His whole body shook, teeth gritted, face buried in your skin as he came in long, slow, pulsing waves that left him shaking above you.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there. Still inside you, just breathing with you. His hand smoothing softly over your ribs, then your belly, then your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered finally, voice barely there.

You nodded, turning your head just enough to kiss his jaw. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, really look. Your skin was warm and glowing, your eyes heavy, dreamy, dazed in the way he hoped he’d be seeing again and again. You looked happy. Content.

He’d wait ‘til tomorrow to let the guilt creep in.

PEEEEEEE PAAWWWWWWWWWW

[littledes1re]

Hii love. Can you write something about Joel getting you pregnant.

Maybe at first he didn't want kids (but because of his age, he thought he wasn't gonna be the best dad for them). He always knew you wanted, and one day he saw how good you are with them, and desire in your eyes. Maybe some smut thaanks

Makin’ you a mama

Pairing: Old!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, BREEDING KINK, praise, pet names, soft!joel, talking about pregnancy, pinv, unprotected sex (obviously), age gap! (62 x 26), one time joel calling himself ‚daddy‘

A/N: thank you anon for making me write this. I‘ve always wanted to write something like this but never had the balls lmao

It‘s been two years since you and Joel came to Jackson. And you couldn’t believe how well everything was going. After surviving hordes and hordes of clickers, runners and raiders, having to put up with the temperature that keeps on changing, searching for a place to rest and the fear of losing Joel even tho at that time, you two weren‘t even together. He was a grumpy, mad, annoyed man who never let his feelings out. Surviving with him meant also surviving him.

In all kinds that was just the past and a story to tell whenever you were invited to gatherings. Joel and your relationship was strong, you were scared that people would get shy away from the age gap, but apparently they have seen worse in the apocalypse. Whenever you two were together, people looked at you with admiration, asking themselves why their relationship wasn‘t going that well. Joel was overprotective, always made sure you were well taken care of, always listened to you, never argued. Other men had none of that in them. You were happy, content but there was one thing swimming around in the back of your head that you—no matter what, couldn‘t forget.

„You really think I would fit into the father role with my 62 years once again, baby?“ his eyes were gentle, looking at you, searching for enclosure in your expressions.

„Yea, why not? You make me feel taken care of, you are a great man, I know that you would very well fit into that role.“ your voice was just above a whisper. There was a sigh leaving his lips and then he took his glasses of, running trough his hair at the same time.

„I—I don‘t think I can do that. Just give me some time to think about that okey?“

Yet, the answer never came. And you never wanted to push him. So you let it rest. He lost his child once, he once had all of that and went trough a traumatic event, you knew that he was still scared.

And if you were honest with yourself, did you really want to have a baby in this god forsaken place? You really want to have that baby go trough the same traumatic things you two went trough? It wasn‘t easy living here. It wasn‘t easy living else where.

Maybe it was the end of the world. You didn‘t know that.

So you forgot that idea. Out of your mind.

You concentrated on your job. Daycare. Not really the best way to let that thought out of your mind, huh? But you loved it, you loved the kids, the pretty toys that were scattered everywhere, the colourful rooms and the sweet parents that came in and picked their kids up. It was a great way to forget the outside world, to really come close with the humanity that was forgotten for some many years.

Joel was going to pick you up, like he always does after doing his construction work around Jackson. When he came to your workplace tho, he had to stop and was completely lost in his thoughts.

It was you. Having a toddler on your hip, while swinging from left to right, singing to him. Your eyes were full of love, the toddler was laughing with you. His small hands gripping your shirt, tangled in your hair, feeling comfortable with you. Joel subconsciously started to smile, standing there and really thinking about how you would look like as a mother. There was something so effortless about the way you moved, how you instinctively cradled that child with your warmth and certainty. As if motherhood always lived within you, waiting to be embraced.

What if it was your kid in your arms? What if your house was filled with the laughter of having a child. Joel stood there and pictured you, soft glow in your cheeks, carrying the baby beneath your heart. How perfect you would look with a belly, how perfect you would fit into that role.

Joel longed for that feeling. He would do everything in this world to make you happy, to make you comfortable. He would not let you work, he would be there and raise that child with you. He would love you two unconditionally. And suddenly— there it was. The longing to become a father and make you a mother.

„J-joel—what the hell has gotten into you.“ you muttered out, out of breath as joel abruptly pulled you to him, kissing you, just seconds after going inside the house. He didn‘t answer, too hungry to think straight. You yelped as he threw you into the coach, going on top of you and spreading your legs.

„Joel.“ you whined, his hands quickly unbuttoning your shirt, then your bra, his fingers landing on your nipples, gently pinching the nub. You whimpered, too lost in the sudden pleasure, your hips starting to move up against his crotch.

„Pretty breasts are gonna filled with milk.“ he groaned out, your eyes widening. What was he talking about?

„Joel, what the hell are you even talking about?“ his hands stopped on your tits, gently moving to your belly, stroking around, smiling to himself.

„gonna make you a mama, baby.“

„Wait, really?“ you weren‘t sure if you heard that right. The man who was just scared of being a father again, was telling you that he was going to make you a mother. Joel chuckled at your reaction, unzipping his pants, taking his cock out. It was all red, his tip pulsing as he started to jerk off, squeezing it and releasing a moan from his lips.

„Mhm. Ain‘t that what you wanted? C‘mon now, open up.“

„Joel, are you sure? Look I don‘t want to pressure you—”

„I‘m sure. Now don‘t make me wait or I ain‘t giving you anything.“ he teased, your face lighting up as you giggled. Quickly, unbuttoning your jeans, while joel focused on pumping his cock and kissing and biting down your neck line. You spread your legs further, pulling your soaked panties down and running your hands trough your mans hair.

„That‘s right. Look at you, already so soaked. Gonna let me give you a baby, hm?“

His cock rubbed along your slit, your breath coming to a stop as you looked into his lust filled eyes. He slowly fed his cock into your cunt, your mouth falling open at the stretch and fullness you were feeling. His thumb coming at your little clit, slowly rubbing, making you whimper into the silent room.

„shh, I know, I know. That‘s it. Look at you letting me in. Little cunt needs this, baby. Needs me to fill her.“

And you can do nothing but moan and whimper around him as joel sets a rhythm with his thrusts. His cock going in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the room. Your tits moving up and down, his thumb never letting up on rubbing your clit. His gaze never left you. Concentrated on your fucked out expression, while also focusing on the hard but gentle thrusts he was giving you. Your knees trembling, thighs quivering—he was fucking you with all he had.

Your heels dug into the couch under you, your hips going closer to him, wanting to feel him just a little bit deeper. His cock meets your spot this way, making you cry out.

„That‘s the spot, yea?“ he groans out.

„Mhm.“ you whimper as an answer, too lost in the pleasure to even look into his eyes. You squeezed them, putting your hands on your tits playing with them.

„Gonna be a gorgeous mother, I know it, angel.“

Joel knows you are close as he sees your tummy clenching, your thighs shaking. He feels himself coming closer too, so he pulls you just closer into him, his thrusts concentrating on that spot in you, his hands holding your back so he stays as deep as possible in you.

„Daddy‘s gonna fill you up, but I want you to cum with me. C‘mon.“

He whispers into your ear, your toes curling as you feel the orgasm coming closer to you in your tummy.

„Doing so so well f‘me aren‘t you?“

His thrusts were growing sloppy as he breathlessly whispered praises into your ear.

„Belly gonna swell, tits gonna be full of milk. Letting that old man fill her up to the brim. Yea, my good girl, baby.“ And that what it all took for you to snap. You cried out, gripping his shoulder, feeling his cock twitch in your cunt, releasing rope after rope of cum into you. You clench, squeezing him for all of his worth, while biting into his shoulder and coming down from your orgasm.

While catching his breath, he gently lays you down again, caressing your tummy but doesn‘t pull out. Without a word he suddenly grabs you, his cock still in you, he carries you to the bedroom.

„Need it to take, baby.“

And you know that it‘s going to be a long night.

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner

[moonsgemini]

nobody knows - rafe cameron

summary: a secret relationship between the kook king the sweet innocent kook & bathroom sex

warnings: 18+, cursing, reader being jealous, alcohol, SMUT, slight choking, semi public sex, pinv

an: hiiii hope y’all enjoy <3 this is a lil shorter than my usual stuff. I need drew starkey bad !! Might turn this into it’s own lil universe

-

This party was going to kill you. The scene in front of you calling for you to do something irrational. It was almost as if he wanted you to accidentally spill wine on Lindsey’s head.

The way her hand constantly found a place on his bicep has you gripping your glass a little tighter. The friendly smile on Rafe’s lips not helping ease your jealousy. Neither was the way he kept leaning down so he could hear her better, as if they were at a rave. It was a fairly small party for crying out loud there was no need for that.

If you had super powers the entire back yard would be lit up in flames with the way you were glaring at the pair. Of course he also wore that shirt you loved on him. The one you had mentioned on multiple occasions that it was your favorite.

You wished you could go over there and yank him down by the collar and smush your lips against his. Let everyone know that it’s your name he’s moaning at night and his lips and body that have your coming undone almost every night.

You wished everyone knew exactly what was going on between the two of you. Then you wouldn’t have to disguise your jealousy as a head ache. You knew it was because of you that the two of you snuck around but you’re starting to want things to change. You couldn’t stand the sight of your man giving another woman attention.

“Garrett is such a dick I can’t believe I didn’t dump him sooner,” Your friend Nessa mumbled.

You hummed and nodded in agreement while finishing off the last of your wine. Not really paying attention to what your friend was saying.

“You’ve been quiet today. More than usual, all good?” Nessa asked.

You nodded, “Yeah just have a head ache again.”

“Then lets get you another glass, being drunk will help with that,” Nessa grabbed your hand. She led you back over to the small cocktail bar that was set up which was right past Rafe and Lindsey.

As the pair of you passed them you pretended not to see Rafe. Obviously Rafe’s eyes followed you, not really paying attention to whatever the girl in front of him had been yapping about.

He was trying this new thing where he wasn’t going to be an asshole to people. Unless they deserved it obviously, but it was really fucking hard when all he wanted to do was talk to you. The old him would have just ditched her mid sentence but that’s not who he wanted to be.

He watched as you poured yourself some more wine, your friend going on about something as you nodded along. His pretty girl always being the best listener.

After a minute you said something to your friend before walking into the house. After a few seconds Rafe said something about going to the bathroom and left the babbling blonde behind. He didn’t care he wanted to find you.

When he stepped inside he saw your half empty wine glass on the kitchen counter. He walked down the hall to the guest bathroom and knocked.

“I’ll be out in a minute Ness!” You shouted from behind the door.

“It’s Rafe,” he said.

The locked clicked and the door opened to reveal your pretty frame. You had chosen to wear that dress he loves in the color he loves on you. He wasn’t the only one who chose what they’re wearing for a specific reason. You poked your head out and looked both ways before tugging him inside by the collar of his shirt. He chuckled at your antics

“Don’t you think it looks more suspicious if we’re in here together?” He smirked with a raised brow. In all honesty he didn’t really give a fuck if people saw you two together but he knows you aren’t ready.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not like you were flirting it up out there with Lindsey.”

His smirk widened at the realization that you were jealous. He liked how around everyone you were always sweet and polite, sometimes even a little timid. But with him it was a different story. He loved the way you talked back to him and rolled your eyes at him. He loved the dirty things that sweet innocent mouth said to him when he was relentlessly fucking you.

“You jealous baby?” He stepped forward so the small of your back hit the counter.

Your scowl deepened as you crossed your arms, “No.”

He reach up stroked your cheek gently. His eyes going down to your lips, “You being a tough girl now. Come on baby you know she doesn’t have anything on you.”

Your scowl softened, “Well it doesn’t matter because it’s not like she knows that.”

Rafe leaned forward and kissed your cheek then your jaw and continued his way down to your pulse point, “I’ll let her know, we can let everyone know princess. I can fuck you right here right now.”

You gasped at his words and at the scrape of his teeth on the sensitive skin of your neck, “Rafe,” you practically moaned.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too opposed to that,” His finger slipped under your dresses strap and pulled it down. His lips kissing the newly exposed skin as he went down to your chest, “Make you scream my name as I bend you over.”

You wanted to talk back to him but you couldn’t as your eyes fluttered shut. His hands had moved down your waist and to your thighs. Slowly dragging his fingertips up them until he plucked at your stringy underwear letting it snap back against your skin. He made you such an incoherent mess and you loved it.

With everything in you you mustered back a reply, “You sure you want Lindsey to hear.”

He chuckled against the top of your breasts that were exposed. His fingers now pressing against your wet clothed cunt.

“It seems like you want her to hear baby,” He pressed his fingers against your clit and rubbed soft circles, “look at how wet you are huh. My dirty girl.”

A whimper escaped your lips at the sensation. His fingers slipped under your tiny panties and he slid them through your sopping cunt and groaned against your neck, “God I love how you feel.”

You tugged his face up to meet your desperate eyes as you pulled him in for a kiss. You both moaned at the feeling. You loved when Rafe fucked you but you loved kissing him even more. His fingers picked up the pace a little against your throbbing clit. You could feel your wetness dripping down your legs.

“Please let me fuck you right here baby,” He mumbled against your lips, “I’ll do it so good. I’ll make you cum all over my cock.”

That whole being more nice thing Rafe was working on never applied to you. You were probably the only person on the island who had ever heard the kook king say please and thank you. Sometimes he even practically begged to fuck you or eat you out. You lived for it. It made your skin tingle and your tummy flutter.

You nodded your head, “Yes Rafey.”

He pulled his fingers away from you and practically shoved them into your mouth. You loved it though, tasting yourself on his long thick fingers. Your tongue licking them clean. He bit his lip and groaned with hooded eyes. Rafe was utterly obsessed with you.

He pulled his fingers out with a pop and leaned in capturing your mouth in his in another searing kiss. It was sloppy and made your head spin. He pulled away spinning you around. Your hands landed on the counter to steady yourself as he hiked your dress up to your waist.

Rafe gave your ass a firm squeeze and took a few seconds to admire you on this position. He loved that he could still see your pretty face in the mirror, he could see just how fucked you were for him. Your swollen lips, hooded eyes, and messy hair all because of him. It made his heart beat faster and his ego grow. He loves that no one else has known you in this way until he came around.

You watched as he began to undo his pants and pull his thick cock out. You whimpered at the sight of him stroking himself a few times. Grabbing the tiny string of your panties he pulled it to the side before lining himself up with you.

“You’re a fucking dream,” He groaned as he slipped his tip in. The warm wetness of your pussy making him throw his head back. Slowly he slotted himself in you. The feeling of you clenching around him already getting him so close.

“Fuck you’re coming home with me,” He groaned as he began moving in and out.

You nodded with hazy lust filled eyes. You’d do anything he asked of you. The feeling of him stretching you out was out of this world. You didn’t understand how he was always able to hit that spot that had your back arching and mouth forming into an o.

He fucked you as quietly as he could. Rafe didn’t give a fuck if people heard but he knew you did. It’s not like you were embarrassed of Rafe and he knew that. It would just make things complicated if people knew. There’d be constant prying and knit picking at everything you two did and how you acted.

“Oh Rafe,” you mumbled standing up so your back was against his chest. He groaned and wrapped one of his hands around your throat. Your head fell back against his shoulder.

Rafe’s other hand found it’s way to your chest. He pinched one of your nipples and squeezed your breast. He did the same thing to the other one before sliding down your stomach and to your clit. He rubbed circles as he continued to thrust into you.

He moved the hand that was around your throat to hold your jaw. Tugging your head down to look in the mirror.

“You see that baby, He nodded towards your reflection, “see how good you look when I’m inside you. My girl takes me so damn well.”

“I-I mmmph oh Rafe,” you mumbled incoherently but he knew what you were trying to say. He could tell you were close by the way you tightened around him and the way you dripping down him.

“I know,” He groaned, “I’m there too.” A loud moan began escaping you but rafe moved his hand up quickly to cover your mouth.

“Shit look at you, no one will ever compare. Fuck I’m all yours,” He grunted.

Your moans were muffled by his big hand as you came. He wasn’t farm behind as he buried his face in your neck as he came inside you.

“Well we’ve never done that before,” you giggled.

He huffed a laugh, “I’m pretty sure we’ve done that plenty of times before.”

You shook your head, “We’ve never done it in a bathroom at a party.”

He smirked as he pulled out of you and adjusting your clothes for you. He gave your ass a gentle slap, “I should make you jealous more often.”

You rolled your eyes and turned around to face him, “So what if I was jealous.”

He kissed you, “You have nothing to be jealous of. I’m yours.”

You smiled softly as your heart swelled, “Rafe maybe we should tell people.”

His eyes widened slightly, “Really?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement, “mhmm I want to go on dates here in town. I want to be the one who has your attention all night and when I get too drunk you drive me home.”

He smiled, “Sounds perfect.”

After fixing yourselves to look presentable again you opened the door and led Rafe out not really thinking. But before you could even step through the doorway you were face to face with Lindsey who had a scowl on her face.

“Finally,” she rolled her eyes but then she saw the person standing behind you, “oh that’s where you disappeared to?” that scowl never leaving her.

Rafe nodded with a smirk, “My girl needed me.”

You blushed as you stepped past her with Rafe’s hand in yours with smiles plastered on both your faces.

[grugruel]

Can you do that for me?

Pairings: ruined!Jayce x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

Wordcount: 4.2 k

Warnings: Some canon stuff (beware spoilers), pinv sex, angst, fluff, fingering, slight handjob, choking, biting, creampie, doggy, missionary, cowgirl (a lot of positions), sub/dom/switch!Jayce, power struggle, fight for dominance, praise (f and m recieving), spanking, overstimulation, "I love you", difficult feelings, hot depraved Jayce.

AN: Not proofread, I intend to make a few changes to it later but wanted to get it out. Might be spelling mistakes. I tried to fit a bit of everything into this. ENJOY GIRLIES🎀

Having pulled the curtains aside, a vigilant man inspects the dark streets below. "He's almost here, ma'am," the man says, eyes following the subject. There's a slight stiffnes to his stance, as if he's readying himself for a fight. "What do you want us to do?"

"Let him in," she smiles at him faintly, attempting to reassure the large man before returning to her paperwork. "Dont give him trouble, there's nothing to fear."

The guard nods slowly and crosses the room to leave, he knows she's right. Yet, he stays in the doorway, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.

Warm light creeps in through the entryway, contrasting the faint light that Zauns streetlights provide for her otherwise gloomy office.

Noticing how the strong wash of light remains, she looks up at her guard to find another question lingering on his lips. "I've know you long enough to tell when something ails you." She leans back in her chair.

He catches her gaze reluctantly, facing away before he speaks. The man clears his throat, he knows he's crossing a line. "He's trouble, if you ask me. The boys and I-"

The woman pulls her glasses of and sighs, done with her work for the evening. "Im a big girl, I can handle myself."

The guard leans against the doorway and shrugs in reluctant recognition. "We're worried for you, ma'am-" but catching himself on his words, his hands gesture to remedy his meaning. "Respectfully, of course," he ads quickly, aversed to insult his employer.

The woman stands slowly, walking around her crammed desk to casually prop herself next to him. "I know," she reassures, placing a soft hand on his chest. "But I'll be fine, send him in."

The large man huffs. "We'll be outside then," he begins, but as the next words begin to form on his tongue, he decides against it, solely out of trust for his employer. If he could, he would've added 'when you need us'.

She doesnt doubt it, nor does she take offence. They're a tight knit family down here, she cares for them as much as they do her. But this would be an interaction no family member should hear. "That won't be necessary, keep to the foyer . . . Now go," she hurries him, careful to keep an understanding smile on her lips lest he changes his mind.

With a heavy breath and one last glance, the guard reluctantly closes the door and heavy footsteps recede.

She sighs, moving to brace her hands against the desktop and preparing herself for whats to come, for what she suspects.

She lights the lantern on her desk and waits. Only a moment later the same warm light creeps into the room. She twitches, unprepared for his arrival inspite of her efforts as the squeaking door slices through the eerily silent space.

In her peripheral, a fallen man stands. He's tired and dirty. Cut up and run down. There's a moment of contemplation between her and the newcomer, she does not move and neither does he. It's been a long time.

Squeak, thump, click . . . Pause. He's locked the door. A heavy thud between metal and wood sounds next, there's a faint sound of coarse skin sliding along fine metal before the familiar vibrations of hextech dies out.

All that exists between them now is heavy breathing in two parts, laboring against their own minds and bodies.

The floorboards begin to creek, irregularly, as if the weight placed upon them has not yet decided it's course of action. She grips the desktop harder, fingernails burrying into fine wood. She can only guess why he has come. "It's Viktor, isn't it?" She breathes, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

She gets no response, the only answer she recieves is the creeking of floorboards as the uncertain weight shifts back and forth. But that is all the answer she needs.

Having seamingly made up his mind, determined footsteps approach her in a sudden haste. Srong arms wrap around her body, pulling her toward a hard chest in a tight, tight embrace. His head collides with her shoulderblade as he burries his face in her scent. Muffled by her body, strained breaths blow welcome warmth onto her skin.

"What's happened?" She whispers, not entirely sure she wants the answer for she can smell him now. Metal and gunpowder. But it's not the type raw metal used for smithing or creating, it's not the metal she's used to. No, this is pungent, corporeal. It's blood. "Jayce, please . . . " She begins, 'talk to me' her lips shape, but no sound comes out. Unable to muster the strength.

"Cant- I cant . . . talk about it. Not now, not yet," he manages, voice rough as if he has fought and damp breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "I just . . . Needed you. I need you."

A strong hand slides higher, knuckles intently brushing the underside of her breast. "Can't think anymore."

And inspite of her better judgement. "Ok," she agrees, whispering, as if her consience wouldnt be able to hear. She's missed him, worried for him. So, her body betrays her.

Laying her hand on top of his, she guides him over the hill of her breast.

His breath hitches while his other hand move downward, tracing her ribs, down her waist, stopping on her thigh and squeezing tenderly. Soft flesh dimpling beneath the force of strong fingers. "I've been lost, " his voice breaks. "Missed you." His hands slide further down to slither under the slit in her dress.

"No feelings right now, Jayce . . . Please, just-"

Two fingers slip inside of her and she gasps. "No feelings," he assures, placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Good, good . . . " she moans.

While massaging her breast his thumb finds her clit and tongue her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the crook of her neck. Her body grows to weak to hold itself upright so she puts her weight on her arms. Noticing, he holds her tighter and pushes her weight against the desk. "Already?" He whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear as his fingers steadily thrusts in and out of her. "You're making it too easy for me."

A breathless chuckle leaves her, crammed between heavy groans. "You work with your hands . . . Mmmh, unfair advantage."

He bites her earlobe, tugging, teasing. "So do you, if I remember correctly." A grin twists her lips as her hand reaches between them and palms his enlarged bulge. He hisses as she begins to stroke it, heat immedietly surfacing as the friction between fabric and skin grows. "Mhhg, that's what I thought," he groans. "Good girl."

He pushes a third finger inside off her, curling them at just the right angle.

"Fuck!" Her free hand curls into a fist, joints having nothing better to do than occupy themselves in anyway they can. He puts more focus on her clit, rubbing dutyful circles into and and finally pushes her over the edge. "Mhh, shit-"

His fingers slow down as she hits her high, gently leading her through it as he supports her weight. "Just breathe, that's right . . . "

Her breathing has become a mixture of moans and wheezes, the pleasure stimulating every nerve in her body. "Did you . . . ?" She asks, suddenly remember her hand on his clothed member.

"No," he whispers and kisses her temple. "Theres time." He tries to turn her around. But fear grips her. "No-" she stops him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself in place. Seeing the changes up close would make them real, would make whatever he has come from, real. "I can't look at you . . . not yet." She reaches over her shoulder to cup his jaw, and just like that, their bubble of reminiscence bursts. They arent colleagues anymore and havent been for a long time. Nor is their third party longer there to rationalise with them. A shrap jab strikes her heart. "Give me time, and just," her other hand reaches behind her, grabbing the fabric on his hip to pull him closer, pressing his erection against the curve of her ass. "Like this for now, Jayce. Please . . ."

His head lulls against her back, pushing his forehead firmly into her spine whilst releasing a big, shaky breath. She can feel him bare his teeth, silently working through the consequences of his actions.

He doesn't answer, he only obeys.

It goes silent for a short moment, until the warmth on her hips disappear and the metal clanging of a belt buckle sounds behind her.

Quickly, one hand returns to her thigh to pull her dress over her ass.

"Dont hold back," she says.

There's a pause in his movements. "Are you certain?"

She nods and he wastes no time. Pushing himself against her, his knees spread her legs efficiently, just liked they've practiced many times before. With no further warning, he sinks into her. One hand crossing over her waist as the other grabs her shoulder, then sets a ruthless pace.

Somehow she knows he needs to get this out of him, the pent of fury and need. But she doesnt complain, he always knew what he was doing.

The sound of slapping fills her office, while the lewd squelching from her previous orgasm further spurs them on. He bends over her, changing his grip. Fingers snaking around her throat as his knee and free hand work together to fish one of her legs onto the desk, hitting her deeper, harder. His thrusts are no longer about speed, but of that one special little spot.

He puts pressure on her throat, almost painstakingly so. But it feels heavenly and she wouldn't have it any other way.

With each rut, his members perfectly fills her. His face is next to hers and he kisses had bites around her neck and ear, making sure she knows how good he makes her fell by grunting and moaning right into her ear. It makes that pulsing in her core worse, and he seems to notice.

"Yeah, you like that?" He groans, kissing her soft skin right behind the ear.

"Mmmhmm," she hums, voice vibrating with the bumping of their bodies. Doing her best to keep silent, afraid that one of her guards suddenly decides to check up on her.

"Let me hear you, use your words," he breathes, flexing the fingers around her throat and biting her shoulder.

"Fuck-" her knuckles and nails take turns in destroying her desk, scratching and denting the expensive wood grain. "I like making you, mmh . . . feel good." She manages, words stuttering between thrusts.

He gently pulls on her ear with his teeth. "Good," he whispers, then releases her throat and places his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her against the desktop.

Slap. His hands comes down on her ass, then gripping the plump flesh hard to lessen some of the stinging. A jolt of electricity shoots through her and her insides clench arouns him.

Jayce whimpers from the sudden, godlike pleasure. "Wanna hear you, honey, don't be shy." His hand comes down again, harder this time.

She squeezes around him, nerves on fire as she feels her second climax building up inside her. She moans as tears run down her face, happy pleasurable tears only Jayce has been able to produce.

"That's it . . ." He slaps her ass a third time, and the wall inside her core crumbles. With a whimper, she comes. "You did so good, lovely, im almost there," he assures her. Tears stream down her face as his thrusts grow irregular, but continues to pleasure her body. "Fuck," she cries, squirming from the drawn out orgasm. One hand holds her steady at the hip while the other slides up her back, rubbing her tender body until he brushes away stray hair from her profile.

"Hold on a little longer, just breathe, baby," he comforts her, such a stark contrast to the rough thrusts he's been dealing her body. Her fingers are jittery from the overstimulation, they ached to touch him, pull his hair, anything. But she can not reach, so she presses her palms against the table to keep them occupied.

As he sees her tear streaked face, one last blow lands on her ass and he too, comes. He collapses on top of her, they attempt to regain their strength as their sweaty bodies lie flush against eachother.

After a few moments of breathing heavily together, Jayce wraps an arm around her torso and splays his hand over her rips, pulling her with him as he straightens out.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns around. Hands finding his face, guiding her lips to his.

"Please look at me, my beautiful girl. Look at me," he pleads, murmuring the words against her lips.

She opens her eyes and his breath hitches. Yellow, brown irises meet her won. They're the exact same ones she knew not too long ago. Except . . . Haunted.

His fingers brush along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. She winces at the soft touch and his brows furrow in confusion.

Capturing her chin, he tilts her head back.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she whispers, assuring him as she sees his expression. Pure shock animates them.

"I don't-" his fingers trace the red marks running around her throat and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. "Im so sorry." He falls to his knees, hands resting against her chins as he hides his face between them. "I don't know-" he chokes and kisses her legs with remorse. He pecks her delicately, trailing his lips over her knees and up her thighs, hands following behind, tracing the outside of her legs until they reach her waist and encircle her. He hugs her tightly, knees sore against the hard wood. "Im not right," he breathes, head lulling into her lap. She can feel wetness coating her skin, running between her thighs.

She exhales heavily and slides down the desk until the hard wooden floor welcomes her thighs.

They stay like this for a good long while, she's in no rush and neither is he. Over and over again, her fingers comb through his overgrown and unpreened hair while the sensation of his seed drips out of her. Sharp nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck, they trace his bonestructure and play with its halls and valleys. The back of her fingers caress the length of his nose and sharpness of his cheekbone.

All the while Jayce lays wordless, occasionally squeezing her thighs, her hips. Occasionally trailing featherlight touches along her legs, watching with wonder how goosebumps rise and fall.

She chuckles beneath her breath. It's the same expression he used to get when making progress in the lap, just like when they first cracked the hextech runes. "Jayce," she says, attempting to grab his attention.

Crouching beneath her, he looks up from her lap, chin resting on the softness of her flesh. His face glistens and eyes plead. He looks at her with fatigue, wordlessly asking for her forgiveness.

"What happened?" She asks, her voice soft but words demanding. She's not getting dersuled this time, she needs answers.

He shakes his head, reluctantly drawing his lips into a thin line as he breaks away from her gaze.

Her eyebrows twist together. "What have you done?" She asks, anger laces her tone now. But he closes his eyes, the corners of his eyes gleaming again. The fingers burried in his hair curl into a fist and she pulls his head back, forcing him look at her. "What. Have. You. Done?"

His eyes shift between hers, uncertain, unwilling. "He's gone . . . " He begins. "I had to, I had to–the hexcore, it was poisoning him, spreading like a disease." His voice is coarse. "I had to stop him, there was no other choice."

Her eyes grow. Viktor . . . Gone? She could only assume when Jayce suddenly pays her a visit, but never dared believe.

"I never ment to leave you," he says, hand reaching out to grab her waist. "You have to believe me." He rouches the fabric at the waist, white knuckling it out of desperation for an ounce of u derstanding. "Hextech isnt what we thought it was, not anymore. Viktor couldnt see it, he was infecting the undercity, it would've spread to Piltover, the rest of the world if I didn't stop him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "But he was saving them, freeing them of shimmer."

"No . . . they weren't themselves anymore. I've been away, lost. I've seen–" She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. "The hexcore mutates them, changes them. I had to stop him. It, the core."

Her eyes drift the Jayce's hammer posted by the door. "Like your hammer?" She studies the now misshapen weapon, once crafted with obsessive precision. Her eyes drift lower along the neck and over its face, blood splatter.

She looks away, closing her eyes to recollect herself. Remembering to strongly the smell of blood Jayce had arrived with.

"Yes," he says. "Like I did." His hand reaches up to loosely cup her face. She notices how the crystal from his old bracelet has fused with his skin. Her fingers run along his arm and slides along the crystal, feeling it, inspecting it. "I didn't chose this," he murmurs. "I didn't chose to leave you . . . I love you." His hand falls back to his side.

She's taken aback. Its not something they've said before, not while still partners, not before all of, this . . . But despite herself, she believes him. They were colleagues for a long time and affection had always kept them together. He wouldn't hurt Viktor without reason.

With hooded eyes and parted lips, he studies her, waiting for her judgement.

"You had to," she nods, seamingly decided.

Relief and disappointment floods his face all at once. He'd expected an 'I love you' back.

She leans in, kissing him for the first time since he disappeared. Finally reunited. "We'll get through this, ok?" her voice is uncertain, what's happened has not been fully processed.

"Ok," he agrees and straightens his back, carefully placing small kisses along her abdomen as he does so, afraid he'll scare her away. "I've missed you so damn much." He levels his head with hers, meeting her gaze head on.

"I've missed you too," she responds. "But I need you now, Jayce. Can you do that for me?" She places a soft kiss on his lips.

"Certainly," he murmurs against them.

She stands, slinding his hand into hers and leads him to the bed. With his back to the bed, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him into sitting at the edge of the bed.

One leg over the other, she straddles him, standing on her knees so he has to look up at her. His she brushes the hair away from his eyes and lowers her lips to ghost over his. Their scared and quivering, needy to be on hers.

His hands slide up her sides and curves around her back, coming to rest in the arch above her ass. Gently, he massages circles into her skin, tickling her intentionaly.

She squirms beneath his touch, luring a satisfied grin from him. "You look good like this." Her fingers run through his beard, tracing his new scars. "Dangerous." Reaching down between them and into his pants, she pulls Jayce's member free and lowers herself just enough to tease his tip.

With a hiss, he locks his thumb over her hipbones and wanting to guide her onto him.

She shakes her head, a smirk playing in the corner of her lips. "My turn," she whispers and pull the straps of her dress down, letting it gather at her hips. Jayce's eyes immeidetly fall as his hands slide up her ribs with a specific destination in mind. "Dont touch," she warns. "Now look at me, Jayce." Her chest is inches from his face, but unallowed to look and unable to touch, his eyes appear like that of a wounded stag.

Her nimble fingers work on the buttons of his shirt and quickly slides it off of his shoulders. "Ive missed this," she purs, dragging a finger down his torso, her nail leaving a white scratched up mark behind it. "But this is new," she refers to the chest hair she's never seen before. "I like that, too." Her lips meet his jaw as she leaves kisses all the way down to his collarbone and shoulder. Her continues down his abdomen and below his v-line, then there's a sharp intake of breath as she stokes his member, circling the leaking pre-cum around his tip.

"Devil woman," he groans, but there's a twisted smile to his lips.

She returns it and takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely as if wanting to prove his point and oh, how she revels in the desperation on his face.

Her gaze fixes on his hands, clenching and unclencing in his lap, knuckles white from the strain. She bites her lip. "You look good like this," she repeats. "All, fallen apart . . . " She steps closer, placing herself between his legs. "Bloody and broken."

Never has he taken his eyes off of hers, and as she lowers herself onto his lap once more, she finds his member and lines him up. And finally, she sinks onto his thick inches. Still, he does not touch her. There is only a desperate whimper leaving his lips at the much needed pressure. Obedient, or respcetful? Either way, he deserves his praise. "Good boy. Now, touch me," she whispers and topple them over.

He twitches inside her at the words, but before she can react he's upon her. Fitting one breast into his mouth and the other in his hand, he licks and spits and squeezes. Sucking the entierty of her tender, plush flesh into his mouth.

"Ooh," she braces herself, strings of pleasure and heavy breaths return to them. "You liked that didn't you, pretty boy?" All she gets in response is humming between the lewd, obscene slurping.

Alright, then. Putting a hand on his chest for support, she begins to move, rocking back and forth just watching his expression of pleased torture.

Moving his hands to her hips, lips tear free from her breast for some much needed air, only to replace them upon her lips and kiss her with fervour.

She sits up, getting a better vantage and he follows not long thereafter. Unable to sit by and let her do the work. Leaning back on one hand and wrapping the other around her back, he helps her rut against him while he can't softly thrust up to meet her. "Fuck me- Jayce . . . " She gasps, hardly able to get enough air to moan.

He grins against her lips, sharing their breaths. "You liked that didn't you, pretty girl?" He mocks her.

She laughs breathlessly and digs her nails into his biceps. "Naughty," she murmurs and bites his lip, drawing blood. Again, she feels his member twitch amidst all the rocking between them. Their eyes meet and share a knowing glance. She cocks an eyebrow, he blushes. "That's what I thought," she smirks. It's her win, for now.

Unable to let it slide, Jayce takes the reigns. Flipping them over, he pins her beneath him without missing a single thrust. Amidst the confusion, he interlocks their fingers and pulls her arms above her head, stretching her out and limiting her movement.

She squirms against his restrains, testing the limits but he's rock solid. With her legs around his waist, he thrust perfectly into her and she cant help but roll her hips. She can feel the knot tightening in her core and she furrows her brows with displeasure. Missionary always did her in, he'll win. "Unfair," she moans, throwing her head back as waves of pleasure wash over her with every movement of his hips.

He moves one pair of their locked hands down so ha can stroke her throat with his thumb, placing soft kisses on the damage he caused.

His tenderness alone could cause her to crumble. "Put your back into it at least," she whines, realising she only had her pettiness left. Being beneath him, in his control feels way better than any win she could earn.

A breathless chuckle leaves him. "Yes, ma'am," he grunts, releases her and pulls out before he hooks her legs over his shoulders and thrusts back in. Hands finally free, she cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss concealing the cries bubbling up in her throat. For as it stands, he moves expertly and he's deeper–better than any man ever has been. "Fuck me-"

He smirks. "Tell me I'm good, again . . . " Shes uncertain if this is his ego talking or- "Please, please tell me im good," he whimpers, kissing her inbetween every word.

Without warning her, athird orgasm washes over her, back arching and nails digging into Jayce's cheeks. "You're so good to me," she sobs. "Such a good boy."

His thrusts falter and then he too, comes. Filling her with his seed, once again.

With shaking limbs he falls to her side, one arm draped over her chest. Both breathing heavily as they regain their senses.

"You win," he admits and kisses her temple.

Yes she does. "I love you, too," she smiles, heart and teeth achingly sweet.

[glassbxttless]

RUSTIC SOURDOUGH with SALAMI and MUSTARD with a side of HUSHPUPPIES

(only if you feel like it, delete this if it stresses you out lol)

Had to See My Girl

older!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from reformedkingsmanagement | You stop by the shop to drop off lunch for Eddie. You decide you just might have to do something about the pretty little thing that’s definitely flirting with him over her civic.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Smut, PinV, Unprotected sex, Semi-Public (they’re in the office at the shop during a lunch break), Age gap

notes: I always get so nervous writing Eddie, but I’ve realized my older Eddie can be however I want him to be. So y’all get a guy who loves his girl so much he’ll rearrange her guts anytime she wants him to lmao. This story falls in my Older Mechanic!Eddie AU! Thank you so much to @punkrockmlchael and @robinbuckleywife for reading this over for me! And to @peachyproserpina for editing!

The sun’s burning down on the auto shop. The rays bouncing off the pavement in shimmering waves, making everything smell like hot metal, burning asphalt, and way too much gasoline. You spot Eddie the second you pull into the lot— he’s leaned under the hood of some girl’s blue Honda Civic. One of his hands braced on the frame of the car, the other is lost in the tangle of belts and grime below. His hair’s tied back with the red bandana you used to keep tied to your purse handle, sweat dripping down his neck, and his coveralls are shrugged down around his waist. His tank top soaked through and clinging to the ink that spreads across his chest.

She’s leaning too, all legs and fucking lip gloss. She’s laughing way too hard at something he didn’t really say. You clock the way her eyes sweep over his shoulders, the slow curve of her smile as she twirls the straw in her drink. She’s flirting with your boyfriend, like it’s a job she gets paid well for.

Eddie doesn’t look uncomfortable per se, but you know him. You know that smile he’s got on as he nods along— that polite, tight-lipped, please don’t make me be mean to you smile. You know the way his shoulders tense when he’s stuck trying to be nice. He doesn’t see you until you’re already halfway across the lot, a brown paper bag in hand, the breeze tugging at your shirt. The second his eyes land on you, something shifts within him. He stands, spine straightening up, and his hand drops from the car. He gives you a look— half-relief, half something that gets your heart jumping right behind your ribs. “Hey,” he says softly, brushing his hands off on one of the shop towels. “You didn’t say you were coming in today.”

“I didn’t,” you reply, holding up the bag. “Brought you lunch.”

“She’s so sweet,” the girl pipes in, her voice all soft and dripping in artificial sugar. “Is this your assistant or something?”

You turn to smile at her, eyes sharp and unbothered. “Nope. I’m his girl. Can I steal you for a second, baby?”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate when you ask. He just jerks his chin toward the garage office and drops the rag on the nearest tool bench. Then he follows you inside, with heavy steps and a flushed neck. The door clicks shut behind you both, and the second it does, you spin on your heel and grab a fistful of his shirt.

Your mouth hits his hard. It’s greedy. It’s hot, and you aren’t talking about the temperature. You taste the sweat that’s been collecting on him, the motor oil he’s been around all day, and the faint remnants of that shitty corner store gum he chews because he’s finally trying to quit smoking. His hands slide up your sides, smudges of grease staining your skin. Oil from his coveralls now clinging to your skirt. His fingers slip under your top like he’s been starved for the feeling of your skin.

You reach behind him blindly where he was pressed up against the office door and twist the lock, and that’s all he needs. He groans low, rumbling his chest, and then he shoves you back onto the desk. His tools rattling off somewhere behind you, his body slotting between your legs like he fucking belongs there— because he does.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, his mouth dragging down your neck. His teeth scrape your throat just enough to make you gasp. “You really had to come in lookin’ like that while she’s out there makin’ heart eyes at me?”

“She was making eyes at you like she wanted a discount,” you breathe softly, tugging the bandana off his head and threading your fingers into his sweaty hair. “I just want your cock.”

That earns you a growl you’ve never heard him make before, and he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise. He’s dragging you closer to the edge of the desk until your thighs are spread wide, his hands palming them, and your ass is just barely balanced there. You can already feel how fucking hard he is through those stupid coveralls, he’s straining against the zipper. “She was talkin’ about my eyes,” he mumbles as he kisses your throat, the corner of your mouth, your collarbone, anywhere he can press his lips. “Told me I didn’t look forty-six. Think I’m gonna tell her it’s because I’ve got a hot girl and get laid on my lunch breaks.”

You grin, reaching between your bodies. You fiddle with where the arms of the coveralls are tied around his waist until you get the knot free, and then you tug his zipper down. He’s already hard and heavy when you wrap your hand around him. “Better make it a quick one then, boss. Wouldn’t want her little Civic to explode.”

He swears under his breath the second your skin makes contact with his, even gives a shallow thrust of his hips as he pulls your underwear to the side. His fingers sliding through the wet heat of your cunt like he’s been dreaming about it all morning. His eyes flick up to yours and the look he gives you is pure fucking adoration, all dark brown eyes and flushed pink cheeks, his teeth sunk into the corner of his mouth like he’s trying not to lose it. But he can’t keep his composure when you’re sitting there on his desk looking like this. So he does lose it. And he makes sure you’re going right down with him.

You don’t say anything else— you don’t need to. The second his fingers slide through the slick heat between your thighs, his mouth parts. A hungry little sound escaped him, and it sent a thrill straight down your spine. It starts the same every time, Eddie, towering over you. His eyes exploring every inch of your body, like the sight of you laid out in front of him wrecks him before he even gets inside of you. Like he’s not the one who holds any of the power in the room, but the one completely fucking owned.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs out softly, his voice low and rough. “So wet for me already?”

“For you,” you confirm, your fingers slide up from his cock to grip the front of his tank top. And then you drag him down to kiss you again. “Always for you.”

He moans loudly into your mouth, dragging two of his fingers through your folds again, slow and lazy, like he wants to savor every slick sound it makes. Then he draws back just enough to watch your face as he slides one of those thick fingers inside of you, curling up until your hips jolt off the desk. “Christ,” he hums, leaning in to kiss your jaw, your neck, the space behind your ear. “You’re squeezing already, baby, and I’m not even in there yet. Could live in this fucking pussy.”

You don’t get a chance to bite back the sound that leaves your mouth. You don’t even try to stop it. Your hand had already left where it had gripped his tank top and has already slid back down around him. You’re stroking him slow, his cock hot and heavy in your grip. His hips twitch forward into your palm, thrusting slowly like he needs something to work him up. He moans again— broken and deep. It’s a sound that shoots straight to your cunt.

“Need you inside me, Eddie,” you whisper to him, your voice desperate now. “I want you to fuck me right here. Don’t really care if she hears us.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, his head drops forward onto your shoulder as he slides his fingers out of you. Then he grips your thighs, jerking you forward so your hips are hanging off the edge of the desk so fast your breath catches. “You keep saying things like that, puppet, I’m gonna fuckin’ die right here in this office.”

You let him shove your skirt up and drag your panties down with confident hands. He’s tossing them somewhere behind him without really looking, without really caring. He wraps one hand around himself, and jerks once, twice, before he’s lining up and pushing the blunt head of his cock against your waiting cunt. The stretch that follows is perfect. He’s thick and slow, sinking into you inch by inch while your hands scramble for purchase on his sweat slick shoulders. His lips parted slightly, head cocked in a tilt as he watches you take him. His chest is heaving, every muscle in his arms going tight as he squeezes your thigh.

“Fuck me,” he grits out between his teeth, his jaw clenched. “You feel so good, baby. Always so fucking tight— like your pussy knows it’s mine.”

You nod in response. You can’t form words, let alone the right ones. You can only cry out when he finally bottoms out with a rough grunt and pauses there, deep and throbbing inside you. His noses along your jaw, pressing kisses against your skin, the sweat sticking between your bodies before he finally stops, his lips brushing the corner of yours.

“You okay?” he asks softly, panting just a bit.

“Move,” you whisper, but it sounds more like a plea. “Please, Eddie— move.”

If there’s one thing he’s learned in his forty-six years, is to fucking listen to his girl. So he does. He grabs your hips and fucks into you hard enough to shake the desk beneath you. A particularly punctuated thrust of his hips sends a wrench off the desk and onto the floor with a loud clang. Your legs wrap around him tight, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs as he pounds into you. Each thrust pulling that little band in your belly more taut. His teeth are clenched, his breath ragged. Desperate sounds are swirling around you both— his name, your moans, the wet slap of skin on skin as he fucks you like he doesn’t have a client standing twenty feet away. He’s relentless as he rocks his hips into you, his head resting against your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling back to watch his hand snakes between your bodies. His fingers clamping down and circling your clit in messy, tight circles that have you coming apart fast. Too fucking fast. The pressure building low in your belly has your brain dizzy. “C’mon, baby,” he moans out, leaning forward until his mouth is at your throat. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock. You know how much I love it when you squeeze me like that— fuck— there it is, that’s it—”

What finally does it alongside his words, is Eddie slipping a finger inside of you, right along his cock. That taut band deep within you snapping back against everything. It sends a flash of white hot pleasure through you as your eyes close, your back arches off the desk, and your fingers bury in his hair. Your orgasm tears through you like lightning. Your whole body tenses, shakes, your mouth hangs open in a silent cry as the heat rushes down your spine and pulses around him, squeezing him, within what feels like, an inch of his fucking life.

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby,” he moans, he’s chasing his own orgasm now— he’s desperate in his ministrations, letting you ride out your own through each roll of his hips. Then that pressure in his own belly peaks and he’s burying himself deep, stopping only when he’s at the hilt. Then he’s spilling inside of you, his hips stutter, his hands gripping so tight he knows he’s bruising your thighs as he empties himself with a few broken thrusts. His head falls back, facing the ceiling “F-fuck, fuck— yeah— take it, baby— juuuust like that.”

The air between you grows hot and heavy. It’s sticky with sweat and smells of sex. He leans over you again, panting against your mouth as he presses soft, dizzy kisses to your lips. He’s sweet, his hands not as tight on you as they once were, now they’re roaming— rubbing the ache out of your body as you both try to breathe again.

“Next time,” he chuckles softly, his kisses trailing along your jaw until he stops at your ear, “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the window over there. Just so she knows.”

You laugh, breathlessly and bring a hand up to cup his cheek, guiding him in for another kiss. One that’s slow and soft and filled with so much love your heart could burst. “Next time,” you whisper, “I’ll let you.” 

You’re still a little shaky when he pulls out of you, his hands even gentler now than they were before. He tugs your skirt back down in place over your hips and kisses the inside of your thigh. His eyes flick up to you in a silent apology. Like he’s grateful. You’re not sure which one it is, but it makes your chest ache in that stupid soft way he always manages to drag out of you, even after absolutely wrecking you on top of a cluttered auto shop desk when he’s not even off the clock.

Eddie wipes you off with one of the old shop rags from the shelf— muttering something under his breath that sounds a whole lot like, “this is probably not OSHA-approved, but I’m a man of convenience”— and then leans in to kiss the crease of your smile before his hands are wrapping around yours and he helps you off the desk. His fingers linger at your waist when you find your footing, like he doesn’t actually want to let you go. He only drops them when you swat at his chest playfully and tell him, “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna climb back up there and be late for literally everything else I have to do today.”

He snorts, glancing down as he zips himself back into his coveralls. “Really wouldn’t be the worst thing, no?”

You find your panties just under one of the chairs across from the desk— crumpled and inside-out— and shoot him a look as you step into them again. “Your aim’s getting better, Ed. Didn’t hit the light switch this time.”

“Practice makes perfect, sweetheart.”

Once you’ve smoothed your hair down and tucked your shirt back into your skirt, you hand him the brown paper bag you had originally came with— his lunch, now mostly forgotten— and he takes it with a sheepish, but satisfied grin. You both look thoroughly fucked-out and still completely in love. It’s a dangerous combination. You kiss him again anyway.

The kiss feels so quick— but truly it’s so soft and a little slow. His thumb brushes under your jaw like he hates not being able to keep you longer. “You staying over tonight?” he asks softly, his lips brushing against yours.

“If you promise to feed me.”

“Baby, I just did.”

You shove him in the chest, laughing as he opens the office door. The sharp scent of oil and asphalt hits you immediately, reminding you of just how hot summer in Hawkins can get. Your heels click on the concrete floor as you step out behind him. You fortunately look more composed than you feel.

Eddie walks back toward the Civic like he didn’t just rearrange your entire insides, and the girl is still standing there. As soon as she sees him, she’s twirling her straw again, her eyes shaded behind big round sunglasses. She looks up when she hears his voice and gives him a bright smile— that is, until she sees you.

You can’t help it. You smile at her, wide and unbothered. You turn slightly and blow him a kiss as you pass the garage bay, heading for your car. You don’t look at her again, not directly— but you catch the shift in her face out of the corner of your eye. The tight little squint of suspicion as she looks over you as you pass. The way her mouth pulls down at the corners, like she’s trying to piece something together and doesn’t like the answer she’s winding up at.

And Eddie? Eddie doesn’t even flinch. He just grins and leans back under the hood of her car and says, real casual, “Sorry about that. Had to see my girl.”

You slide into your car with a grin that doesn’t leave your face the whole way home.

tags ;; my taglist is currently down, therefore I couldn’t tag the ones who wanted to be tagged! I’m sorry! It’ll be back in business soon— hopefully!

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

|| smut MDNI 18+, pinv, no outbreak, talk of infertility, not cheating but def not exactly kosher, baby makin', breeding kink, dirty talk, size kink, boundaries being crossed || notes: forgive me father for I have sinned. this is filthy. but also thinking about a part 2. kinda sorta maybe inspired by some crazy reddit stories. you'd be surprised how many there are like this LOL

You knew this was a crazy idea. Batshit crazy, actually. You were aware. But maybe, just maybe, if you spun it the right way, if you framed it with enough love and logic, it wouldn’t seem so absurd.

See, the thing is, you and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. Trying and, well, failing. It wasn’t until your last visit to the OB-GYN that a simple question—"Has Tommy ever been tested?"—sent everything spiraling. A few weeks of waiting. A single piece of paper. An answer you never expected. It wasn’t you. It was him.

Not that you’d ever blame him. You loved him too much. But no matter how many old wives’ tricks you tried: holding your legs up after he emptied himself into you, orgasms before and after, cinnamon and honey in your morning tea. Nothing could change the fact that no amount of effort would make it stick.

Which brings you to now. Sat at the kitchen table in your quaint, cozy home with Joel across from you, a few glasses of wine deep. His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mildly entertained from whatever dumb story Tommy had been telling. You’d needed a glass yourself, just to steady your nerves.

And then Tommy popped the question.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise, somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh, to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

“You…” he started, then stopped. Shook his head. “You want me to—?”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. Just motioned vaguely, like the words were so ridiculous they refused to come out of his mouth.

Tommy sighed, his grip firm around your hand while the other wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah.”

Joel exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two of you, like maybe, just maybe, this was a joke. That you'd all start laughing and point at him with a big 'got ya!'. His lips parted slightly, his forehead creased.

“You’re serious.”

“We wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Tommy said, voice steady.

Joel let out a breathy laugh, hollow and disbelieving. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palms against the table, fingers splaying out like he needed to brace himself.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.”

“We know.”

“Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.”

“This ain’t easy for either of us,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the tension winding between the three of you. “But we wouldn’t ask anyone else. We want to keep it in the family, so…the baby would still be related to me.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

He looked over in your direction, but not directly at you, just at the table. At your hand in Tommy’s.

“And you’re…okay with this?” His voice was different now. Lower. Measured, like he was afraid of the answer.

You nodded. “We’ve talked about it. A lot. Ever since the results came back, we’ve been weighing options, and this—” You hesitated, swallowing, trying to gauge if he was even absorbing a single word. “It makes the most sense. More than adopting. More than a stranger. It keeps things in the family.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his ears tinged pink. He still wasn’t looking at you.

Not until you said his name. Soft. Careful.

His eyes flicked to yours, just for a second. Just long enough for you to see everything—the disbelief, the sheer what the fuck of it all—before he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you said gently, exhaling softly. “Just… take some time to think about it.”

Joel didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he left. No joke, no small talk of the next Sunday night football game could cut through the weight pressing down on the room. Just a stiff nod, a muttered see ya, and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

The following Sunday, it almost felt like the conversation had never happened.

The three of you sat at the sports bar, watching the Cowboys play on the massive screens, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food. Tommy was his usual self, shouting at the refs, leaning into Joel’s shoulder every time the score tipped in their favor. Joel, on the other hand, was harder to read. He was relaxed enough, beer in hand, his usual dry remarks slipping out here and there, but there was something quieter beneath it all, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Not one mention of a baby. Not a single word about what you’d asked of him.

And maybe that was his answer.

When your husband got up, throwing out the excuse of takin’ a leak, the energy between you and Joel shifted. Not in a way you could name, just… thicker. More noticeable.

He sat a seat away, the empty barstool between you like a buffer neither of you had the nerve to close.

You tried to let it roll off your shoulders, but as you sat there, your mind wandered. What if Joel had said yes? What if it worked? Would the baby have his dark eyes, that heavy, thoughtful brow? Would they get that serious little crease between their eyes when they were thinking? His thick hair, his strong hands?

Tommy would still be their father. That was what mattered. That was the whole point. But the idea of seeing traces of Joel. Subtle things, the shape of a nose, the curve of a smile…

The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

It hurt, his lack of an answer, of course it did. But how could you blame him? You were asking for too much. Asking him to do something unnatural, something messy, something that could never be as clean and logical as you and Tommy had tried to convince yourselves it was.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as the silence stretched. “Listen, Joel—”

“I’ll do it.”

It was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Your breath caught, as you stared at him, mouth agape. The side of his face gave nothing away as he kept his eyes on the TV as you waited for some kind of smirk, some sign that he was messing with you.

But he wasn’t.

Joel kept his eyes averted, like this was the kind of thing a person could say without looking someone in the eye. He took a long drink from his bottle, then set it down with a dull thud.

“You and Tommy deserve this,” he murmured, rolling the glass between his palms as he stared down at it. “To have a kid.”

Your heart constricted at the sincerity in his voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My life is better ‘cause of Sarah. Don’t think I ever told Tommy that outright, but… it is. I’d love to see him get to have that too.”

You blinked. “Are you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You serious?”

Joel turned to you finally, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since last week before you dropped the bomb on him, “Yeah.” he said finally, “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He was clearly uncomfortable, clearly still working through it, but the fact that he said it at all, that he meant it... that was more than you expected.

To be honest, you knew the baster idea wouldn’t work.

Not that you’d ever say it out loud. Not to your very loving, very kind, very hopeful husband. But deep down, you were pretty sure that by the time Joel had taken care of himself, transferred it into a container, driven it over, and you’d sat back on the bed with your legs up, whatever needed to be alive in there was long dead.

You didn’t bring it up. Couldn’t. Not when Tommy was trying so hard to make this work.

Across from you in the kitchen one morning, another negative pregnancy test sitting between you, your husband sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before reaching for his mug, “If I ask you somethin’,” he murmured, voice low, hesitant, “will you tell me the truth?”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Of course, baby.”

His hand rested on the granite, fingers close enough that you reached out, tracing them lightly with your own. His eyes drifted down to your delicate touch against him.

Then, he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should try…” His fingers twitched under yours. “Ya know. The old-fashioned way?”

For a second, the words didn’t land.

Not until you saw the way his eyes found yours and he was looking at you—serious, thoughtful, like he’d been turning it over in his head for longer than he wanted to admit.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed, pressing his lips together before setting his coffee down. “I just think… for it to stick properly, we might need to try somethin’ more… natural.”

Your mind reeled. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin before you could stop it.

The idea of being with another man…

Tommy saw it. The way your lips parted, the way your breath caught just slightly.

He stepped closer, smoothing his hands over your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his.

“Only if you were comfortable with it,” he assured, voice gentle, steady. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ you didn’t wanna do.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process. “I—I don’t know, Tommy.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “And Joel would flip out if we asked that of him.”

Tommy hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Yeah, he might.”

Might was an understatement.

Joel was over the following day to help with your bathroom remodel, a project the brothers had taken on during the slow season. You were busy finishing whatever odds and ends you needed to get done upstairs when you heard his voice traveling through the house.

Not just his voice, but the volume of it.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

The sound rattled through the house, shaking the walls as you hovered at the top of the stairs, heart pounding.

“Joel—” Tommy’s voice, calm but firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to ‘Joel’ me right now, Tommy, because what you just said—what you just— Christ.” There was the distinct sound of something slamming. A fist on the table? A chair shoved back? You weren’t sure, but it made you wince.

“Look, man, I knew you’d be pissed,” Tommy started, only to be cut off immediately.

“Oh, did you?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You knew I’d be pissed, but you went ahead and asked anyway? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m already crossin’ so many lines with what we’re doin’, and now you’re askin’ me to…to—!?”

You could picture it perfectly: Joel pacing the length of the room, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, winding up, because when Joel was really mad, he didn’t just stand there.

“You’re makin’ it a bigger deal than it is,” Tommy tried, tone even.

Joel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand the part where you just asked me to fuck your wife?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“We ain’t askin’ that, Jesus, Joel, don’t talk about her like—”

“You are absolutely askin’ that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it ain’t!”

Silence. Heavy, tense.

You swallowed hard, gripping the banister, unsure whether to go down there or stay put.

Then, Joel’s voice, lower now, but still laced with disbelief.

“Tell me you didn’t really think I’d say yes to this.”

And Tommy, just as steady as ever:

“I think you wanna say no.” A pause, and you could almost feel the shift in the air between them. “But deep down? I think you’re already considerin’ it.”

Joel let out a slow, sharp exhale, but he didn’t argue.

And a week later, he was back at your doorstep.

There were three rules.

1. No kissing.

That was the hard line, the non-negotiable. Kissing was too intimate, too personal, too close to something else entirely. You could rationalize everything else, strip it down to the mechanics of what needed to happen, but kissing blurred the lines. That made it mean something. And this couldn’t mean anything.

2. No talking about it outside the bedroom. 

No slipping up over dinner, no awkward mentions in passing, no weird jokes over a few beers. It had to stay contained. A thing that only existed in a room with the door closed and the world shut out. Because once it bled into the rest of your life, once it became something you acknowledged beyond those four walls. it would become real.

3. No names

No whispered Joel in the dark, he couldn’t say yours while he was inside you. Names had weight. Names had meaning. And the second you said them, it stopped being about a baby.

So when your ovulation window came within the next few days, you found yourself in your bedroom with the two brothers. When Tommy excused himself from the room pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out to meet his buddies at the bar like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing in the world, you turned to Joel

Over the years, you’d come to know him, grown comfortable with him. That familiarity should’ve helped, should’ve made this easier. But sitting here now, alone in the bedroom with him, awkward was an understatement.

Joel sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his brows as he stood at the edge of the bed. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

You nodded numbly, tucking your legs beneath you on the bedspread, looking up at him.

He was already tense, broad shoulders squared, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t even in the damn room. He exhaled sharply, then, without ceremony, unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal sent a strange ripple through your stomach, but you forced yourself to focus, watching as he shucked his jeans down to his thighs, taking his boxers with them.

Your breath caught.

Even soft as he was at the moment, he was bigger than Tommy. Thicker.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his stance, one hand bracing against the bedpost while the other wrapped around himself. He wasn’t looking at you. Not even close. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere off to the side, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he started moving his hand.

It wasn’t working.

Minutes passed, the air between you thick and suffocating, but he remained… soft. The tension in his face deepened, brows knitting, his motions growing stilted.

You chewed your lip, watching as his frustration mounted.

“You don’t gotta sit there starin’ at me,” he muttered, voice gruff, like this was somehow your fault.

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m just… tryin’ to think how I can help.”

His hand stilled. “You’re fine. Jus–just give me a minute,”

Then suddenly as the idea struck, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes going wide. “What’re you doin’?” His voice was sharp, edged in something that sounded suspiciously close to panic.

You hesitated. “Just… thought maybe it’d help.”

“Well, don’t.” His ears were red. “Keep your damn clothes on.”

You huffed. “Jesus, it’s just a shirt.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but let it go, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Another beat of silence, only the sound of skin on skin filling the air as he fisted himself.

“Can I help?”

His gaze flicked to yours, skeptical. “Help how?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Joel tensed. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“A valid one,” you shot back, tilting your head. “C’mon, there’s gotta be somethin’. What do you like?”

He hesitated, shifting where he stood, uncomfortable. You rattled off a few suggestions, some kinks you’d heard of. He barely reacted.

Then finally, one seemed to slap him upside the head, “Do you like dirty talk?”

His entire body stilled.

His eyes finally, finally found yours.

There it was.

A slow pulse of heat curled low in your stomach.

You leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “What kind of things do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you, the tension in his jaw loosening, his pupils starting to widen.

“Come on, Joel,” you said, then immediately pressed your lips together, realizing you’d already broken one of your own rules not even five minutes in.

“Sorry—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “But c’mon, do you want me to talk to you? Or what do you usually say to women?”

Joel’s eyes were suddenly burning into you, his chest rising and falling just a little heavier now. He exhaled sharply, remembering himself as his gaze flickered around the room like he wasn’t sure where to land it, like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would stay clinical, mechanical.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, voice rough. “Usually will tell ‘em they’re bein’ real good for me,” he said, exhaling through his teeth. “Bein’ a good girl.”

The temperature of the room shifted, the air growing heavy, pressing down on you. A slow, pooling ache pulsed low in your belly. His nostrils flared as his eyes found yours again, like maybe he could see exactly what that did to you.

You swallowed, “What else?”

Joel’s hips twitched. He hesitated, his grip flexing around himself, fingers curling just slightly. You caught the bob of his throat, the faint shift of his stance. He was getting there.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Tell ‘em how pretty they look on their knees.” His voice had taken on a new weight: thicker, heavier, his drawl rolling low in his throat. “How sweet they sound when they moan for me. How bad I wanna feel ‘em wrapped around me, drippin’ and ready, beggin’ for more.”

The room contracted, the air impossibly tight, each breath harder to pull in. Your skin felt hot, your lips parting as you fought to keep your breathing steady. And you knew your pupils were wide, knew your face was flushed.

Because his was too.

His eyes had darkened, locked on yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. You inhaled deeply, the air between you charged, electric. You reached out, fingers grazing along his forearm. He tensed, muscles flexing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“You wanna take this off?” you murmured, voice quiet but sure, fingers tracing up toward the sleeve of his shirt.

Joel let out a slow breath, something flickering behind his eyes, hesitation, uncertainty, but then, after a beat, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Your gaze raked over him.

Christ. He was the epitome of masculinity: broad and solid, built like something carved from rough earth, from long years of labor and hardship. His chest was strong, lined with thick, dark hair that tapered down his stomach in a steady trail, leading lower, disappearing into the patch just above where he was hardening in his hand. 

Your mouth was dry, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum in your veins.

You lifted your hands to the hem of your own shirt, pausing just slightly. He hadn’t looked away.

“Okay?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed, gaze dark, unreadable, but after a second, he nodded.

You pulled it over your head, the fabric slipping away, baring more skin than you’d ever thought he’d see.

Joel exhaled sharply, his eyes dragging down your body, heavy and slow, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes. Your nipples pebbled in the open air, a shiver running through you as his gaze settled there, his breath hitching just slightly.

You reached for him again, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his chest, dipping over the planes of his stomach. He was warm beneath your touch and he smelled like pine and musk and something richer, something leathered and sun-baked. Something distinctly Joel.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “O—okay,” he exhaled, voice rough. “I think I’m… good,” he added shakily, and you could see his body finally catching up to the filth rolling off his tongue, the thick weight of him fully hard now. You swallowed dryly at the sheer size of him in his palm.

Standing slowly, your hands dropped from his body, but your eyes never left his as you slid your pants down your hips and let them pool at your feet.

Bare. You were both bare.

Your gaze dragged over him, from the broad stretch of his shoulders down to his stomach, the solid cut of his thighs, his cock standing thick and heavy between you. It was the most you’d ever seen of him. The most he’d ever seen of you.

And he was beautiful.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tight as his gaze traveled over every inch of you. Then, wordlessly, you laid back down on the bedspread, opening your legs for him.

He cursed under his breath.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides before he climbed onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. His eyes darted down, locked onto the wetness pooling between your thighs, and his nostrils flared.

“All this from just a few sweet words, huh?” His voice was lower now, edged with something amused but dark, something he hadn’t meant to let slip through.

He shifted forward, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.”

Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?”

The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…”

Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?”

“No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.”

“I know, darlin’.”

You gasped as the thick head of his cock suddenly swiped through your slick arousal, and he hissed, pressing his other hand into the pillow beside your head as he leaned over you.

“Fuck—”

His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked, and something about it made your thighs squeeze around his waist, made the heat coil even tighter in your belly.

Joel lingered there, his cock sliding through your slick, slow and deliberate, teasing against your swollen clit with every pass. The thick head caught at your entrance, nudging just slightly, and a gasp broke from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing in the pillow beside your head, his body wound tight like a spring.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough, strained.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

He pressed forward, just an inch, just enough for you to feel the blunt stretch of him, and your breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “So damn wet.”

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything other than how thick he was, how different he was from Tommy. You felt like you were being split in two, but you wanted more. Every inch only made that need, that hunger, grow.

His hand lifted from his cock, skimming over your hip before settling on your thigh, holding you open.

“Gotta take it slow,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside you. “I can take it.”

His head dropped for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Something about that word, the way it left his mouth, low and full of something dangerous, made your stomach clench.

The stretch was slow, unbearable in the best way as he pushed forward even more, your body giving inch by inch, and you let out a sharp exhale as he filled you.

Joel groaned, deep and low, his fingers tightening on your thigh as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

Jesus Christ.

The weight of him inside you, the way he fit...it was overwhelming, taking up every inch of space, leaving you panting beneath him.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hips flush with yours now, his jaw tight. “You’re—shit, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist, your body working to adjust to the fullness, to the sheer size of him, and then—oh god—then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in.

You moaned, head falling back against the pillows, fingers flexing against the sheets.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening. “That’s it.”

As he began to set a steady pace, a deep thrust in, a gentle pull out, the tingling sensation you knew all too well was rising fast—too fast. It climbed up your spine, coiling tight, and your breath hitched in your throat. The sensation was familiar, so familiar, but not like this. Not from this.

Joel moved with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one stretching you full, dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you with agonizing precision. His cock was thick, heavy, unrelenting, pressing deep, pressing right, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with ease, the calloused pad brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, a touch just firm enough to make you jolt. Your whole body reacted, thighs trembling, an involuntary gasp ripping from your lips.

His breath hitched as he felt it too, and he let out a dark, pleased hum.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate drag against your skin. His thumb moved again, slick and sure, working tight little circles against you. “Now, what was it you said again?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers gripping at the sheets, at him, anything to keep yourself tethered, because the pleasure was coming in hot, hard waves now, building, climbing, making your skin flush and prickle with heat.

“I—I never—” You gasped, voice breaking, lips parting as your back arched into the feeling, as you felt your muscles tighten and clench under him.

Joel leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “C’mon, sweet girl. Use your words.”

Your hips met every thrust, dragging a moan from deep in your chest.

“I’ve never—ah!—never come like this before,” you choked out, breathless and desperate.

Joel swore under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin.

“I–”

“Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

Heat flared in your belly, your legs shaking around him, pleasure tearing through you.

Joel felt it, the way you clenched down around him, and he grinned, breath hot against your mouth as he groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck—that’s it. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your body suddenly snapped. The orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and merciless, every nerve in your body firing at once, blinding you with pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Your breath punched from your lungs as your back arched clean off the bed, thighs trembling, a cry tearing from your lips as waves of heat crashed through you.

Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him, and his mouth hovered just above yours, his breath mixing with yours, the air between you thick and electric.

He felt the way your body fluttered around him, still pulsing with the comedown of your orgasm, dragging him deeper, tighter, trapping him. His breath was heavy, coming in sharp, ragged exhales as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against yours.

His hips kept moving quick and uneven, dragging his cock in and out of your still clenching walls. He was throbbing, thick and hot inside you, every roll of his hips sending sharp little sparks of overstimulation through your system.

That was when, after coming back to earth, you saw the way his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching whenever you squeezed around him just right. The tension in his face, the way his muscles coiled and flexed with every deliberate movement.

He was close.

You wondered…

Your breath was still shaky, voice unsteady, but you let it slip out, slow and sultry, testing the waters, “You feel so good,” you whispered.

Joel froze for a split second, a sharp breath punching from his lungs as he reeled his head back to look down at you.

"Does it feel good for you?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. “Filling me up? Making me feel so full? So good?”

Joel let out a ragged, wrecked sound, his fingers digging into your skin, gripping you like a lifeline.

And in that moment—fuck the rules.

Because this was anything but clinical now.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, letting your breath fan against his ear as you whispered, gentle, teasing.

“You gonna give me a baby, Joel?”

Joel let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace faltering. His thrusts turned rougher, sharper, his body moving on pure instinct now, chasing it.

And then he snapped.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as heat flooded you. His whole body shook, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came, thick and hot, spilling deep, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was trying to ground himself.

You gasped at the feeling, at the warmth spreading inside you, at the way his body shook above you.

Joel was panting, forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp at his hairline, his breath fanning against your lips, warm and unsteady.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Joel was still inside you, still filling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His breath was heavy, warm against your cheek as he turned his head, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, uneven waves.

“I should, uh…” His voice was hoarse, thick with something he wasn’t naming. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he sat up. “I should probably—”

You shifted slightly beneath him, still sensitive, still pulsing with the warmth of him inside you. Your thighs trembled, the ache delicious, spreading through you like slow heat.

“You can go,” you murmured, voice soft, a little sleepy. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

He hesitated as he looked down at you, your bodies still connected. 

You blinked up at him, lips curving in a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It’s said that if a woman stays lying down after, it increases the chances of conception.” You hummed, stretching slightly, body still warm and loose. “Just want to give it time to stick.”

You felt him twitch inside you, like his body had just caught up to the meaning of your words, and then he was pulling out, hissing under his breath as he eased away from you.

His heat vanished instantly, and a shiver ran through you at the sudden emptiness, the cool air replacing where he’d been pressed so solidly against you. You exhaled, tugging the covers up over yourself, shifting deeper into the mattress, letting your body sink into the afterglow.

Joel, on the other hand, was already moving, and fast.

He turned away from the bed, running a hand through his hair, reaching for his jeans like he needed them back on, needed the barrier, needed to be done with this.

“Hey,” you called softly as he stepped toward the door, one leg shoved into his pants.

He paused, turning slightly, just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

You blinked up at him sleepily, the blankets pulled up to your bare shoulders, your voice softer now. “You okay?”

Joel hesitated. Just for a second.

His hands hovered at his belt, his fingers twitching. His lips pressed together, like he was weighing his answer, like he didn’t trust whatever was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Then, he gave you a short, stiff nod. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

You hummed, unconvinced, watching the way his chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the lingering flush at his throat, the tension in his hands as he buckled his belt like he was fighting something.

“Okay,” you murmured, turning your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded, “And, Joel?”

His gaze flickered back to you, hovering, like he was bracing himself.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the blankets, warmth settling deep in your bones. “Thank you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched where they grabbed for his shirt, his throat working around something thick, something stuck. His eyes dragged over you one last time, heavy, unreadable, before he gave a single, curt nod.

“I’ll see you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Then he turned, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, he was gone.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

COME BACK TO ME, PLEASE. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc. 4153 summary. bucky would never return home late from a mission, not if he could help it anyway. he would always give you updates and little texts when he gets the chance. though tonight he doesn’t message and all your texts go undelivered. you immediately think the worst and are left to wallow in your made up grief for hours before he returns back home to you. warnings. 18+ only! thunderbolts* era bucky, bit of angst at beginning, implicit suicide mention (reader says she’d join him if something bad were to happen to him (romeo and juliet who?)) established relationship (implied that they’re married) wound tending, comforting, dry humping, titty kissing, eating it from the back (only a little) unprotected pinv, ‘I missed you’ sex, bit of roughness, creampie, allusions to aftercare (I got lazy) mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Time had become a mystery to you by now, any sense of the minute or hour truly lost. If you were to guess by the pain in your ass from the hard floor and ache in your eyes from the bright corridor lights, you would assume it to be ten, maybe eleven pm — three ish hours after Bucky said he’d be home. 

It wasn’t like him. He would never be home later than arranged, not if he could help it anyway. Though it wasn’t the lateness that bothered you, it was lack of communication that became the issue.

Throughout most missions, if not, all, Bucky would check in randomly with texts, keeping you up to date with his ETA and wellbeing, sometimes even just an emoji heart to let you know that he’s thinking of you. But tonight, the last and only message you received was an indistinguishable jumble of words, those dozen letters unclear and worrying. Immediately you thought the worst, thinking it was his final text to you before something awful happened.

Ultimately the dreaded feeling grew more intense when your messages to Yelena went undelivered, even the ones you sent to John. 

And so, here you still sit. Outside the apartment, your back against the door with your knees bent up, elbows resting atop as you keep your face buried in your hands. It was agonising, left to your own devices with nothing but terrible thoughts to chip away at your brain. You knew you should keep yourself distracted and busy and occupied, but you couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally missing a message if one were to ever come through. So you waited, sitting out front so you could spot him coming out the elevators. 

He would always find a way to communicate with you — to let you know all’s well so you don’t fret, so why hasn’t he this time? Could it really be as bad as what you were thinking, is it possible it could be worse? You thought.

Your palms glide up your face and your fingers run over your hair briefly, a small attempt to alleviate some of the turmoil residing inside you. You twist the band on your left ring finger, turning it around three times like you were wordlessly granting a wish for Bucky’s return.

The hopeless feeling continues to bloom and you drop your head into crossed arms, your shoulders beginning to shudder with your silent cries. You hear a ding in the near distance but you can’t bear to look up and be met with yet another stranger. So you keep your head down, not so keen on re-feeling the weight of disappointment again so soon.

You hear your name being called from down the corridor, the voice all too familiar and you peer up. You blink away the water that clouds your vision and see your lover jog towards you, heavy boots thudding on the carpeted floors. He says your name again and you stand, rushing towards him with open arms. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you mumble, the sight of him reopening a floodgate of tears. You throw yourself into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck like you were afraid he’d slip through your fingers. “Oh my god,” you sob into him, thankful he’s made it back.

Bucky’s arms encircle you, grip tight around the middle of your back as buries his face into the crook of your neck, re-familiarising himself with your comfort. “I’m so sorry,” he squeezes you tighter, scared that you, too, may fall through his grasp. “I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats. “I tried, I really did.”

You didn’t need to question what that meant, you already knew. You knew he would exhaust every means in order to speak to you.

“I know,” you muffle and pull away. You wipe the snotty nose on your sleeve and look over him, eager to assess his damage. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” you hone in on his forehead, only just noticing some gashes above his brow. You tilt his head with your hands either side of his face, moving him gently to get a better look. “What happened?” you ask, saddened eyes meeting his tired ones. 

He brings his thumbs to swipe away the wet under your eyes and then wraps his hands around your wrists, pulling them from his face. “It’s nothing,” he assures and slips his hands into yours, giving them a comforting squeeze.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you protest and sniffle, eyes narrowing at him. “It looks like it hurts, actually, quite a bit.”

His head cocks and his eyes close, it’s like he knew there was no way of making you think otherwise. To you, it was the face of acceptance. Reluctant acceptance. He inhales deeply and nods, wordlessly admitting the agony and irritation it had been causing him. 

He should've attended to the wound hours ago by himself, but between the nightmare mission and everything that had happened, it simply fell onto the back burner — his own issues discarded in that very typical Bucky way. But truthfully, he much preferred it when you’d attend to his cuts and scrapes after missions. He loved the fuss you’d make over him. It made him feel safe knowing he had something so tender and loving there waiting for his return. 

He steps around you and guides you towards the apartment, hand still entwined in yours as you walk through the door. Instinctively you each move around purely on muscle memory: Bucky throwing his jacket aside and taking a seat at the dining table, you heading to the bathroom to wash up and collect the first aid kit.

Your slippers scuffle along the floor as you make your way back to him at the table, you tighten your robe and sit beside him. 

Although you were glad he was back, you found it difficult to look at him. It was like a new wave of fear stills inside you, like you were afraid that if you were to look too hard his face would morph into someone else like a bad dream. As if you were scared he wasn’t actually there and instead a pigment of your imagination.

But his eyes remain solely on you even when yours couldn’t — watching you intently as you carefully pick up his fleshed hand. He could see it in you without even having to meet your eyes; you were feeling a concoction of all things bad, and it was more than evident in your demeanour.

Your gaze hangs low as you swipe an antiseptic pad over his knuckles, wiping away the residual blood that he very obviously ‘cleaned’ with his top. You feel his fingers tighten in yours like he was offering solace and your bottom lip begins to wobble.

He moves his head as if to try and meet your eyes, but close them tight, the act an attempt to stop yourself from crying yet again. He places his left, metal hand on your knee slotted between his and he smoothes over your thigh, trying to assure you. 

“I really thought I lost you,” you admit quietly. 

There wasn’t much he could say. Of course it was bound to be a dire situation for you, the uncertainty of the night amplifying all those bad thoughts of yours. He couldn’t change what happened, but he can change the way you feel about it now. Or at least he could try.

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

You scoff softly and peer up from his hand to look at him. “You can’t know that,” your head shakes faintly as if to reinforce your words. 

There was truly no way he could know that. As strong as he is, there is always going to be someone stronger, someone more powerful. Someone is always going to have a better set of skills and there will be a time where he won’t be able to do anything about it.

“I do,” he scooches forward on his chair, getting even closer to you. “If I have you waiting here, there’s no way I’m not coming back.”

You smile sadly at him, almost wishing you believed it. In some aspects, you did. You knew he meant his words, but it was something out of his control to promise. 

You look down to his hand in yours and thumb over the dozens of tiny cuts — reminding yourself of all the times he’d come home despite being bloodied and beaten and worn next to nothing. He always did return. So maybe he did mean it.

You pick up a clean wipe from the pack on the table and guide it to his brow, slowly and carefully starting to blot around the gash. You keep your eyes fixed on the wound as you debate whether to translate your inner monologue into something vocal, into something he can hear too.

“By the way,” you start, hesitantly deciding to voice your thoughts. “If you go, I do, too.”

Bucky firms, shoulders tightening at the realisation that very well may be true. He focuses on you, watching the concentration in your expression as you clean the cut. 

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” you turn his words back on him, repeating what he voiced to you a few moments ago.

“I don’t want you doing that.”

“You won’t get a choice… because you won’t be here,” you meet his gaze and thumb the corner of his eye, looking at him sweetly.

Maybe it was dramatic, and maybe it should’ve gone unsaid. But after the night you’ve each had, some daunting honesty could do you both some good. 

All he can do is simply just look at you, the thought that you would follow him if something were to ever happen to him made him feel guilty, incredibly guilty. Just knowing that you’d be so consumed by your grief that you will actually join him. It was too heavy a thought and it wasn’t something he could stomach right now.

Bucky’s head shakes subtly, like it was an attempt to discard the thought entirely. He looks down at his lap like he was ashamed almost, like he was disgusted with himself for putting you through so much stress. He was so caught up in finally being able to take action that he didn’t stop to think about how it was all affecting you. 

Though you’ve grown to know him well, almost too well and you knew in his bashful, diverted gaze that he was conflicted. You smooth a band-aid on the cut above his brow, running your thumb along the sticky edges to further seal it. 

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” you offer some reassurance of your own, neck craning to the side like you were trying to meet his eyes the way he did you not long before. “I’m so proud of what you do,” you smile, eyes softening when he finally meets your gaze. “James, you save people. Like actually save people’s lives.”

“I wouldn’t—”

You cut him off, wanting to get ahead of the self-depreciation. “You do so much good,” your eyes firm as you look at him. “You are a hero and I am proud of who you are. I can deal with the stress, and the worry— just,” you pause, eyes losing their sense of sternness. “Just always come home to me,” your whisper reflecting your sincerity.

His hand moves to yours in your lap, fingers lacing together as he gently pulls you forward — implicitly guiding you from your seat. He leads you to his thighs, hands momentarily settling on your waist as you perch upon his lap, facing him.

Innately you drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers connecting loosely behind his neck while you survey him from your slightly elevated viewpoint. His gaze remains attentive, pure focus settled on you as he flickers between eyes and lips. 

You slowly itch yourself closer, faces meeting as you reach his mouth. Your lips linger for a mere moment, ghosting his before you finally initiate contact, pressing a lengthy, gentle kiss to him. Though when it breaks, you’re both keen to rekindle, and so he extends upwards — meeting you again. 

But this time around, it progresses, rather hastily transitioning into something more urgent. Your arms envelop his head, hands holding him firmly as if to keep him close while his grasp around your waist grows all the more prominent. Grip beginning to circle your hips atop him, small, little winding movements forming like you were each desperate for more. 

His touch rises from your waist, though you continue the tiny grinds unprompted. He reaches for the bow of your nightgown and tugs slowly on the lengths — gradually exposing you like time was no such issue. You follow suit and drop your hands from his face, letting them hang at your sides as if to help him. He parts from the kiss and your forehead briefly presses against his, noses nudging quite like you were both trying to even your breathing and regain control of yourselves again. 

He watches his movements as he settles his hands either side of your neck, watching your skin twitch and flutter beneath his touch. His fingers slip under the fabric of the robe covering your shoulders, the slight movement of his hands allows the material to fall down the lengths of your arms and to pool around your stomach. 

Without a moment of deliberation, his hands move to your bare tits, giving each a gentle, but somehow a firm squeeze. He observes the way they roll in his palm, how they fit so perfectly and comfortable in his hold.

You reach to the hem of his compression tee, fingers slinking under the tight, black fabric to undress him in a way he did similar to you. You drag it up the length of his back, delicate, unrushed movements matching his prior. 

Bucky lifts his arms, indirectly helping you undress him. You discard the top aside and run your fingers down him across the upper of his chest, fingers toying with the wedding band he attached to the dogtag chain around his neck. You repeat the motion from earlier, turning the ring three times as if it was giving thanks for his safe return. 

He releases a grip around one of your breasts and guides it to your waist, urging you to pick up your faltering winds over him. But with the one he still has cupped under your tit, he holds it upwards to meet his mouth — lips almost immediately finding themselves latched to your nipple. 

Lapping at it leisurely, he matches the motion of his lips and tongue to that of your hips, synchronising the pleasure so you could feel something alike to him. Your head falls back and your lips part slightly, a visual and physical representation surfacing what you feel inside.

You can feel him grow hard through his jeans, cock beginning to chub up against your covered cunt. And so, you direct your winding movements right on top of it, bumping over him gently as if to prepare yourselves: firm him up and loosen you. 

He lets your nipple fall from his mouth and he wraps his arms around your middle, holding you snuggly as he stands. You settle on your feet and the robe falls to the floor. You then turn, twisting to face the window ahead of the dining table.

Bucky’s arms stay intact in their placement around your middle and he presses his chest up against your back, holding you close as he peppers quick hasty kisses to the side of your throat. His hands glide up your midriff from behind, needy hands pawing as they reach your tits once again.

You lift a knee and place it at the edge of the table. And as you do so, you extend a hand back to hold the side of his head, cupping over his ear to keep him there — quite like you didn’t want him to pull away or stop. Your mind empties as you lose yourself in the little acts of affection and your head falls to the opposite side, exposing more of your neck and ultimately granting him more of you. 

Though the ache between your thighs grows distracting and you find it hard to concentrate on the way his lips feel on your neck when you would much rather them be somewhere else. So you reach your free hand behind your back and palm over his cock through his pants.

He takes the rather large, obvious glowing sign and releases his tight hold on you. With his grasp loosened, you lean forward and splay yourself over the table — both feet planted to the floor, arms crossing on the surface, chin resting atop.

Bucky bends behind you, taking a knee so he could be more level. He litters a faint, alternating trail of kisses up the backs of your thighs, each one getting closer to the cheeks of your ass. His touch rises and his palms skirt over your ass, he follows the billowing shape all the way to the elastic of your underwear. He gives it a small yank, another tug following as he drags them down your legs.

The underwear pools around your ankles and you step out of the fabric while simultaneously broadening your stance. Feet more than shoulder distance apart to allow him access to where you wanted him. 

His kisses pick up from where he left off, continuing on from the cheek of your ass and going inwards. His tongue steadily swipes through your folds from behind, the muscle flat as he starts at your clit and parts his way between your pussy’s lips. Languidly lapping at your cunt from its upside down, and rather unfamiliar angle. 

Bucky plants a kiss to the centre of your pussy and then seals a final one to your thigh  before he stands. Teeth skimming the flesh like he couldn’t quite help himself. If it were any other day, literally any day other than today, he could and would lap and suck and toy with you for hours — but right now that’s not what he wanted. And it wasn’t what you wanted either. 

The metal on his belt clatters as he unbuckles his jeans, the sound titillating your senses when you hear his pants thud on the floor around his boots. He reaches downwards and wraps his right, fleshed hand around his cock — giving himself a few preparatory pumps as he guides closer. 

He slaps the top of his dick on your ass, two, three, maybe four times, unable to keep his eyes away from the way you twitch and shudder beneath his touch. Quickly guiding his hand to his mouth, he spits in the palm and begins working it over his cock, focusing on the head as he gives it a polishing motion. 

Bucky adjusts you in place with his other hand, the vibranium one tilting and angling you by with a firm grip on your hip. He itches himself towards your cunt from behind and starts swiping his cock though your wetness, collecting it around his tip. Lining himself up with you, he nudges forward and his head sinks in.

You each gasp faint at the initial contact, though that quiet volume is short lived when he pushes the rest of himself inside with the same motion. But tonight he doesn’t give much time for either one of you to adjust, instead he pushes himself impossibly further — so, so deep inside that he bottoms out, balls pressing firmly against your clit from behind.

You whine out, the noise emitting deep from your lungs and almost guttural from the surprise, you claw at the table and your neck grows slack, forehead resting on your forearm as you pant wildly. 

Both his hands settle on the small of your back as he uses you to steady himself, a large portion of his weight holds your body down, eager to keep you in place so he can show you just how much he needs you. He tests with a small thrust, only retracting a teeny, tiny amount of his dick from its snug placement before he rams himself back in again. 

He repeats that a few times over until a pattern forms, wind of his hips growing closer together. And eventually a precise, meticulous system falls into place, cock stretching and filling you in a way so deliciously that any noise you make, sounds strained and strangled. Every gasp getting cut short by the snapping motion of Bucky behind.

One of his hands trails up the expanse of your back, gliding along your spine until his metal grip settles on the back of your neck. He holds you there while his other paws and kneads and squeezes at the doughy flesh of your ass, his grasp around it making you meet his jutting thrusts. Ass beginning to clap and slap against his thighs.

You pull your left arm out from under your chin and place your hand on the table beside your head, wordlessly communicating with him. You were too fucked out your brain to speak in a decipherable manner so you hoped he would catch onto your silent signal. 

He notices your splayed out hand and places his atop yours, vibranium fingers slotting into yours sweetly despite the harsh, almost nasty nature of his fucking. A pulse-like squeeze of his hand matching the pace of his punctuated ploughing, the difference between the two actions like night and day.

“Leg up,” he says, voice hoarse and gravelly as he slaps and squeezes the cheek of your ass, tacitly indicating the one he wants elevated. 

You lift your leg like the response was of sole instinct, doing as asked as soon as the command hits your ears. The position now is quite similar to earlier: knee resting on the edge of the table, though the rest of your body remains in place. You subconsciously mirror his blissed, lewd noise with the new angle — your raised knee opening you up further, allowing him to reach deeper inside than you ever thought possible.

Separately, you each assumed this conjugal moment to last longer, for it to go on hours into the night, but with all that’s happened, it was like everything was already on edge. Like your bodies were running on pure adrenaline, already tired and at their max with how much they could take.

Bucky leans over you slightly, weight noticeable on the back of your hand as he stabilises himself. Using you for balance as he fucks you both over the last little hurdle. 

It all becomes too much and you feel everything build impossibly further inside you: the sounds, the feels, the emotions — all of it collecting and creating an air bubble in the pitt of your stomach. The jabbing of his cock acts as a pin, threatening to make you pop with every harsh snap of his hips.

You near your end and your cunt clamps around him incessantly, pulsing and fluttering and jotting as the strength in your leg dissipates. Your stability feigning and moans hitching. And in turn, your climax triggers that of his own; breaths heavy and grunts loud as he empties himself inside you, filling you with nothing but himself.

His movements dwindle down to a halt and he pauses, allowing both of you several seconds to ease down from the high. Each of you far too sensitive for anything other than stillness. And when he eventually retracts himself, he moves slowly — cock acting as a plug and letting a trickle of his cum seep from you.

Leaning over you briefly, he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, cementing something gentle and earnest into your skin before helping you up. He kicks off his boots and pants as he peels you from the tables surface, your body limp and fucked utterly sensless. But still, you stand rather capably, facing Bucky head on, meeting his lazy, tired, but yet pleased smile with one of your own.

“Bath?” you question plainly, sweetly gazing at him. 

“Of course,” he nods, replying like it was obvious. He would never turn down some bubbles and candles, no matter how late it may be.

Bucky bends slightly and lifts you onto his shoulder, holding you in a barrel-like carry like the object of weight were no such issue. His arms wrap around you carefully, supporting you with one arm secured around the back of your knees, the other just under your ass. Holding you like a prized possession as he guides you through doorframes and hallways, heading for the bathroom.

His smile widens as the sound of your faint giggles tingle pleasantly in his ears — a far happier sound than when he returned home. Just the way it should be.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[it-was-summer]

Busy Woman

A/N: I do not wanna see ANY Minors in this bitch. Seriously. Like you'll get it when you get older I promise. This worm has been wiggling around in my brain for MONTHS. Things have been so busy that it's been a real struggle trying to write. I really hope you all like my excuse to write porn. Thank you to @cafekitsune for the border/dividers used. Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @alsofoundinpeas and practically the WHOLE discord server for letting me send this google docs to you and yapping with me about logistics (positions at one point I'm sure). Enjoy!

Link to the AO3: Busy Woman -> Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Smut with plot. Reader is a maneater, some she/her pronouns at one point or another, PinV sex yall, wrap it up!!!! condoms my beloved (they are not used here, reader and the team go out drinking, spencer reid yapping, reader is a dommy mommy idc Spencer Reid would have a mommy kink, he’s a whiner, SUB SUB SUB SUB Spencer, nothing too crazy sexually (in my eyes), i forget something else this is porn, no creampie for you!!! (I know... i know..).

Genre: Smut w/ Plot. Pairing: ManeaterBAUFem!Reader x Season4!SpencerReid

Plot: After spending countless months watching you break men's hearts, Spencer is surprised when you call a sudden dating hiatus. Amid your 'break,' you confide in your lanky coworker how much you miss certain physical intimacies. Spencer is quick to offer a solution.

Word count: 11,827

 A man-eater… by definition, is ​​a woman who uses men to have a series of sexual relationships but does not love the men. The thought of being one of those men has been lingering in the back of Spencer’s mind for the past eight months. 

He knows, of course, that you’re more nuanced than that feeble definition. The team never misses the opportunity to tease you; your dating habits are an ongoing joke and mystery within the bureau. Derek often jokes that the two of you are peas in a pod, which, in turn, makes you respond that he’s the one with commitment issues, not you. You insist that you’re just picky.

You’d give any guy a chance until they disappoint you, and then you’re gone. You knew what you wanted from them, and if they couldn’t fulfill those ‘duties’ (as Emily jokingly puts it), then it wasn’t worth it. Spencer hates to admit it —to you or anyone else— but he loves how you detach from them. 

He likes how you lure them in with honey and how they drop like flies at your feet— that trap of yours working effortlessly. It feels strangely voyeuristic, which makes him feel like a creep, but he swears it isn’t like that. If he could describe it better, he’d say it was more like a form of admiration. He likes that you know what you want out of your relationships. The way you don’t stick around and accept bad behavior. It’s exceptional and incredibly intimidating. Maybe femme fatale would be a better title, though he doubts you’ve ever destroyed a man’s life, as that definition suggests. Distress? Most definitely. 

His eyes are glued to you now as you brush a stray hair behind your ear, how your brows knit together when you’re concentrating, watching as your left hand plays with the chain of your necklace. Tearing his eyes away from you, he focuses on the map on his desk, circling the location of the recent body discovered earlier that morning. JJ leans over his right shoulder, her blue eyes looking at the work-in-progress geographical profile with silent intrigue. 

She leans away from him, folding her arms across her chest, getting lost in thought until her gaze lands on you. You were so focused a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking at one of the officers across the station. He was young, about the same age as Spencer, if she had to guess. His uniform is a little loose on him, the material around his arms droops, and his shirt hangs off his body in a way that makes it obvious he’s wearing a size too big for him. 

She watches with you as he tucks it into his pants nervously, his fingers adjusting his collar as he mutters something under his breath. He’s handsome, boyish, with decently styled brunette hair. His dimples pop when he gives one of his fellow officers a slight grin— just your average prey. “Don’t give him that look.” 

Your eyes are on her in seconds, and she holds back a laugh when she sees your offended expression. “What look?” You sound shocked, glancing at the young officer. “I was just people-watching.” 

“I think the word you’re looking for is hunting.” JJ counters as Emily walks in with a coffee in hand. 

“Oh? She’s on the prowl away from home? Down girl, down!” 

You frown, eyes narrowed as you look between the two women taunting you. “I’m not a dog. A girl can’t make an observation anymore?” 

Emily shakes her head as she pulls her coffee cup away from her lips, “Not when the girl is you.” 

Your frown deepens, looking at Spencer with a look that silently pleads for help. He can never resist that look— it’s one he knows well. He looks over his shoulder at JJ and gives her a light pout, “I don’t think that’s a fair assumption of her character.” 

JJ’s eyes shine with amusement. This is how the dance usually went. You’d be selecting some poor gentleman as your next meal, they’d tease you about it, and then Spencer would come rushing in to protect your honor— assuming you had any, to begin with. “Spencer the Valiant enters into the arena, ladies and gentlemen.” Her hand comes up to playfully ruffle his hair.

Spencer fails to dodge her efforts. “Don’t,” he grumbles as he swats at her hand as it touches his already messy curls. “Do that.” He can never catch a break when it comes to being teased by the team. 

You grin, watching Spencer flatten out his hair carefully, rearranging it until it’s slightly neat and wavy. You silently motion to him that part of his hair is still sticking up and watch as he blindly tries to fix it. Watching him struggle with his hair, you break the usual respect you show for his personal space, leaning over and smoothing down the cowlick with a soft chuckle. 

His cheeks are red, watching you lean away from him, his gaze awkwardly avoiding yours. “Besides,” You begin, looking at the young officer with a charming smile. “You and Will make it work, don’t you?” You ask, talking to JJ without looking at her. 

JJ scoffs a little, watching as the young officer looks up from his desk and across the station— he won’t last. You give him a little wave and flirty smile combo before looking at JJ. “Don’t even think about it,” JJ warns, but you technically don’t have to do anything. You shrug a little, looking down at the evidence pile on your desk. 

Not while the young officer stands up, smoothing out his too-big uniform and taking large strides over to you. You don’t have to look to know he’s coming. JJ shakes her head with Emily when he arrives at your side. When he clears his throat, you don’t look up from your task, twirling a pen around your fingers. 

The way you look up with gentle doe eyes and a polite smile on your lips as you turn to face him has Emily holding back a giggle. You blink a little, eyes reading the name tag on his uniform— David Miller. “Can we help you with something, Mister…” You trail off, acting as though you hadn’t just read his name tag. 

“Miller and I don’t need help from all of you, maybe just you.” His voice is slightly deeper than you expected, and he sounds confident— which is fine— you just thought he’d be the shy type.

You let out a soft ‘ah,’ nodding slowly like the idea just occurred to you. “Well, as sweet as that is,” you don’t even let the poor guy officially ask you out. You just openly assume. “I’m afraid we’re all swamped working on this case— myself included.” You watch his broad shoulders slump slightly— the action doesn’t even last a full second— and you sigh like you’re contemplating something. “But maybe we could get a coffee in the break room?” 

His demeanor brightens, eyebrows raising as he asks, “Now?” 

You shrug, looking at the clock on the wall, “Ten minutes.” Standing, you brush off your jeans, as if this sudden coffee date weighs heavily on you. “You coming?” As you walk towards the breakroom, the question hangs in the air, and you don’t even bother looking back to see if he’s following you. 

Three days later, Spencer watches you frown at David. Words can not describe how much he hates David. Well, many words could describe how much he dislikes David, but Spencer Reid is not a man to spit petty remarks at a man undeserving of them (though some may disagree). In truth, he only dislikes David because he envies him a little… he’s lying to himself. Spencer Reid envies that man with an intensity that rivals forest fires. 

Spencer watches as David’s lips form words he cannot hear— words he’s sure you know all too well— Stay. He watches as you give David a small, sympathetic smile. His gaze lingers on your plump lips as you lean in to press a chaste kiss to another man’s lips, and he can imagine the sticky, sweet tone of your voice as you tell him that you have to leave. 

Once you’re in the backseat, you relax your shoulders with a huff. Derek shakes his head at you in the front seat, staying quiet as the black SUV drives off towards the airport in this small Maryland town. Spencer knows that he should stop watching you, but it’s like he’s bewitched. 

Your lip gloss is a faint pink— messy. You probably left some of David’s lips. Spencer wonders if it has a taste; he’s seen you use a cherry lip balm a handful of times. He can imagine kissing you, slow and sweet to start, if he had the time, getting hungrier and hungrier with each press of your lips on his. He wonders if you’d let him drag his tongue on your bottom lip and let him get a taste of cherries and skin. Could he pull on that full bottom lip with his teeth– “Spencer!” 

He blinks, hazel eyes focus on yours. You chuckle, airy and slightly concerned, “Are you okay? You’re staring.” 

Derek barks out a laugh from the driver’s seat, “When isn’t he?” 

Spencer shakes his head, mainly at Derek’s idea of a joke, but also because he doesn’t want you to think something is wrong with him. His smile is unconvincing and quick: “I’m fine.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Just thinking about you and David. H-He seems nice.” 

You shrug, hair falling into your face, “I guess he’s nice, yeah.” Then you lift a hand, waving the idea off like it’s bothersome. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again.” 

Derek groans out, “Surprise, surprise.” 

Spencer manages to keep the smile off his face, but his voice gives him away: “Why not?” he sounds elated. 

You move with your hands, throwing them up before letting them rest on your outer thighs, slumping a little in the seat. Your eyes search the car’s floor, as if it’ll help you find a good enough answer. Why not? He’s not what you envisioned in a romantic partner. He wasn’t gentle, well-spoken, or even stimulating.  

He seemed like a good conversationalist during that ten-minute coffee break, but he kept pushing for a late dinner with you. When you finally relented, you found he lacked any real substance. He was… dull, hot, but bland. He didn’t have strong beliefs like you, lacked wit, and seemed entitled. 

Sure, you could have let him take you home and given him something to remember you by. But, considering how dull he was over dinner, you doubted he could impress you in the bedroom. Why go looking for disappointment? 

You force a small smile, gentle eyes leaving the SUV’s flooring to look at Spencer. “Didn’t pass the benchmark, I’m afraid.” It’s meant to be a joke, but your delivery is slightly off. You sound somewhat saddened by the fact, and Spencer debates asking you what’s wrong. However, discussing your dating life is not his strong suit. Instead, he simply delivers a curt nod, lips drawn into a tight line as the car falls silent on the way to the tarmac. 

A week later, it’s one of those rare days when the BAU team stays in DC. Indeed, this week is a way to make up for lost time. Spencer has heard about two coffee dates, one dinner date, and how you’re going on a lunch date this upcoming Saturday. Not that you’re telling him necessarily; he tries his hardest not to ask about your dating habits out of fear that you’ll eventually catch on to his hopeless crush on you and break his heart before he’s mentally prepared for such a tragedy. 

No, he hears about your escapades from Penelope, Emily, or JJ. Mostly in passing gossip sessions, he hears when he shouldn’t be eavesdropping.  He’s not the biggest fan of gossip, especially when said gossip is about a coworker, but he can’t stop listening when it’s about you. 

The second he hears your name leave one of their lips, he pours his coffee a little slower in the break room or takes smaller bites of his lunch. He even held the elevator doors for the group of women on a handful of occasions so he could silently listen in. Morgan says he’s whipped (and after Spencer gets clarification on what that terminology entails, he nervously disagrees). 

He’s just a naturally curious person. His high IQ can be blamed here— you’re a constant question on his mind. He cannot solve you, and every time he thinks he’s close, you switch it up on him. 

Penelope is trying to be discreet—genuinely— she’s walking at a normal pace, a rested smile on her face, and the feathered flower pinned into her blonde curls shakes slightly as she approaches Emily’s desk. Her eyes look towards your desk, glad to find you lost in conversation with Anderson. Spencer watches her anyway.

Emily’s eyebrows raise as Penelope leans down and whispers something into the small space between them, which is effective because Spencer can’t hear anything (much to his dismay). Emily reels her head back, shocked as she mutters in disbelief, “No way.” 

Penelope beams, nodding quickly and letting out a drawn-out “Mhm!” 

Spencer wonders if it has anything to do with Anderson. Could they be alluding to the two of you getting together? Spencer would feel nervous about the idea, but you never dated coworkers. Besides, Anderson didn’t have that boyish charm you so adore. Spencer thinks he can mark him as safe.

But what else could it be? He’s trying his hardest not to stare at Penelope and Emily as they whisper to each other a few feet away, his eyes darting around the case file in his hands as his mind runs away with him. His gaze occasionally flits over to your desk, taking note of that polite smile you’re sporting. Yeah, you’re definitely not into Anderson. 

Something work-related? No, that sounds ridiculous the second he thinks it. He blinks, forcing himself to set down the case file and mull over all the probabilities. He feels like it’s too obvious to be a date. You go on those all the time. And he doubts it's a second date update because those never end well for you. However, there is a slight chance that this time, it did. 

He’s still in the process of analyzing every bit of information related to you when he hears an open laugh from Penelope as she follows Emily over to your desk. Anderson is nowhere to be seen as you settle back into your desk chair, barely looking up when Emily asks, “You’re taking a break from dating?”

“Derek is such a gossip.” 

“Don’t blame him, he can’t resist me.” Penelope sighs out. 

Emily dismisses the comment with a slight wave, “For how long?” 

You shrug, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “I don’t know. Until I feel like talking to a man again?” 

“Oh my god, an indefinite hiatus!” 

You chuckle a little, “Why do you care so much?” You couldn’t imagine your dating life being that interesting. Then again, you have dated some questionable people.

Penelope gasps, hands reaching her chest, “Why do we care? You’re the only thing that saves us from boredom. You’re water in this gossip dessert. Don’t let us dehydrate, please, please.” Her palms press together as she begs you. 

A strange laugh escapes you, your shoulders shaking as you giggle. “Listen, I really need—” You gently swat at Penelope’s still clasped hands, “I need a break from all the disingenuous compliments and ploys to get into my pants—” you scoff. Spencer’s heart stutters in his chest; he’s empathetic towards your feelings. He wants what’s best for you, of course (that and this could be his once-in-a-lifetime chance to see you be wholly unattached, his chance). “I need to be alone and work on some things before I date again, simple as that.” Well, so much for his chance. 

“She’s so wise.” Emily turns to Penelope, her tone mocking. “Isn’t she so wise?” 

“Oh, on par with Buddha.” 

Your eyes shine with amusement, though you keep your tone serious, “Yes, laugh at me all you want for being a healthy person.” 

Two months later, your hiatus is still going strong. Spencer has not seen or heard of any flirty endeavors surrounding you, much to the other’s dismay. It’s true in a way, gossip is drier during your dry spell. There’s been no mention of terrible dates nor any mention of bad kisses on first dates, or worse, lousy lays. 

Spencer has never had any issues talking to you, but lately, he’s noticed you’re prone to daydreaming. You’ll stare off sometimes during a lull or mutter to yourself in the breakroom. He wants to ask how you're feeling amidst your break from dating, but it feels like such an intimate topic that he’s hesitant to approach it. 

So now, he’s watching you watch Emily flirt with some stranger at the bar. This week has been grueling, with case after case. It never gets easier, but moments like these—the whole team spending time together—make it less painful at the end of the day. Spencer’s nursing his whiskey, always a slow drinker, but his attentions are on you as you roll the straw of your mojito between your fingers. 

Eventually, after a quick sip of whisky, he gains the courage to ask, “Everything alright?” 

You jump at the sound of his voice beside you, but you still smile at him when you turn to look at him. You open your mouth for a moment, then close it again, then open it again, “Yes.” You say in a strange voice— a twisted mixture of confident and drained. 

Spencer raises an eyebrow, his expression letting you know that he doesn’t truly believe you. You laugh a little at that look of disbelief before your shoulders slump, and you mutter a soft, “I sort of miss dating.” 

“Sort of?” It's more confident, more teasing than he’d like, but it just slips out of him. His cheeks are tinted the prettiest shade of pink, and you try your hardest not to stare at him. 

Your eyes shift to the drink in your hands, fingers leaving the straw as you elaborate on the topic. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I would miss the flirty conversations or feeling wanted.” You trail off for a moment, eyes not meeting his for a moment. “Does that make me sound,” Your eyes finally reach his, “Conceited?” Your gaze is so full of worry that he has to stop himself from shouting his answer upon impact. 

Instead, he swallows down a shocked breath, shaking his head. “No! No, you’re not conceited. That’s normal, considering all the attention you…well, attract.”

“Great,” You murmur, frowning. “You think that I’m some shameless, attention-seeking seductress,” gazing downcast at your mojito. 

Spencer laughs nervously,  “What?” He can’t deny that the seductress part might be true— you could seduce a saint, he’s sure. “I think a lot of things about you when I think about you, but shameless, attention-seeking seductress is not one of them.” 

He’s melting at the look you give him. Head slightly bowed, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, full lips in a slight pout. “Really?” 

“Really.” He squeaks, much to your delight— the alcohol is messing with your head. 

You sit a little straighter at that, sighing, “So, what do you think about when you think about me?” You ask, teasing Spencer wasn’t something you did often. The team teases him so much that you feel bad joining in. But you can’t help yourself, not when he’s looking at you with his gorgeous, honey eyes. All wide and deer-like, fuck, he’s pretty. 

You would feel bad for thinking about your coworker like this, but in the dim lighting of this bar, you find that you don’t mind. Truth be told, if Spencer Reid weren’t your coworker, you would have worked some charms on him a long time ago. He was so pretty, so receptive to new ideas, a genius, a man of his word. God, he was so sincere. Why is that such a turn-on? 

You drag your tongue along your bottom lip, lost in thought, a movement not lost on Spencer as he can’t seem to take his eyes off your lips. His mouth is dry, and his voice is caught in his throat as he stammers out a gentle, “What–” he clears his throat, trying to stop his voice from sounding so high, “What do I think about?” 

That slow smile makes his heartbeat skip a beat, he’s seen that smile before, and he’s screwed if you decide to do anything more than teasing him. “Yeah, you said you think lots of things when you think about me. I’m curious.” 

“Well, I, uhm,” He swallows, his tongue feels like sandpaper. His eyes shift down to his whiskey, his gaze shifting between you, his drink, and the table. “ I think you’re kind. You’re always willing to help a friend, like when you made all those meals for Penelope after she got shot.” Your expression softens at that, your teasing smile melting into something warmer. He takes this as a sign to keep going, “You’re considerate. I think you could make Hotch smile, I’m sure you have, all because of your sense of humor. You rarely judge people; you’ve never judged me. You’re empathetic, seeing you connect with people so easily, it’s— you have this gift for shifting your perspective, and I—” 

“Spencer,” You cut him off with a gentle touch of your hand on his. You’re quiet for a moment, eyes searching his, looking for some kind of sign of deception, but finding none. Your gaze warms him to his core, melting away anything cold residing within him. “Thank you.”

He lets out a soft stammer of confusion, about to ask you why you’re thanking him, but instead, he regains some of his composure and nods. “Anytime.” He hates how cold his hand feels when your fingers leave his skin. Everything about you is so warm: your smile, your laugh, your touch— and against all reason— he’s sure he could survive frigid winters as long as he spends them by your side. 

An hour later, you’ve ditched the idea of feeling sorry for yourself. You were seemingly determined to make your own fun. And you were. Penelope had bought a second round of drinks, and you chose something a little stronger than the mojito from before, and drank it fast. It wasn’t enough to get you drunk, but it did give you a slight buzz, feeling looser now as you spun around the dance floor with Penelope. 

Penelope’s sure that your voice will be gone from how loud you’re singing to the song the DJ just started playing, laughing harder as you place a finger to her lips, grab hold of both of her shoulders, and dance to the beat. 

Spencer isn’t a dancer, well, he can slow dance, but he doubts he could keep up with you right now. So, he lingers on the sidelines of the bar. He —like many of the men at this bar— can’t take his eyes off of you as you spin around in a sloppy circle. The way you move your hips in a circle has his head cocking to the side, focusing on the slope of your lower—

A chuckle can be heard beside him, making Spencer stand up straight, turning to look at Derek. Derek, who has the biggest grin on his face, is shaking his finger at Spencer. Spencer rears back his head, giving his friend an odd look. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Okay, so he’s lying. Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets, acting aloof as Spencer stares him down. Derek, however, has his attention on you and Penelope. “You know,” there it is, “She’s gonna need someone to walk her home.” 

“Who?” For a genius, Spencer can be incredibly dense at times. 

Derek sends a deadpanned look his way, eyebrows raising, waiting for Spencer to catch on. Spencer blinks, his brows furrowed in confusion, oblivious to what Derek is saying. Derek groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down his face. 

He then points over to you, Spencer’s gaze following his finger. “Ms. Vixen, Pretty Girl, the Man-eater of the BAU, the temptress of the —” Spencer holds up a hand, cutting him off. 

“I get it, okay?” Even though he knows that Derek’s joking, Spencer’s tone still comes out clipped. He forces his shoulders to relax. 

“She’s going to need someone to walk her home,” Derek says in a calmer tone, his shoulders shrugging slightly. 

Spencer stammers, flustered with the idea of walking you home. To be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He wouldn’t let it. His imagination runs wild when it comes to you, and he daydreams about the oddest things— the taste of your skin, his palm on your lower back. “Didn’t she come with you and Penelope?”

Derek clicks his tongue, “Nope, she lives two blocks over, walked here.” 

“Oh,” He responds lamely, his arms crossing over his chest. He chews lightly on his bottom lip, thinking it over. He had his whiskey over an hour ago and had been nursing a water, but it didn’t matter much, considering he, too, walked here. “Well, I mean, I can’t assume, wouldn’t it be rude to think she’d,” He bounces around before he drops his arms at his sides. “You think she‘d say yes?” 

“What makes you think she’d say no?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer tries to think of a good reason as to why he’s worried you’d turn him down, but finds nothing but his own insecurities. He knows that you’re kind; he knows if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t. Spencer finds that very reassuring. “Just don’t want her to think I’m weird.” 

Derek barks out a sharp laugh as if he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pretty Boy.” 

Spencer wants to ask why, but Derek looks away from him before he gets the chance. Spencer steals a glance over to the dance floor, watching as Penelope and you giggle yourselves away from the crowd. 

Your pupils are dilated, and Spencer is sure that if he pressed a hand to your cheek, your skin would be warm, either from the alcohol or light giggles still leaving your lips. He feels his lips twitch upwards at the sound of them, broken up with soft gasps of air as you and Penelope hold onto each other in front of them. His heart clenches in his chest as he hears your giggles die away, and your gaze meets his. He wishes he could keep you this giddy all the time.  

Your face relaxes into a gentle smile, and you let out a slow sigh. “Hi,” you motioned between Derek and Spencer with a wave of your hand. “What are we talking about?” 

Derek cuts Spencer off before he has the chance to embarrass himself. “We were actually discussing leaving,” Derek says, much to Penelope’s dismay. 

She’s frowning, and Derek knows he can’t tell the blonde his plan to get these two together, not yet, anyway. Spencer’s pining is evident to anyone with eyes, and you aren’t exactly smooth either, always choosing men who look strikingly similar to your lanky coworker. 

“It is getting pretty late,” You mutter, sobering up a little at the idea of walking yourself home at this late hour. 

Worry must be written across your face because Spencer is softly clearing his throat. “I can walk you home,” he offers in a soft voice. You don’t even question how he knew that you walked here. Instead, you can feel your cheeks flush. The idea is tempting, but it feels somewhat… intimate. 

“That’s okay,” You begin, “You don’t have to go out of your way–” 

“I don’t mind!” He’s leaning into you, nodding his head slowly. “I’d sleep better knowing you got home safe.” 

A little tiny voice inside of you is shrieking with delight at that, but you answer him in a reasonably calm voice. “Well,” you tsk, “if it’ll help you sleep better.” Your tone is flirtier than you’d like it to be. You’ll be the first to admit it: It’s hard controlling yourself around him, and being dehydrated and tipsy isn’t helping. “Let me grab my things.” 

Spencer is nodding, discarding his plastic cup of water and ensuring he has everything on his person before he looks at Derek, who has very clearly filled Penelope in by now in fast whispers. Derek gently taps a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Breathe. You’re just walking her home. Remember, you’re already friends with her. She won’t bite… hopefully.” 

Spencer prepares to shoot back that he doesn’t need the pep talk because nothing is going to happen, but his mouth snaps shut as you materialize by Penelope’s side. “Ready?” You rock back and forth on your heels, eyes shining. 

Spencer’s brows raise, smiling nervously as he hums a shaky-sounding, “Mhm.” 

The night air smells fresh and clean with the promise of summer, warm and refreshing. You dragged in a slow inhale through the nose and hummed. A cool breeze brushed over your shoulders for a moment, and you felt awake again, your slight from earlier replaced with a second wind of energy. You glance over at Spencer, who is still holding the bar’s exit door for Penelope and Derek. 

He doesn’t look bored or annoyed by the task, and though it’s the tiniest act of kindness, it makes you smile. You hug Penelope, tight and secure around her middle, muttering gentle goodbyes to her in a playful tone. Derek laughs when you bid him farewell in the same style, pulling away from the hug, smiling widely, and shaking his head. He then points at Spencer, “Stay safe,” his gaze moving to you. “Both of you.” 

You wave his worries off, nodding, “Dr. Reid, lead the way.” 

Spencer lets out a tiny scoff, waving his friends goodbye before doing exactly as you say. You seem incredibly awake, despite the last hour. His eyes are so focused on you as the two of you begin the short walk back to your respective apartments that he almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk, not even ten minutes in, and he’s already making a fool of himself. 

You pause your movements, hands raising in the air as if you’re preparing to catch him, “Everything okay?” Your tone gives away your amusement. 

He nods, “Yeah, yes, just distracted.” 

“How out of character for you.” You tease lightly, sighing out as you lower your hands. You let out a soft hum, thinking about a tune they played at the bar, when you see two bodies pressed up against a wall in the not-so-far distance. 

Your shoulders feel tense as you try your hardest not to stare at the couple as they kiss, soft sighs and moans of pleasure leaving one lover’s lips as you force your eyes straight ahead. Spencer, however, is staring. His eyes don’t stay on the couple long as he hears a frustrated sounding exhale from you. 

His lips quirk up when he sees you walking with a rigid posture. “Does PDA bother you?” He asks curiously, keeping his voice low as he passes the couple to his right. 

You shake your head, cheeks feeling warm at the sound of his voice. “What? No. I just,” You pause, unsure about how much you should be sharing with him anyway. Would he want to hear about how much you missed it, dating, kissing, sex, the touch of someone’s hand in your hair? Your eyes nervously glance at him, then the sidewalk, a soft laugh leaving you. “It’s going to sound so pathetic.” 

Spencer finds that highly unlikely, “Try me.” 

You bite your lower lip, considering it for a moment. It had only been two months, how could you be so… needy? You can feel the edges of your ears grow warm as the night air— you were so pathetic. How could someone become so touch-starved in such a short amount of time? How could you tell that to him? Then again, Spencer Reid was not quick to judge… though maybe he would be if he knew what you were thinking about right now. 

You're slow to smile, and your face looks a little shy and awkward. You speak in a hushed tone, “I think I miss it.” 

“Kissing?” 

“No, I mean yes, but more than kissing. Touching, heavy-petting, dates,” You dare not glance at him, “Sex.” You can’t stop yourself now, the words leaving you against your will. “I’ve just been stressed, irritable lately, and I think sex… took my mind off things.”

Spencer’s throat fills with cotton, and he tries to swallow normally, going shockingly quiet for someone who always seems to have something to say. It doesn’t last long as he feels the growing silence crawl under his skin— he can’t stand it. “That’s normal, for someone— well, anyone who hasn’t had it, sex, I mean, in a while.” He stops himself from asking how long it has been before continuing. “Regular sex can boost your immune system, am-among other things.” 

You grin, “Of course, it does.” You feel lighter hearing Spencer nervously ramble about sex, less judged, more listened to. You glance to your side, admiring the sharp slope of his jaw, the ends of his brown hair curling against his smooth skin. “Don’t stop on my account; I love learning.” 

Of course, you do.

It seems to be Spencer’s turn to stare daggers into the distance, following you as you take a left turn. “In some women, sex can lower the risk of heart attacks. Which is funny, Men’s likelihood of a heart attack goes up with continuous sexual activity.” He chuckles lightly, sparing a glance over his left shoulder at you. 

His knees feel weak seeing the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze occasionally glances at the sidewalk, but your eyes shine with curiosity. He’s always liked that about you. You’re always willing to listen to his random rants, never poking fun at him. No, it's not like you to laugh at someone for something as direct as knowledge, but you still smile at him. 

He keeps going, his hazel eyes focused on you. “Rhythmic stimulation,” He should not look at you as he says this, “During an orgasm, has similar brain activity to dancing.” Your eyebrows raise at that, mouthing a gentle ‘huh’. 

“So, what, like birds?” 

“Yes! Dancing has been a long-standing method of seduction, so I suppose it stands to reason that muscular stimulation, in that way, would make our brain activity act that way.” 

Your head tilts, trying to get the mental image of Spencer’s hands on your waist as you dance against him out of your mind. “I suppose it would. Though I wouldn’t consider orgasmic pulsing to have a steady rhythm.” 

Spencer feels his heart stutter against his ribcage, his jaw clenching as his mind graces him with the mental image of you under him, shaking, hips stuttering against his roughly. He blinks, the tips of his ears turning red as he struggles to find something interesting to say. “W-Well,” he squeaks, and he feels panic flood his system, watching your grin widen when you hear such an embarrassing sound. He coughs, fixing his shirt collar, “Oxytocin— endorphins really— are released when dancing, same with uh,” His mouth hangs open for a second as his gaze dips down to your lips, “Climax.” 

He’s your coworker, he’s your coworker, coworker, cowork— “Would you consider orgasms to have a steady rhythm?” Honestly? Not the worst question you could ask right now. You just hope that it comes off as you being curious instead of desperately horny. 

Spencer needs someone to put him out of misery, cheeks hot as he answers you, “I suppose that maybe, possibly, they could, yes.” 

Your chin tilts upwards, and a soft “Uh-huh” leaves you before the two of you are swept up in a slightly charged, albeit awkward, silence. You try to talk down the little voice in your head that seems to be screaming at you for making things so uncomfortable. 

Why did you ask him that? What did you expect? Was Spencer supposed to drag you into an alleyway and immediately make you cum? Well, on second thought, that’s not such a bad idea— enough! You try to think of a possible escape from this silence, but all your dirty mind can think about are more inappropriate questions and remarks— just your luck. 

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Spencer’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea––” He clears his throat in an attempt to keep it from closing up, “Having sex, to help with your, uhm, stress problem.” He holds his breath, waiting for your reactions. Morgan told him that the worst thing a person can do is say no, but Spencer disagrees. Said person could scream at him, slap him for being brazen, or stop talking to him altogether. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Why did he have to say that? Why would he suggest something like that so openly—

Your laughter makes his brain short-circuit. What kind of reaction is that? Did you think he was joking, or did you find his suggestion so funny that you’re laughing at him? His laughter escapes him in a nervous attempt at self-preservation. If he can play this as a joke, maybe you won’t tell Penelope, and then Penelope won’t tell Derek, and Spencer can live another day free of embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry,” You stammer, “Is the Doctor Spencer Reid suggesting that we sleep together for a dopamine boost?” 

He doesn’t know how to save himself from that; his poker face is not a good one, not when it comes to you. His emotions almost always show on his face; there’s no way you’d believe him if he lied. So, he mentally prepares himself for rejection. “Not necessarily, strictly, suggesting anything. I’m just saying that it could be beneficial to you— both of us— if you needed some help with your irritability, since you’re free.” 

“Are you saying that I have nothing better going on, so I might as well have sex with you?” He’s not exactly wrong, but you don’t need to admit it. 

His cheeks feel hot, burning as he rasps out a shrill, “No! No, speaking from a scientific standpoint, biologically it is one solution to your problem.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, breathy and short-lived. He can’t be serious, there’s no way he’s serious. Not Spencer Reid. And if he wasn’t joking, what would you even say? Sure, sounds like a great plan. Do you have a condom, or should we stop at the store? Better yet! Let’s do it raw to reap the full biological benefits of sex together. 

It’s not realistic. 

Spencer says odd things all the time. Once, he told you about how the spread of ringworms between animals and humans works, solely because of one off-handed comment. Not that you mind, you do enjoy learning, that was no lie. Spencer was a plethora of knowledge, and you trusted every little word that came out of that pretty mouth of his. 

He’s grown to be more than just your favorite walking, talking, human encyclopedia. Spencer Reid had the biggest heart, the best laugh, and the softest hazel eyes. He cares about other people intensely, is always willing to go out of his way to listen and help others, and is borderline selfless sometimes. Sure, that was part of the job, but Spencer made it into something more, something raw. 

So, no, he couldn’t be suggesting such a thing. Not your Spencer Reid. “You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Reid.” You mutter, your feet falling into sync beside him. You can see your apartment building coming into view and feel your body beginning to long for your bed. 

The rest of the walk is quiet, with soft mentions of summer plans and idle chatter. Spencer shouldn’t be so disappointed. You’re still talking to him, still laughing at his jokes, listening to his random facts mid-conversation. You’re willing to make everything go back to normal, ignore his odd suggestion, and go to bed. He should be grateful, and maybe a small part of him is, but the rest of him? The rest of him is so disappointed.

Not because you ignored him, but because you didn’t give him a proper yes or no. Even without a direct answer, he feels rejected, and he’s kicking himself for not being able to make a move like a normal person. 

He walks you up to your door, staring at the number four on the outside of your apartment door for longer than necessary as you dig through your bag to find your keys. When you find them, you hold them up with a proud smile. “They materialize.” You muse, your back facing him as you push the key into the lock. 

The last thing he wants tonight is for him to walk home regretting something. He could go home lamenting the fact that he didn’t make a move, or he could go home regretting the fact that he did. For him, one of those options is far worse than the other. 

Pushing your apartment door open, you begin to turn back towards him, “Thanks for walking me home, Spence, I appreciate it—” A jolt of energy zips through you as Spencer’s lanky fingers wrap around your wrist, yanking your body closer to him.  You barely have time to look down at your wrist before he’s inching closer, pressing his lips against yours in one swift movement. 

The kiss is timid and far too quick for your liking, and when he pulls away from your lips, he immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry! I know I should have asked you first, but I got so nervous with everything I said earlier and—” The rest of his rushed apology is tuned out as you stare up at him with wide eyes. 

In complete amazement, you stare at him like that for what feels like forever. You’d blame it on the alcohol for the way that you find his pathetic ramblings adorable, or for the way you’re reevaluating your conversation from earlier, when you laughed him off. And then there was that little, insistent voice in your head that demanded another kiss, claiming the feeling of a dim spark. 

And who were you to deny it?

Spencer’s hands are moving with him as he talks, finger trembling as he explains that he “....couldn’t go home ruminating on the what-ifs and I needed to do something, and Morgan says that confidence is key and I was trying—” Your fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level with a rough yank.

Your lips meet his in a sloppy kiss for just a moment before he kisses you back, and when his head tilts ever-so-slightly to the side, it becomes something else entirely. His lips are softer than you expected, hungrily meeting yours. Spencer kisses like he’s starved for attention, for touch. His hands find purchase on your hips, holding you in place with both hands, like he’s scared you’ll disappear. 

The way the palms of his hands squeeze at your waist makes you weak at the knees. The kiss has seemingly shifted from tender to needy in a matter of seconds, his lips pressing against yours with a delicious roughness. When you pull away, you can feel your bottom lip tingling, a feeling that leaves you a little lightheaded. 

The soft pink of Spencer’s lips is the first thing you’re looking at before pushing him deeper into your apartment. His feet stumble as you force him into your apartment, the flat of your palms on his chest. When the door shuts behind you, the two of you are left in the dark of your apartment. Moonlight seeps through your living room curtains, illuminating the room with a softness so close to ethereal that it leaves Spencer wondering if he’s dreaming.

He’s sure you’re about to tell him that this is a bad idea and send him home, before you let out a frustrated groan and ask him, “Are you sure this is alright?” 

Holy shit. 

He can feel a faint squeeze in his lower abdomen, licking his lips as he tries to think clearly, for your sake and his. “I want this.” He’s clear with his feelings for once. “And I can promise you I want this and much more.” 

As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can see the shine in your eyes. You're staring up at him with the eyes of a woman lost between admiration and awe. You nod slowly, your left hand grabbing his right, “Then don’t keep me waiting.” And while your tone is playful, he can’t help but take it to heart, letting you guide him toward your bedroom. 

A soft giggle can be heard from you as you press a quick kiss to his lips, then another, and another, until the back of his knees are hitting the edge of your bed. You lean in slower now, with the tempting promise of a sweeter, sensual kiss—one where Spencer can enjoy the taste of your lips in full. Your lips brush against his as your hands press against his chest, his balance wavering, and then he’s pushed down on the edge of your bed with a light groan of disappointment. 

His head is spinning from the teasing brush of your lips, his eyes lingering on them as you smile down at him, the look of innocence. “Did you think I’d make this easy for you?” Your teasing words shoot an electric shiver down his spine, a breathless laugh leaving him as your hands rub his shoulders.

“I don’t believe easy is in your vocabulary.” 

“Oh?” You muse, your hands stopping the gentle massage of his shoulders, your left hand leaves a trail of fire up his neck to his chin, tilting it up slowly. Your head cocks to the side, he’s never seen you this smug. Were you like this with everyone else? Or is this just for him? He’s too scared to ask. “Care to elaborate?” 

Spencer swallows slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You like the challenge. You like having to work for it. I used to think it was because you wanted to be intellectually stimulated, but seeing you like this makes me think that you get off on it. ”

You try to hide your smile, the grip on his chin slacking as your thumb traces a soft pattern on his lower jaw. “God forbid a girl has a bit of fun.” He cracks a smile with that, letting out a low hum as he raises his hands to pull you closer towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge of the bed that lies between his thighs.

Spencer’s pleading eyes almost make you cave, those soft chocolate pools of desire almost too alluring to resist. Almost. Although you guess he deserves a little treat before the night begins. You lean down, cupping both cheeks to press a slow kiss to his lips. Spencer matches your energy, not taking the kiss up a notch until you do, one of your hands straying to the root of his hair and pulling lightly at his brown curls while your tongue slowly slides against his bottom lip.  

Fighting back a groan, Spencer eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue drags against his, exploring his mouth at a torturous pace. Spencer can feel his cock, begging for some friction, jump inside his pants as you softly suck on his bottom lip. He’s breathing hard, your mouth swallowing most of his groans and sighs, until your teeth pull at his bottom lip and he lets out a sweet, quiet whimper. 

You pull away, and Spencer can feel himself spiraling before you push his hair back and whisper a breathy, “So good, baby.” His genius mind is out of commission after that, and whatever energy, whatever brain cells he has left over are now yours to use as you like. “Lean against the headboard.” 

It’s a direct order that he immediately follows. He’s kicking off his shoes as fast as possible, moving around on your bed until his back hits the headboard. 

His enthusiasm both excites you and amuses you, your eyes rolling with a playful shake of your head. He watches as you crawl over to him on the bed, swallowing hard as his eyes take you in. He’s waiting for his alarm to go off and for him to wake up in bed, without you, alone, and painfully hard. 

You let out a short laugh, seeing his wide-eyed expression, “You’re sure you still want this?” You ask as you reach him, your eyes on his. 

Spencer’s answer is a quick, “Yes!” which makes you smile wide at him, “Are you?” His fingers are itching to touch you, but he keeps them in his lap, fidgeting. 

You let out a playful hum as you swing a leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. “Yes," you answer, looking down at him. You lean in, teasing his lips with a light brush, leaning away whenever Spencer tilts his head up in a vain attempt to kiss you thoroughly.

“Patience is a virtue.” Your lips brush against his as you whisper, kissing the corner of his lips, much to his dismay. 

Spencer would say he’s not usually this needy, but he doesn't have ample experience to draw from anyway. He can only blame his neediness on you. You who is grinning from ear-to-ear as you kiss his cheek, you who is hovering over his lap, you who is laughing when you see his pleading expression. You mutter something that Spencer can vaguely make out as disappointed, “Greedy.” Before your lips press firmly onto his. 

He could spend hours kissing you. In fact, if nothing else happens tonight, he’d walk home happy knowing he kissed you like this. Your languid kisses easily turn hungry as Spencer slides his hands to your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap. He can feel a ghost of a smile against his lips, his hands squeezing gently at your sides as you resume your earlier task of exploring his mouth with your tongue. 

You swallow a groan from Spencer as you take a moment to suck on his tongue, his hand gripping your waist tighter. Letting out a muffled hum of pleasure, you grind your hips down on his with almost perfect precision. 

Spencer’s back goes rigid, feeling the way your hips grind against his, unsure if it’s okay for a moment before lust wins out against logic. His large hands tighten around your clothed hips, pulling your hips down against his until he’s rutting his hips against yours like a dog in heat. He can feel your grin against his lips again, and he’s already whining by the time you pull away from him. Your hips lean away from his, sitting up on your knees. 

His eyes look dazed, lust and confusion dancing in them as he tries his best not to come off as anxious, “Why’d you stop?” His breathy voice sends a shiver down your spine, right to your core. 

“You want to take my clothes off, don’t you?” You leave his lap, moving to the side of his outer right thigh to properly strip. 

His parted lips snap shut, nodding as fast as he can, immediately playing to your whims. You raise an eyebrow, “You need to learn to let a girl have her fun with you.” You muse as your hands reach for the edge of your top. Spencer’s heart rate doubles as he watches your fingers curl around the bottom hem. 

His gaze darts between your fingers and your face, but his brows knit together, clearly confused. “What do you mean?” You’re pulling your top off painfully slow, and he’s debating asking you if he can do it for you. 

Your top is passing your midriff. “If I’m on top,” His breath catches in his throat as he sees the bottom swell of your breast, “And if I want to tease you, learn how to take it.” 

“Jesus Christ,”  He shifts under you, your words reminding him how his erection is going ignored. “I’m going to need a good teacher.” It’s meant to be witty, but his tone sounds so strained that he’s surprised that you aren’t laughing at him right now. His eyes, not knowing what to stare at, barely meet yours before the sight of your lace-covered breasts enthralls him. 

His strained, whiny voice has your body feeling hot all over. Making a mental note to make this man whine some more, you throw your top off to the side of the bed, hands making a beeline for your pants. “Oh, how exciting.” You slide out of them, leaving you in your bra and panties. “Your first lesson.” 

Spencer, feeling awkward that he’s still fully clothed, begins to pull his shirt off. But when he goes to undo his pants, your fingers cover his. Your fingers are quick to pull his pants down to his thighs, and Spencer kicks them off without needing to be told. 

You were a professional; you didn’t sleep with coworkers, no matter how tempting. Spencer Reid, however, is your forbidden fruit. His hazel eyes, wide and soft with need, make your chest clench with affection. You can feel some part of you salivating for another taste of him, knowing you’re too far gone to listen to reason. 

Your gaze is slow to drop to his lap, eyes flickering across his bare chest, then down to the bulging outline of his cock against the thin material of his boxers. You hesitate, just for a moment, hand hovering in the air before you gently trace the outline of his cock through his boxers— undeniably pretty. 

“Just for me?” Your head is bowed, eyes looking up through your lashes. Spencer lets out a shaky sigh, nodding a wordless response. You drag your index fingers roughly against the tip of his clothed dick. “Words, Spence.” 

“Yes,” He whines, groaning as your hands pull down his boxers. “It’s all for you.” 

“Very good.” Then, you're pulling his boxers down, gaze hungry as you expose Spencer’s hard cock inch by inch. You shift slightly to help him pull his boxers off, but your eyes are locked onto his cock. Red, hot tip with a slight curve towards his stomach, thick and twitching. You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth slowly, and millions of ways to tease him immediately come to mind. 

He tries to stop himself from feeling hot under your intense gaze, fighting the urge to beg you not to stare. He’s about to cave when you reach your left hand into your panties. A gentle groan leaves your lips as you swipe your fingers along the entrance of your warm cunt, “I can do that—” Spencer begins, but you’ve already stopped touching yourself, pulling your left hand away from your heat, fingers covered in your slick. You wrap your hands around his length, and Spencer has to stop his hips from immediately bucking at the feeling of your slick-covered hand.

“What was that, pretty boy?” Your hand slowly begins to move up and down the length of his cock. 

Usually, Spencer would say something in rebuttal to that nickname, but the only thing you can hear right now is the sounds of him letting out tiny moans. He sputters, trying to reply, but your grip grows tighter as your hands move down his length, and all you get is a pathetic-sounding whine. 

Leaning in to press a wet kiss to his shoulder, you watch as Spencer’s hips jolt when your index finger does a quick sweep over the pretty pink head of his cock. “Feels so much better than your hand, huh?” You read his mind, looking up at him. 

Spencer’s head nods, breathing picking up as your lips suck on the sensitive skin of his neck as your hand steadily strokes him. “I–” You pick up the pace, teeth dragging against his pulse point. “Mmm, I’ve fantasized about you touching me like this.” He has no reason to lie, not now. He has pictured what it could feel like to have your fingers wrapped around his cock instead of his own, how you’d spread the pre-cum around the head of his cock, how you’d look licking his cum off of your hand. 

His breathy admission earns him a soft groan, “Often?” You sound excited as you pull away from his neck. The idea of fulfilling one of his fantasies leaves you with an oddly triumphant sense of pride. Truth be told, he was fulfilling your fantasy: having Spencer Reid whining and moaning at your touch—a guilty pleasure on lonely nights. 

Spencer doesn’t want to look you in the eyes when he answers, but he does anyway, your lustful gaze making it hard for him to look away. “Yes.” 

You let out a satisfied sounding hum, looking away from him to lean down closer to his cock, for a second he’s sure you’re about to take him into your mouth. But, he isn’t disappointed when he sees a long trail of spit leaving your lips and coating the head of his cock. 

Your hands helps coat your spit all around his cock and he’s in heaven. His head leaning back against the headboard as your hand brings him closer to the best orgasm he’s ever had. “ I-I’m, oh god,” He pants out, head rolling to the side to catch your gaze. “I won’t last very long if you keep this up. I’m not as experienced as,” His mouth falls open mid-sentence as you move your hand faster, letting out a cry of pleasure. 

“I’m not, shit—” He swallows hard, “I’m not as experienced as I’d like to be, can–can’t last that long with you doing that!” He practically shouts at the end of his sentence. 

“With a cock this pretty,” You give his length one last pump, “I find that hard to believe.” Carefully letting go of his cock, after all you want to have fun too. If Spencer thought his cock was being ignored before, he wasn’t expecting this. He whines, feeling the warmth of your hand leave him, his breathing heavy. 

Your hand, covered in remnants of spit, dips into your underwear where you haphazardly smear the spit against your folds. Spencer’s heart skips a beat, enjoying the show you make of pulling your panties off your body. He almost sobs when you straddle his lap again, carefully sitting with your dripping core pressed directly onto his aching cock.  

You let out a shaky groan when Spencer’s hips buck into yours, a wild look in his eyes that makes him seem more animalistic than needy. You can feel your walls squeeze around nothing as the head of his cock slowly grinds up into your clit. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a low moan, shuddering above him. 

Your lips part, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes as Spencer’s brows furrow and eyes flutter shut with every needy rock of his hips. His hands grab at your hips, pushing and guiding you down to meet his. It’s not nearly enough and the both of you know it, the desperate urge to fill your sopping cunt to his heart's content growing with every pleasured sigh that leaves your lips. 

“Please,” Spencer’s hands move to swell of your ass, gripping the skin hard as he uses your pussy lips as his personal toy. His breath is hot against your chest, lips leaving sloppy kisses below your collarbone. To him, you’re ethereal, a seraph, as you grind your pussy lips against his length and he desperately needs to be inside you. He needs to know how the cunt of an angel feels as soon as possible. “Let me fuck you.”

Fuck. It’s not a question, nor a demand, but a plea. His wording makes you groan, the idea that he has to beg to fuck you like this, that you have control over him like this. You’ve imagined Spencer in bed a handful of times, assuming that he’d be timid, yes, but fantasies are nothing compared to hearing that desperate plea.

You reposition your knees, pressing your chest into his face as you reach between your legs to guide him to your entrance. Spencer’s hands knead against the plump skin of your ass as you slowly sink down on him, a shaky exhale can be heard from the both of you. The fact that you haven’t been stretched out on his fingers dawns on you as you struggle to relax around the girth of his cock. 

And Spencer seems to have the same thought, his hands snaking up your back to unlatch your bra. Once off, his lips sucking and nipping at the skin around your right nipple before his lips latch around its aroused bud. Your discomfort is partially forgotten as the flat of his tongue drags against the sensitive bud. A gasp, followed by a small, “Mhmm, that’s it.” Your hands leave his shoulders to push his hair back and away from his face as he focuses on his task, threading your fingers into his brown locks. 

Your core swallows the rest of him whole, and you experimentally grind your hips down on his cock. His eyes, previously half-lidded, widen for a second before looking up at you. His lips still attached to your breast, eyes silently pleading for more, for anything, he has you teasing him with a light clench of your walls around him. 

“Remember what I told you, Reid,” Spencer remembers… well, practically everything. But memories are hard to conjure when he’s buried deep inside you, velvet walls pulsing around him. Leaning away from your breast, a trail of spit still connects your skin to his tongue. “Learn how to take it.” You playfully scold, right thumb trailing down from his hair to swipe at the spit on his lips. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a soft smile, your thumb tracing a soft pattern against his bottom lip. “I can do that.” He confirms with a gentle tone, eyes searching yours. The man beneath you looks lovesick, drunk on your touch, perfectly content to spend his days doing whatever you tell him, obedient. 

The thought that he’ll do anything you say. The first move from you is a gentle roll of your hips, followed by a slow exhale. The sting of discomfort readily gets replaced with pleasure as you begin to ride him. Your palms move to grip the headboard behind Spencer’s shoulders, tilting your head to the side to carefully observe him, getting off on every little reaction he shows you. 

A quick, lust-filled smile graces your lips as you move your hips up and down at a slow and steady pace. Spencer’s head tilts back slightly, soft sighs of pleasure leaving his parted lips everytime your hips sink down on his cock. “Is that good?” 

You're teasing him, and he’d be dumb not to notice it; he knows that you can see—feel— how much he’s enjoying this, hear it even. Nevertheless, his head nods quickly as he rasps a mewl of a “Yes, so good.”

Canting your hips closer, you pick up the pace. The slight change in your position has his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside your pussy that has you shivering ontop of him, electricity coursing down your spine. Your eyes flutter closed, chasing after that feeling, panting as you use Spencer’s cock to bring yourself closer to your climax. 

Spencer’s hips meet yours now as you ride him faster, the slapping and squelching of skin meeting skin can be heard alongside a cacophony of sinful-sounding moans and pants. Spencer’s head is thrown back, brows drawn together as he staves off his orgasm, wanting to drag this out for as long as possible. “Oh, god,” your name falls from his mouth in a string of pathetic-sounding moans, “Oh, Mommy—” He squeaks as he realizes the words that have escaped the dirtiest parts of his mind. His rosy cheeks turn slightly pale, eyes peering open to see your reaction. 

Your cunt squeezes him tighter when his worried eyes reach yours. Your gaze isn’t filled with disgust, but darkened with desire. “What was that baby?” You gasp out, hips expertly snapping down onto his. Spencer’s mouth falls open to shamelessly repeat himself, but it’s too much for him. His words choking in the back of his throat as cries of pleasure replace them. 

Pouting, you snap your hips down onto his with an abrupt stop. Spencer lets out a strangled sounding sob as you tilt his chin up, “Oh, Spencer, baby, do you need to say something?” You’re breathless and so, so, so, so close, but you need to hear him repeat those words before you cum. 

Spencer’s chest softly heaves, blinking away the confusion in his eyes as you squeeze your tight walls around him, his hips struggling against yours.  It’s hard to tease him properly as the head of his cock keeps grinding into your g-spot, your mind becoming hazy with pleasure.  But you can’t risk stopping, not when you’re this close. Your lips part, a whine threatening to leave them as you speak, “I’m so s’close, you can handle a little more. Just a-a little longer.” Your voice trembles for a second, but it coaxes a gentle moan out of him nonetheless. 

His cock feels desperate to empty into you as you deny him his orgasm with another sharp, “Not yet.” He feels he must obey your demand, his head becoming lightheaded whenever you order him around. He can feel tightening around him, walls fluttering against him with every second you get closer to your climax. 

Spencer can feel his eyes prickle with tears, his bottom lip trembling, “I need to cum. Need to cum, let me cum, Mommy.” 

You let out a broken laugh as he finally says the words you were so desperately waiting for, “You’re the one who asked for this, Spence.” You managing to speak so coldly to him while vigorously bouncing on his cock has him letting out another weak sob, “Look at you, you can barely handle it.” Your moans are becoming louder and slightly animalistic. “Let me use you while I can.” 

You do exactly that, using him as you feel your orgasm crashing on you, your hands move to his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin as you loudly cry out for him. When your hips stutter against his, your body shuddering and melting into pleasure, Spencer is quick to buck his hips erratically up to yours, helping you ride out your orgasm to the fullest. 

Spencer is quick to follow, grabbing your hips tightly to pull himself out of you with a curse, his seed coating your pussy lips and inner thighs. “I’m sorry,” He pants out, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m–” 

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You exhale, panting lightly as you look down at him with a lazy grin. 

He’s quiet after that, his grip of your hips loosening as you dip your head to look at him, forehead slowly pressing against his. You let out a little laugh, exhausted and giddy, “You good?”

He lets out a soft ‘mhm’ that tells that all his energy has left him. You can’t judge him; your body is suspiciously close to crashing. You can hear him mumble your name, and you move your head away from his, “Yes?” 

“Are you—” He stops, licking his lips, “I’d like it if we could be—” He struggles to find the right words, anxiety and exhaustion making him into a simpering fool. 

But you’re grinning, so he must be doing something right. He’s about to attempt his messy request to be the only man in your love life when you mutter a soft, whisper-like, “I’d love to be exclusive with you, Dr. Reid. On one condition.” 

You smooth his hair back, out of his face, “We keep this between us until we’re ready to tell the team, I don’t need a team of profilers in my love life— not while we’re together.” 

Spencer can feel his chest tighten, watching as you move to hold your pinkie finger towards him. He links his pinkie around yours, “Deal,” He laughs.  “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Spencer finds acting normal around you increasingly difficult, especially when you keep leaving flirty notes telling him to meet you in the supply closet in ten minutes on his desk (for the fourth time this week). Ever challenging when you insist that your ‘innocent’ little rendezvous won’t lead anywhere, but your plump lips kiss his so hard that they’re swollen in seconds. 

He knows the team knows something is amiss, but he can’t think to worry about it as his head finds a place between your hips, your fingers threading into his hair as you bite your swollen bottom lip in a weak attempt to quiet yourself. 

JJ and Emily note your absence this fine Wednesday morning, something Derek doesn’t find too interesting until he sees that Spencer is also missing. But who is he to ruin it for Spencer? He’s sure the boy genius has you on a mini-coffee date at some café across the street. 

Well, he was sure, until he rounded the corner to see you stumble out of a supply closet, your hair ruffled and makeup smudged. He almost calls out your name when he notices Spencer tailing behind you, his cardigan ruffled and hair equally tousled. Derek’s jaw drops open, waiting and standing in awe as you blow Spencer a kiss and head in the opposite direction toward the bathrooms. 

The second Spencer turns to see his friend, the smile drops away from his face, and the color leaves his cheeks. Morgan’s smile is reminiscent of the Cheshire cat’s as he draws out a proud “My man!” and Spencer feels dread fill his soul. He’s never going to live this down.

[antlersarchives]

𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

one-shot

bo chow x reader

summary - wandering on alone in the deep of the Mississippi Delta wasn't a favoured thing, but nor was it an uncommon one. some carefree few would end up along that track from time to time, and their consequence? the last path they'd find themselves walking down in the dead of night with enough living breath to carry them. those damn creatures of the night..

requested by: anonymous 💗

warnings; smut, 18+, vampirism, canon-typical violence, mild gore/violence, bloodplay, stalking, southern gothic erotica, biting, restraint, oral sex (r!receiving), pinv, worship kink, dirty talking, soulmates and soul tied, finding a mate, consensual, 1930s southern history, second person pov.

a/n: based on the song 'scared to live' by the weeknd because when I was thinking of this fic, this is what came up and I thought it was gorgeous,, also thank you to the many peeps who reached out and asked for this!! and yes I added the line between Stack and Mary because DAMN. i hope you enjoy, it might need some tweaks, but requests and comments are welcome and please let me know what you think!

w/c: 5.6k

It was unusual walking around this late at night. Especially alone; at least that’s what you’d been told.

Deep down in the heart and heat of the Mississippi Delta, right beside the marshes and desolate land, there was a calmness in the stillness of the earth, everything full of life and promise, only the devil creeping around the corner to take back what was his. And that’s what you clung to, no matter how much your mama would tell you otherwise, that the dangers out there are too much to cope with, or how the children back in your schoolhouse days would spread rumor; you always found yourself right back here. 

Alone.

The night was especially still tonight, the darkness closing in tighter than usual under a cloudless sky. The only light came from a couple of flickering lanterns outside a dim Juke Joint, guiding your path as you walked.

On the porch of the joint, two old-timey musicians sat pouring their hearts into the music they created, without a care in the world, frozen in time, they could forget the industrialisation of the world around them. One man played a harmonica, his weathered hands cradling it with care. The soulful, fuzzy notes wrapped around you, a comforting urge to keep moving forward despite the shadows surrounding you.

Your feet seemed to carry you effortlessly through the opening of the wood, drawing deeper in as you looked behind you one last time, swaying with each step as the music faded into the distance. Heading to the only home you knew without a destination - your own company.

A few twigs crunched beneath your feet as you walked, and the odd branch creeping up on you, the left of you the bayou laid still, untouched - and to your right, the final twinkle of streetlights, was the edge of town, just before they turned off completely. Now, you’d never seen anyone else cross this path; by this point you’d think you owned it simply because you seemed the only one daring or reckless enough to walk it on your own- and you had heard both from just about anyone.

But this time was different.

All kinds of things were catching your eyes, something not ordinary. Snakes, alligators, even the nearest flock of herons that waded over the water, standing as tall as a small child. But that wasn’t it, it wasn’t innocence that followed you, and there was enough life and nature around you to tell you that, whatever it was, it wasn’t living.

Your mind stopped wandering at rustling that came from a bush behind you and you turned on your heel, the soil beneath you shifting with a sigh, and the rustling stopped. You halted, squinting your eyes at all around you, from the floor to the tops of the trees - nothing. 

A pair of wings fluttered out before you could blink, hurtling toward you in one swift motion and you backed up into a tree beside you, gasping. You winced at the roughness, rubbing at the start of what would soon be a bruise. Taking a deep breath, you straightened yourself and kept on moving, cursing yourself for even being startled in the first place. It was nothing but a little house finch - your grandfathers old illustration books could have told you that, and you took your life studying this place, your home, this wasn’t anything to be worried about. 

However your gut told a different story. You slowed, taking note of a blossom tree, the shadows of purple flowers,  you traced the lines of the stems, putting your focus on that instead of-

“Shit-“ A voice rang out from the darkness ahead of you, out of sight, and you brushed the leaves out of your hand, swatting the branch away, crouching a little beside them. A figure stumbled out from the bushes, a man, dusting off his shoulders and catching his fall he stood up straight on the side of the path. He looked around for a moment mumbling something to himself, wiping something from around his mouth - you couldn’t quite make it out but whatever is was was dark, thick.

The breeze picked up and rustled the whole wood, and your eyes trailed him, not moving for a second. He was somewhat tall, with a dark head of hair - well kept and presentably dressed for this time of night. A pair of lined trousers and a white shirt, suspenders keeping his back straight is about what you could make out. A stranger, no doubt, but the voice.. the voice you recognised. His head snapped up and your stomach turned, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you’d heard it before.

The heat was unbearable. 

And that was saying something for someone who grew up around here. Your arms felt like they were about to give out from the weight of the grocery bags, and you could swear the soles of your feet were nearly burned away in those flimsy old shoes. The street buzzed with life, cars and people rushing in every direction, while music spilled out from corners on nearly every block, making your head spin. You could feel your body start to sag a bit under the strain, so you set one of the bags down on the ground. With all this running around and the pressure to get home quickly, you leaned against the wall to steady yourself.

The only thing that pulled you from your daze was an arm wrapping around you, gripping your waist like a cool washcloth— supporting you. You looked up to meet the gaze of one of the local shop owners. You scrunched your face, trying to see him more clearly, only to focus on his warm and friendly smile. 

“Hey, I had to catch you  before you fell there, darlin'. Is everything okay?”  He let out a nervous chuckle as he propped you up against the wall, gently taking the bag from your other hand and setting it down next to the first. Your ears were ringing, and dizziness washed over you,. You hadn’t realised how hard you’d been pushing yourself until it became almost impossible to move. His hand cupped your cheek, and he looked deeply into your eyes, as if he’d have been searching for signs of life. 

He nodded  to himself and looked up and down the street before standing upright.” How ’bout we go a little ways away down this street? I’ve got a store down there; I own it.”  Pointing in the direction you were already headed, he clicked his fingers at a worker loading up a truck and waved them over to pick up your bags. Gently grabbing your hands, he placed them around his neck. 

Bo paused for a moment, a smile spreading across his face as he watched you ready yourself. You twirled onto your side, and he slipped his arm back around your waist, guiding you a few steps and into the shop. He encouraged you the way there, playfully teasing you about being out in the heat and pushing yourself too hard. As you made your way into the store, he leaned you against the counter for support. Before you could voice any objections, his hands found the backs of your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with effortless ease and drawing his hands away.

 You settled back with a huff, grateful for the brief respite. And as you took in the store, he had disappeared, returning just as fast with a glass of water in hand.

“Something to take the edge off, huh?” He offered, his voice a soothing balm, as he extended his hand toward you. You weakly accepted it, your fingers enveloping the glass. “Thank you,” you croaked out, your voice hoarse like gravel. He looked astounded, his eyes widening as he shuffled away from where he stood, placing his hands at his sides.  

“Agh, she speaks; how are you feeling, Sweetpea?” The playful smirk on his face lingered as he watched your lips gently graze the rim of the glass. Your eyes fluttered closed in a moment of solace, and you raised your thumb in a silent saying of “okay,” feeling the chill of the cold water hit your mouth.

He slanted  his side against the counter, his hips swaying slightly as he observed you, watching how your brows knitted together in concentration as you drank, and you could feel his eyes on you.

At that moment, a sense of longing washed over him, his eye lingering on you in a way he hadn’t meant to. He found himself thinking all those things he shouldn’t—how your lips curved into that bright smile, the static shock as your fingers brushed against his, and how your skirt senselessly bunched around your knees. His breath caught in his throat, placing his empty hand on the counter beside you, enclosing you at a distance.

You lazily pulled your hand back and shifted in your seat, meeting his longing look. You noticed the sweat beading on his hairline, trickling down his cheek just etching at his lip and how his mouth parted as he licked his lips, almost panting from the outside , before setting the glass down. Tilting your head slightly, you tried to read the familiar face, hoping by some miracle you'd remember an answer, a name, anything - but you'd only seen him a couple of times, watching lowly from the street. And before you could ask,

 “It’s Bo, Bo Chow.” He paused for a moment, breathless. “But most folks around here just stick with Bo.” The smile he offered was like a daydream, a shared one, as he nodded his head, clasping his hands together.

It was him. 

You drew a breath sharply. The brush from the leaves threatening to whip you in the face with the wind as you remained at eye-level with it but your crouched feet failed you. What felt like a distant memory was only just a few weeks ago, and it flooded back fast, the soles of your feet still burned and they gave way, but the ground beneath you shifted, you pulled at the earth and when the roots from broke, you fell backward, leaving a snap at your wake. You gasped as the hard mud hit your back, bunching your hand to make a fist to push at it.

Footsteps approached hurriedly and a presence peered from over you, familiar hands reached out for you, leaving no distance in sight, the moonlight lit up part of his face giving all your questions the truth you needed.

“Bo..” You wheezed out loud, grabbing at his arm as he towed you forward, letting you sit up. You felt this before, his touch, but now there was a grip that felt unnatural, it burned with his touch, your limb could have practically gone limp, and yet he barely moved a muscle.

“Woah there, careful baby.” You stood up and he stepped back a bit giving you some space, laughing as you both realised one another, you sighed of relief of seeing his face, something so unlikely here, in the dead of night.

Now it threw you off no doubt, but it was Bo, the shopkeeper down the street who took his own time to help you, the one you looked out for every day, a couple run ins without an acquaintance could tell you he was a gentleman, and many knew that, even you.The store had been shut down for while and he practically had wiped off the face of the Earth. After the incident you heard about in the papers about the Juke Joint everyone kept their heads down, keeping to themselves, apart from those whispers. Like the ones you’d heard since you were young, but now they were prime, the riddle on everyones tongue like a sermon, like some part the new gospel.

However, after that one day, you couldn’t help but think of him, the way he stopped to help you, to pull you close, the way he eyed the structure of your body like it was the holy grail itself. Leaving you to question, what would have happened if you’d have stayed?  Maybe you hit your head that day, or perhaps it was the heat messing with you, but that didn’t change the heat you felt inside of you every time you thought about it, an aching, an uncontrolled urge with the way he rested against you, his hand near creeping up toward your thigh. And the way he looked at you now, breaking the silence, didn’t help your distress, 

“I dropped my lantern around here some place, give me a second sweetheart.”

He snickered, kicking the dirt around his feet to find the lamp,  and you stop there rocking on your heel unit he found it, picking it up and bringing it to the both of you. His eyes lulled at you, checking in as he pulled a matchbox from his pocket, reaching inside for one of them. He slid the box open and flicked one of the matches into his mouth, pausing to close the compartment. You could still make out the shading of his face, watching the way he moved, and the match in his mouth as he swiped it with his tongue, wrapping it tightly around so it wouldn’t fall. His gaze remained on you in the stillness, and as the tip guided along the top of his tongue, his eyes flashed starved with want. 

It created a glow, lighting the woods and your faces up orange, he crouched to pick up the lantern beside his feet, sealing the glow inside its glass case. 

“You could’a frightened me there.” You laughed off, trying to give some kind of lightness to what had just happened, spurring on conversation.

He held it close in his hands, enough to keep track of you and take a look around for any others, if there even was. “I didn’t mean to scare you darlin, probably shouldn’t have been wandering out here this late as it is myself, but thought I’d take a walk, it’s been one hell of a day.” You quirked an eyebrow now being able to focus on his face, eyes drawing to the corner of his dimples. His smile didn’t falter once, staying at the flat of his mouth, only gracing his face lightly, and beyond his surprise he seemed please. Pleased to see you. 

“Yeah I could have guessed.” You wiped your fingers at the corner of your mouth, gesturing to his own. He looked pretty beat up, just without the bruises, or without injury of any kind, but the thick strands of blood that pooled from his mouth proved otherwise.

His face contorted into some sort of shock at your look and he pinched at the drying substance, wiping it into his pants without as much as a look. The look he gave went blank for a moment, like he wanted to say something but refrained, like he was fighting something on the inside. 

“So why’re you out here this late?” He took a little step forward, stepping downward from the small, raised embankment he was on before, now at almost level with you, he hung the lantern in-between you both. You didn’t move, rather stilled in your step as he wandered over to you, his eyes squinting a little. “I usually come out here, on my own, it’s rare you see anyone down here past sundown.” You wondered why, why out here, and now. Everything seemed to go silent, enough to hear a pin drop, only that light breeze shaking up your skirts, and tousled his hair just enough to shag in his face, it was calm, gentle even, just like before - but Bo, he seemed out of place, shifting back and forth where he stood, yet confident still. More eager than before.

Like he was trying to make some sort of move. 

You continued to ramble and he smirked, “I haven’t seen you or the shop open around here in a while, are you sure you’re alright? There’s been a lot happening in town while you’ve been gone.”

“You noticed I been gone?” He shot back suddenly, the only thing registering, his lip curling a bit.

“Well, you guys own a much needed store in this town, it would be missed if it were to go untouched.” He took another step forward, watching you stumble over your words seemed rewarding. All this time he’d been around, seen you, wanting to do something, it’s not like he was scared to do it, and to tell the truth he didn’t really understand his infatuation at first. He’d seen you walk the streets, crossing by his shop window whenever you’d head into town, the times you’d visit and leave just as fast, cheeks blushing pink when you’d see him. And that’s what stayed with him. Things weren’t all that it seemed behind those four walls, his life felt withdrawn of colour, everything was weight.  But you, oh you were light, some beautiful sign, something he chased for, something he was determined to make his. And with his life now, he knew what that meant.

“You know what I mean. “ You feigned confidence in your words, now in reality that a truth, but in honesty, you knew it was more than that; much more.

He took another step forward, this time as you took one back, your heel clicked with the root of a tree, giving a thud as you braced both of your arms behind you, pushing you up as much as you could, feeling the rough bark at your finger tips. “You miss me?” His nature shifted, and his head tilted with it, swaying the lantern as he walked, a few steps distance between you both. The light flickered, so much so the shape of his face seemed to contort. 

And his eyes, they glossed over an iridescent white, glinting specks of red and orange, something that you hadn’t seen before. Something that wasn’t human. 

But you blinked and they were gone.

They were normal, a darker brown suited them, staring at you knowingly. “You could say that.” Your breath shook, but not out of fear, no, but instead the way he drew near, closer and closer. He flashed you a smile as you tried to think of the right words, but now his teeth.

Another blink.

And the once rounded molars were sharp and jagged, more like an animal, something made for tearing into flesh. And you felt your stomach drop and an ache that pooled downward, one you couldn’t control.

He staggered, dropping his head forward to look at the ground before looking up to you again. He rested his arm on the piece of tree behind your head, getting quieter, though his voice rang in your ears, ”Saw the way you looked at me back at the store, and I should have said somethin’.” 

“Bo, that was just-“ He took the final step between you, leaving the lantern at your feet, his finger came up to your mouth shushing you, knowing where you were going with what you said next, seemingly before you did. His eyes still had a distinct gentile in them, the same as the one you knew before, even beyond his new form. And no words had to be uttered to tell you what that was.

The truth you both knew. The limited glint from the light reflected from his eye to yours, and you could see your face in the shine. 

“You're telling me that was nothin’, that you didn’t think of about it,” A serious expression on his face, his brows furrowed, he brushed his fingers down against your side, drawing a line against the curve of your waist, “Not even once?”  His face flashed with a sense of pride, and the way his pupils dilated was proof of what knew to be true. Your hips jolted forward at the feather light touch and he brought his hand down to cup your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“Bo..” Your face grew red, so red someone would think you’d be laying in that beating sun all day long.

“Y/N.. Tell me.” 

Inches away from your face he pressed against you, slanting closer, his voice a staggered whisper, and his lips damp.

 “Ever since you saw me last..”  You looked down at them, seeing drool at the edges of them and you chuckled a little. He sucked in a keen breath as you scraped yourself against the tree, gaining balance, bringing your finger up to wipe at it.

“Hey, you’re droolin’”

“You want some?” Your head shot up at his quip, bangs of his hair falling into your face, your noses touching. You smiled through your flushed expression, the wetness gathered on your finger and he leaned to kiss as it lightly, drawing his tongue at the remnants. Bo moved his face closer so that your hand laid on his cheek, nuzzling his nose up against your own, he pressed himself against you rocking his hips.

Without an answer, you tugged his face towards yours, closing the gap between you, gasping into his mouth at the friction he was causing. His tongue pushed into your mouth with passion, lips locking with yours as he slotted his knee between you, cupping your sex against his pants, leaving no resistance with the sensation, and you pushed down with a whine.

“God baby..” He licked at your mouth, biting at your top lip fiercely, and he dragged down kissing at your jaw, leaving soft chaste, open mouthed marks toward your neck. His lips felt familiar, so much so they tugged at you, on your heart, so much it almost hurt.

“Please..” You whimpered as Bo’s teeth bared at your neck, along your jugular long enough to feel your heart rumble beneath the canines, feel it even. He sucked in a breath, planting a hard, marking kiss before continuing down. His hands manoeuvred down your shirt, pushing through the soft fabric, bracing his fingers over your breasts and pulling away at the buttons, undoing them one by one by one. And he placed himself on the ground kneeling in front of you. 

The tangerine tones scattered across your body like a reckoning, and he grasped with the sight of it, not knowing whether to sit and study or ruin you completely. His head rested against your lower stomach, almost begging you, his hands teasing up the backs of your legs, gripping you where you stood. Your mouth hung open, shivering at his motions. You watched, entranced, as he effortlessly lifted the hem of your skirts, pushing the fabric higher until it rested above your hips. With deliberate slowness, he tugged at the corners of your panties, peeling them down around your ankles. The cool air exposed your cunt, sending another wave of shivers through you as he began tracing the length of your thigh up and down with his tongue.

Your hips jolted forward, and he wasted no time in aimlessly yanking at your hips, his hands scooping up at the flesh of your ass holding you up just enough to reach your centre. Bo grunted as his mouth reached you, pulling you back and forth onto his tongue as he sucked on your clit, the tips of his fingers digging in as you brought your hand to his hair.

The black strands now turning into a disheveled mess in your grasp, there being no reservations at all about his drool slicking down the sides of his mouth as he was moaning into your cunt, fucking  his tongue into you, fingers continuing to dig into your hips. He gets lost in the way your breath hitches, the way you say his name - over and over again without abandon, and oh how he’s been waiting, wanting to hear that.

“That’s it pretty girl, I’ve got you.” He groans as your taste coats his tongue, thick with your sweet slick, the height of his newfound senses alerting with each and every movement, and he swears that its the best thing he’s tasted, beyond the blood. He plunged deeper and you could do nothing but follow with a string of moans. You fell apart against him, arching your back into his face as you guided him impossibly close, your head falling back against the wood behind you. All of this time, imagining, yearning and here you were now without a care in the world hissing at every touch he gave, every ounce of pleasure he was willing to give. 

His motions didn’t relent, mouth warming against you as his he flicked his tongue in figures of eight, only pausing to suck harshly, and it was too much.

Over and.

Over.

You came undone, a white hot strike vibrating through you and your legs trembled, clenching around him with a cry, “Baby..”.

That was enough for him and he nudged upward, cupping your one leg up to his hip and you circled it around his middle shamelessly. 

The thick humidity enveloped you as you panted, heart racing, when he finally came face to face with you once more. A wicked grin spread across his lips, his fangs catching the dim light. You shuddered, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through you; it was the anticipation of what was about to happen. 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, delicate kiss, and you instinctively squeezed your eyes shut. You were standing before a darkness, a malevolence you had been warned about for years—an evil you were all too familiar with, yet never imagined you could draw so close to but your whole being knew.

“I don’t know if I can stop myself.” He breathed out, all restraint he took against himself, resting his head falling against your shoulder, still kissing at the curve of your neck. But you already felt it, with your body pressed against his, you hissed at the motion of his dick pressing through his pants. You reached down to the hem of his shirt, fingers trembling as you pulled it up, revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen. The heat radiated from his skin, mingling with the dew around you, the atmosphere made your heart race.

 You could feel the tension building, the unspoken desires hanging in the air, thick and intoxicating you into a compulsion.

“I shouldn’t do this,” you whispered, though the conviction behind your words was faltering. Part of you wanted to push him away, to run from the danger he represented, yet another part—a part you couldn’t ignore—yearned to lean into the darkness he offered.

His lips ghosted over your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. “But you want to,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, those dark eyes glinting with mischief and hunger. “You’ve felt it too, haven’t you darlin’? The pull between us?”

You inhaled sharply, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and his intoxicating presence. 

“Yes,” you admitted, a soft breath escaping your lips. “But it’s reckless. You could hurt me.”

His grin widened, a blend of danger and allure. “And I could do much more than that.” With a swift, fluid motion, he captured your wrist and pulled you closer, bodies flush against each other, the space between you ablaze with possibility. "But what if I promised to keep you safe?"

You hesitated, heart racing as your mind raced with the implications. Could you trust him? Your instincts screamed caution, yet your body betrayed you, yearning for his touch, for the thrill of the unknown.

As he leaned in again, brushing his lips just above yours, the world around you faded into insignificance. In this moment, it was just the two of you, teetering on the edge of danger and desire “Then show me,” you dared. “Show me what you can do.”

He hesitated for just a moment, as if weighing the gravity of your words, before his eyes darkened with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a rush of excitement coursing through you.

The moment his fangs pierced your skin, a sharp gasp escaped your lips and he bucked his hips forward. It was a mixture of pain and a wave of pleasure that stole your breath away. You felt a jolt of energy surge through you as he fed, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, igniting a fire deep in your core - your leg tightened around him.

He caressed your thigh, keeping you pinned between him and the tree and the other grabbing at what he could of your waist as he drank from you, his mouth moving with a sensuous rhythm that sent a heat radiating through your body. Mindlessly your fingers wrapped around his buckle, undoing the chipped metal with a clink that hardly met either one of your ears but he felt it. Your head slacked against the top of his, grabbing at his hips he groaned, and your wetness covered a patch against his clothed cock. 

You could feel your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, each pulse syncing with the deep, primal need that blossomed between you, feeling the same dizziness you felt weeks before, this time only stronger. His hands, his mouth, while mostly solid, feel tingly, cold in a way that's akin to walking through fog. His breath is warm as it huffs against your neck, a delicious push and pull of sensation. 

With a low growl, he pulled back from your neck slightly, his eyes glinting crimson, a reflection of the warmth of your blood glistened on his lips, a stark reminder of the line you had crossed. “You’re somethin’ honey, let me take care of that for you,” he breathed, his voice low and husk.

The pulse in your neck rippling with every beat of your heart as he rested his forehead against your own, darting his tongue out to kiss you again, giving you the taste of your own blood, now yours, now his.

Bo leered at you and you all you could muster was a dumb smile back. He undid the rest of what you started, eyes watching you and you only as he pulled his dick from his pants. Long, and thick, and leaking, he cursed to himself at the aching and moaned, kissing your cheek. The stretch ignited an intense burn and your hands travelled down his back, tugging at the tight muscle, feeling the weight of everything he put against you. 

He leaned you all the way against him to where you were nearly laying as though on a bed yet still angled as though lounging on upright against the tree. The new angle pushed his cock to the sweetest pull, pushing against your plush walls and letting a gasp escape you in turn. Bo smoothed the sides of your body while your feet turned under you and you let your body rest on him. He ran over your breasts slowly through the opening of your lace shirt. Nipples long and pebbled, he squeezed the flesh and brought them up before releasing them again. Bo brought his head to rest beside yours as he thrusted into you once more, blood curdling at your cheek from his mouth.

The wound at your neck stung, with every delicious snap of his hips it jerked your bodies, a solidified reminder now every time he pounded into you. Each snap hitting perfectly deep as his hands cradled you and his words filled your mind with him. 

“You’re my girl.” He declared before you could even conjure up the thought. “Say it darlin’.” He continued guiding his hand at your leg, hoisting you as he brought is finger to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud, as his end neared.

“I’m yours.” You whined, bringing your finger to ghost atop his own as it circled your clit. The familiar heat in your core began to bubble like the markings of a burning fuse.  You turned your head to his and kissed him deeply at the thought, rubbing your clit furiously with the help of his hand and relishing the way his cock completed your body. 

“You’ll be mine.” Bo reaffirmed as his words caught every second his hips threatened to stutter at his release. “You’ll be mine forever ain’t that right.” 

You could have sworn you saw the waves of Heaven wash over you as the eruption of your orgasm shakes you to the core. The blinding shades of his orbs stuck on you leaving you heaving  for breath. Left thoughtless and wordless of promises that carry on with the shaking of your thighs and soft whispers of  an ‘always’ from his lips. Bo stilled as he released, head slacking and mouth hanging open he moaned, his hips stuttered into you and the threads of his cum began to leak beyond where he filled you. 

He released his hand from your own and rubbed your arms soothingly as you laid heavy against him, bracing you against the tree, his hand smoothing over your shoulders as to be careful. Sweat stuck to you as your hair frizzed out of place, the last droplets of blood dribbled out down your neck and he caught it with his finger. 

You let out a hiss at the sensation but pouted, he readjusted your skirts, letting his forehead rest against yours once more, closing his eyes as your head knocked into his own and he grinned lightly. And you regained what was left of your breath as your vision faltered, only able to see his face in the dim glow.

“Now you will be.” 

And a promise or a guarantee, who could know? But he intended to keep both.

[slowdivinqs]

Presentiment

Stalker! Joel Miller x f!reader ( 18+ MDNI )

summary : no one is truly alone in the world, especially not you.

w/c : 12K

warnings : no use of y/n, horror themes and elements DDDNE, stalker behavior, feelings of isolation and depression, existential crisis? Kidnapping, cynical thoughts about life described, abuse, violence against the reader by Joel, old!Joel. slowburn-ish. dub-con?. unprotected PinV. Oral f!receiving. Manhandling. Hunter / prey kink. Twisted daddy kink but no use of the word 'daddy'. Joel popping a viagra. VERY Large age gap ( 35+ years ) . Manipulation. Obsession. Reader’s mother is described as a drug addict. Shitty men, harassment and pervertedness from a co-worker. Murder / death of side characters. Stockholm syndrome. Reader is toxic too. Religious imagery. Can be pixel or pedro Joel. The reader is implied as being thinner due to life long poverty, but her body type is not described or stated.

a/n : This was made for @pedgito's writing challenge and kind of ran away from me. It was such a blast, I've never tried horror or a specifically dark fic and it was sm fun! I’m sure the characters I wrote will stick with me forever. I sat with this fic for a long time before posting, and it's the longest thing I've ever written!! Not sure how I feel about it still. Thank you for letting me participate! Happy birthday ♡

if you don’t like dark themes, listen to the warnings and don’t read the fic.

masterlist

—— ☓ ——

Something feels wrong before your eyes have had the chance to open – a kind of warning, an omen, baked into the morning light stabbing your iris through moth-eaten curtains.

It was the way your body ached as you tried to sit up, stomach screaming for food you just don’t have. Your mother hasn’t been home for a week and you know she’s either run off with some incest-bred asshole who’s promised her a beer or she’s passed out in a crack-house miles away.

Your shift at the diner starts in thirty minutes. 

The men that pass through this town are all the same. 

Truck drivers – men who think all women in the world are there to satisfy their needs. Iagos of the world, the dark underbelly. 

The men that stay in this town are not dissimilar, your days a monotonous blur of wondering when something better will drop into your desperate palms.

There is one man who feels like your only friend in the world. 

Standing at a whopping five foot seven, and still kicking up the diner’s jukebox at eighty three, he makes sun shine out from your soul. You can confidently say that Jerry is the best. 

He usually sits with you the entire day at work, and makes sure to fill your empty time by teaching you to dance to El Toro Rabón, and La Bamba. His rich hands, littered with wrinkles yet full of life, hold yours while he makes you laugh. Clapping as you finish off with an animated twirl and curtsy. 

Jason usually eyes you from the kitchen, rolling his sleazy eyes at the sight of you having so much fun with your elderly best friend. Going back to making greasy burgers and puffing on a cigarette that’s gotten him in trouble with the owner before. 

You never agreed with the sentiment that old people were cute until you met Jerry and his late wife during your first shift at the diner : fourteen years old and composed of an exhaustion that was ill fitting for someone so young. He’d been your first ever customer, seventy seven and still wearing that cowboy hat of his.

The first thing you noticed about him was his mustache, the way he uses wax to curve up the tight white curls into points, how it covered his top lip when he spoke, making him look like a cartoon character –  his oak brown eyes that has gotten increasingly red and yellow around the corners as he’s gotten older. The way his warm skin has developed patches of darkness, yet he still looks the exact same as the photo of him he showed you from thirty years ago : fresh off his racing horse in Mexico, holding the same cowboy hat over his chest that he adorns now, smiling brightly. He kept his hair looser back then, his ringlets looked shiny even in those black and white photographs.

He calls you bumblebee, and you think he’s the first person that’s ever loved you – and he’s the first person you’ve ever loved. He’s your sunshine, a tether to the world past your 18 hour work day. 

Every morning he’s seated in the diner at 8:30 AM with a joke to tell you, stories of his racing days, growing up in Cuajinicuilapa, his time travelling around South America before settling down in this small town near Wyoming. He tells you of his late brother, his views of the world and the people he’s met. He talks of humanity and how love is what is most important in life.

You feed off of the stories he tells you : meeting people from all walks of life under the pretense of coffee, sitting around the same food stand, chatting to strangers who would play guitar on the side of the street for no other purpose than passion. 

You feel the desire for this ideal world thrum in your veins vicariously.

He used to come in with his wife Dolores until she passed two springs ago – he talks of her jewelry often, thinks that you should inherit it : they were never able to have children. You serve his coffee fresh and hot – asking Jason in the back to make his eggs perfect and his toast golden brown. You sit across from him at the counter to play bullshit with him while he eats – he always knows when you’re lying, his cheeky smiles catching you out, and his joy wraps it’s warm arms around you.

Your days are filled with giggles and smiles whenever he comes to see you, and he never leaves without a hug. 

Jerry does not like Jason one bit – eyeing the skinny, pale cook through the serving counter, telling you that a man like that is ‘no good, honey’. You don’t blame him – Jason had tried to coerce you into giving him a blowjob a few weeks before your 18th birthday – but never forced you when you had threatened to go to the sheriff and have them run a much needed background check. Jason has steered clear of you since then, knowing you weren’t shooting empty threats. You never told Jerry about that, but you think he knows regardless. 

He jokes that the forest behind your house has eyes – the kind only the old and the dying could feel. You never found it funny. 

Your clothes were not too crinkled this morning when you pulled them on : giving you a small mercy as did your almost-dry mascara surviving one more day. That hadn’t quelled the uneasiness you’d felt all morning, the whole drive to the diner. All you could think about was seeing your friend, and hoping that he would give you a hug and tell you all those happy stories again.

The second you clock in, and Jason comes back in from his third smoke of the hour, Jerry opens the door to the diner. 

You float over to the counter with a genuine smile, but it flickers when you see the look on his face. 

He talks a lot that day – about his wife, about his old job, even the time a fight broke out in his hometown and his father died, how the horses he looked after got caught in the crossfire : admitting he had hurt the perpetrator afterwards and it haunts him. He tells you everything, even the things he’s told you time and time before – forgetting he ever mentioned it. He’s never forgotten a thing about you, but he talks as though he’s in a hurry, as though he needs to get everything out.

He does not come in the next day or the day after that, and when he doesn’t arrive on the third day you take time off to confirm your fears at the hospital. You do not hear it from a nurse, or a doctor, but from the silence you are met with when you ask for him. That silence, the loneliness that instantly sunk into your bones, shattered your heart into millions of pieces. It is destroying.

You did not come to see him when you could, there was still time to be had, stories to be told. He never saw you make something of yourself, he will never walk you down the aisle like you dreamt he would one day. 

You are all alone in the world. No one to speak to, no one to comfort you. No one to make you think life might not be as meaningless as the whispers of your mind seem to believe. The warmth of him is gone, and you feel as cold and grey as the forest that surrounds this town, as if the sun has gone into eternal hibernation.

You want to bury yourself in your room for hours, to not surface for months and months until your body reflects the rot you feel on the inside. Hollow. Your sunshine is gone. 

You tell yourself Jerry is now with Dolores, and laugh at the fact that your mind even supplied such a deluded thought. You never believed there was something better up there, not for long anyway. 

You still go to his new tombstone, next to his wife’s, and speak to them. They were both religious, crosses carved into the place their names will stay forever, and so you ask any god out there to let them rest peacefully as though they are back in their hometown with their horses and not worry about you. 

That evening you sit on your porch, chain-smoking the packs of cigarettes you had been saving, staring at the stars caged by thick trees. You realize you do not have a purpose. You don’t have a want – can’t have one, there’s not enough money for the luxury of wanting something. You’ll live and die in an 18 hour work day.

Your thoughts are scary and boring at the same time, so you begin to look out at the illuminated forest. The sounds of the night – it scares you as well sometimes, an entire empty forest just outside your door, nothing but rotten wood and locks keeping you safe.

Today you found out you will be alone for the rest of your life, but when you sit out on the porch, flicking your third cigarette – you don’t feel entirely alone at all. You feel as though there is something out here with you, your skin rippling with bumps. 

You blame it on the Grim Reaper licking at your heart today.

The cabin on the other side of the forest you’re staring at now has been vacant since you were born. Never a light, a sound – it haunts you.

The closest you’ve gotten to it was at the ripe age of 8, venturing through the forest to explore. You had come to the front door until the house moaned at you, and the forest went quiet. You can still vividly picture the glance you got of the cabin while you ran all the way home. 

You leave the shadow of the cabin in the dark forest behind, you need to get dressed for your shift. Money waits for no one, not even for the death of your best friend. 

Down the empty highway, not a car in sight – the image of your headlines whirring past the thousands of trees burnt into your retinas from seeing it every single night. Your eyes are puffy and raw from crying, a headache pounding behind them.You pass the single off–ramp road you’ve never been stupid enough to take, the one that winds through the forest, all the way to an open clearing, a small path that can barely fit your sputtering car – leading all the way to the back of your rotting house. You used to play in that clearing as a child, pulling out grass and flowers and making huts out of branches until the day the forest went quiet for a second time – and you knew something was out there with you. 

You had told your mother after running inside, but she pushed you away from the comfort of her arms and told you it was just jackals – you knew it wasn’t, even then. 

It had seemed you knew something was coming your whole life, constantly looking over your shoulder – watching, listening. Sensing all and any kind of movement anytime, wary. You didn’t like the silence, you didn’t like being alone – yet you were singled out, not a soul or sound to comfort you through your isolated existence. 

The gas station is empty as it is every night, you use the time to read. To think, to wonder what it’s all for in the end. If you should run away, leave and never come back. Go and find the ocean, let it swallow you whole.

The sliding doors of the entrance ding as they open. Your eyes flick up so quickly it hurts. A man walks in, and your stomach swoops. Everything falls quiet, and you think of the thing that your mother called the jackals, you think of the forest falling silent : baby birds quieting in the face of danger.  He disappears behind a shelf, a glimpse of a Carhartt jacket that sparks a warmth : a remembrance of your dear friend who is now gone, the once comforting material on someone foreign, scary.

Your breath shallows. You don’t know why. It’s not just the quiet – it’s the kind of quiet that makes your blood congeal. Like the silence before a scream. 

You glance to your side, below the counter, a bat sits for emergencies. You’re not sure why you are panicking the way you are, if it’s the hour, Jerry’s passing, the presentiment you’ve felt all week. 

There is something silent, and something wrong. 

When you look up, you still don’t see him. The light behind you flickers, and you almost want to cry at the fear that’s bubbling up in your throat, your hair is standing on end. Your ears prick at any sound, a fridge door opening and shutting. 

Your body is shutting down on you, your heart crawling up your throat by claws : fighting and fighting for a chance to survive while your body quivers with the force of your instinct to run. Grab the bat, over the counter, out the door to your car. 

You blink, realizing you haven’t been seeing a damn thing, and he’s on the other side of the counter. Looking at you with a blank expression. 

Your heart fizzles and falls back to its place, your hands are shaking. 

“Forgot milk.”  His voice is entirely too flat, disarming and discerning. 

You glance down at his hands, calloused and holding a single jug of full cream milk. He’s waiting for you to scan it. 

“Right, sorry.” You mutter, sliding the milk over the scanner and taking the cash from him before returning the change. He hasn’t looked away from you once, he seems tired and bored : a normal milk run, but you’ve never seen him before. It’s shocking for a town with under five hundred residents. 

He nods his thanks and leaves. The sound of his car sputtering away allows you to finally exhale. 

You cash out and go home soon after that, shaken, like every ounce of fear you’ve felt in your life crashed through you the second he entered the store. An omen, a warning. 

You wake up to a box at your door the next morning. In your sleep-shaken state, you have half the mind to stomp on it, fearful it came from The Man last night. Fortunately, curiosity seemed to be on your side this morning, as upon opening the box you find Denise’s necklaces, bracelets, rings and books. Paintings, antiques, and most importantly - a cowboy hat. Your favorite hat in the entire world. He had left everything of his to you, when he wrote his will you do not know. Maybe Jerry knew what was coming, he always was wise, connected to everything there is in a way you wish you could be.

You cry all morning, through your miserable shift at the diner. You must look like some sort of slug, because Jason asks you if you’re okay, as does the girl from your old english class who came in that morning all the way from New York : in town and visiting her parents. She dyed her hair and found her style. You see the sparkle of the world in her eyes, and your dirty fingers itch to steal it, to run outside with her car keys, assume her role as a real person. You do not feel real at all. 

When you return to your rotting home you watch an old western - Jerry’s favorite - while you wear his cowboy hat, toying with the new jewelry that was sent to you when the police must’ve got around to acting out Jerry’s will. You feel loved and, oh, so lonely at the same time. You are a ghost in your own home, and the appearance reflects it. No real girl would live in a house of mold and quiet, where it is abandoned despite having a resident. 

—-

The Man returns this evening as well, in the moment you were humming the iconic tune from your new favorite movie. Jerry had good taste. The world goes silent, and he grabs a pack of beers before heading to the till. “Marlboro Reds, please.” He has a Texan accent, and you stare at your hands as you give him what he wants. He leaves after that again, your only customer of the night. 

 

The next night, he takes his time browsing the store. You watch him, watch how he languidly moves, scanning the items like his eyes would not eventually land on you. Approaching the counter with his chosen trifle.

 “You don’t get scared workin’ nights?” He asks, and now you know your concerns were not unfounded. 

“No.” you lie, meeting his eye for the second time since the first night. He does not have facial expressions, you realize. Blank, revealing nothing. He is a handsome man. An eerie man. He nods, holding eye contact as he grabs the useless item and goes back to his sputtering truck outside. He looked like he wanted to call you a liar. 

You do not show up for your shift the night after that. Your gut tells you to stay home, to lock your doors and keep your father’s old pistol near you. To close the blinds – sit and listen to every sound of the night. Check under your bed just in case.

You’re late to the diner the next morning, greeted by Jason’s complaining that he had to serve the first customer’s coffee, asking for you to make it up to him. When you peep through the corridor, your heart drops at the only customer in the restaurant. 

The Man has come to the diner. He knows you, he knows where you work – probably where you live. 

Maybe he lives here, maybe it’s all some coincidence. Maybe it’s not what you think. 

You bring him his eggs and bacon, and when you look up to his face he’s already looking at you. He does not move, does not touch his knife or fork. He’s staring at you. 

“Leave me alone.” You say, quiet yet firm, standing over him as he blinks and looks down at his food. Your fear is making you angry, fire spitting in your eyes. He doesn’t answer you, and after two moments of being unable to bear the energy that exudes from him – you walk away, into the back of the kitchen to watch Jason work, peeping through the slits of the serving station to watch The Man eat his food. Your body hair prickles into points.

Jason eyes you, glances at The Man, and raises a faint eyebrow at you. 

“That your daddy?” he asks, staring at the popping bacon. You watch the grease heat and solidify, the sweat sticking on Jason’s skinny yet defined triceps, coated with wiry hair that’s never been tended to. 

“No.” you whisper, tucking your hands under your legs : they are cold, and your skin is overridden with goosebumps, hair standing. You feel as though you’re about to be swallowed, like large claws will pick you up and drop you into a maw of sharp, hungry teeth.

“Why’s he givin’ me the stink eye, then?” Jason grunts, picking at his gold tooth with a grimy finger as he lazily looks over to your thighs, then your face. Raising an eyebrow at how fearful you look, he glances back at The Man. Something like concern flashes across his face, and he lifts his cap to rub over his short, receding hair. It’s the first time his eyes have ever looked soft.

“Dunno.” is all you manage to mutter as you brace a peek to find The Man has looked away.

He’s slow, takes time to eat every piece of food while staring blankly out the window, like he’s watching the world as though he’s never seen it before, unnatural. You want to tell Jason about your all consuming fear that this man is going to hurt you, but his eyes have changed and he makes another comment about how good you look in the plaid dress that happens to be your uniform.  You choose to wait outside of the building instead of enduring the male specimen of your species. It feels like you are alone in a world of monsters.

When you return inside, there’s a fifty dollar tip next to the spotless plate, everything stacked for you to carry. 

You don’t return home that night : you ditch your job at the gas station for a second time,  leaving your car at the diner to book a room at the shitty motel. It feels as though you died the same day Jerry did, maybe you are dreaming : alone in an empty world, your only companion being the monster. Nothing feels real.

You fall asleep to the sound of ugly moans, watching the handle of your door : your heart beating faster than your body can manage. Rocking yourself back and forth, humming a soft tune your father used to play on the guitar when he was sober enough to think. 

You feel as though you are living on borrowed time, as though this opportunity to wait is a mercy.

He is not at the diner the next morning. Neither is Jason, it’s closed up and the lights are shut off – it is Jason’s job to open up and get the stoves burning. You try to call the owner with the small amount of change you have on the payphone, but no one answers. The sound of the dead line ringing in your ears as you look around in a panic. 

You suddenly feel as though you’re back in that patch of forest, surrounded by tall trees and a monster waiting to swallow you whole. Watching. A fear so curdling you fear you’ll throw up over the plastic phone. 

You’re wide awake standing behind the counter of the gas station. Watching the fluorescent lights flicker. You parked your car out back. You’re holding the bat in your right hand under the counter. You are waiting for him to come in. You should have driven far far away, but you have a sinking feeling he would have followed. 

The night is completely quiet. No people, no sounds except for the humming of the fridges. 

You glance at the back door, and the moment your eyes turn away from the sliding doors they ding. Your hair rises and stands violently. Skin alight and blazing as the first footstep echos in the store.

You don’t think about it, your body tells you to run and you do. 

Out the back, to the edge of the concrete until your feet are pounding along the road, bat gripped tightly in your fist. The sound of your own feet are drowned out by the ones behind you, big and stomping. The trees framing your attempt at an escape as they yawn and stretch above - caging you in, suffocating. They grow tall as you sprint, closing like they will eagerly crash down and trap you like a wave from the ocean you’ve never seen.

You push with all your might, and you thank the lord you took track during school, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you run so fast the sound of feet behind you fade. It feels like victory, like being free – your chest blooms from the burn and the success. You think of the gun in your bedside drawer, and turn down the off-road into the woods you’ve never been brave enough to take before. The only sound is the one of your own feet : you’re not stupid enough to look behind you.

The moon lights up the forest floor, you don’t trip over a single root or branch. You’re moving faster than you ever have in your life : your lungs screaming, fear rising in your lungs like bile. You break into the clearing, the one that has always been haunted by Jackals. 

You’re almost home. 

A force heavier than you think you’ve ever felt crashes into you from the side, you’re slammed down into the one patch of grass you often picked, the bat flying out of your hands and rolling to the dirt in front of you.

“Knew you’d run here.” A deep, breathless voice says right into your ear, your hair is pulled as a hand clamps down on your struggling wrists, excited. “Always liked playin’ here, didn’t ya?” he grunts, pulling something out of his pocket. You swing your elbow up, knocking him straight in the jaw. He sways for only a moment, but it’s all you need. You dash forward, crawling away from him before you find your feet, grabbing the bat and smashing it down over The Man’s skull. He groans and stumbles, gripping the back of his head as you trip over your own feet to stumble away. You run towards your rotting home, you can’t think about the fact he knew where you played as a child, all you are thinking about is the gun. 

You don’t even get to the steps of your back porch before he’s tackling you to the ground again and hitting the side of your face hard enough to make you cry, your head fuzzing. Your face stings and your eye throbs. You want to bring your hands to cup over the hurt, hold yourself in an attempt to make it better, but he is holding your hands. He curses at you, spitting vile words for managing to get solid blows at him.

“Come on, darlin’. You think that little gun ‘s gon’ do anythin’? It don’t even got any bullets.” He grunts, you feel zip ties around your wrists, your mind racing as you continue to struggle and kick until his hand is around your throat faster than you can think. “Don’t make me hit that pretty face again, bitch.” 

You go still, and slumped. Trapped in a wolf’s jaws. 

His hand squeezes tighter and tighter as you squeak a protest, until you can’t think anymore and the last of your squirming falls away. 

The first thing you smell when you wake up is smoke, the kind that comes from a fireplace. The first thing you see is rich, dark wood. You’re on a bed and you glance up to see you’re handcuffed there. Your skin isn’t just throbbing – it's raw, the skin bitten where the metal has scraped against you. Your head pounds like it’s been split open, the ache thick and blinding.

You can feel he is somewhere within the room, the twist of your stomach and the lingering presence on the back of your head tells you he is there. A creak of a chair behind you finalizes his presence but you can’t be bothered to do anything besides slump back against the mattress, curling up into a tiny ball. 

He says your name to get your attention, and you don’t attempt to look at him, your skin is already crawling with what you think he wants to do to you. Future years of using and hitting flash through your mind, wishing for the mercy of death.

He walked next to the bed too fast, too silent. A wall of muscle and heat as large as him should not be so quiet.  He is touching your hair, stroking down your cheek. His hand is rough and warm, he smells like a cologne that reminds you of your father. You think you might be sick.

“I was bein’ nice. I waited.” he says softly, pressing down with his pointer finger on the bruise that has molted under your skin, making you wince and shuffle away from him, glancing up at him to find his striking, dark eyes on you. His jaw is bruised where you hit him with your aching elbow, a trickle of dry blood still stuck on a piece of his salt-and-pepper hair. You made a crack in his head – a small trickle of pride filling your veins at the fight. 

It is small lived, and dies out at the next throb of your wrists.

He sighs at this reaction, before walking out of this bedroom and shutting the door behind him. 

You lie there for what feels like hours, only moving when you notice the water and ibuprofen on the bedside table : still in its packaging. Your whole body aches, the last throttles of your adrenaline were beaten out of you with his hands. 

It’s only when you sit up that you notice where you are. The view outside the window is the forest behind the cabin that groaned at you, that haunted you as a child. 

He’s lived here the whole time : he’s been here the whole time. The feeling of impending doom that curdles your skin when he’s been near. The jackals you felt as a child, the forest going quiet. 

It’s been him. It’s always been him.

Your skin feels as though it will turn inside out, every hair on your body standing to a rigid point. The fear feels as though you’re dying. 

You don’t have to look to know he’s silently opened the room again, and you speak.

“You some kind of pedo?” You spit as your head throbs, sitting up on the bed, tugging on the cuffs, rage curdling and bubbling up on your skin – you think of your mother. 

He stops moving at your words, “what?” 

“You’ve been watching me since I was a child.” 

“It wasn’t like that, Jesus.” He grunts, sounding uncomfortable at the idea. You almost want to laugh. In your periphery you see he’s ditched his canvas jacket, wearing a navy flannel that shows you just how large he is - as if you didn’t feel it the night before when he tackled into you so violently, stealing every inch of breath in your lungs.

“Oh, well sorry for assuming some old, sick pig stalking a young girl since she was a child isn’t a fucking pedophile.”

He smacks you over the throbbing patch of your skin, and you finally glare up at him with every bit of ire in your body. It was not any kind of hit, it was the kind that made you feel like dead weight, that knocks all the air out of your body as if you are a puppet with it’s strings cut. 

He’s staring down at you.

“I’m not –  christ, it ain’t like that.” 

“So you’re just going to kidnap and keep me? You’re not going to – to do anything, is that right?” You scoff the words out, holding your hand to your cheek. The ache under your skin feels like it could stay there forever. 

“I don’t want to do anything to you.” He seems to notice the irony of his words when you let your palm drop, face swollen. “I didn’t want to have to hurt you.”

You look out the window and go silent. 

“You didn’t have to hurt me, this was your choice.” You spit, and he looks almost surprised by your words. There’s goosebumps that break out over his skin, and the energy in the room constricts as he backs away from you.

He glances out the same window before handing you a warm bowl of stew, pieces of meat and potato bobbing up from the thick, stock smelling liquid. You stare down at it, and then glare back up at him. 

“Is it poisoned?” You’re not serious, you’re angry.

“If I wanted to kill you I would have done it earlier.” He says it as though it’s as casual as the weather, as though killing something – a person – is as boring as can be. Idle reassurance. 

“You seem to like the waiting game.” You huff, staring at his large, twitching hands. His watch is broken.

He looks like he wants to smile at your quip, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Eat.” He tells you, closing the bedroom door softly as he leaves you be.

—

You have been here for two weeks, only knowing this due to the little alarm clock next to the bed that he brought you from your house. 

True to his word, he hasn’t touched you – in fact, he’s been taking care of you in ways you have never been before. It’s intimate, and a sick hunger has begun to heat low in your belly alongside the fear. 

You feel as though you’ve been living in a small bubble where time never passes. He watches you at all hours of the day, asking you questions about the men you’ve worked with, if there’s anything from your house you want him to fetch. He tries not to hit you when his anger bubbles up at your persistent silence. He asks you questions about yourself, not ones like favorite colors, but if you think all people in the world are unsavable. 

He looks like he’s hoping you will tell him he can be saved. You do not. 

He makes you eat dinner with him every night, bathes you as well. The first time he tried it, after letting you rot in bed for three days, he had to wrestle you into the bathtub after trying to be nice, held you down while you kicked and splashed and scratched at him until he pressed his fingers over your injured face in an unforgiving manner until your cries went quiet, and you almost fainted from the pain. He made you apologize for making him have to hurt you. 

You swallowed the clawing, raging voice at the back of your throat and did it. When he kissed your forehead and told you it’s okay, a warm sickness swirled in your stomach, nauseating and tentatively delicious all at once.

You have not tried to fight him after that night, scared of what would happen if he were to comfort you. 

He tucks you into bed most evenings, pressing the blanket to cushion you and arranges the pillows. In the first nights, it had scared you : you hadn’t slept a wink, terrified he would slip into bed and his patience would wear thin. Now, it feels like something nice. He tries to tell you happy stories, he usually fails – but it makes you think of Jerry and you feel better regardless, it makes The Man seem more real, like a human rather than a monster. 

He asks you to curl up next to him on the couch so he can read aloud to you, books you’ve heard about in passing but never read : he has a liking for Cormac McCarthy and the Wild West. He bakes cookies for you when you ask him your first question, letting you sit at the table with a glass of milk to enjoy them. You feel warmth radiating from inside of you, spiked with fear – no one has baked cookies for you before. You finish them, and he says he’s proud.

—-

The sinking feeling comes slowly. Seeping into your bones whenever he holds you. It gets worse when you begin to dream of him, a possible reality, one of him holding you and kissing you – telling you you’re lovable, perfect, worthy. Six months have warped your brain, slipping out of your grasp like sand. You wake up to slickness between your legs, a desire to go find him in the kitchen making breakfast and nuzzle under his broad arms, let him squeeze you tight and surround you with his scent. You don’t have to beg him to make you feel loved, he’s always loved you : he’s made that clear. 

You had realized long ago that he is too big for you to fight, he is all consuming and overpowering. The sinking feels like acceptance, and you think it’s close to dying. 

It’s a sunny day when it all hits you. He’s been out for half an hour – at the grocery store a few towns over – the moment he said goodbye you had felt a twist in your stomach. You didn’t want him to go. He hugged you and told you he would be back soon, kissing your cheek when you got teary, his whiskery beard tickling your soft skin. 

You don’t know when the terror began to feel like safety. You only know that when he’s gone, it feels like you’re alone with the jackals instead of how it was when he found you. When he was the monster.

The worst part was you knew why you reacted that way. Sitting in the sunny room, you forced your mind to constantly think of escape routes, of the disgusting actions he had committed, the way he has trapped you in this little house. Your mind adamantly hates The Man, but that large pit, the self that was unloved and uncared for – alone, has already started to need him, to ignore the stupidity in believing he loves you. To latch on like a leech and suck up all of the love and care he has, not caring if it’s real or pure, to see if it’ll make you round and fat with it – satisfied.

 

The hunger for what he has to offer you makes you feel like you might be the true monster in the house : your desperation for what you have never tasted knows no bounds. You think you’d kill for it. You might have been the jackal the whole time, the hole that lived inside you might have turned you ugly from a young age. 

You are scared of your own desperation. 

He bathes you every night – ritualistic and precise. Guides you under the water until you reappear, clean and new to a kiss on your cheek, hands scrubbing you clean. Every time the surface breaks and you come back to him, the forest grows denser : tighter and vast while the home, your home, becomes all the more simple and clear, exactly how it is supposed to be. 

You need him, and you think you love him. What that makes you, you’re not sure and you no longer care. 

He goes out months later, telling you he needs to get food and soap, baby - he leaves the window open and the door unlocked : he knows you will not leave. He says he’s going to grab soap, but he is carrying a prescription slip with a little baggie, what he’s actually going to get remains a mystery to you. 

The nightmare you had in the middle of winter had shifted something deep in your foundations – the fear that licked up your spine at the thought of being alone – the much lesser, flickering fear that your body had instinctually looked for him in his room, the dull scream your mind let out at the way you climbed into his bed, burrowing under his large, comforting arms until your brain went quiet and he pulled you closer. Those dull screams of fear and resistance from a lifetime ago have been washed away from his hands, and now a need so gravitational has birthed in its place. You want him.

Dusk comes softly in the weeks after taking residence in his bed. He still has not touched you, and you are beginning to feel ire towards his morality. A wrongness in the way he tries to be right. The cabin is warm with firelight, the smell of smoke wrapping around you like a blanket, similarly to his flannel that stretches over your skin. He jostles open the door slowly, grocery bags lining his fingers in a way that is dangerously domestic – his hair is tousled. His eyes catch onto the fabric, and he pauses.

“You’re in my shirt.” He states, but you know it’s a question. Your eyes search for the little baggie he had, wondering what he put in there. 

You close the book he gave you to read, the cover sliding across your fingertips, “It smells like you.”

Something in his expression shifts. You think it might be guilt. Or pride. Or both, layered on top of each other until they’re indecipherable. He sets the bags down and moves to you, slow and steady – crouching to your level in front of the couch. 

“You missed me?” He asked, eyes wild and dilated, hands skirting over your exposed thighs. Up and down. 

You look away, unable to meet the gaze that is burning into you, to admit how far you’ve gone to his face. Yet your head nods, eyes flicking to his as your chin wobbles, bottom lip jutting out before tightening in a grimace. He wipes a tear from your eye.

“’s okay to miss me, I’m the only one who’s here f’you, darlin’.” He cups your cheek, rubbing the skin there. You meet his eyes this time, close them before you’re leaning in, resting your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you, guiding you onto his lap and telling you it's okay, and it’s natural, baby and finally I love you, don’t cry sweet girl.

You’re tired of the tears, of the fight. Tired of the empty woods and the silence – the loneliness that lives in your bones. You’re tired of running from the thing that makes you feel whole and real.

You wonder if Jerry ever saw this coming, and if he did – why didn’t he ever warn you something so soul destroying would be waiting to swallow you? Why didn’t he tell you the most human monster in the world would be the only one to see you without the shiny idealism behind cataracts? You feel guilty for admitting that The Man knows you better than Jerry ever did. The Man knows you are not made of sunshine and flowers, he sees the hole carved in your stomach that makes you so achingly hungry, and shows his own back. 

— 

You noticed the loose floorboard on the second day, and now you pry it open. While you care for The Man, you are acting on instinct.

He had shouted at you this morning while you were still curled in his arms, gotten rotten and angry, called you a stupid bitch when you had asked him to come with him to the store, wanting to see the world again. 

You were hopeful he would trust you, that he would prove you are, in fact, not living in a cage. 

He had stormed off, and for the first time in eight months he had locked the door on his way out, shoving a small plastic bag in his pocket. 

Spiders crawl out from the floorboard, and you jump back, standing on the couch while you throw The Man’s shoes at them, you wish he was here so he could take care of it, could laugh softly at your fear and hold you in his arms – away from the floor – to protect you. 

You remind yourself you do not know his name and that you’re trapped here, a jarring reminder of the way you have settled.

You need something to prove he was a real, living man before his life revolved around you. You need to rebel against him, like a petulant, scared child because of his rudeness this morning. 

Once you feel safe enough, you roll up the sleeve of the lacy undershirt he gave you and stick your hand inside. Searching for some sort of ocular truth amongst the bones of his own rotted cabin.

A pair of old boots with a ‘J’ engraved in the sole is the first thing you pull out. An army knife next, then a bunch of guns and weapons. 

No matter how strange it is to find guns and knives buried in someone’s house, for The Man it’s quite boring.

You pull out a shoe box next, placing it next to you on the floor before blowing the dust off of the top. It doesn’t help much. From the amount of grime, it looks as though you are the first person to touch this box in years.

The lid sticks to the rest of the compartment from cobwebs, but you discard the thing anyway, desperate and careless.

 

A photo is the first thing you find, old and yellowed.

A little girl.

At first you are fearful she is a victim, until you see the photo of The Man - much younger - holding her in the hospital. Your stomach curdles, and it feels like rotting, eating itself from the inside. 

A daughter. 

Your heart swoops low, pensive. You think of the room he keeps locked, the warm light that streams under the gap of the door - reflecting something pink inside. The way you would watch the beams dance on the floor like a whole soul was trapped inside there, wilting as the sun set.

Her birth certificate is the second thing you find. 

  Sarah Miller : 1983 / 03 / 18   

  City of origin : Arlington, Texas. 

  Father  : Joel Miller  

A name, a life, a whole world buried in the foundations. 

You gawk at the fact that The Man – Joel – is 60 years old. 

Her missing poster is what you find next. Bile rises like acid on your tongue, a smiling, happy girl plastered with information about her last whereabouts, the pink shirt she was wearing and how tall she had gotten. She went missing on your third birthday. Your head swims. You drop the documents back into their casket with trembling hands and weak knees.

 Stupid, stupid girl – why did you have to look?

The last thing you find is a golden tooth, familiar in its grime and dullness. You can imagine a sleazy tongue gliding over it in irritation. Jason’s golden tooth. You drop it immediately and slam the loose floorboard shut, burying what was meant to stay that way once more. 

The room looks as though nothing has changed, yet everything inside of yourself is different. A storm of fog and clarity, adrenaline pumping for running and the desire to stay still.

You throw up outside the living room window.

Everything feels like a blur after that, grabbing your boots he stuffed away - a coat and a knife from his kitchen.

Run, just run. Don’t look back. Get away, fast fast fast. 

You climb out of the bedroom window and run all the way to where you left your car the night he caught you, cold wind whipping past your face and sending a burn through your nose. Your feet pound along the ground like the whole world is weighing you down, like every stone is hoping to trip you and let you fall, to cut your knees open and stop you. 

You eventually arrive at the gas station.

You're stunned that the place is closed and rotted, not a single soul in sight.

Your lungs are burning, you feel woozy, and you let out a pathetic cry when you see he has slashed your tires. 

Stopping at the rough concrete of the shop, you attempt to open the back door, only to spot a poster plastered on the side of the wall. 

A missing poster. Your missing poster, with not a single person in the world to care for its presence besides a man who you ran away from, who would tear it down and remove you from an existence that is not with him, that would try to come find you to bring you back.

You decide to keep running in the opposite direction of his home. A large part of you is screaming at you to run to the Sheriff’s office and tell them what happened, that Joel will find you if you try anything else, but a shamefully large part - a sick part of you does not want to run away from him. He has cared for you - he has watched you all your life, and you know – regardless of purity or morality – he loves you. All that is left for you without him is a town that would freeze in time if you were to vanish, fake in its existence, a facade for the life you were always meant to live.

To your horror, the twist in your chest tells you that you love him too, it’s a surety now.

You think of the soft kisses he pressed to your hair, the way you got used to him telling you of things he liked about you, that he only would have known from watching. The way he told you he too liked Jerry, and liked the movie you watched after his passing. He let you watch it every night for a month, and began to quote the lines with you in an exaggerated version of his accent to make you giggle.

He saw you, he has always seen you. He loves you and wants you and needs you enough to take you for himself. 

You have stopped running, standing still for a moment before slowly turning around, feet shaking in your soul’s indecision. Torn and trembling. The forest is completely silent, yet this time you feel all too real – too alive. 

Your mind is not what it used to be. The shake of your hands comes from the part of you that is pleading for you to run, to see the clear manipulation : the rose coloured glasses that have been forced over your eyes. The other part – the part that you are starting to believe is the truth of who you are – wants to run back to the cabin before he sees you ever left, to cup his devastatingly handsome face and let him take what has always been his, to be made a real person.

It is consuming, this primal want.

A twig snaps.

You don’t need to turn around to know he his standing close behind you. 

You clench your fists and turn around, fear curdling and boiling in your belly, making your knees weak and shaky. 

The look on his face clears your rational thought once again, and you quickly attempt to scramble away from the monster. He looks absolutely, impossibly, livid. 

You do not know why you ever thought you could run, why you thought he would not find you, that he would let you go. 

You burst into tears the second he has you against the forest floor once more. The ground ripping the skin from your cheek as you fall, crushed under him once again – worse this time : you knew better.

“Why’d you do it, angel?” He says softly, entirely contrasting from the way his arm is curled around your head, large biceps restricting your breath. 

“I-I was scared.” You cry, trying to stop the hiccuping of your lungs to keep the breath you have. 

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes, deep voice right next to your ear, his mostly salt and slightly pepper beard tickling the skin. “You made me so scared, sweet girl. Thought you cared ‘bout me.” he whispers. You do not know if the tightening of his arms was intentional, or if he is so upset at the idea you could hate him that he is consumed with it. 

“I’m s-sorry,” You gasp, clawing at his arm, “I do care, ‘s why I–”

He raises his hand quickly, yet it hangs in the air for a moment. Hesitation, guilt – trembling like he’s stuck. You see something raw flicker in his eyes before it’s gone and he’s striking the ground next to your face, barely missing you – a last second decision. 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” Desperate, angry, scared.

You need to placate him before he does something stupid.

“I turned back– I was going to go back home I promise, please.” you cry, looking into his eyes. You loathe the fact that your words aren’t lies, that the care he sees reflected in them is real. You want him, you need him.

He watches you silently, frowning. Waiting to see what you have to say to him. 

“I snooped, I’m sorry. I was angry about this morning and I saw– I saw Jason’s tooth and–” 

The sound that leaves him is punched from deep within his chest.  

He is silent for a long time. Pulling away from you. 

You do not breathe, scared – the back of your neck is bared to him. Your life depends on his reaction. 

“You saw my girl.” 

You tremble in his slackening grasp. He seems to be staggering for a moment, unprepared and assaulted by the memories you have brought back. His hands grip tighter and tighter. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I didn’t know.” you whisper, tears streaming out of your eyes as you look up at the setting sun, these must be your last moments. Your body trembles and your hiccuping noises are ugly. You wish you could take this all back to before. 

“You ain’t supposed t’see what’s down there.” he’s lifting his hands off of you, and you think the scariest thing about this moment is how human he finally seems. Like you are the one seeing him after all this time. You stay down, turning to look into his eyes – all you can see is grief.  “You know what it’s like to be lonely, that’s why you were brought to me, baby.” His hands wrap around your neck again, and you shriek a small protest, scrambling. Your nails crack and bleed as they attempt to rip yourself away from him by holding onto the ground and pulling.

You feel drops against the back of your neck, and fear lurches in your stomach at the fact that he’s crying. “She would have hated me, she was so good.” His hands are constricting, crushing. You choke and gasp for breath. “But I ain’t got her anymore. I got you. And God help me, I need you, sweet girl.” 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper again, looking into his sad eyes with your teary ones. 

“I know.” He says softly, and you whimper as his hand comes to your face. He rubs the skin for a few moments, letting himself breathe and feel you. It feels like an eternity, lying under him, trapped.

“I’m goin’ to give you a choice, sweet girl. I ain’t given you one before.” His voice builds up as he says it, like the memory of his daughter drives him to formulate a plan – a way to somehow fix everything he’d done. Your heart stops as he slides off of you, picking you up with him and holding you, the tips of your boots brushing the ground. He stares at you seriously, and he looks so different from the monster, like he’s trying his best to do the right thing after all this time, pretending it’ll take everything back. 

“I’m goin’ to let you run, sweet girl. You can choose to go to the sheriff– or, or steal my truck, do what you want.” He swallows thickly, eyes wild. “I’ll let you go, I should let you go.” He whispers almost to himself. “But if you choose t’go back home…I won’t let you leave me again, baby.” He smooths his hand over your hair after setting you down. “You’ll be mine, honey. And I’ll be yours, we can be fair and make this right. I’ll take you, and I’ll tell you everythin’.” 

You thought your heart was going to rip out of your chest. Everything is primal, it’s all desperate and ugly and raw. He lets go of you, taking a few difficult, staggered, paces back. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides. 

“Go,” he nods slowly, like he’s trying to assure himself this is the right thing to do. “If you run now, I won’t stop you, I swear.” his voice breaks like he’s not sure of it himself — scared of what he’s capable of yet consumed with need. His eyes are soft and round, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen. You are scared, but more importantly you are tired.

For the first time someone has loved every rotten bit of you – so desperately they leave morality behind. How could you run away from this? 

You hesitate, stagnant and unsure. Your heart and your brain have gotten so tired from fighting it feels they have turned off all together, what happens now is primal – instinctual, you feel out of your own body, vaguely aware of the blood pulsing through you. 

You turn around and run swiftly down the road, scrambling over a few loose stones. You glance back at him once, surrounded by the trees, watching you like a dead man watches water. Your heart lurches. He looks heart broken, shattered and as alone as you’ve always felt, like this is the last time he’ll ever see you. 

Silly old man, you think. 

You were always going to run back to his cabin. 

You’ve got no need to disappear into nothing for the sake of rightness when everything you’ve ever wanted lives in the warm, wooden walls of his — your — home. 

He underestimated just how hungry, how broken and corrupt you are. 

You know now that you love him, and you know that you have always been just as much of a monster as he is. Rotten and broken and impure, tainted and shattered. 

You have always been his match. 

Your boots carry you home like you weigh nothing, light as air as ribbons of your past fears and wishes string and rip behind you. A flurry of ideas and thoughts until there is nothing except for yourself standing in that same flowery spot with plucked grass and no-more- monsters. 

  You bask in the silence of the forest. You have since lost track of the hurt, the burn of fear rising in your throat. You think of gold teeth and little girls and bright, wrinkled eyes surrounded by rich, dark skin – before your thoughts fall silent too.

You are under water. By the time you see his cabin : dim with no lights on as it always was until he found you – your mind is somewhere else, hollow and empty and replaced with something molten in your stomach. An ache, gnawing away at your belly. 

You don’t knock, you let the stairs creak as you silently open the door. 

  He had not followed you, true to his word. The house is just as you’d left it. 

You feel settled, clam and composed as you slowly begin to strip. Boots at the door, jacket in the living room. A trail made from your scarf leading to shorts and small socks. At the side of Joel’s bed, a lacy undershirt and bra. 

  You have already started to drift off by the time the cabin door opens. Two shuffles of feet before they stop short. 

He takes time to make a fire, the sound of crackling wood creating a comforting blanket to your sleepy state, in and out of the haze, yet aware. 

You are silent and waiting, your breath fanning softly as your eyes struggle to stay open. Somewhere deep, your heart throbs – the last fizzling jump of fear before it dies and fades away for good. You hear the opening of a small, plastic bag somewhere in the kitchen, little taps of what sounds like a pill falling against the counter top– a gulp of water a few seconds later. 

The mattress dips as he climbs into bed behind you. 

His callouses catch on your skin roughly as he traces the side of your face, bare chest pressing against your lower back while he buries his face between your shoulder blades. 

You let your eyes flutter shut as he places open-mouthed kisses up your spine, wet and shaky. His hands grip your hips like you’ll turn to smoke if he doesn’t hold on. His beard tickles your shoulder as he continues, cradling you against him as if he is trying to stitch himself back together again, to become real and whole.

You let him. 

He is shaking when you turn to face him. Neither of you speak, words unnecessary in the softness and stillness of the night : no need for words when there are only two people in the world who are so entwined already. 

His palm cups your face, turning you to look at him, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth like a prayer. You whisper his name to him for the first time, a shaky breath escapes him as he whispers yours back. A small ruffle of the familiar duvet as you turn to face him, his warm palm cups over your tit – your pounding heart – as you turn to face him. Eyes shining as they meet yours. He looks so human.

He presses his nose against your own before his chapped lips finally meet yours in hesitation, like he’s trying to confirm that you’re really here next to him, that he hasn’t lost the only thing he has. 

It’s soft for only a moment before you both let the hunger take over – hot and wet, lips moving faster and faster as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. They part without hesitation, taking the warm wetness of it inside your mouth and sucking gently, rolling over the other’s until your tastes are the same. 

  You gasp as his hands – rough and trembling – slide down your body, tracing every feature he studied from afar that is now finally his to touch. His mouth nudges along your jaw, nipping at the skin before he’s burying his face in your neck and inhaling. 

When you whisper his name softly, he shudders like you’re the first person to ever truly call for him. 

Your hand glides down to his stomach, running through the silvery hair that coats it desperately, trying to ground yourself to him. To pull him impossibly closer like you want to merge your bodies into one, consuming. 

His hands are everywhere as he groans into your mouth, surrounding you completely. One grips your hair, pulling back gently to bare your throat to him as the other runs down your breasts, pulling and squeezing your nipples into tight points, breath panting from the intensity. He paints your neck with bites, blooms where he’s sucked and tugged on your skin until his mark has been made – groaning as he licks over the skin, like he’s trying to infuse you into his bones. Your skin tastes like his surrender, like the salt of his prayers. It’s not forgiveness he asks for – but belonging, trying to carve a place for himself in the crook of your neck. 

Your fingers slip under the band of his boxers, searching for that rigid warmth that’ll complete you, retreating slightly on a shaky gasp as his hot, wet mouth envelopes your nipple, pulling and licking. 

He’s on top of you within seconds, hands splaying across your shoulder blades as he shows equal treatment to each breast, arching you against him. His heavy sighs travel across your skin as he exhales. Groin slotted against the warmth of yours, he lets your hands tangle in his hair as he moves Southwards, kissing as he goes.

You whine a protest, whimpering for him to join the two of you together, and he answers your previous curiosities in a deep rumble, “Gotta give it time to work, sweet girl. I ain’t young no more.” 

You let your head fall back against the pillows, a spark of electricity running through you at the reminder of his age, wetness seeping out into the gusset of your panties as you try to close your legs – an attempt at alleviating some of the heat that’s been building there. 

He grunts at this, large hands gripping your soft thighs as he plants them wide and flat against the mattress, “Easy, darlin’ – gon’ take care of you now.” He rumbles against your lower stomach, right over your womb as he reaches up to pinch your tit, prompting you to look down at him between your thighs. Those eyes you once used to fear with such intensity now only make more slickness spill into the cotton that conceals you. 

“Want you t’look at me while I taste this pretty little cunt for the first time.” He whispers on a kiss against your mound, dragging your panties down by latching his teeth onto the little bow adorning the front and pulling. You moan softly at the sight, hands fisting the sheets next to your head as his broad, muscular shoulders keep your legs spread wide, baring your warm pussy for his taking. 

  His eyes meet yours as his breath falters at the first glide of his tongue through your cunt, breaking off into a deep groan as he tastes you. A small cry of his name leaves your lips at the new sensation, hands immediately going to tangle in his soft hair. His tongue is ravenous, licking up every ounce of arousal as his eyes stay on yours, only dropping down when your head falls back once more. 

He sucks your clit into his mouth, beard tickling and stimulating you – sending head through your bones. His lips tug on your bundle of nerves, pulling so deliciously your hips cant up onto his face, letting your wetness coat his beard until it’s soaked.

He lets go of your throbbing bud with a pop, licking his lips as he lets his mouth glide lower. 

“Taste so fuckin’ perfect, my angel.” He groans as his tongue digs over your hole, an obscene sound of him slurping up all you’ve given him echoes through the humid room, and your moan of approval follows soon after. His nose digs into your clit as he pushes his tongue inside you, letting it glide into your gummy walls as you clench around him. His moans of approval course through you, heat rising blindly through your bones as you cry out for him, hips bucking as he presses against your lower stomach with a large palm. The rough material of his watch-strap scratching your tummy as his brows furrow, focused on eating you alive. The smacking sounds of his lips against your wetness make your eyes roll as he digs his tongue inside. His hand moves lower, skirting against your entrance before he’s pulling his tongue out with a slick pop, replacing it with his fingers as he sucks on your clit once more. 

“Joel I-I’m gonna…” You trail off into a high pitched gasp, body trying to twist away from him as his thick fingers curl, pads of them bruising a spot inside of you that makes wetness gush out onto his wrist. 

  “Cum f’me, sweet girl, look at me.” He grunts, waiting until your eyes meet his to suck on your clit harshly, tongue running against the underside as he spreads and lifts his fingers to press against your gummy walls.

Your first orgasm crashes into you when you realize he’s humping the bed, his hot tongue desperately lapping up the slick that gushes from your spasming hole. He moans at the taste, making sure to drink it all down before he’s pushing up the bed – capturing your mouth in a wanting kiss as his thick hardness leaks against your leg.

His pill must’ve worked.

“Joel.” You whisper against his lips, nails dragging down the muscles in his back as you try to paw his underwear off with your foot, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to grip and coat his cock in your slickness.

He offers his body to you in a way that feels holy, the glide of him through your messy folds makes a sound so perfect leave his mouth you feel as though you’ve gone to heaven. 

“I’ve got you.” He whispers against your lips, the hand that is not cupping your face is notching his fat, drooling tip at your entrance. “I’ve got you, baby.” 

The first time he pushes into you, it’s gentle. A broken sound rips from him like he can’t bear it, face strained as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, watching his cock sink into you at a sinfully slow speed. Only when your nails sink into the skin of his back does he look into your eyes, seeing his own want, need, obsession painted in your irises.

He rocks into you like he’s trying to carve a home for himself inside your body, bringing your hand up to cup at his face while you lose yourself to the delicious stretch of him – cunt gripping him so tightly he can barely leave. You were always meant to be wrecked by hand like his – hands that tremble, hands that destroy, hands that worship. 

His moans fan across your lips, shaky as they exit. He’s slow, letting you feel every inch of him, every vein, as he glides into your soaking cunt. His eyes have rolled, but you lean up to bite your own mark into his neck, pussy clenching as he moans raw and deep at the bright red mark you suck into his skin. 

He watches you now, staring into your eyes. You want him to see the hungry, ugly, ruined thing he’s made. You want him to love it. 

And when he leans down to kiss you like this night has changed him forever, you know he loves you. He is searching for his salvation in your body. 

You anchor yourself to him like the earth is shaking, moaning a soft gasp as his forehead pressed against yours. Reveling in the feeling of his sac slapping against your backside, the sounds of lewd smacks and wetness – his own moans and whispered words of praise floating around you as the sheer size of him swallows you whole. He fucks you like he’s praying at an alter and you devour him whole. In the darkness, there is no difference between love and need, no line between hunger and worship.

Every thrust feels like a prayer, a confession, like he’s spilling the truth of himself into you on every plunge, letting you see every crack of his soul, the ugliness through the pounding of his hips against yours. Rocking together, bound by the loneliness and hunger and something older than love.

You cry under him, silent and open as he digs into you, so big and taking that your body can hardly bear it. He kisses every tear like an apology, licking up the salt as he coos above you, kissing the tip of your nose as he lets the heavy weight of his cock sit and twitch inside you for a moment, pubic hair sticky from your arousal as it grinds against your clit. He buries his face against your neck as he begins thrusting shakily again, and you know he’s crying too.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin, broken and raw as he shakily moves his hips, eyes flitting to you, hopeful and soul-crushingly vulnerable.

Your breath is shaking, heat coursing through you at the glide of his cock against that place, tailor made for him. Your eyes falter, fluttering as the last of your tears stream down your cheeks, clenching around him so tightly. Every shared breath tastes like forgiveness neither of you have earned.

“I love you too.” You whisper, shattered. Body light as a feather as you let yourself fall. 

His breath hitches as he comes inside of you, unprepared for it – hot pulses of his seed spurting quickly, flooding you as he sobs out moans against your skin, gripping your hips so tightly you think you’ll break. You follow immediately, arching into him as his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him as you ride out the waves of your pleasure together, knowing it is so much more than this. You are no longer a scared bunny, alone in the world, and he is no longer a jackal hunting you down — you are only two humans, connected in a way that ascends your lives : cosmic. 

It’s not just sex, it’s not just lust – it’s your whole life that has led up to this, to him. Two people who are too broken to live, yet too stubborn to die.

He’s made you his. 

You’ve made him yours.

And lying in his arms, letting his hand rub up and down your back, you know neither of you stood a chance.

-------

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed please reblog and comment, it's great encouragement for writers ♡

extra presentiment lore if you’re interested after reading ;)

[littledes1re]

Millers Wood Carving

Pairing: Oldman!joel x Fem!reader

Summary: you want to surprise your dad with something new on his birthday and you decide it‘s going to be something carved out of wood. Luckily the owner of ‚Millers Wood Carving‘ shop is there to help.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, inexperienced!reader, very nervous!reader, socially awkward also, just the tip🫣, pinv, unprotected sex, age gap! (Reader is in her 20s, joel in his 60s) finger sucking, size kink, dom/sub undertones, Pet names (including little one!) slight mean!joel, he mocks reader once, praise kink, slight degradation, no outbreak

A/N: So OBVIOUSLY i have no idea about wood carving yall and everything I wrote here is info I gathered off websites so just don’t focus on that😭😭 I randomly got this idea and it stuck for days, I needed to write this.

It was a rather uninteresting present, to buy something carved out of wood for your father’s birthday. It all had been done, countless times. Flannels, shirts, a tie with a suit…a tie without a suit, perfumes, a new grill, new glasses and many many things more. It was all just repeating at this point. But for his 56th birthday in three months you wanted something new. Something that wasn’t the usual way of surprising him.

Carved wood.

You rolled your eyes as you stood in front of the ‚miller‘s wood carving‘ shop. Admittedly, you didn’t really like this idea. You didn‘t even know if your father would enjoy such a gift. It was a structure carved out of wood, something you can decorate with and that was it, nothing useful in any way. Wouldn’t it just sit on his shelf, gathering dust?

A sigh left your lips, as you looked into the display window, many animals, some objects like cars and planes carved out of wood. And through the window you saw shelves with intricate carvings—sturdy bowls, towering figurines lined. You had also absolutely no idea what kind of wood carving he would want. Little figurines, animals or any objects wasn’t in his interest, you knew that. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe a suit would be a better—

“Can I help you, miss?“ your head turned around and you locked eyes with an old man. Old man—he stood tall, had board shoulders and his presence is very commanding. The curly silver hair was slicked back, the glasses he had sitting on top of his nose were slightly dirty. His mustache and beard, patchy with whites. Even if you knew that this man was older, he was still utterly captivating.

So much that you held still, getting nervous under the gaze of the stranger standing there.

„Y’looking for wood carving?“ his eyebrows going up, revealing his beautiful brown orbs.

„Yea. Yea, I think so. A present for my dad.“

“Ah, present for your dad you say. Well, you are just on the right spot, come with me.” He took the key out of his pocket and went to open the door. So he was the owner.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all, if a man like him was going to help you.

You walked through the shop with your mouth open. It was beautiful. Joel's shop was small but very cosy. Inside, there were even more of his carvings and lots of wooden blocks in every corner. It even smelled of it; as you walked through, it reminded you of a forest. He had occasionally very few customers, but that didn't bother him. He was pursuing a hobby and could do what he loved. More did he love the look on your face as you admired his shop, seemingly taken back and completely mesmerised of the tons of shelves he had with wood carvings.

Admittedly he was also a bit taken back when a young woman like you stood in front of his shop. It was usually the older people who bought his work and who he had more experience in. As he showed you his little work corner with a table, sat down and asked you also to sit down, he didn’t know how to quite act.

“I’m joel, by the way. S’nice meeting you. Would you like a tea?” His voice was sweet, warm, like honey over gravel. You politely denied him and told him your name, getting a little smile from him.

Despite the pleasant atmosphere in his shop, you felt a little tense. You hadn't expected him to be so intriguing; it all caught you off guard. The way he just sat there and tried to organise his things, eyebrows furrowed, legs spread. He wasn’t doing anything but he looked good. Too good for an old man. And you knew he was old, if the wrinkles in his face didn’t tell you, it was his style, if that didn’t tell you then it was the white hair. Yet you couldn’t help but stare, something about him was so gripping.

You didn‘t know what was going on with you.

While it was going to be the most innocent thing you had to do, buy a birthday present for your father, unknowingly and slowly your mind slipped past that and turned it into something naughty. While this seemingly very nice old man just wanted to help you out, you couldn‘t help yourself and started to daydream scenarios about him. And suddenly your body started to react to that too, warmth spreading all over your crotch and your thighs squeezing almost automatically.

“Y’know what you want?” You straightened slightly, focusing in on making your expression into that of someone who wasn’t just checking him out. But he caught you, with the small flicker of his eye, the subtle tension, the way you focused on him.

“Uhm, not really. I—I didn’t really think about that. I just know he doesn’t like animals, objects and uh, other small things.”

Oh great, one thing he loved about customers is that they didn‘t know what they wanted but still came to his shop. Usually he would sigh, shake his head and tell them to come when they know what they want. With that pretty face of yours tho, he couldn‘t bring it over his heart.

„What about a family tree thing? With your families names written on it. S‘just a block of wood, like this one—“ he pointed at the block besides you. „Just carved as a small tree with your names on the middle.“

You liked this idea. It was something your father might like, and even your mother. Something that could be placed over the fireplace, and would be considered decoration. It would gather dust, yes, but it would have a meaning. Joel watched you process this idea; he couldn't help but chuckle low. The way you bit those plump lips with your teeth, going left and right with your pretty eyes.

„S‘a good Idea, huh?“ his left eyebrow arched.

„Yea, yea. It‘s a very good idea.“ you nodded your head eagerly. He was intimidating, the way he looked at you. A smirk on his lips making you blush a little bit on the cheeks.

„Good. Then let‘s to a little consultation and then you can pick it up in like two weeks.“

„Consultation?“

Oh you were so clueless. And it wasn‘t annoying him once again. If you were any other person you would have been out the door immediately. He doesn‘t have the time and nerve to explain to them every single thing. But with you it was different. He could talk for hours, if that means that he has a pretty girl like you sitting there and listen to him.

One part of him felt bad, being attracted to you. You looked like in your early 20s, wasn‘t that okey for him to think about you that way. If he didn’t saw the way you looked at him, he would leave you alone, treat you like a every other customer. But the way you were sitting there concentrating on what to say while he could most certainly see the way your mind slipped away and thought about other things. The little glimpses on his arms and crotch, the lip biting. Desperate and sweet.

That‘s how he liked them.

„Yea, the one where you tell me what kind of wood I have to use, what the names of your family members are.“

Those pretty eyes turned confused once more, his amusement growing every second as you nervously tapped with your leg and cheeks flushing to a deeper red tone. He tried not the break eye contact, he wanted to see you.

You were embarrassed. Embarrassed because you absolutely didn‘t know anything about all of this and you felt like he was making fun of you in his mind or teasing you. The way his smirk not once let up, his intimidating gaze never leaving you.

„Didn‘t do your homework, huh?“ he chuckled.

„No, no. I‘m sorry. Have absolutely no idea what your talking about.“

„S‘okey. Here, this is basswood.“ he took a piece of wood and showed it to you. „S‘a little bit lighter than the other ones. I also have cherry. It‘s darker and can get very pretty brown in the end like this.“

He saw the way your eyes widened as he showed you something carved out of cherry wood. It was absolutely pretty, glossy and looking smooth. The color was beautiful just the way he said it.

„So I suppose, cherry will it be, huh?“ he asked just more amused, finding your reaction cute.

„Yes, cherry. Please.“ and so polite you were, he couldn‘t possibly let you go like this could he?

Normally this was it, after you tell him the names and the wood you want he‘ll had to let you go and make an appointment for next week, where you look at the process and tell him if he needs to do any changes.

But he couldn‘t let you out of his store, not yet. He was selfish, wanting to keep you for himself. It was weird developing a quite possessiveness over you, to a stranger he just met 20 minutes ago. He was out of his mind.

„Okey, then i‘ll make a quick sketch and you‘ll wait here to tell me if it looks like your imagination.“ A lie.

Joel was already more than experienced that he didn‘t even need to sketch anymore. You just nodded your head, no clue about everything and thinking that it just how he works. It wasn‘t a problem for you to stay longer in his shop either. You liked watching him. His lips puckering, whenever he blowed the dust away that was sitting on his table, His big rough hands that looked like he worked them out, no signs of softness. And his pretty curls always moving whenever he moved too.

Your eyes kept moving to his crotch, unbeknownst to yourself even. It wasn‘t something you were used to, you didn‘t know yourself to be this dirty.

The way he patiently explained everything to you made you less embarrassed but intrigued. While you could not get many words out and were nervous under his gaze, you wanted know things about him, so he could talk to you with that raspy and warm voice he had.

„How long have you been doing this?“ Bingo. That‘s what he wanted.

Joels left eyebrow arched as he stopped with whatever he was doing and looked over to you. Legs crossed, hands on your lap, cheeks flushed.

„S‘been like 5 years. Have always done this as a hobby, now I can do it as a business.“

„Wow, that‘s really great. These things are really beautiful, I wish I could also do something like this.“ you wished more that he didn‘t notice the way you had absolutely no idea what the say and how to speak. Asking him was a bold move, you could‘ve just waited until he said something. Oh, but joel noticed. That little stutter and uncertainty in your voice. He was holding himself back from not to chuckle, not to coo at your words. So fucking sweet were you.

„Why, bet you can do also all sorts of stuff.“ he answered, turning his head to the sketch again, awaiting your response, hearing a sigh coming from your lips.

„No, not things like that unfortunately. I don‘t really have anything that I can dedicate myself to.“ it was a tad bit embarrassing to say, basically admitting that you can‘t do anything creatively, or sports wise, or anything else wise when you‘re honest.

„Nonsense. Took me 50 years to realise I can do this. You‘ll find something, I promise, sweetheart.“ he said softly. The pet name he gave you turned your insides to mush, you didn’t except that in any way, it made you almost dizzy, your heartbeat just continued being fast, the tension in the room almost suffocating you.

„50? How old are you?“ bold. So fucking bold.

Joel didn‘t mind that it was bold, in fact, he thought it was cute how slowly and surely you grew to be comfortable in asking him questions. That‘s what he wanted, an conversation with you.

„62. Pretty old to be in business still, huh?“ he joked.

Your eyes widened, you would‘ve never excepted him to be this old. And you didn‘t mean to show it to him, your surprised face and then the slow realisation that you are thirsting over someone who is older than your dad hit you.

With the quick look of his eye, he chuckled, seeing you with wide open eyes.

„No—no. S‘not that old.“

„Not that old, huh? S‘the first time i‘m hearing that.“ Your cheeks flamed up again, a sudden urge to just stand up and walk away came over you. You looked down on the ground, not even wanting to see that smug smirk on his face that you were sure he put on.

You excepted him to say something do something but— a loud sound.

His phone was ringing and he abruptly put down his pen and answered the phone. With the silence of the shop you heard a female voice just faintly talking to him. Was that his wife?

His call ended with him saying ‚love you‘.

„Your wife?“ What the hell are you thinking?

„Daughter. Not having a woman by my side.“ he nodded. Like he was giving you permission. Permission to let those dirty thoughts about him continue, like he was telling you that you can check him out.

And he knew what kind of rollercoaster you were going trough. He knew how he was embarrassing you, but for him it was the cutest fucking thing to see. The prettiest pink on these cheeks, soft skin fingers playing with the hem of your sweet small dress. Heck, he wanted that you get more bolder and start asking even more questions.

„You got someone?“

„Huh?“

„A boyfriend?“ And maybe he wanted permission too.

„Oh, no. No.“ he didn‘t pick up the pen to continue instead sat there watched you. With a slight nod of his head, he run his hand trough his hair.

„Pretty girl like you really don‘t have any boyfriend?“

You didn‘t say anything, nervously swallowed. He just looked at you, observed you, his eyes going up and down your body. You should just look away, even walk away. But you couldn‘t. Everything in the background blurred together as you silently held eye contact with him.

There was this little moment where your lips opened like you wanted to say something but couldn‘t, making his body slightly shift like he was waiting for an answer. And as the small voice in him started to tell him that the question was too much, made you uncomfortable, but your eyes slowly moved from his head to his crotch. And as that wasn‘t surprising enough you took it one step further.

„Old man like you riling up for a young girl like me?“

This time it was his turn to feel embarrassed and be silent. This time it was his turn to feel like he said too much and nothing at once, awkward. His pretty brown eyes widened, but not for too long and he started to smirk again, that smirk turning into a chuckle as he gently put down his glasses, head shaking.

„Apparently you do got a mouth on you, huh?“ he suddenly got up, the heat between your legs now getting unbearable because he knew what was going on and rather than throwing you out of his shop, he played along.

He walked to the door, taking his keys and locking the door. For a second you really thought he was going to throw you out of his shop, but he didn‘t. The wooden floor under his footsteps made cracking sounds as he slowly came to you. One by one, while intensely looking at you. And by standing right in front of you, his bulge right in front of your face, looking up his frame was more massive than you originally thought.

Your tights squeezed together, looking up to him, waiting for him to do something. With those pretty doe eyes he was hardly containing himself. He knew he had to go slow, tease you, if you wanted something from him he had to make you get it.

Breath hitching as his big hand neared your face, landing on your chin, pinching it with his thumb and pointer finger. Obedient.

He parted your lips. Slowly eased two fingers into your warm mouth. Your head was spinning, not breaking eye contact as you slowly closed your lips around him, his jaw was clenched as he watched you intensely. The salty taste of his fingers filling your mouth, he was deep, pulled them out and filled you back in. A whine left your throat making him smile.

You were a good girl. Polite girl.

He pulled his fingers out, making you almost beg to put them in again. The throbbing, pulsing and soaking between your legs were driving you to be bold, grabbing his hand and trying to put his fingers back in again but he pulled away. Hearing him laugh low as he sat down on his chair again. But this time leg spread even wider, his body turned to you and he just looked at you.

While your heart pounded the nervousness left you, making you feel needy. And the way everything turned into this scenario didn‘t made any sense and how it escalated made your blood pump higher. You still devoted yourself to it, you wanted him. There was something aching for him, something deep down, wanting to be filled. You wanted him to take care of you.

His eyes went down his lap, bulge, signalising you something. The new found boldness surprised you once more as you sneakily got on your knees, slowly crawling to him. You sat there between his legs, his face was pleased, you looked up to him, expecting something, but he didn‘t speak.

Joel was enjoying the show. S‘been way too many years since a pretty girl like you did what he told her to do. Way too many years for him to take it slow, enjoy it, tease you even tho he saw the unbearable need behind your eyes. But he couldn‘t bring it over his heart to make you, nervous little thing, take him into your mouth.

Looking up to him with those unsure eyes, trying to act bold—you couldn‘t fool him. Even tho his cock was throbbing inside his jeans, aching for your mouth.

You were unexperienced and he knew that, got them all in their knees, taking his cock whenever he opened his legs in the past. But now he had to be careful, you didn‘t understand what he wanted.

And as he felt your mouth around his fingers he was most certain that you couldn‘t take his cock into your mouth, he was big and you unexperienced.

But he couldn‘t let you down like this could he? Inexperienced or not, he saw the way you bit your lips looking at his bulge. Those desperate eyes. Oh how much he would love for you to take his cock into your mouth.

Instead of unbuckling his belt, he thrusted his fingers into your mouth again. Taking you by surprise but you couldn‘t help but moan around it.

„S‘the only thing you get, ain‘t ready for cock yet.“

Your eyebrows furrowed as you swiftly pulled your mouth away from his fingers, looking up to him with confusion.

„M‘not a virgin, I swear. Been fucked once.“

And he fucking laughs. The abrupt laughter fills the silence ridden room, his voice all raspy, like he had one too many cigarettes, throwing his head back and slapping his knee.

„Once.“ he mocked you, once again the embarrassment washing over you. But you also couldn‘t help with feeling more aroused, his amusement on you being inexperienced.

„S‘a mans cock baby. A bit harder to take down your pretty little throat and to stuff your cunt with. Ain‘t having the time to teach you that shit.“

With that he stuffed your mouth once more with his thick fingers, pumping them in and out making your eyes roll back. He was being mean and in that moment but you didn‘t give a single fuck. You just felt the pleasure between your legs and his fingers in on top of your tongue.

You just took everything he gave you.

While on your knees the ache between your legs was too much to handle, you started to buck your hips up and down, the material of your panties making you release some friction, but it wasn‘t enough.

You were sucking and suckling around his fingers like there was no tomorrow and desperately humping down on the ground. The humiliation was forgotten, you wanted to be fucked. You looked so utterly fucked. Eyes squeezed shut as you enjoyed suckling on his fingers, tits moving up and down, little whines and moans leaving your mouth.

Joel was about to cum in his pants.

„Fuck, there you go.“ he smiled, his other hand coming to your chin collecting the drool that left your mouth and smearing it on your dress, giving your right tit a tight squeeze, making you whine his name incomprehensible between his fingers.

At this point your cunt was soaking, dripping down your thighs. And the agonising five minutes of sucking his fingers and humping basically nothing you came back to your senses now pulling away and begging him.

„Please—please, just. Just do something—please.“ your babbling made him coo, his dry hand coming on top of your head and stroking your hair.

„What am I supposed to do, hm? If you were fucked more than once baby, i would‘ve spread you there, cunt out and fucked you throughly. Don‘t wanna break you in half.“

„No, no— no. Please. Joel, please.“ you shook your head, giving him the best puppy eyes possible, trying to be as obedient as possible.

Been so long, since he had a needy little thing begging for him to fuck her. And even if he wanted to so badly, he knew you couldn‘t take it and his heart couldn‘t take you hurting.

He suddenly stood up, with a grunt grabbed you by the arms and carried you somewhere. You yelped, excepting everything but not this.

You saw a little couch, it was hidden back in his shop, besides some shelves and of course—wood.

His grip on your arm was hard and his breath coming irregular as he finally sat you down on it. He pushed you down the couch, putting a soft cushion behind your head so it was prompt up.

You didn‘t know what he was up to, you just wanted him to fuck you and the position he put you in definitely looked like he wanted to fuck you.

And as he spread your legs gently, pulled down your wet panties, it was more then evident that he was going to fuck you. A rush of adrenaline went trough you again; clenching around nothing, awaiting him to do something.

„prettiest fuckin‘ pussy i‘ve ever seen.“ he murmured, softly spreading your lips revealing your sweet little clit, aching to be touched, pulsing by itself. The cool air hit your cunt, your breathing coming in short. His thumb gently touched your nub, taking his time, rubbing you slowly. Releasing a whine, you laid your head back looking at the ceiling. Joel was concentrating on the way your cunt was reacting to his touch. Sweet hole releasing gush after gush, while your clit throbbed under his thumb. This is what he wanted, seeing you break under his touch, ask for more, be a good girl.

„Please.“ you softly whispered to him, his eyebrows furrowing, he looked at you. Shaking his head.

„Just the tip. Givin‘ you just the tip.“

And you didn‘t had the energy to argue against that, you wanted him as a whole, wanted to feel him. But in this moment again, you took everything he gave you.

Finally you heard his belt unbuckling, jeans hitting the ground, revealing his thick and angry cock to you. A whine left your lips, desperately wanting to kiss him better. The throbbing tip, pre cum releasing slit and his shaky shaft.

He took his cock into his hands and slowly jerked himself up and down, squeezing the tip, taking bit of the leaked from his tip on his finger and rubbed it on your mouth, making you lick it clean. And finally he pushed into you. His head going into your cunt, pausing quickly without pushing the rest of his shaft. While you whined around, already starting to move your hips, he squeezed the flesh on your hip and made you stop.

„didn‘t tell you shit about fucking you either. This or nothing, stay still.“

While your cunt gushed around his head, clenching down and your hips not trying to move you were on the verge of tears because of the frustration.

„Oh poor sweet baby. Ain‘t nothing like old mans cock huh? Already got you on the verge of cummin‘.“ and he was right. His thumb returned with your nub, rubbing once and twice before the orgasm hit you. His tip leaving your cunt, as your legs shook, your mouth dropped open and finally the sweet release washed over you. He made sure to ride out of your orgasm by gently stroking your clit.

„That‘s it, that‘s it little one. Was a good one, yeah?“ He nodded, looking into your fucked out eyes as you came down and nodded your head also. The way you reacted to his touch, so easy, so sweet. Not needing any more work other than having his tip in your cunt and thumb pressed on your nub.

„Fuck me. Can handle it. I promise, promise.“ begging, begging and begging.

„I don‘t know, sweets. Looking like this cunts not gonna take more than the tip, what if we just stay with just the tip, huh? Cum for me one more time and I can release my cum in you, maybe that‘ll make you feel full, yea?“

You were whining. Shaking your head from left to right. Begging.

„No, no— no. Please, just fuck me. Just do it, please.“

And as fate wanted joel had enough and completely pushed himself into you. His grith filling you like you have never felt before, your cunt feeling full and finally relieved.

Joel didn‘t let up, didn‘t make you get used to that feeling, of splitting you in two. He started fucking you. In a gentle but hard rhythm. His hips not even once stopping as you laid under this old man, while he continually pumped his cock into you. Finding that sweet spot of yours and focusing in on hitting it every time.

All the while he held eye contact with you, but you couldn‘t concentrate. Eyes rolling back, squeezing shut and avoiding his gaze.

„C‘mon sweetheart, m‘giving you what you want. The least you can do is look me into my eyes.“

He rasped. His breathing was heavy on top of you, his curls bouncing around. You felt his cock in your cunt pulse.

„Knew you were a good girl, knew it baby. Taking it like a champ. Was wrong about you huh? Pretty—cunt wrapped around me so—fucking—well.“

„Mhm—t-told ya. Told ya.“ you whimpered out, already feeling yourself getting clo— and he pulled out.

You released a whine, your fist banging on his chest repeatedly as your cunt pulsed and pulsed around nothing. His head was bent, he was watching your cunt and suddenly he grabbed you once more on the arm and laid you beside, crawling behind you on the couch. His hand then moved to your thighs, opening it and putting it over his leg, so his cock has access to your cunt.

A wet kiss was left on your temple and you heard him loudly breathing in your ear.

„gonna fill you up, pretty girl, s‘that clear? Wanna see it dripping out of you when i‘m done with you.“ he softly whispered and you nodded your head desperately.

„Want me to rub your pretty little clit, or you wanna try cumming without?“ He asked you, cock slowly entering you, stuffing you full once more. His thrusts started slowly as he waited for a response, leaving sweet small kisses around your neck and temple.

„Rub, please.“

„Oh, sweet girl. Made you so desperate and teased you so bad, am I not a bad old man, huh?“ his voice was soft like he was lulling you to sleep. Just like his thrusts, met the right spots but slowly left your cunt and slowly went in again, while rubbing gently on your clit. The atmosphere changing, his sweet talk was getting in your head.

„cumming—please.“ you whispered.

„Yeah? Good, baby. C‘mon then, I got you.“ he gave your temple one last kiss, as his thrusts slowly started to become more sloppy and quick, deep groans leaving his mouth. His thumb sped up rubbing you just right as you bit down the pillow underneath you and came all over his dick.

„There we go, let it all out.“

He thrusted into you a few more times, making you ride out your orgasm. Your legs already giving up and closing as he hold your thigh up as best as he could, releasing all that he had into you. His thumb stilling on your clit, he thrusted one more time as he slowly filled you, feeling the regular spurts in you.

As you laid there both, exhausted, but peaceful, you came back to your senses and realised what happened. Something so innocent turned so dirty, so fast. And with someone who was older than your dad.

His soft cock slid right out of you. His cum and your release already mixing and dripping down your thigh. He gently scooped it up, holding it in front of your mouth one last time and you took it, gently cleaning him, earning a soft little peck on your forehead. He stood up, putting his jeans back on and put a blanket over you, stroking your hair.

„Gonna work on your gift now. Can tell me if it‘s looking good when ya wake up again.“

Oh my gawd straight to horny jail🤭🤭

Thank you so much for 700 followers, its crazy. Thank you for reading my fics🫶🏻🫶🏻

Keep in mind, english is not my first language so feedback or any correction of mistakes are very welcome

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[daryltwdixon]

Sundress

Joel Miller x Reader

Joel prides himself on his patience, but that little sundress of yours that you’re wearing to the summer solstice? It’s his undoing. He does his best to behave...until he gets you alone.

|| smut mdni 18+, he sure does fuck you in the sundress, pinv, f!receiving oral, teasing, pussy pronouns whoops, daddy kink, pet names praissseeeeeeee kinkkkkkkk, joel is in love, jackson!joel, established relationship, I pictured game!joel but you do what ya want || Inspired by these wonderful requests x x If you found this before I updated the banner sry

First and foremost, Joel was a polite man.

He was raised to say yes ma’am and no ma’am, never forgetting his please and thank you’s. It was something a Southern man like him held onto, even after the world had gone to hell.

Respect came first. Restraint. Control.

But then spring came to Jackson, and your layers of clothing started to shed. Bit by bit, the cold loosened its grip, and so did his discipline. Your neck was no longer hidden beneath those thick scarves you loved, your arms bare when the sun was shining, and every so often, he caught a glimpse of soft, warm skin—the dip of your lower back, the curve of your stomach when you stretched to reach something, the way your t-shirts lifted just enough to tease.

He told himself it was nothing—just the natural way of things. He’d seen you naked in his bed enough times to know your body like the back of his own hand. Cherished and kissed and loved every inch. Warmer weather just meant lighter clothes, more sun on skin.

Nothing to make a man lose his damn mind over.

And then—Christ—summer arrived, and he was no better than any other man.

Somehow, this was worse. Because now, that soft, sun-kissed skin he worshipped in the quiet of your home was everywhere. 

Teasing him. 

Tormenting him.

Joel had spent the whole morning baking under the sun, sweat clinging to his skin, dust settling in the creases of his shirt. The construction site had been brutal—hauling lumber, setting up new fencing, fixing the shit that kept breaking down in town. His muscles ached, his skin was hot, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet place to sit.

But Tommy had other plans.

“C’mon,” his brother had grinned, clapping him on the back as they finished up for the day. “Solstice picnic’s startin’.” 

And as Joel opened his mouth, about to argue that he needed to get back to you, Tommy had cut him off, already a step ahead.

"She’s already there. Maria put her to work stringin’ up lights and pickin’ flowers or somethin’. Now get movin’ before she starts wonderin’ if you forgot about 'er."

Joel grunted, stripping off his work gloves and tucking them into his belt. His palms were rough, lined with grit, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he swore the damn heat had sunk into his bones.

Wouldn’t be the first time he showed up to one of these things straight from work, sweat-streaked and worn. No one gave a shit. So he walked beside his younger brother, looking forward to getting through another one of the town's little parties.

That was when he saw you. 

That little sundress. White, lacy, soft. Light enough that it barely touched your skin, the summer breeze slipping beneath it and lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bare skin of your upper thigh.

Joel swallowed hard, the heat rolling through him having nothing to do with the damn sun.

You were glowing—golden in the late afternoon light, hair catching in the breeze, your smile easy as you laughed at something Maria said. Just standing there, sipping something cool, completely oblivious to the way he’d stopped in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. Tommy excused himself as they arrived, saying a short ‘catch up with you later’.

Joel made himself move, rolling his shoulders, setting his jaw. 

Polite, he reminded himself. Gentle.

Joel had been raised right, after all.

So when he walked up to you, he made it seem easy, effortless. Like his hands weren’t itching with the need to touch. Like his pulse hadn’t just kicked up something fierce.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured as he approached behind you, his wide grip settling low on your hips.

You twisted around to face him, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Hey, handsome.” Your hands slid around his neck as you pressed up for a kiss—soft, warm, sweet with the taste of iced tea and that cherry chapstick you always wore.

Joel had to fight with every fiber of his being not to haul you over his shoulder and carry you straight home.

Didn’t help that you hummed against his lips, content and tender, fingers brushing at the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself before he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Pretty thing like you’s got half of Jackson lookin’.”

You grinned, fingers still playing lazily with the curls at his nape. “That so?”

Joel huffed, the corner of his mouth tilting up, but there was something weighted behind the way his fingers flexed against your hips, pressing in just a little firmer.

“Mm,” he hummed, voice dipping low. “S’pose I can’t blame ‘em.” His thumb brushed the fabric of your dress, right where it pressed into the soft skin of your waist. His restraint was hanging by a thread. “Ain’t their fault you’re the prettiest thing out here.”

“You’re sweet,” you said, a tinge of pink painting your cheeks. 

His hand squeezed at your hip, just once, and then he exhaled sharply, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before finally—finally—forcing himself to step back.

Because if he didn’t, this picnic was about to end real fast.

You turned to grab him a beer from the cooler, Tommy’s homemade brew—practically gold now that the days were creeping past eighty degrees. The glass was cool against your fingertips as you popped the cap and turned back, pressing it into Joel’s waiting hand.

“Figured you could use one.”

Joel took it with a small nod, taking a slow sip. “Thanks, darlin’.”

His voice was warm, easy like he hadn’t spent the last several minutes imagining what he planned to do you tonight.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Anything for you, cowboy.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner, “Don’t say that just yet,”

Something in the air shifted, something subtle, something unspoken but you felt it coursing through you, a warmth that brought a flush to your neck.

Joel’s eyes lingered, dark and steady, holding yours like he had all the time in the world. A slow, searching kind of stare, like he was committing the sight of you to memory, like he had something he wanted to say if you were surrounded by a crowd.

You felt the heat of it traveling from your cheeks to your stomach with toe curling intensity..

The fire crackled nearby. Someone laughed in the distance. The music played on.

But before either of you could say anything else, someone clapped him on the back—Tommy again, grinning, dragging him into conversation with a few others, leaving you standing there with a knowing little smirk.

Still, you stayed close.

And so did he.

The afternoon passed in a slow, easy blur. Music drifted through the warm air, laughter rang across the field, and Joel—Joel was everywhere.

His hand at your lower back as you walked through the crowd.

His arm slung over the back of your chair when you sat beside him at one of the makeshift picnic tables.

His fingers brushing over your thigh when he leaned in to murmur something low in your ear, just for you.

It wasn’t deliberate, at least not in the way most folks would notice. But you felt it—felt the way his touches lingered a second longer than necessary, the way his gaze dropped to your legs when the hem of your dress rode up just a little, the way his jaw clenched whenever you gave other men any of your attention–as kind and endearing as you were. It wasn’t your fault. You were kind, warm, effortlessly magnetic. People were drawn to you, it was just who you were.

Joel Miller was trying to behave.

And failing miserably.

By the time the sun had long dipped below the mountains, the stars shining in the dark blue sky above, he was done pretending.

You were settled on his lap, your bare legs draped over his, firelight flickering against your skin. The air was balmy, thick with the scent of burning wood and cool summer breeze, but your skin was warm against him.

His hand rested easy on the outside of your thigh at first, a casual thing, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. But as the fire burned lower, so did his restraint. Slowly, lazily, his palm inched higher—skimming up, up, until his fingers slipped beneath your dress, disappearing into the soft folds of fabric.

And then he gripped you, fingers pressing into the juncture of your thigh and ass, squeezing like he just needed something to hold onto.

You jolted slightly, a sharp breath slipping past your lips as you swatted at his arm. “Joel.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t even pretend to be innocent, his fingers flexing again, kneading the flesh beneath his palm.

You tried to glare, but the traitorous smile pulling at your lips ruined the effect. “Behave yourself.”

Joel huffed out a quiet chuckle, looking up at you with something wicked in his eyes. His hand stayed exactly where it was.

“You gon’ make me?” he murmured, voice low, rough enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitched. And then, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud—like it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it—he exhaled, voice all gravel and want:

“This dress.”

His hand beneath your dress slid back down, fingering at the hem of the white lace, so pale now compared to your warm skin.

Your breath caught, eyes flickering down to where his fingers toyed with the fabric. His own gaze stayed locked on your face, watching every little shift, every little reaction.

When his thumb ghosted over your kneecap, you swallowed hard, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and rough with want as he leaned into the shell of your ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to drive me outta my mind.”

And maybe you were.

You knew how much Joel loved you in dresses. It was something about the way they softened you, how the fabric clung to your curves just right, how effortless and feminine you looked draped in lace and light cotton. He never outright said it, but you saw it in the way his hands lingered, in the way his eyes darkened whenever you wore something delicate—something that made you look like you were made for pretty things.

Joel might have been a rough man, all grit and strength, but it was the softness that undid him.

Your back arched into him just an inch, barely anything, but enough that he felt it. Enough that the warmth of your body, the scent of you, the soft brush of your hair against his cheek made his brain go sluggish, thick with something hot and needy.

And then you looked at him.

Heavy-lidded, dazed, lips parted just slightly—like you were already halfway gone before he’d even laid his hands on you. It made something tighten in his chest, made his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, an involuntary reaction to just how badly he wanted to feel more of you.

Your hand came up to his face, and before either of you could think twice, you were leaning in.

The kiss was nothing like the ones you’d shared earlier—no teasing, no gentle sweetness. This was urgent, all heat and hunger, your tongue kitten-licking at his bottom lip, testing, tasting, making his half-hard cock twitch beneath his jeans. He nearly groaned, nearly let it slip from his throat, but his grip on control was thin, fraying at the edges.

Because when you pulled away, instead of giving him space, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and an octave lower than your usual sweet lilt.

“Let's go home,” you whispered, kissing along his earlobe, voice barely there—but it hit him like an electric shock.

That was all it took.

Joel was like an animal waiting for his trigger word, waiting for the command to be free, to take what he wanted.

He stood slowly, deliberately, trying to keep himself cool, calm, polite—saving face only because he owed that to you. Not because he cared what people thought. Hell, half of Jackson already had enough to say about him.

But he behaved for you.

For his girl.

Joel stood slowly, setting your legs down gently as he rose, his palm grazing the small of your back—just barely, just enough to feel the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. You stayed close, bodies still humming from the heat of each other, lingering even as you murmured your goodbyes.

But the further you got from the crowd, the needier your touches became.

Your fingers curled around his arm, holding tight, your body leaning into his, pressing into the solid warmth of him with every step. And Joel—Joel wasn’t any better. His hand had already found its way around your waist, fingers spreading over your hip like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner onto your own street—finally alone—that Joel came to a sudden stop.

Your brows furrowed, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could even get the words out, he bent down and hauled you over his shoulder in one smooth, effortless motion.

A sharp gasp left your lips. “Joel!”

“Shoulda done this an hour ago,” he muttered, not even remotely apologetic. His grip tightened around the back of your thighs, adjusting you against him like you weighed nothing. And then—just to make sure you knew exactly what kind of mood he was in—his palm slid up the back of your legs, landing a sharp swat against the bare skin of your ass.

A squeak slipped from your throat, your fingers digging into the back of his shirt as you squirmed in his hold.

“Joel!” you hissed, but he could hear the grin despite the scandalized tone.

“Shh…” He chuckled, his grip tightening around your thighs as he strode up the porch steps. “Don’t want the neighbors pokin’ their heads out, do ya?”

The wood groaned beneath his boots, but he didn’t so much as hesitate, not even as he crossed the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him without breaking stride. He had one thing on his mind.

One destination.

You barely had time to process the familiar path of your home before Joel was hauling you up the stairs like you weren’t even there—still slung over his shoulder, still gripping onto him as your laughter mixed with the sound of his heavy footfalls.

And then suddenly—you were airborne.

A startled gasp left your lips as he bounced you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you, breathless and winded. You propped yourself up on your elbows, hair tousled and wild, looking up at him as he stood at the edge of the bed, staring you down like he was about to devour you whole.

Your chest rose and fell, your pulse thrumming with a mixture of anticipation and amusement.

“What’s gotten into you, old man?” you teased, breathless but grinning.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he pulled off your boots. Once discarded, he hooked his arms under your knees, dragging you down the mattress, pressing you into him. The motion sent your dress hiking up around your waist, leaving you spread open beneath him, your panties on perfect display.

“Oh, hunny,” he drawled, looking at the damp patch on the fabric, “you keepin’ this from me?”

Before you could answer, he leaned down, hands trailing up your thighs, easing them over his shoulders. The first brush of his lips against the fabric was slow, deliberate—a kiss to your panty-clad mound, soft but enough to make you shudder. 

Then he kept going. Mouth trailing lower, teasing.

Your head tipped back at the feeling of his beard grazing your sensitive skin, a breathy moan slipping out as your elbows gave, dropping you onto the bed completely. One hand found his hair, gripping, your fingers tangling in the dark curls streaked with silver. He watched you, eyes drinking you in. 

“N-no,” you breathed, “Always yours, Joel,”

“I know, baby, I know.” he cooed, voice softer now, full of reverence. He reached up, gripping the gusset of your panties, wrapping a thick finger around the damp fabric, tugging it to the side to reveal exactly what he wanted. His beard scraped against you when he kissed the skin of your thigh, sending a shockwave through your body, making you twitch beneath him.

A whimper left your lips, your hips lifting without thinking.

Joel chuckled, low and knowing, watching as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Aw, she’s flirtin’ with me, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss against you. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “Wish you could see just how pretty she looks right now.”

“Joel.” It was a whimper, a plea, a warning.

His lust blown eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth still hovering just over where you needed him most. “What is it, baby?”

You swallowed, hips shifting, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Please.”

Joel hummed, dragging his mouth closer but still not giving you what you wanted. “Please what?”

Because hell, he’d spent all damn day watching you, aching for you, burning with want while you smiled and laughed and let that damn dress drive him to madness. If anything, he deserved to have his fun now. He needed to hear you say it.

Your fingers flexed in his hair, a little tug, a little desperation, “Please touch me, Daddy.”

Joel’s blood turned molten. Heat roared through him so fierce, so instant, it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. And maybe you knew exactly what that word did to him.

He dipped his head back down, tongue sliding through your folds, groaning against you as he finally gave in. You were so warm, so slick, so ready for him that he had to take a second just to breathe, just to let himself have this.

His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh as he held you open for him, his mouth working slow, savoring. You shuddered beneath him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your body already arching toward his mouth like you couldn’t help yourself.

His tongue flicked against your clit, lazy at first, teasing, before dipping lower to drink you in, groaning as he tasted you properly. Slow and deep, his tongue pressed inside you, inching in, sliding out, before licking back up and pursing his lips around your clit, sucking and grazing his teeth, making your hips jerk against his mouth.

His beard scraped against your thighs, rough and warm, the contrast making you tremble harder beneath him. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried, like he was relearning you all over again, savoring every sound, every twitch, every sharp gasp that slipped past your lips.

Joel’s hands flexed against your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin, grounding you as his mouth worked you into a pliant mess.

“Need to get her ready for me,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, words spoken more to himself than to you. His mouth never left you as one broad hand slid between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers traced over your entrance, prodding the pool of arousal there.

“So damn soft,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down to kiss the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your slick skin. “And already so wet for me. She likes it when I take my time, don’t she, baby?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, too lost in the slow, perfect way he touched you.

You only nodded, voice failing you as his finger finally pushed inside—just one at first, easing in with aching patience, stretching you open. A ragged moan left your lips, fingers twisting in his hair as he curled it just right, pressing against that spot inside you that made your whole body shudder.

He hummed in approval, lips finding your clit again, his tongue swirling slow, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“You make the prettiest noises for me," he murmured against you, his voice thick and rough with hunger. He slid another finger in, stretching you wider, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady pace, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him.

Your body was already tightening, your thighs trembling, your breath hitching into soft, broken whimpers. You couldn’t stop yourself from rocking into him, chasing that feeling, your pleasure building with every slow, deliberate stroke of his fingers, every teasing flick of his tongue.

Joel could feel it, the way you clenched down around him, the way your legs shook against his shoulders.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing a kiss right over your clit before sucking it back into his mouth, his fingers pressing up into your soft, velvety walls. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel her.”

That was all it took–your body tensed, the pleasure cresting and crashing all at once as you came around his fingers, a sharp, broken cry slipping from your lips. Your thighs squeezed around his head, but Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow, working you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him.

He groaned low, almost like he was the one falling apart, dragging his fingers slow as he eased you down, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

“So goddamn sweet for me,” he muttered, voice wrecked, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks rolling through you as Joel pressed one last lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling back.

He looked wrecked.

His beard glistened, slick with your release, lips swollen and parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, drinking you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

His hands slid up your legs, slow and deliberate, until they gripped your waist, spreading you open beneath him as he crawled over you, pressing his weight into you. The fabric of your dress was still bunched around your hips, the lace soft beneath his calloused hands, but he liked that you kept it on.

Something about how pretty you looked in it, something about knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this.

His hands found your face, cupping it, tilting your chin up, and then his mouth was on yours. Hot, deep and unyielding.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers sliding into his hair as he stole every breath from your lungs. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, his beard damp against your chin as he pressed in harder, hungrier. It was so much—too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, you were looking up at him, your thumb brushing against the slick sheen on his jaw, your heart pounding.

"Can I take care of you, daddy?" you whispered, voice warm and so damn sweet it made his chest ache.

But he was already shaking his head, already unbuckling his belt, already too far gone to let you do anything but take him.

"Not tonight, baby," he murmured, his low drawl barely audible. His belt hit the floor, his jeans sliding low on his hips as he leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time.

"I need to feel you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, more raw. His hand ran down your thigh, fingers pressing into soft skin, feeling you, grounding himself in you. "If you put that pretty mouth on me, there won’t be a chance in hell I get to feel you cum on my cock, ‘cause I’d be done in minutes with the state you got me in."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes warm as your hands smoothed down his sides, fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans, helping him push them lower.

"That bad, huh?" you teased.

Joel exhaled a shaky chuckle, dropping his forehead to yours, barely holding himself together as he pulled himself free.

"Worse," he admitted.

His cock was thick, flushed, leaking, the head dragging through your slick, teasing you. Joel groaned low at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tip of himself, his lips brushing against yours as he lined himself up, his voice just a whisper.

“Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

You arched your back into him, the flimsy straps of your dress slipping down your shoulders as you reached for him, arms winding around his neck, legs hooking around his waist like you couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath as you pulled him in, his body pressing flush against yours. His one handed planted by your head, the other guiding the wide tip of his cock at your weeping entrance, then slowly sank into you like he’d been starving for it all damn day.

He had, in fact.

“Jesus,” he rasped, voice strained as he bottomed out completely, a moan tearing through his throat as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. He held still for a second, letting you adjust, letting himself breathe before his lips brushed against your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Always take my cock so good,” 

You were breathless, feeling split in two around him, your lips parted, jaw slack, head falling back against the bedspread. Joel took his time kissing along your jaw, lips trailing soft and slow as he felt the way your body tightened around him. His cock twitched despite how patient he was trying to be.

“Daddy,” you breathed, voice barely there, and as he pulled out inch by inch, he watched your eyes flutter shut, your body clenching down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Joel groaned, pushing back in, slow but deep, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush to yours.

And when he pulled out again, the obscene, wet sound of your slick walls taking him made you both moan in tandem, his agonizingly slow pace making every sensation sharper, every sound deeper, more electric.

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, voice thick. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. S’like she was made to take me, huh?”

You whined softly, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, legs tightening around him, desperate for more.

“Need—need you to—” you tried, but your mind was foggy, wrecked, gone. You needed more. Needed him to let go, to take it. Needed to feel the weight of all that pent-up frustration from the day, from the way you’d teased him with every flash of your thigh, every fleeting touch, every slow, knowing smile.

Joel kissed your temple, his hands roaming, soothing, adoring, wanting. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured, “tell me what you need.” His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and full of something tender. “I’ll give you anything—give you the whole damn world if you asked.”

Your heart swelled, warmth pooling in your chest before another wave of want took over. You smiled up at him, fingers smoothing up his back, knowing exactly what you wanted to hear from him.

"Want it harder, Joel." Your voice was thick as you swallowed, mind finally clearing enough to put your need into words. "You were so good all day, even when you knew I was teasing."

You heaved a breath as his eyes opened fully, locking onto you, dark and unreadable as he listened.

"So polite," you murmured, pressing a slow kiss to his lips before your fingers slid into his hair, tightening just enough to make him exhale, "Such a gentleman. Show me, Joel—show me what you wanted to take all day."

His eyes twinkled with amusement for a brief second—right before you clenched down around him, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper. His cock twitched, stiffened, his breath stalling as his fingers dug into your skin.

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby? That what you need?" His voice was low, wrecked, something dark laced in it now. "Cause all I wanted to do all damn day was bend you over and shove my cock in you so goddamn bad. Show you exactly how crazy you make me."

"Show me," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chin, his beard tickling your lips as it trailed along his jaw. "Please, Daddy. Let me feel it."

Joel didn’t hesitate.

His hands tightened at your waist, steady and commanding, before sitting up and rolling you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. His cock stayed inside you, the shift in position knocking the air from your lungs, the new angle making you feel every inch of him in a way that had your fingers digging into the sheets.

Before you could even process it, his palms pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down until your chest met the mattress, ass lifted, legs spread, completely open for him.

That’s when you felt the delicate lace of your dress catching beneath his knee, the soft fabric now bunched awkwardly between you.

Your breath wavered. Fingers twitching against the sheets, you hesitated before murmuring, "Should I take this off?"

He smoothed a hand over your ass, his other gripping the bunched-up fabric of your dress so it was pulled into his fist.

"You're keepin' it on," he murmured, his voice edged with something rough, something final. The way his fingers tightened in the fabric told you just how much he'd already thought about this moment—how long he'd wanted it, pictured it, waited for it, "want you just like this."

You barely had time to whimper before he pulled you back into him, sinking deep, stretching you open all over again.

Joel groaned, a long, deep, guttural noise from his throat, his one hand at your waist, the other pulling you back via his fist in your dress as he set the pace. He was slow at first, making sure you felt every thick inch, every ridge and vein of his throbbing cock before pulling out and snapping his hips forward again.

"Christ," he rasped, his free hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he leaned over you a bit, "You feel that, baby? Feel how fuckin' deep I am?"

All you could do was nod, moaning brokenly as he buried himself to the hilt, again and again, dragging you back onto him each time.

Joel groaned, dropping his head forward for a second before his grip tightened on your dress again, using it to pull you back into him.

"Greedy little thing," he murmured, his fingers gripping tighter at your waist as he rolled his hips deeper. "That what you wanted, baby? Want me to fuck you just like this?"

"Yes," you gasped, voice breaking on the word. "Just like that, Joel."

Your breath came rough and uneven, and then his grip on your dress tightened, fingers bunching up the fabric at your waist. He used it to pull you back onto him, meeting each thrust with an unrelenting force, his other hand splaying across your back to keep you steady.

"Look at you," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with something wrecked and reverent all at once. "Takin’ it so good. My perfect girl."

The praise sent heat licking up your spine, your body tightening around him in response. He felt it, too—felt the way you clenched down on him, the way your legs trembled as he drove into you harder.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, leaning over you as his hand slipped under you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your breath hitch. "You gonna come for me again? Hmm?"

You nodded frantically, pushing back into him, desperate for more. "Please, Joel," you whimpered. "Need it."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his voice softer now, lips brushing the back of your shoulder, his thrusts still deep but growing rougher, more urgent. "Gonna give it to you, sweetheart. Gonna feel you come all over me."

His fingers pressed firmer against your clit, circling in a perfect rhythm as his cock dragged against that sweet spot inside you, his name slipping from your lips in a broken moan as the tension in your belly tightened, ready to snap.

"That's it, baby," Joel groaned, voice ragged. "Come for me, let me feel her on my cock."

And with the way he was moving, the way he was touching you, the way he was whispering those wrecked, adoring words against your skin—you had no choice but to let go.

Pleasure sparked white over you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as your body shook, your voice lost in a strangled cry. Joel cursed under his breath, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he felt you unravel around him, his hands gripping you tight, holding you through it.

"That's my girl," he muttered, voice thick, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck as he kept moving, chasing his own release, determined to follow you over the edge, "Good fucking girl,"

Joel’s thrusts turned sloppy, desperate, deep, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His grip on your waist tightened, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and wrecked, his body locking up as he buried himself to the hilt, pressing deep, holding you there.

And then he was gone.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he spilled inside you, heat flooding you as his cock pulsed, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he rode it out. He pressed his forehead against your back, breath warm against your skin, hands smoothing over your hips as if grounding himself, holding you tight, keeping you close.

He stayed there for a moment, still inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back, lips trailing soft, absentminded kisses along your shoulder as he caught his breath. His hands never stopped moving, stroking your skin with quiet adoration.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured into your hair as he placed a kiss on your head, voice low and tender, so different from the way he’d just wrecked you.

You nodded, still catching your breath, body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Joel pressed a final kiss to your cheek before slowly, carefully pulling out, groaning low at the sight of where he’d filled you up, his release already starting to slip out of you.

"Made a mess of you, darlin’," he muttered, his voice warm, affectionate. "Stay right there."

You barely had the strength to move, muscles still loose and spent, but you felt the bed shift as Joel slipped away. You blinked sleepily as he disappeared into the bathroom, only to return a moment later with a damp cloth.

His hands were gentle, reverent as he cleaned you up, taking his time, murmuring soft words of praise under his breath.

"There we go, baby," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back as he worked. "Always take care of my girl."

Once he was satisfied, he reached for the bunched-up fabric of your dress, his fingers sliding beneath the hem.

"Let’s get this off you, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion but still warm, still full of something tender.

His touch was unhurried, guiding the fabric up your body, letting the fabric peel away from your skin, soft and slow. as you held your arms up for him. He didn’t rush, didn’t let the moment pass without appreciating you all over again.

Once it was gone, he tossed it aside and crawled up beside you in the bed to pull you into his arms, rolling you onto your side, tucking you against his chest.

His arms were strong, solid and warm, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other tangling in your hair as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"You still with me?" he murmured, lips ghosting over your temple.

You hummed softly, pressing closer, letting yourself melt into his embrace.

"Good," he sighed, voice low, spent, but content. His fingers traced slow, aimless circles along your spine, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your cheek, anchoring you to him, "Love you, sweetheart,"

"I love you, Joel." you murmured, your voice barely there, the warmth of him pulling you under into a deep sleep.

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[wonbloom]

diet pepsi

pairing: bffsbrother!heeseung x fem!reader

summary: “losing all my innocence in the backseat” or bffsbrother!heeseung takes your virginity in the backseat of his car!! this is inspired by diet pepsi by addison rae lolz

warnings: smut!!! 18+ only mdni, pinv, loss of virginity, fingering, heeseung & reader being horny asf for eachother, mentions of alcohol, swearing, intentional lowercase, pls lmk if i’m missing anything!!

word count: 2k+

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

“are you gonna fucking do something?” you whine, squeezing your thighs around heeseung’s head.

he’s been lazily placing kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs for the last few minutes, leaving the area slightly sticky and moist with his saliva.

you can hear him chuckling into your skin and you roll your eyes, your head falling back and thudding against the condensation covered window behind you. the position isn’t exactly comfortable; with the inner handle of the backseat door digging into your shoulder blade and the leather of heeseung’s car seats sticking to your exposed ass, only covered by the skimpy thong you’d picked out for this evening. your denim skirt lies abandoned in the footwell of the passenger seat alongside heeseung’s tshirt, tossed away carelessly where the tryst had began.

you’re awoken from your thoughts by heeseung nipping at your skin lightly, it’s not enough to truly hurt but it pulls you from your sweaty daze enough to look down at his smirking face. he moves away from his position so close to your core and notes the pout on your face. he’s quick to sit up and pull you into his jean clad lap, large hands immediately reaching for the meat of your ass.

“didn’t anyone teach you that patience is a virtue baby?” heeseung whispers into your ear, his tongue laving out towards your earlobe. “i’m gonna give you what you want, don’t worry. i just want to take my time with you.”

even though the arrogance in heeseung’s words make you clench your teeth, you can’t deny the way you’re dripping into the seat of your panties, and it’s no doubt that heeseung can feel it too.

heeseung connects his lips with yours for what feels like the millionth time in the past thirty minutes and you can’t help but moan into his mouth, he tastes bitter like the cheap beer you watched him knock back with the rest of his friends and it’s intoxicating. you’re slowly rolling your hips into his, careful with not wanting to seem too desperate. all thoughts of which leave your mind when heeseung grunts and rolls up into you, hands grabbing at your hips appreciatively.

when heeseung pulls away, his gaze stays on your face, seemingly scrutinising your every feature and it makes you flush - suddenly shy under his watchful eyes.

“i’m so fucked,” he breathes out, his forehead falling forward and knocking into yours dully.

your hands grab greedily at his exposed chest, he’s been working out recently and you can tell.

you place your lips against his lightly and speak, “that’s sort of what i was hoping to be.”

heeseung giggles at your words, head lifting up and his hand coming alongside to trace your jaw.

“yeah? you think you’re ready?”

“if me dripping onto your jeans wasn’t enough of an answer then yes. yes i am,” you tease, glancing down to the dark patch now staining the front of heeseung’s jeans.

heeseung joins you in glancing down at the mess, his head quickly jolting back up as he groans.

“you’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

“positive,” you chirp, punctuating your statement with another grind down into heeseung’s prominent bulge.

he places both his hands on your waist to steady you, “if your carry on i’m going to bust in my pants”

you let out an airy laugh in response, “where’s the sex god heeseung i was promised?”

your words seem to light a fire in heeseung as he’s quick to flip your position, holding his hand behind your head as he lies you down across the backseats, hovering over you with a mischievous smirk across his face.

“don’t get cocky baby,” he smiles sweetly, fingers sliding into the sides of your underwear, sliding them down your legs slowly. heeseung doesn’t hide the awed expression on his face as he notes the large wet spot, pocketing your panties into the back of his jeans.

you bring your foot up to poke at his toned stomach and jeer, “perv.”

heeseung grabs you by the ankle and manoeuvres himself between your legs, forcing you to cross them behind his back. he swipes a finger through your wetness, causing you to whimper loudly and watch with glossy eyes as he brings the finger up to his mouth, licking up your juices.

“you love it.” he decides.

instead of fighting back this time, you muster up your best whine and lift your hips up, hoping to entice heeseung into finally gracing your pussy with some attention.

“needy needy baby,” heeseung tuts, his hand so close to where you need him the most. “but you’re so pretty,” he hums. “i guess i’ll give you what you want.”

heeseung plunges two long fingers into your core, pushing in and out slowly as his thumb moves to you with your clit. he continues his ministrations until you’re whimpering and grinding up into his touch, and when heeseung looks down to your flushed face, sweat making your baby hairs stick down to your forehead and eyes wide and glossy, he thinks he’s never seen something so beautiful.

even though your climax is approaching, you can’t help but want more. heeseung stalls as one of your hands reaches down from his chest and grips onto his flexing wrist.

“i want to come when your dick is inside of me,” you admit somewhat shyly.

heeseung pulls his hand out of you slowly and scoffs, “seriously what virgin says stuff like that!”

he’s fast to suck your juices from his fingers and reach for the zipper of his jeans, you can see his hardness straining against the material, making you squirm in anticipation. before heeseung shimmys down his boxers he stills, looking to you.

“you’ve seen a dick before right?”

his words shock you into a small giggle, “yeah, i mean i gave jake a handjob at the movie theatre that one time.”

heeseung looks slightly mortified at the mention of one of his closest friends, “sim keeping it classy i see.”

“and taking my virginity in the back your car is the epitome of class i guess?” you bite back, flicking at heeseung’s chest.

“shut up,” heeseung rolls his eyes, moving quickly to pull his hard cock out of his boxers, silencing you from whatever quip was going to fall from your mouth next.

your breath hitches slightly at the sight of the sheer size of him, “fuck.”

“not so cocky now baby, huh?” heeseung smirks, guiding his cock down to glide between your messy folds.

everytime his tip catches against your clit you both groan into each others mouths, kissing sloppily as heeseung works you up even further.

heeseung’s free hand moves to fondle your tits over the thin tank still adorning your chest, now damp from the perspiration covering your body.

a grind up of your hips causes heeseung’s tip to catch onto your entrance and he whines into your mouth.

“please hee,” you pull back, hands threading into his sweaty hair, “i’m ready.”

heeseung nods at your words and comes down to press a light kiss on your forehead, “okay baby.”

“let me know if it hurts and i’ll stop, okay?” heeseung pushes the tip in further, looking down into your eyes for confirmation and when you nod he carries on.

the sting is noticeable but overpowered by the pleasure, your senses overwhelmed by everything heeseung.

“still okay baby?” heeseung asks, peppering your neck with kisses, leaning down to suck at your exposed cleavage.

“so so good” you moan, grinding up the last little bit so you’re full of him.

you seem to simultaneously let out sighs of relief, which causes you to both giggle.

“you feel so fucking good.” he says earnestly, rocking into you slowly as he begins to find a rhythm.

you shy under heeseung’s words, not used to having the sole attention of the guy you’ve crushed on for the most part of your life.

“you can go faster y’know?” you tease, trying to gain back some of your confidence. “i’m not gonna break.”

heeseung smiles at your usual cocky demeanour returning and decides to listen to your whining, spewing up his slow thrusts into a steady and powerful pattern.

your whimpers grow louder as soon heeseung’s groans as the sounds of sweaty skin slapping fills the car, your hand reaching to card through the short hairs at the back of heeseung’s neck and you have half the mind to hope that no one has wandered far enough from the house party you were in attendance of, because if the fogged you windows weren’t enough evidence then the noise and movement from the car would certainly be enough evidence to alert people of the activities occurring in lee heeseung’s car.

“oh fuck! hee,” you whine as heeseung hits a spot inside you that you weren’t even sure existed.

heeseung notes your reaction and continues his pace until you’re sure you’re seeing stars.

“touch yourself baby,” heeseung orders, grunting in delight as your small hand reaches down to play with your clit.

“i’m so fucking close, please hee,” you cry out, your pleasure heightened by the added stimulation from your fingers.

“i know baby, keep going for me im almost there,” heeseung’s voice is dripping with sex and the squelching noises that emanate from between you are nothing short of obscene, but the only thing on heeseung’s mind is you you you.

heeseung’s vision is slightly obscured by his dripping fringe falling into his eyes, but there’s no way he’s stopping now to move it out of his way, not when he can tell you’re both so close to ecstasy.

you’re free hand that was resting on the back of heeseung’s head moves forward to brush his fringe out of the way, and upon your eyes locking after a gesture that felt all to intimate even during this situation, heeseung’s thrusts become erratic, signaling his incoming climax.

“fuck!” heeseung exclaims, pushing your fingers that were playing with your clit away in favour of his own, drawing tight circles on your clit, that paired with his powerful thrusts throw you over the edge just as heeseung’s pace turns sloppy, quicking pulling out in favour of spurting his cum over your soft stomach. even though you were left clenching over nothing, your body still aches with satisfaction.

heeseung looks sheepishly down at the mess he made on you and quickly apologises, reaching for his shirt to wipe up his drying cum.

looking back to you, heeseung catches you dipping your middle finger into his essence and plunging it into your mouth.

“yum.” you wink.

“dirty,” heeseung jests, “i love it.”

now clean of heeseung’s come you sit up, and lean onto his still shirtless and heaving chest.

“you’ve corrupted me,” you jibe, pulling on a lock of his hair. “stolen my innocence.”

at your words heeseung scoffs, “i’d hardly call you innocent.”

before heeseung’s lips can touch yours, a knock on the window behind you startles you both. heeseung is quick to hide your body behind his to provide you some decency as he rolls down the window.

sunghoon, another one of heeseung’s friends peers in and drunkenly yells.

“your little sister is looking for you! something about not being able to find her friend.”

at his words you tense up and look to heeseung who is trying to hold back his laugh.

“sure buddy, i’ll be back in a minute,” heeseung turns to you with a shit eating grin on his face, not missing how sunghoon murmurs to himself as he walks away.

“smells like fucking sex in there.”

you can’t help but burst into laughter with him.

“we’re so fucked.” you decide.

“we’re so fucked.” he confirms, leaning down to press his lips into yours.

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a/n: AHHHH!!!! this is my first piece of writing that i’ve published on here so i’m very nervous!! it’s also so horny so excuse that lolll i’d be very grateful for any and all feed back so pls reblog comment or send me an ask!!

alsooo feel free to send me any enha thoughts in my ask box as i’m a new writer on here!!

tysm for reading !!!

lux xoxo